A Girl Named Calamity (Alyria 1)

“I should have let the old Mage come along. Maybe you would be more cooperative then,” he snapped. I ignored his comment. He had seemed more than serious about not letting the Mage help.

“I can change my mind,” he growled.

“You can stay out of my head,” I retorted as I got up, only because of the stick poking me.

My feet were bare as I walked down to the stream. I used the short time I had there to figure out a plan.

I came up with absolutely nothing.

When I got back to camp, I saw my soap melting in the fire and the strangers’ dirty shirts ripped to shreds all over the ground. I must have really confused him, or he wouldn’t have thrown this kind of tantrum. His eyes shot to me after I thought that.

“Come here,” he said calmly, but a little too calmly.

I shook my head. I didn’t know what he had planned, but I didn’t want any part of it.

“You can do this willingly, or I will make you do it.”

“Do what?” I snapped. What did he have planned now?

“You are more resourceful than I thought,” he said.

“Of course I am.”

We stared awkwardly at each other for a moment before I looked with sad eyes down at my soap in the fire. There went covering my scent. Maybe the strange woman would be in the next city we went to.

“You won’t use your tricks on me again.”

“I’ll do whatever the hell I want.”

“That’s what I thought you would say. That’s why I need something of yours.”

“What could you possibly need? You’ve taken everything from me! My life! My freedom! I will never give you anything willingly,” I growled.

His eyes hardened. “That’s not what you were saying last night.”

He got me there, but that’s what I had evasion for.

“Any man would have made me feel that way after Maxim didn’t finish what he start—”

A burst of air hit me with a blur of movement and I was pinned against a tree. I looked up into heated eyes and thought maybe I took it too far.

“Mention Maxim or even think about him again and I will take you back to their camp and kill him in front of your eyes,” he growled.

“I’ll be rooting for him,” I retorted.

He laughed. “You’re not a good liar, Princess.”

My skin prickled with irritation. He was right that I’d be rooting for him, and that made me even more annoyed. “You wouldn’t win. He could kill you with one touch,” I said haughtily. I enjoyed the thought of someone being able to best Weston.

“No, he couldn’t. We are blood brothers.”

My eyes widened. “You are brothers?”

“Not true brothers. Childhood friends who shared blood. I am immune to his touch.”

And there went someone besting him . . .

“You would kill your friend?” He really was heartless.