A Girl in Black and White (Alyria 2)
“How many princes does it take to catch one girl?”
They only looked at each other, as if from somewhere between kissing Weston by those crates and here near the edge of the dock, that I had in fact, lost my marbles somewhere on the wooden planks.
“Let me guess,” Weston said dryly, “more than two.”
“Wrong,” I whispered, pushing hard against one fingertip until it pierced skin. “Only one. But it’s not either of you two.”
Standing near a lantern, we all watched as the blood pooled on my skin, a small—not red—but black dot sitting on my fingertip. “Surely there isn’t an issue with my blood, do you think?” I asked, widening my eyes. Long ago, Weston had grimaced when he took my blood. He was tasting the Shadows; he just hadn’t been certain what it was.
“You shouldn’t give your knives to witches, Weston,” I said as I turned my hand so that the blood would roll off my skin. As if in slow motion, it fell from my finger, dripping into the dark water below.
There was nothing for a moment. A chilling stillness.
And then it all changed.
Hot energy seeped from my bones into my muscles, as if I were on fire from the inside.
A darkness pulsed in my chest, spreading throughout my body. Under my skin, to my eyes, leaving an awareness behind them. To the tips of my hair, blackening to the color of ash. I knew my irises were the same color. My body faded to a dark transparent hue, before solidifying again.
With an icy sensation, the fire minimized inside of me to something tolerable, but still there. Still burning, itching, blackening.
Everything settled then. The blackness inside me going eerily calm, quiet, waiting, watching.
Maxim stared at me with a look laced with disgust. Weston watched me with a calculating expression, before saying quietly, “And suddenly your name fits you better than it ever has.”
I regarded him, emotionless, quiet, so quiet. My body felt light as air, and maybe it was, because the breeze was passing through it in places. I could feel the ends of my hair blowing, could hear the newest wind coming before it reached us.
“What the fuck . . .” Maxim muttered, looking at me like I was a Red Forest creature. Rightfully so.
Weston shook his head, frustration darkening his features. He knew he couldn’t stop me. He would only have to reach forward to realize his hand would go right through me if I wished.
“I have your blood, Calamity,” he said simply, but I didn’t miss the threat behind it.
“That bond was broken.”
“I still have your blood,” he said. “You must have started anew. I didn’t.”
“Lovely.” A smile slowly pulled on my lips. “Care to bond again? I’ll try real hard to make it work this time. I swear not to stray.” I crossed my heart.
Weston wasn’t amused at my jesting. He watched me with a cunning look like he was close to figuring out a way to best me. Even the idea that he had my blood didn’t worry me; the hot, pulsing blood in my veins was too exhilarating, too calming. The burning now welcome, now me.
I walked a circle around them, playing with the knife in my hands. “Like I told you earlier, I have business here, and I’m going to stay until I finish it. Then I might decide to leave.”
“You’ll be leaving before then,” Weston said.
I laughed, softly, carefree and shook my head reproachfully. “No, I won’t.”
“You cannot stay.”
I walked up to him, chest to chest. “But who will make me?”
His jaw ticked, but he didn’t try to touch me. He knew what the result would be, and trying and failing would raise his ire too much.
“I suppose this means you can’t carry me out.” I looked to the ground, feigning contrition. “What a shame. I was so looking forward to it.”
He met my gaze with unwavering eyes. I was surprised he didn’t show a flicker of unsettlement at my appearance. My body was now completely tangible, but my irises, the tips of my hair, were the color of ashes. And I knew the look in my eye was wild, my steps more otherworldly, my voice darker.
I took my cuff out of the Untouchable’s hands—who did nothing but watch me with an unfriendly expression—and put it back on my wrist.