Page 30 of Once Charmed, Twice Cursed
A silent scream explodes inside my skull. I won’t let Weston die for me. I can’t. I’d sooner marry the duke and be miserable for the rest of my life.
“Stop,” I shout to him. “Just let them take me.”
But Weston doesn’t listen. He advances, a blur of black in the night. When he reaches the first man—the bigger one—he feints left, then swings right. His fist connects. A sickening crack rings out across the clearing.
The man goes pinwheeling into the grass. Weston wastes no time turning to the second, who squares his shoulders and drops into a surprisingly competent stance.
My stomach twists. After having witnessed Weston’s many fights, I can tell when an opponent will pose a challenge and when he won’t.
This one will. He tosses his torch aside. It sizzles in the dewy grass. A moment later, he and Weston come together, a whirl of fists and fury.
Blows connect. Pained grunts erupt, punctuated by labored breaths. They trade punch after punch, the other man with a quickness that matches his size, Weston with efficient brutality.
But brutality won’t be enough, not with his curse. Not with me standing in the cabin’s doorway, thirty feet away.
The moment I think it, Weston stumbles and goes down. A root, perhaps, or a rock. It doesn’t matter. The man he’s fighting seizes the advantage, pulling back his fist to deliver a savage punch.
“No!” The cry tears from my throat. I break into a run.
Weston’s head whips toward me, his expression panicked, but I don’t slow. I seek him like an aimed arrow. If I get close enough, I can grant him an even playing field, at least.
“Stay back,” he shouts.
I don’t.
The thin man’s fist crashes into his face, and a screamerupts from my chest. It feels like someone’s ripped my heart out. Not cleanly, either. The thing is a bloody mess, arteries and tendons trailing, globules of red spattered all over the place.
I’ll never get used to seeing Weston hurt.
But he absorbs the blow without any fanfare. He kicks out, tripping the other man, then struggles with whatever made him stumble—a vine, apparently, tangled around his leg. The moment I draw near enough to nullify his luck, he yanks the thing off and surges upward. He drives a shoulder into his opponent’s midsection just as the man finds his feet.
I’m on the verge of cheering when sturdy arms grab me from behind.
I scream and flail, pummeling my captor with angry fists. Somehow, the bigger one got behind me. He grunts beneath the force of my blows, but doesn’t relent. He just hauls me backward, away from the fray.
Panic licks along my nerves. No. No, no, no. If he drags me any further, Weston’s curse will flare to life again.
I fling out an elbow, catching my assailant in what feels like the nose, because something rubbery gives way with a crunch. The man howls. The hold around my midsection eases.
Pure, dumb luck. The real kind, this time.
I dart away, or try to, but he catches the back of my nightgown, checking my forward momentum. I jerk to a stop, straining against his hold.
Weston throws a punch that lays his opponent out, then pivots toward me. When he takes in my situation, undiluted fury floods his face. “Birdie!”
My heart clenches like a fist.Birdie. That one word has medoubling my efforts, pitching forward in an effort to reach him. But the man behind me hauls on my gown, keeping me in place.
Weston’s focus shifts past me. “If you don’t let her go right this second, I promise you I willbreaksomething.”
The man only pulls harder. I lash out with a bare foot and catch him somewhere that must hurt, because he yelps. His grip vanishes. I stumble free. Weston stomps toward me, forgetting his other opponent entirely.
Which proves to be a mistake. The smaller man leaps his feet. Something glints in his hand—a knife, it looks like, catching the torchlight. He lunges after Weston.
My blood surges hot in my veins. Once again, I react without thinking. I dart past Weston and throw myself at the knife-wielder just as he slashes.
I hit him in the elbow, altering the blade’s trajectory. It catches Weston’s shirt, opening a nick in the fabric without breaking skin.
We go crashing to the ground. Pain erupts all along my side. The blade skitters into the dirt.
