Page 33 of Once Charmed, Twice Cursed
“Yes,” he finally says. “Deal.”
I nearly sag. But I shore myself up with fistfuls of Weston’s shirt and tug him backward toward the cabin with me. Noway am I leaving him alone out here, at the mercy of his bad luck.
Inside, I dig through my trunk for the brooch. It’s one my mother bought on a whim, utterly meaningless and without sentimental value. I palm the thing and retrieve the hairbrush I abandoned near the hearth.
Weston crosses his arms and scowls. “You’re sure about this?”
I give him a look. One he knows me well enough to interpret. “Of course. These’re just things. Useless ones.”
He peers down at the objects in my hands. “Maybe, but I’ve never owned anything that valuable. I can’t imagine having them, much less giving them away.”
“Losing them’s better than letting those men report back to the duke. And it’s definitely better than you trying to kill them and ending up hurt.”
He snorts. “I’d gladly kill them, for you. And I’d succeed. I’denjoyit.”
That brings me up short, but I swallow past the sudden thickness in my throat. If he thinks he can distract me from the very incendiary conversation we’re about to have—about himlyingto me for over a week—he’s sorely mistaken.
“Weston,” I say.
His jaw flexes. “Birdie.”
“Get out of my way.”
“No. Give me those. I’m not letting you anywhere near those two.”
I contemplate, then do as he asks.
Outside, the duke’s men watch with wary eyes as Weston approaches. I stick close to him, shielded by the breadth of his body.
When we draw near, I see that sweat has broken out on the injured man’s brow. The smaller one’s eyes jump back and forth like he’s trying to puzzle out the dynamic between Weston and me.
“Sorceress,” he mutters. “Temptress.”
Weston stiffens, but I yank on his sleeve to keep him from surging forward. Which probably only strengthens the impression that I’ve somehow ensorcelled my kidnapper.
I only wish that were true. Goddess help me, how I wish that were true.
“Take these.” Weston practically throws the brooch and brush. “And don’t come back. And if you tell the duke about us, I’ll hunt you. And find you. And do very, very bad things to you, once I do.”
The bigger man blanches. The second scans Weston with hard eyes, then gives a grudging nod.
When they stagger away into the trees, Weston turns to me.
The cabin glows behind me, its thrown light gilding the austere lines of his face. He doesn’t even have the grace to look contrite. “So,” he says. “I guess we need to talk about this.”
“Yeah.” I snort. “I’d say so.”
Chapter Twelve
Inside of ten seconds, it turns into a fight.
Of course it does.
I stand by the fireplace, trying to soothe the scorch of my anger with the gentle warmth of the flames. But my skin feels too tight, my blood whirring with equal parts rage and relief.
Goddess, Weston could have been killed out there. Weston, not Jack, becausehe’sthe one who stole me. Jack doesn’t actually exist. Whoever I saw on the road that day was...a decoy, probably. Just another layer of the lie. Because after I saw that man’s face, I lost sight of him, at least for a minute or two.
A minute or two in which Weston must have taken over.
