Page 42 of Once Charmed, Twice Cursed
Bold as brass.
The words swoop and dive at me, trailing me to bed and tunneling through my dreams. Hours later, they’re still fizzling in the back of my mind when I wake in the darkness to the heavy drone of rain.
I bolt upright, alarm tightening my stomach. It’spouringoutside. Rain hits the roof like never-ending scattershot. A chill blankets the room, gnawing at my fingers and toes.
Fortuna, Weston must be freezing.
I jump from bed. Within minutes, I’ve revived the fire, and the ease with which I do so tells me he hasn’t taken refuge in the other room. The moment the flames gain a foothold, I turn from the hearth and sail out the door.
Enough of this. I haven’t seen him in over two weeks, and I can’t stand it anymore. I won’t. I refuse to leave him out there in misery.
Bold as brass.
Outside, night engulfs me, a roar of rain and darkness. I wonder what time it is, how long I have until sunrise—and potential discovery—then decide it doesn’t matter. Weston’s going to spend the rest of the night inside, my canceled luck be damned. The duke’s men won’t be out in weather like this, anyway.
“Weston!” I cry, but my holler gets lost the moment it leaves my mouth. I set out across the clearing, then stop and look up.
I should be wet. Only I’m not. Goosebumps prickle on my arms and frigid air eddies beneath my nightgown, chilling me in uncomfortable places, but not a single raindrop touches me. Falling water batters the grass around me, but I stand amid an oasis of stormlessness.
I take a step left. So does the dry spot.
I step right. Same thing.
I sigh and drag my hands down my face, hating that I’m dry when Weston is undoubtedly soaked, but then it hits me.
I can find him this way. I only have to wander until I get wet. Then I’ll know he’s mere feet away, nullifying my luck.
I set out into the pitch-dark forest. The scent of wet pine stings my nose while springy bracken dampens my bare soles, but I keep dry. Cold and half-lost, maybe, but dry.
A dozen times, I shout Weston’s name. Nothing answers but the fury of the storm. Occasional lightning flashes in the distance, but by the time the resultant thunder reaches me, it’s more vibration than sound.
And then...
Plop. A bead of ice hits my skin. Then another. Plop. Plop.
I peer around. The cabin’s window has shrunk to a watery pinpoint behind me. In every direction, rain sheets off pine boughs. Nothing distinguishes this place from any other. “Weston?”
No reply. The rain bellows.
I take another step, and suddenly, I’m drenched. The rain hits me like an assault, a shower of icy bullets fired from above. My nightgown soaks through in an instant.
I barely register the shock of cold, except to note that Weston has been enduring this for hours. At the realization, my desperation grows. I shout his name again. Nothing.
Then I spot a shape in the darkness ahead, huddled against the trunk of a pine.
My heart seizes.
It’s him. It has to be.
Chapter Fifteen
“Weston!” I dart forward. He lifts his head at my approach, and even in the dimness, I can tell he’s drenched, his hair plastered to his forehead, water streaming in rivulets down his face. He’s shivering. Violently.
Even so, some tangled knot inside me loosens at the sight of him.
“B-Birdie?” His teeth chatter around the word. “What’re you d-doing out here?”
“Looking for you.” I drop to my knees beside him, heedless of the mud and bracken. My hands flutter like pale moths in the darkness, but I don’t touch him. Not for lack of wanting to, but because he isn’t wearing his gloves, and his black sleeves have ridden up well past his wrists.
