Page 56 of Once Charmed, Twice Cursed
Weston swears, then sets me gently in the gravel and disappears into the darkness. I cry out and reach for him, but he’s already back, propping me up, setting something against my lips. Cool, sweet life trickles into my mouth.
I gasp. Then gulp. I guzzle every last drop and ask for more.
“We have to get out of here,” he says, low and hurried. “And that’s all the water I have, but we’ll get you more. Can you stand?”
I try. I fail.
“It’s okay, it’s okay.” I think he’s crying now. Someone is. Maybe me. Then I’m being hoisted and gripped, maneuvered into a saddle. I slump, devoid the strength to hold myself up, but in another moment, he’s behind me, clamping me close.
We’re moving. Thank Fortuna. My eyes flutter closed.
When I open them again some time later, something haschanged. Some hint of vitality glows at the crux of me, planted there by the water I swallowed. When I flex my fingers, they obey. I wiggle my toes. Those work, too.
I’m...alive, it seems. I’m still here.
The steady rhythm of hooves beats beneath me. A comforting wall of muscle buttresses my back, and I lean into it, mindful, even now, not to touch him directly.
Weston’s arm flexes tighter around my waist. His lips press against my hair. “I have you. I’m not letting go. You’re safe.”
“How long?” I rasp.
“Two and a half days.” His breath feathers against my ear. “The worst two and a half days of my life. And that’s saying something.”
A choked sound jams in my throat. A laugh or a sob—I can’t tell. “What time is it?”
“Two o’clock in the morning.”
The night smears past, a chilly tableau of blue shadows and pulsing stars. Pines whisper to one another, but nothing seems as real as Weston does. He spurs the horse onward, eventually swerving off the road and into the woods. Branches glide from the darkness as he guides our mount through the underbrush.
Before long, we emerge into a clearing. A pool shimmers in the moonlight, as round and shining as a fallen coin.
An exultant cry builds inside me. Water. All the water I could possibly hold. My whole body strains, every inch of me curving toward it. Reaching.
Weston slides from the saddle and lifts me down, his grip strong and sure at my waist.
No sooner have my feet touched earth than I’m staggering toward the pool. When I reach it, I splash straight in.
“Birdie, wait.”
I don’t. It’s bitterly cold but I don’t care—I cup my hands and drink. Icy liquid cascades down my throat. It pours over my chin and chest, soaking my dress, rejuvenating my senses.
Weston crashes into the pool with me, his grip catching me around the middle just as I sag. He lets me drink until I’m sated, then hauls me back to shore. We collapse on the grassy bank, where he pulls me across his lap, careful to keep his acres of black fabric between us. He hugs me to his chest and rocks me.
I cry.
I break to pieces and let him catch me, because it all pours out at once—the horror, the fear, the utter helplessness of being locked up and treated as chattel. As less than human.
As a thing.
“I’m sorry,” Weston whispers fiercely. His gloved hand strokes my hair while sobs wrack my body. “Curses, I’m so sorry. I should’ve gotten to you sooner. Itriedto, Birdie, I swear it. I tried and tried and tried. So many things went wrong, but I just kept going, because I knew that once I got to you, it’d be all right. Only it isn’t, is it? Not really.”
“You came, though,” I choke out between tears. “You’re here. We’re together.”
“I know, but...if I’d been any later, if my curse had interfered any more than it did, you might’ve?—”
He cuts himself off, as sharply as if he’s chopped the sentence short with a cleaver. After a long moment, he says, “Alverton didn’t hurt you in...other ways, did he? Touch you?”
I know what he’s asking. “No. Nothing like that.” My tears soak his shirtfront. I sniffle and lift my head, my emotional outpouring finally at a close.
