Page 6 of Once Charmed, Twice Cursed
“I’m fine,” I say.
“You’re not.” Panic laces his voice. “I could touch you. I couldhurtyou.”
When I don’t move, he levers himself upward, careful not to brush against me. His broad shoulders flex with the effort of supporting both our weights.
Before he can fully rise, his opponent strides over and grips my elbow, hauling me to my feet. Weston shoots the man a look that’s half glower, half gratitude.
Something about that tears me down the middle. For so long, I’ve told myself he would come for me. I’ve held out hope that someday, we would profess our feelings, and when we did, we’d put this decade of enforced distance behind us. We’d throw the rules out the window. Set each other free. Live as a man and wife are meant to.
Weston could have achieved that so easily just now. He could have laid an unseen finger against my wrist. Held on until our triquetras faded, never to return.
But he looks petrified by the near miss. So terrified of unraveling my luck that he’d rather see some other man’s hands on me than his own.
I gulp down the knot of emotion blocking my throat. Stupid. This is stupid. I almost lost him just now, and here I am, wallowing in self-pity.
Weston brushes himself off, then scans me. His expression darkens. “You’re hurt.”
I glance down. A shard of wood has pierced my forearm and now leaks a trickle of blood. But it barely hurts. Not compared to the disappointment currently taking a bite out of my heart.
“It’s nothing,” I say.
He scowls. “It’s not nothing.”
I shoot a pointed look at the hatchet buried not two feet from where he’s standing. “It could have been worse.”
“Yes.” His brows lower as his temper rises. “It could have. You could’ve been killed. And for what, Birdie? What’re you even doing here?”
I reel back, stung. For what? Forwhat?Is he serious?
The man who picked me up off the floor leans close. “There’s antiseptic in my office,” he says softly. “You’re welcome to use it, Miss Bria.”
I blink at him. He looks vaguely familiar—black hair, blue eyes, sturdy features that fall just short of handsome. His name is Calder, I think, and he’s the mill’s foreman. I also think he offered Brendan half a year’s pay for the privilege of marrying me.
I cut my gaze away, not wanting to look at him. I don’t want to look at any of them. Not right now.
“Come on.” Weston’s tone is gruff. Something in his expression shutters. “Let’s clean you up.”
He spins on his heel and starts toward the back of the mill, clearly expecting me to follow.
Which I do, more out of frustration than any sense of obedience. The crowd parts to avoid Weston, even though with me close on his heels, his bad luck won’t overflow onto anyone else.
For a moment, I wonder what that feels like. To have the entire world recoil as you pass.
Does Weston even notice, anymore?
He leads me to a dingy back office. He shuts the door, muting the murmurs from outside.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he growls, rounding on me. “You could’ve died.”
My pulse kicks, anger singing in the spaces between heartbeats. “Me?Me?What about you? That thing would’ve fallen on you, if not for me. Why on earth didn’t you tell me you were fighting tonight? Why would you even agree to this without making sure I’d be here to nullify your Mark?”
“Why?”Golden eyes flash. “Why?Is that a real question?”
“Of course it is,” I spit.
He crosses his arms over his glorious chest. “Come on, Birdie, why do you think?”
“I don’t know!” My words carry a bite, and I press my tongue against the roof of my mouth to stem my rising fury. He could have been hurt. He could have beenkilled. Nulls rarely live as long as Weston already has, and knowing he tempted fate tonight makes me want to hit him.
