Page 67 of Once Charmed, Twice Cursed
I can see it. He wants me to say no. To take it all back. His eyes beg me to. But I don’t have that much grace. “Yes. You did.”
He plunges both hands through his hair, leaving it an unprecedented mess, then shoots out of the chair and strides from the room without another word.
“Maybe we could tattoo it back on,” my mother says.
My head snaps around. “What?”
“Your Mark. We could tattoo it back on. No one would know the difference.”
Some slimy, dark thing drops into my guts. “Are you kidding me? Did you hear a word I just said? About Alverton?”
But she’s crying again, her makeup running in smears down her cheeks, her response garbled by hiccups. “There’s a tattoo artist in Hay?—”
“Mom!” I stamp my foot. “No. Just stop. You’re being horrible. I’m not getting a tattoo, and this is why I hated being a Charm. It was exactly this, right here.”
Her sobs cut off abruptly, replaced by a shocked stare. If she had pearls, she’d probably be clutching them, but as it stands, diamonds and emeralds drip from her throat, so she only presses a hand to her chest. “What?” she whispers.
“You heard me.” I dart a glance at my father, including himin my confession. “I never wanted my Mark. I hated it. I’m glad it’s gone. I’m glad that...”
A sound from outside makes me trail off. I cock an ear. Hoofbeats sound in the distance—faint, at first, then louder.
Someone is cantering up the driveway.
My soul lightens. Weston. It has to be. He’s recovered from Brendan’s horrible insults and followed me here. He’s come for me again, because he always will.
Elation gifts me with wings. I arrow toward the window, but when I push the curtain aside?—
I freeze, terror harpooning me in the chest. I blink, trying to wish the scene away, but nothing changes. “No.No.”
It’s Alverton. The duke’s face is stern, his brow low. Ramses rides at his side. They’re already halfway up the driveway. They’ll be here in less than a minute. Right on my doorstep.
I scramble back, overturning a side table in the process. A vase careens to the floor and smashes, spraying chips of porcelain, but the sound barely reaches me. I’m a white-hot rain of fear. I’m back in that room. I’m dissolving into terror and no one is here to save me and?—
“Go upstairs,” my father says. “Now. I’ll deal with this.”
I don’t stop to question him. I lift my skirts and race up the stairs, careening around the corner and racing down the hall to my room. I slam the door with full-body force and dive into my closet, then pull those doors closed, too. I press myself into the furthest, darkest corner, where I hug my knees and try not to hyperventilate.
It doesn’t work. Oxygen pours into me, so much that my head spins and my toes tingle, as if I’ve singed them against the blazing edges of my dread.
Long minutes pass. Time is a razor, slicing and slicing at me.
Shouting erupts downstairs. I can hear it through the floor, though I can’t catch the words. I’m shaking. Downstairs, something breaks. A door slams. A heavy tread mounts the stairs, and I cower deeper into the closet. I can’t go back. I can’t. I’ll die. I’ll?—
The doors open. It’s Brendan, outlined by the sunlight streaming through my bedroom windows. Without a word, he pushes his way past the hanging gowns and furs, then settles beside me with his back against the wall. He doesn’t look at me.
“He’s gone,” he says. “You’re safe.”
I hug my knees tighter, waiting for my fear to abate. For my body to stop trembling. But it doesn’t. For some reason, those words don’t sound nearly as convincing coming from my brother as they did from Weston.
Brendan sighs and lets his head fall back against the wall. “Alverton really did all that? Nearly killed you?”
I blink, wondering if this is a trick. But I can’t see how, so I say, “He did.” The words are like broken glass being dragged up my throat.
Brendan winces. “I’m sorry. Fortuna’s curses, I’m so sorry. I thought I was doing right by you. I thought your luck would take care of you.”
My hold on my knees loosens a degree. That’s...not what I expected him to say.
“Alverton won’t come back.” Brendan sounds distant, almost like he’s talking to himself. “He lost interest the moment Dad told him your Mark was gone. He’s furious, andhe’s demanding to have his money returned,withinterest, but he won’t come back.”
