I nodded my head.
Six men in black cloaks appeared in a half circle in front of us. I knew right away that they were Mages by the matching silver clips holding their cloaks. I shook my head with a nervous pit forming in my stomach. Weston couldn’t handle six Mages.
His voice was rough against my ear. “Ah, Princess, you underestimate me.”
The Mages stood in a state of uncertainty. I could tell because they each looked at one another as if waiting for someone to make the first move.
But none of them ever did, because Weston appeared in front of one and shoved a blade into his heart.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
THE ICY RIVER OF BLOODLUST
When I would paint as a child, I’d take my paintbrush and splatter the colors on the paper. I called it art. The blood being spilled reminded me of those childhood memories.
Though, the only art about this scene was the way Weston fought: ducking, weaving, disappearing, stabbing. He handled the six Mages with ease. None of them even had the chance to look my way.
My heartbeat sped up dangerously, and I itched to see them die. I wanted to watch their blood flow onto the ground. I wanted to kill them myself. I wanted more blood. A malicious smile was in place internally. I paused, taking a deep breath and realized that Weston must be feeling this because this wasn’t me at all.
By the time I sighed in relief from recognizing the feelings weren’t mine, there were six dead Mages on the ground. Weston stood in the middle of them with his chest moving deeply. Blood splattered his arms up to his biceps. And I realized he was art.
From his body to the blood covering him to the bloodlust in his eyes.
He walked toward me in short, stalking steps with dark eyes. My breaths were shaky as I took a step back.
“Do you think I am some kind of saint?” His voice was hard and rough as he continued to walk toward me, a bloody dagger in his fist. Hazy feelings swirled around inside me, and I knew they belonged to him, but the uneasy knots in my stomach had me backing up as he got closer.
A saint? My laugh was edgy. “I’ve never thought that for a second.”
“Then why do you think you can get away with taunting me?”
“I don’t.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me.”
I almost flinched from his harsh tone, and was filled with confusion at his sudden mood change until I realized this must be the bloodlust talking.
“Were you looking for a reaction out of me?” Weston asked as he took another slow step forward. I was quiet as I didn’t think I could form words as his angry presence clung to the air, suffocating me.
Another step. I took one back.
“Is that what you wanted?”
I knew he was talking about the incident on the beach. I should have never taunted him like that. I didn’t even know why I had. And now it had gotten me into a mess. Instead of an ordinary storm that I had grown to like, this was a hurricane. One I had never dealt with before, and it had my heart pounding with uncertainty.
“Silence, huh? Regretting what you’ve done now?” he asked.
Another step. I took another one back.
“Why do you think I turned around?” he asked roughly. I wasn’t sure of anything right now. I couldn’t even think with a bloody assassin walking towards me like I was his next victim.
My back hit the rough bark of a tree while he was only steps from reaching me.
“Why did I do it, Calamity?” His calm voice had nervousness fluttering in my stomach, and I could only slowly shake my head.
“Because the second I saw your wet, naked body, you wouldn’t be a virgin anymore.”
I swallowed hard as he threw the knife in his hand to the side. The motion had me glancing at the blood covering his arms and then at the six dead men behind him; what he was capable of not lost on me, and all my bravery drifted away with the sea breeze.