Page 60 of Heirs of the Cursed

“Leave me alone,” she pleaded in a broken voice, closing her eyes tightly. “Leave me . . . alone.”

But they weren’t going to.

Not until she lost control.

Not until her magic broke free.

Darcia wanted to scream for help and beg for silence. Raising to her feet, she broke into a run to escape the voices that tortured her. She stumbled on the uneven ground and began to fall, but someone caught her in his arms before she touched the ground.

When her boreal eyes flew open, they found that deep, ambitious green.

“Alasdair?” she sobbed.

“It seems someone needs help.”

She wanted to object, to pretend she was strong enough not to need him. Still, the words were trapped in her throat as she realized her head no longer ached. There were no voices, no noise, no grief or pity . . . Only Alasdair.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take you home safely.”

“No. You can’t,” she stammered. “My stepbrother . . .”

“He’s not going to touch you, Darcia. Not if I can help it.”

She remained silent as realization set in. He’d called her by her name, even though she hadn’t told him. Darcia could only stare at him, at the one feature the mask revealed from his face. There was something familiar in those eyes and the way they glowed through the darkness, searching for her.

“Do you think you can stand up?” Alasdair asked, his hands still firm around her arms, offering a gentle caress. A blast of cold air made Darcia shiver and recoil, but as her legs gave way again, his grip on her tightened. “That wasn’t a wise choice, gorgeous.”

“I’m fine,” Darcia muttered. “I just . . . I just need some air.”

“I don’t think you can even stay upright on your own.”

“Ican.”

“Still, don’t try. We wouldn’t want some rock to break through that pretty head of yours.”

Darcia grunted in disagreement, but accepted his help all the same.

Silently, they moved through the shadows and darkness, accompanied by the icy night breeze. Darcia didn’t protest; the pain in her joints was nothing compared to the agony of Conrad’s beatings.

“Why are you helping me?” she asked.

Alasdair looked into her eyes. “What kind of man would I be if I left you stranded in the forest with a storm approaching?”

“You’re a thief.”

“Are you calling me a bad person?”

“You said that you didn’t care about anything,” Darcia reminded him with uncertain firmness. Every word that came out of her mouth was heavy and difficult to utter.

“Well, let’s just say I have nothing better to do.”

Their gazes met for long seconds, hers reflecting her annoyance at his heartlessness and his pride in it. Darcia took a step away from his touch, but the pain that shot through her sore ankle made her curse under her breath. She must have twisted it during her run because of her uncomfortable shoes, and the wine had dulled her pain.

The sound of breaking branches reached her ears, distant enough that she thought little of it. Wolves prowled in the forest, creatures she didn’t fear like the rest of the Dawnfallians did. Yet when the thief pushed her against a tree, her body trembled.

“What the hell are you—”

“Sh,” Alasdair silenced her with a nod, urging her to follow his gaze. “We’ve got company.”

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