The Wicked Born

Chapter 4

Tabitha swayed on the walk back from the tavern, hardly able to conceal her drunkenness now that she was no longer sitting down. She could feel Dacre's eyes behind her, assessing her every move. Could feel his wary gaze land on the Mark on her temple and jaw that she had yet to conceal again with her hood.

She scowled and considered turning around to show him just how truly deadly the red witch can be when she stumbled over a rock and almost sent herself careening into the hard stones of the cobbled road before her. She caught and uprighted herself right before she completely lost control of her balance, and her blood boiled when she heard Dacre's barely-muffled laughter behind her.

"Shut up," she attempted to snarl at him, but any hope she had of it eliciting fear in him was ruined when she hiccuped at the end of her retort. He laughed harder into his sleeve, and she turned to give him a deep frown to tell him that she wasn't in the least part amused. She was surprised to see his eyes brimming with tears from so much laughter. It was a jolting shock to her when she saw how different it was from the usual anger and hatred his eyes threw her way.

She hadn't realized she'd been staring at Dacre for an awkward amount of time until he cleared his throat and her cheeks burned in reply. She turned away and continued her drunken stumble on the road, watching more carefully now for rocks that may try to jump up and trip her again.

"For someone who is supposed to be wickedly cunning, I would think you would have noticed that you're heading in the wrong direction by now," Dacre called from behind her.

Tabitha stopped dead and stood up straight. A quick glance around confirmed what her captive had said--she had no fucking clue where they were. "I knew that," she snapped. She turned to face the man once more and her blood's temperature rose once more when she saw that he was fighting to keep from laughing at her again. "Since you seem to think that you know it all," she said as nonchalantly as she could, hoping he'd not call her bluff, "then you lead the way." She rose her chin higher and attempted to look down her nose at him, but she wasn't sure if it was working because she thought that she was beginning to go cross-eyed the longer that she stared.

He stared at her for a short moment before releasing a low, deep chuckle and heading in the opposite direction. She didn't have time to thank the gods for him not calling her bluff before she had to hurry after him. She couldn't tell if he was walking much faster than normal or if her predatory powers were simply slowed down by the ale she downed at the tavern.

"So," she called behind him, feeling a little more bold than usual with the ale that warmed her blood, "what do you think?"

"About what?" He called over his shoulder, not bothering to turn to face her as he continued his brisk pace forward. She had half of a mind to punch him right between his retreating shoulder blades--she didn't enjoy not being paid attention to when she spoke. When she had things to say, people usually listened. Usually.

"What I told you about my Mark." Her hand had a mind of its own at the moment, sliding up and over her temple and jawline to trace the Mark in lazy patterns with her forefinger. She scoffed a little at the idea that people could "read" these things; it all looked like a bunch of random scribbles to her.

She hadn't realized that she'd scoffed out loud until Dacre finally halted his brutal walk in front of her and quickly swung around, his mouth wide open as if he was ready to tell her exactly what he thought about it. She didn't notice his abrupt stop until she was close to running into him. He shot his hands out and closed them around her shoulders to keep her from slamming into his chest. Her hand that was previously tracing her Mark just stayed there, completely frozen over the intricate design by the contact she felt through the thick cloak that covered her arms. She glanced up at his face as he stared right back down at her.