First Debt (Indebted #2)(6)

He touched the end of the whip to his temple in a salute. “Well played, Ms. Weaver. I didn’t think you’d have the coordination to climb. I must admit, foolhardy of me not to think of all avenues.” A smile crept across his lips. “I suppose desperation will make one do things they might not ordinarily be able to achieve.”

Stepping forward, he nudged Squirrel out of the way. “What I would like to know is how did you manage to stay up there? Did you not have another one of your annoying fainting incidents?”

The oxygen in my lungs turned into spikes and spurs, digging painfully into my sides. I held tighter to the tree, wondering if I could kill him from up here.

When I didn’t respond, he smirked. “You look positively wild up there. My own little forest creature, caught in my web.”

My arms lashed tighter around the trunk.

Jethro shifted, his movements quiet even with the leaf matter littering the earth. The happiness from his victory dissolved. “Come down. It’s over. I’ve won.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Or do me a favour and fall out. That vertigo has to be useful for something.” Spreading his arms, he muttered, “Go on, I’ll catch you.”

The strength that seemed to feed off Jethro’s cruelty churned hot in my stomach. “You should know me by now. I won’t obey you. You or the rest of your family.”

He chuckled. “Found a backbone up there, did you?”

I bared my teeth. “I found it the moment you stole me from my family and showed me what a monster you are.”

He held up the whip, a shadow falling over his features. “I didn’t steal you—you belong to us. I only took what was rightfully mine. And I’m no monster.”

My heart raced. “You don’t know the meaning of the word, so how can you define yourself?”

He narrowed his eyes. “I think the height of the tree is giving you false confidence. I doubt you’d be talking to me that way if you were down here.” He twitched the whip. “Where I could reach you, hit you, make you behave like you ought to.”

He’s testing you.

I tilted my chin, looking down my nose. “You’re right. I probably wouldn’t, but right now I have the advantage, and I mean to use it.”

He laughed, absently stroking Squirrel’s head as the dog plonked himself by Jethro's feet. “Advantage? I wouldn’t go that far, Ms. Weaver.”

My skin crawled at the use of my last name. He didn’t use it out of consideration or even because the address was my identity—he used it to keep the barrier between us cold and impenetrable.

What is he so afraid of? That my first name will make him waver in his ludicrous family’s goals?

“Why don’t you call me Nila?” I leaned forward, not caring I was naked or stuck in a tree. I had the power for however long I kept him talking. “Are you afraid using my first name is too personal? That you’ll start to feel something for me?”

He sneered. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“What you did at the stables. Showing me sides of you that you’ve kept hidden, in the hopes it will spark some sort of humanness in me.” He shook his head. “I’m not someone you can manipulate.”

A small smile stretched my lips. “I already did.” Gathering my leaf-tangled hair, I draped it over my shoulder. The last dregs of sunshine disappeared behind a cloud, leaving us in green shadows.

“What?” His nostrils flared, his temper sparking like an uncontrolled blaze.

I smiled, enjoying his annoyance. He claimed he was cold-hearted and impervious. He lied.

I’ll show him. I’ll prove he’s as ill-equipped to play this charade as I am.

“Do you want me to paint it out for you? To show you how hypocritical you are?”

He grabbed Squirrel’s ear, making the dog flinch. Squirrel moved away, an angry reproof in his black eyes. “Careful, Ms. Weaver,” Jethro whispered. “Everything you say up there will have consequences when you get down here.”

I refused to let fear quiet me. Not when I had the freedom to speak—no matter how brief.

“Nila. My name is Nila. Say it. It seems we’re going to be spending a lot of time together, so you might as well save yourself breath when you need to summon me. Or do you like reminding yourself that I’m a Weaver? Your so-called hated enemy. Do you need to reinforce that knowledge every time? How about that beloved silence you keep claiming you wield? You think you hide so well. Listen up. You don’t.”

Jethro backed away, crossing his arms. A dark, unreadable expression etched his face. “I call you by your last name out of respect.” He spat the last word. “We aren’t friends. We aren’t even acquaintances. We’ve been thrown into this together, and it’s up to me to make the f*cking rules on how you’ll be treated.”

We both froze, breathing hard.

Oh, my God.

He’s been thrown into this. My mind charged ahead with questions.

Did he not want this?

Was he forced, same as me?

Jethro hissed, “Get out of the f*cking tree. I want to be home before dark.”

Hoarding my questions and the small furl of hope, I pointed at the sky. “It’s already dusk. How long did you hunt me, Jethro? How long did you search for a vulnerable, weak, little Weaver?”