First Debt (Indebted #2)(8)

I battled with him and lost.

Time to face my future.

The closer I came to the ground, the more fear swallowed me.

I cried out as Jethro’s cold hands latched around my waist, plucking me from the tree as if I were a dead flower, and spinning me to face him.

His beautiful face of sharp lines and five o’clock shadow was shaded with darkness. The hoots of owls and trills of roosting birds surrounded us.

“I have a good mind to whip you.” His voice licked over me with frost.

I dropped my eyes. I had no more energy. It was depleted. Gone.

When I didn’t retaliate, he shook me. “What? No reply from the famous Weaver who swore at my father and brotherhood and earned the right to run for her freedom?”

I looked up, stealing myself against his golden eyes. “Yes and what was the point?”

“There’s a point to everything we do. If you’ve forgotten it, then you’re blinded by self-pity.”

A ball of fire rekindled in my belly. “Self-pity? You think I pity myself?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think. I know.” Letting me go, he grabbed the saddlebag resting against another tree and pulled out a blanket. Spreading it over roots and crinkly leaves, he ordered, “Sit, before you fall.”

I blinked. “We’re not—we’re not leaving for the Hall?”

He glowered. “We’ll leave when I’m damn well ready. Sit.”

I sat.





WHAT THE FUCK are you doing?

I couldn’t answer that. I had no clue.

I should throw her over my shoulder and escort her back to Hawksridge. Instead, I made her sit. In the middle of a forest. At dusk.

What the f*ck?

Nila sat by my feet smiling sadly as Bolly, the top foxhound, nuzzled into her naked side—his wet nose nudged against her breast as he whined for attention.

She sighed, hugging him close, pressing a kiss into the ruff of his neck. “You outted me, you rascal.” Her voice wobbled, even though a tight smile stayed locked on her face. “I want to hate you for it, but I can’t.”

Bolly yipped, hanging his head, almost as if he understood exactly what she jabbered on about.

I stood staring at the odd woman—the woman who, even now, surprised me.

Something twisted deep inside. Something I had no f*cking intention of analysing.

Everywhere I looked, she was scratched and bruised. New bruises on top of old bruises, shallow lacerations that’d scabbed over and deeper ones still oozing blood. My eyes fell to her feet. They were covered in cuts with a puncture on the fleshy part of her large toe.

I waited for a twinge of guilt—for that humanness I told her I didn’t possess. The only emotion I got was annoyance at her hurting herself. She’d marred herself, and that reflected badly on me.

“You would rather slice yourself to pieces while running away from me, than suffer a few debts by my side?”

Her head snapped up, dark eyes arresting mine. “I would gladly hurt myself to gain my freedom.”

“And why is that pain any different from the pain I might give you?”

So much feeling existed in her gaze as she whispered, “Because it’s my choice.” She let Bolly go, dropping her hands into her naked lap. “It’s what I’ve been saying all along. You’ve stripped me of any rights. You’ve planted photographs ruining the only life I’ve ever known. You’ve destroyed—”

Something cold and angry slithered in my heart. “You talk of hurt and pain—as if I’ve treated you so unfairly.” Leaning over her, I hissed, “Tell me one instance in which I’ve hurt you.”

She frowned, her body neither flinching nor curling away from my encroachment. “Pain comes in many appearances, Jethro. Just because you haven’t raised your hand to me—apart from a slap in the dining room—doesn’t mean you haven’t hurt me more than anyone else before. You degraded me.”

“I’ve been nothing but civil. I wiped it all away for you. I did what I promised.”

She shook her head, sadness glassing her eyes. “You think that by taking me at the end, everything that happened is forgotten?” She laughed; it was full of brittle anger. “You say I belong to you—that I’m yours—custom-made and born for your torment.” A single tear fled her gaze. “Then why didn’t you stop them? Why let them have me if I’m meant to be yours?”

I stumbled backward. “That’s what hurt you the most? The fact that I let my father welcome you the way it’s always been done? That I’m obeying tradition? You’re hurt because I’m following the rules—the same rules which you don’t seem to comprehend?”

My brain hurt. I’d never talked so much in my life. Never argued a subject or tried to understand another’s point of view. That wasn’t my world.

Shut her up.

I hated her questions and accusations. They didn’t just stop at one but dragged a whole caravan of inquiry and slurs behind it. She made me second guess everything I knew and was.

I hated it. I hated her.

She said, “Those rules aren’t mine. I’m not yours or theirs. I’m telling you how wrong all of this is, yet you shut down the minute I see something normal inside you.”

Growling under my breath, I grabbed the saddlebag and turfed the supplies onto the blanket.