Second Debt (Indebted #3)(43)

With my heart thundering, I slipped out the door and padded down the corridor.

My ears strained for night prowlers. I tiptoed to every corner and dashed quickly past cameras blinking above the large tapestries.

Hawksridge Hall breathed deep and dreamless—vacant of its usual inhabitations, letting me slink beneath the moonlight undisturbed.

I found the spiral staircase where Jethro had dragged me up and scurried to the top as fast as I could. If I stood at the bottom and deliberated, my bravery might desert me.

My fingertip itched, almost as if it knew this was the floor where Jethro had etched his initials into my skin.

I peered above the paintings, locking onto the flashing red lights of yet more cameras. There seemed to be more on this level…protecting something. Protecting what?

I did my best to walk beneath them, to try to stay out of range, but I didn’t know the first thing about dodging a security feed.

Jethro would know where I’d been.

He’d be able to watch my every recorded movement. And even though I feared the retribution I might face, it didn’t stop me from sneaking to the door he’d knocked on.

The moment I stood outside, my heart switched from pounding to frantic.

What the hell are you doing?

What did I think I would do? Knock and ask politely why Jethro came up here when he ran from me? Did I perhaps think I could turn invisible and snoop around a room while the woman I’d heard slumbered?

You’re an idiot.

I stood there dumbstruck. I should never have come.

My lungs stuck together as something rustled on the other side of the door. A soft light seeped through the crack below, bathing the carpet in a warm glow.

I swallowed my yelp as a shadow interrupted the light, pausing the same way I had.

I took a step back. Stupid. So stupid, Nila.

No one in this house was safe to go visiting on my own late at night. I wanted to slap myself for being so stupid. I’d put myself in moronic danger.

My fingers reached for my pilfered knife.

I turned to leave, fear dousing my blood with ice.

The sooner I was back in my quarters, the safer I would be.

“You can come in, you know,” a quiet feminine voice said.

I froze.

No one spoke, waiting for the other.

A never-ending minute ticked past before the voice came again. “I won’t tell and I won’t hurt you. I can see you lurking outside my door. I have a camera mounted outside, so unless you want to run and pretend this never happened, I suggest you come in before my brothers or father find you up here.”

My stomach rolled; a sickening wave of vertigo crippled me. I stumbled forward, grasping at the wall.

I sucked in large breaths, repeating Vaughn’s poem for me.

Find an anchor, hold on tight.

Do that and you’ll be alright.

The spell disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. It pissed me off. I thought I’d learned to control them better. Turned out my body was toying with me. Making me believe I had one less problem to worry about, when in reality, it was just biding its time.

“You don’t look well. Come in. Please. Let’s talk.” The soft voice encouraged and seduced and I craved somewhere to sit for a moment.

Gritting my teeth, I pressed down on the door handle and entered the room where Jethro visited.

My eyes darted around the large space. Lemons and greys and colourful carpets. Sweeping fleur-de-lis silver curtains framed a huge wraparound window with a comfy seat big enough for a whole family of bookworms to curl up on and read.

“You must be the new Weaver.”

I bit my lip, spinning on the spot. I missed her in the first sweep. She’d been so still, so well hidden in the welcoming décor.

I found her sitting beside her bed in a large chair covered by a coral blanket. “You needn’t fear. I’ll delete the recording. No one will know you came here.”

I should’ve relaxed in gratitude. Instead, I stiffened.

I stared at the female equivalent of Jethro. Out of all of Jethro’s siblings, his sister looked the most like him. Jethro was the diamond—sharp, faceted, and so pristinely perfect he shot rainbows from every angle. This woman was the mirror image. Her dark hair was sliced with precision, hanging like a silk curtain just past her jaw. Her eyes were more bronze than gold while her round cheeks and full lips were the direct contradiction of sweet but sultry.

I drifted forward, stumbling a little as my vertigo played with the outskirts of my vision.

The woman didn’t move, just waited for me to go to her.

Her fingers locked together in her lap, her entire lower half covered by the plush blanket.

When I stood awkwardly in front of her, she motioned toward her bed. The covers hadn’t been turned down and it didn’t look slept in. The crisp yellow of her linen looked like a lemon meringue pie and just as delicious.

“Sit, please.”

I sat. Not because of her order, but because my wobbly legs refused to stand any longer. Who was this woman, and why did she look at me as if she knew everything about me?

I blushed.

Everything?

God, I hoped not. How could I face Jethro’s sister if she knew how much I wanted him? How could I look her in the eye knowing I’d had her brother inside me, and despite my conflicted emotions, wanted him every second of every damn day?

“Do you talk or did you make a vow of silence before entering my room?” The woman cocked her head, her hair cascading perfectly in glossy heaviness.