Second Debt (Indebted #3)(9)

Herein rests the soul of Bess Weaver

Her only redemption was paying her debts

The oldest looking tombstone had the simplest carving but the one with the worst desecration of a dead soul.

The corpse of the Wicked Weaver who started it all

Wife to a traitor, mother to a whore

I couldn’t forgive. I couldn’t forget. I couldn’t even comprehend how I could ever set eyes upon the Hawks again without wanting to slaughter them with my bare hands. My rage fed me better than any material sustenance.

I wished I had magic; a potion to strike them all dead.

Every murmur that escaped me, every incantation and promise, worked like a spell.

My whispers wrapped around me like a cocoon—turning my tenderhearted naivety into a chrysalis where I rapidly evolved into a monster as bad as them.

I threw myself into darkness. I traded any goodness I had left for the power to destroy them. And with each chant, I chained myself deeper to my fate—cementing me forever to my task.

I didn’t want food or water or shelter.

I didn’t need love or understanding or connection.

I wanted retribution.

I wanted justice.

No one came to get me. If they cared I was missing, no Hawk came to corral me back to my prison.

In a way, I wished they would come. Because then my removal from my dead family would’ve been a justified struggle. I would’ve screamed and cursed and fought so hard, I would’ve drawn their blood.

But they never came.

So, I had to swallow my bitter resentment and plod back to purgatory on my own accord. I couldn’t fight. I couldn’t scream.

I had to deliver myself willingly back into the devil’s clutches.

By the time I entered my quarters, I shook so hard I was sure my teeth were chipped from chattering so badly—from cold and from horror.

I didn’t recognise the woman inside me. Something had switched permanently and any facet of the little girl—the twin who’d always believed in fantasies—had died upon that patch of earth.

I’d been destroyed, yet my eyes remained dry. Not one tear had been shed. Not one sob had come forth.

I’d become barren. No longer able to display emotion or find relief from the pounding terror of seeing proof of my ancestor’s demise.

The diamond collar around my neck disgusted me and the weight seemed to grow heavier with every breath, sucking me deeper into hell.

Struggling to remove my sweat-dried exercise gear, I barely managed to crawl into the shower. Gradually, I turned my blood from snow to spring—thawing out the phantoms that now lurked within.

I stayed beneath the hot spray for ages, curled upon the floor with my arms wrapped around my knees. Mud and soil from the graves siphoned down the drain, swirling around like dead souls.

So much had happened, so much that would’ve broken the old Nila.

But this was just another hurdle—another obstacle to clear in my quest for victory. My essence had been infused with the lingering spirits of my ancestors. They lived within me now, wanting the same thing I did.

The clock hanging above the fish tank in my sewing room announced the witching hour as I climbed exhausted into bed.

Three a.m.

The time when ghouls and demons were thought to roam the passageways of homes and terrorize helpless sleepers.

I’d always been superstitious about keeping my wardrobe doors shut against night monsters. Vaughn used to laugh at me, saying beasts and night creatures didn’t exist.

But now I knew the truth.

They did exist, but they didn’t come out when the witching hour opened a portal from their world into ours.

They weren’t called werewolves or vampires.

They were called Hawks.

And I lived with them.



The next morning, I woke to a text.

A single message from the crux of my annihilation.

Kite007: I feel what you feel. Whether it be a kiss or a kick or a killing blow. I wished I didn’t, but you’re mine, therefore, you are my affliction. So, I will feel what you feel, and I will live what you live. You won’t understand what I mean. Not yet. But it’s my best sacrifice. The only thing I can offer you.

I waited for my heart to spike.

I held my breath for a sparkle of desire.

Jethro had just shown me the truth. In his cryptic, almost poetic message, he’d torn aside the mysterious curtain of who Kite was—fully admitting something that only he would know. There was no way a message like that could come from Kes. I doubted the middle Hawk was deep enough to pen such a complex riddle.

If such a message had come yesterday, I would’ve tripped from lust into love. I wouldn’t have been able to stop my heart from unfurling completely and letting my enemy nest deep inside.

But not now.

Not now that I’d seen the heinous truth.

With steady hands and an even steadier heart, I sent a single message to my brother.

Needle&Thread: I’m living a nightmare, V. I…I can’t do this anymore. I miss you.

Once it had sent, I deleted Kite’s message and turned off my phone.





A NEW MORNING, yet I felt older than I’d ever been.

Every part of me ached.

I’d left Nila at the cemetery—I’d had no choice.

But when she didn’t return after dusk, I went back for her.