Debt Inheritance, Page 3

  His face battled with a smirk and understanding. He settled on a frosty grimace. “Of course, I expect it. If you didn't, I’d say you were already dead inside. No one wants to die.”

  I had no reply to that. A chill darted over my skin. For the first time, we were talking. So much had happened since we met. There was so much between us that it felt as if we’d been fighting this war for years—which maybe we had, and we just didn’t know it.

  “What do you mean to do with me?” I whispered, dropping all pretence and opting for truth.

  He jerked, his eyes tightening at the softness in my tone. “I’ve told you.”

  I shook my head. “No, you haven’t.” I looked away. “You’ve threatened me. You’ve made me come in a room full of men, and you’ve told me the method of my death. None of that—”

  “You’re saying that isn’t being honest about your future?”

  I glared. “I wasn’t finished. I was going to say, before you rudely interrupted, what else is there?”

  His mouth parted in surprise. “Else? You’re asking what else there is to this debt?”

  “Forget the debt. Tell me what to expect. Give me that at least, so I can prepare myself.”

  He cocked his hip, trailing the whip through the rotten leaves by his feet. “Why?”

  “Why?”

  He nodded. “Why should I give you what you want? This isn’t a power exchange, Ms. Weaver.”

  I bit my lip, wincing at the sudden hunger pains in my stomach. What did I have that he wanted? What could I hope to bribe him with or entice some feeling of protectiveness and kindness?

  I have nothing.

  I hung my head.

  Silence existed, thick and heavy like the rolling dusk.

  Amazingly, Jethro murmured, “Come down, and I’ll answer three questions.”

  My head shot up. “Give me answers now, before I come down.”

  He planted his boots deeper into the mulch-covered dirt. “Don’t push me, woman. You’ve already gotten more conversation out of me than my fucking family. Don’t make me hate you for causing me to feel weak.”

  “You feel weak?”

  “Ms. fucking Weaver. Climb down here right now.” His temper exploded, smashing through his iceberg shell, giving me a hint at the man I knew existed.

  A man with blood as hot as any other.

  A man with so many unresolved issues, he’d tied himself into untieable knots.

  My heartbeat clamoured as Jethro’s ice fell back into place, blocking everything I just glimpsed.

  I sucked in a breath. “Hypocrite.”

  He seethed. “What did you just say?”

  “You heard me.” Standing on awkward legs, I hugged the tree. “Three questions? I want five.”

  “Three.”

  “Five.”

  Jethro moved suddenly, stomping to the base of the tree, gripping the bottom branch. “If you make me climb up there to get you, you’ll be fucking sorry.”

  “Fine!” I moved carefully, wondering how the hell I would climb down. “Call me Nila and I’ll obey.”

  He growled under his breath. “Goddammit, you push me.”

  Someone has to. Someone has to smash that hypocritical shell.

  I waited, face pressed against knobbly bark, fighting against the weakness in my limbs from exhaustion and hunger.

  The mere thought of climbing down terrified me.

  Jethro paced, crunching the undergrowth beneath his black boots. He snapped, “I will never say your first name. I will never be controlled into doing something I don’t want to do ever fucking again—especially by you. So, go ahead, stay in your tree. I’ll just camp down here until you either fall or wither away. I don’t revel in the thought of you dying in such a fashion. I don’t relish the conversation I would have when I returned empty-handed with just a diamond collar sliced from your lifeless neck, but never think you can make me do something I don’t want to do. You’ll lose.”

  He smashed the whip against the tree trunk, making me jump. “Is that quite understood?”

  His temper seethed from below, covering me like a horrible quilt of scorn. I pressed my forehead against the bark, cursing myself.

  For a moment, he’d seemed normal.

  For one fraction of time, I didn’t fear him because I saw something in him that might, just might, be my salvation.

  But he’d been pushed too far by others. He’d reached his limit and had nothing else to give. He’d shut down, and the brief glimpses I saw weren’t hope—they were historic glints at the man he might’ve been before he’d been turned into…this.

  I climbed.

  It was a lot harder going down than going up. My eyesight danced with grey, my knees wobbled, and sweat broke out on my skin, even though I was freezing now the night had claimed the day.

  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 fuck?

  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 fucking 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 w
hispered, “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.

  Bolly moved in front of Nila, sniffing at the items as if they were a danger to the woman he’d helped hunt down.

  I was a hypocrite?

  Look at the bloody dog.

  Nila glanced at the packets strewn on the plaid. I shoved the damn dog out of the way, reaching for her.

  She ducked, unable to disguise her flash of terror.

  My stomach twisted. I bared my teeth. “What? You think I’m going to hurt you?” Breathing hard, I grabbed a blister packet and threw it at her. “I’m not going to hurt you, even though my whip would like to strike something more than just my horse after the issues you’ve caused.”

  Her dark eyes met mine, rebellion bright. Then her eyebrow rose as she glanced at what I’d tossed her. “You—”

  I snatched the packet and popped out two high-strength painkillers. Stealing her hand, I placed both into her palm. She cupped them instantly.

  “You’re hurt. I told you I’m not a monster, Ms. Weaver. Would a beast give you something to mute your pain? The same pain, I might add, that you brought on by yourself?”

  Her face went white, her fingers unlocking to peer at the two white tablets. Her face twisted with a mixture of disbelief and utter confusion.

  Another dagger to my gut. There was something about her injuries and vulnerabilities that were the perfect chisel to my iron-clad resolve.

  The resolve that’d saved me from myself. The lifestyle that I’d been taught when nothing else had worked.

  Fuck.

  Looking away, I tossed a water bottle at her. She caught it clumsily. Unscrewing the lid, she placed the tablets on her tongue, and drained the contents in three seconds flat. She wiped her mouth, eyeing up the bag by my feet.

  Silence existed for a heartbeat. Then two.

  Her eyes met mine, granting me something I hadn’t sought to gain. Her gratefulness. The fight and future was forgotten—her bodily needs overtaking everything else. And I was the one who could give her what she needed.

  “If you’re looking for food, I have some.”

  She swallowed hard.

  I forced myself to shove aside my tangled emotions, grabbing my icy persona with both hands. “I need something from you first.”

  She grabbed the damn dog again.

  I hated how her arms lashed around him, seeking something else she needed—something I couldn’t give her.

  I whistled.

  Bolly instantly heeled, leaving Nila rejected on the tartan blanket.

  She rolled her shoulders, looking longingly at the dog. Slowly, the strength I grew to recognise cloaked her; her eyes met mine. “Fine. What do you want?”

  Everything.

  The parts of myself I kept hidden, driven so far inside I’d forgotten they’d even existed, sparked with possession.

  “You owe me something.”

  Her gaze popped wide. “Excuse me?”

  I fell to my haunches, balancing myself with a fingertip placed on the ground. My heart beat thickly. “I gave you something in that dining room…remember?”

  Her lips curled in disgust. “You gave me to your father and twenty of your so-called brothers.”

  I shook my head. “More than that. I gave you freedom. I took their memory and made it mine…” I devoured her with my gaze, saliva filling my mouth remembering her taste.

  Realization slammed into her. “You can’t be serious. You expect me to repay the favour?”

  I balled my hands.

  She shook her head. “No way. You’re insane.”

  Insane?

  I couldn’t do it.

  I’d done my best to be civil. I’d spoken calmly, rationally. I’d been perfectly cordial and fought everything I was to become something I knew I had to be.

  I was the exact opposite of insane.

  “You really shouldn’t have said that,” I muttered.

  She knew what I expected. I’d told her. It wasn’t my fault she was totally stupid. I’d warned her never to question my mental state. And I wouldn’t permit such ridicule from a girl who didn’t recognise the entire world was fucking nuts.

  Punish her.

  I stood, towering over her. Moving forward, I grabbed the whip from the top of the bag, slapping it against my palm. “On your knees.”

  She scurried backward, slamming into a tree behind her. “Jethro. Please—”

  I pinched the brow of my nose. “You insulted my mental state again, Ms. Weaver. I told you what would happen the next time you did.” Bending over, I grabbed her shoulder. “On your damn knees.” With a sharp push, I shoved her from sitting to kneeling.

  Tears streaked her dirty face. “I didn’t mean—I’m—”

  I cocked my head.

  If she apologised, I’d stop. Just one little word. A sign that she was permitting my power over her.

  It wobbled unsaid between us. Sorry. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.

  Her lips tasted the words, the syllables echoed silently in my ears.

  But then she ruined it by sucking in a breath and clamping her lips together. With a glare that shot heat straight into my heart, she planted her hands on the blanket, and cocked her hips.

  Fuck. Me.

  My cock immediately sprang to attention. The perfect lines of her overly skinny body. The pert breasts and hard muscles of her back and thighs.

  Shit.

  I squeezed my eyes. What the fuck is going on with me?

  Sure, I wanted her. Sure, I wanted to use her and come so deep inside her, she’d taste me for days. But lust had never made me see things like this. Never made me lose the fine frost of control. Every second spent with her undid all my hard work.

  She was my pet. Her wellbeing and happiness hinged on me. Just like Bolly, Wings, and all the other hounds tethered in the forest just out of ear reach. I’d left them there so I could sneak upon her silently.

  I’d known she was up ther
e. I’d felt her eyes boring into me.

  But this was all a game.

  What was the fun in reaching the destination when the chase was the best part?

  Nila looked over her shoulder, daring me with flames in her eyes. “I hate you.”

  Her words slammed me back to earth, her fire somehow giving me back my ice. I smiled. “You don’t know the meaning of hate. Not yet.”

  Hair fell over her shoulder, hanging thick and enticing. “You’re wrong again, Mr. Hawk. I know the meaning of it. It’s becoming a favourite emotion of mine. I told you before you’ll never own me. And you never will.”

  That reminds me.

  “I caught you. You agreed you’d willingly sign that nonsense away.”

  “What nonsense?”

  I fell to my knees, positioning myself behind her. Grasping her hips, I dragged her against my front. My jaw locked as my erection dug into her firm arse.

  She cried out, trying to squirm away—not that it did any good.

  I hissed between my teeth at the delicious friction she caused.

  “You’re mine. You ran and failed. I’ll have the papers drawn up to ensure you know your place, and we can put this idiocy of you not believing this is your future behind us.”

  She gasped as I rocked into her, pressing punishingly hard.

  Fuck, who was I kidding? She owned me. Her laughable rage, her stupid sense of fairness. Somehow, she’d ensorcelled me.

  Fuck.

  Forcing my terrifying thoughts away, I said, “I’ve made you come. I gave you a gift, which you took wholeheartedly. It’s your turn to do the same for me.”

  The whip grew slippery in my grip as I pulled back. “You have three questions, and I have a point to make. You ask, and I’ll make it. We both get what we want. Then, when it’s all over, we’ll go home and start our lives together.”

  “Until you kill me.”

  I sighed. Really? She was so repetitive. “Yes, until I kill you. Now, ask your first question.”

  She smashed her lips together, thoughts skittering over her face. Fine, if she needed prompting, I would oblige.