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?