Vaughn perhaps?
Could he be behind the leaked knowledge? I wanted to ask him but he hadn’t replied to my messages. He’d gone completely silent.
Regardless, it didn’t matter. I was stuck here, and I had to find some way to deal with what was out there. It was time to announce a new fashion line, and at the same time, put those rumours to rest.
Along with the hunches on my disappearance, I’d also read Jethro’s message that he sent the morning of the polo match. His words were sincere but also full of regret. Would his offer to answer my questions via text still stand—even when he looked at me as if he were dead inside?
Pulling extra pins from my cuffs, I shook my head. “Jethro…it’s too soon.”
I thought I’d have weeks yet…months even. You didn’t think—you hoped.
If I had known this would happen, I would’ve gone to him sooner. I would’ve forced him to face the truth and discuss once and for all what’d happened between us last Monday. Instead, I’d done nothing but work. I didn’t wander the premises or go for a run. The constant fear of where Daniel lurked had kept me trapped better than any bars or cage.
Trembles took over my chilled muscles. “Surely there must be a way to stop—”
“Quiet, Ms. Weaver. I have no patience for your begs.” Stalking toward me, he growled, “You know what is expected of you.”
I searched his gaze for the warmth and golden glow of before.
There was nothing.
Closing the distance, I wrapped my arms around his frigid body. Once again, his extremities were cold. No heat. No liveliness.
“Jethro…please…” Nuzzling into his chest, I willed him to feel my panic, to comprehend how terrified I was of paying another debt.
He balled his hands. “Let me go.”
I snuggled closer. “No. Not until you admit that you don’t want to do this.”
His fingers landed on my shoulders, prying me away from him. “Don’t presume to know what I want.”
“But it’s too soon! The lash marks have barely healed on my back. I need more time.”
Time to mentally prepare.
Time to steal you away.
“How do you know the timeline for what will take place?” Leaning forward, he snatched my wrist and dragged me forward. “You don’t know a thing about anything, Ms. Weaver. There is no script—no right and wrong when another debt can be taken. It’s time.”
The cold finality in his voice siphoned into my blood, delivering a vicious vertigo attack. I fell forward as the room flipped upside down.
I cried out as I stumbled, swaying to the side only for Jethro to jerk me upright.
I hated the weakness inside me. I hated that there was no cure.
I would be afflicted all my life.
Is Jethro the same?
Could whatever he suffer be the same as my vertigo? Incurable, unfixable—something accepted as broken and forever unchangeable?
While I swam in sickness, Jethro dragged me over to the ancient armoire where I’d placed my clothes and shoved aside the hangers to reveal the back panel. Pressing hard on the wood, the walnut veneer sprang open, revealing a secret compartment with hanging white calico shifts.
I moaned, trying my damnedest to shove aside the lingering after effects of the attack, and struggled weakly as Jethro turned his attention to my grey blouse.
Without a word, he undid the pearl buttons, quickly and methodically with no hint of sexual interest or burning desire.
My limbs were endlessly heavy. I lamented the unjust fate of my last name as he pushed my stretchy black leggings to the floor.
Leaving me dressed only in a white lace bra and knickers, Jethro snagged a calico shift and dumped it over my head.
I blinked nauseously as he tugged my arms through the holes as if I were a child.
What was going on? Where was the man who’d held me while he came inside me? Where was the softness…the gentleness?
The minute I was dressed, he demanded, “Take off your shoes.”
I stared into his gaze, looking for a smidgen of hope. I wanted to reach inside and make him care again.
He stood taller, a flicker of life lighting up his features. “Don’t. Just…it’s better this way.” He sighed heavily. “Please.”
I tensed to fight. To argue. But his plea stopped me.
Ironically, I was the one about to be hurt—made to pay a debt I had no notion of—yet he was the one most in pain.
He needed to stay in his shell to remain strong.
Despite my misgivings and terror bubbling faster and faster in my blood, I couldn’t take that away from him.
I’d fallen for him. What sort of person would I be if I willingly stripped him bare when he wasn’t coping? Even if he’d been tasked to hurt me?
Only a stupid, love-struck one.
Do something, Nila. It’s you or him.
Wrong.
Grabbing his hand, I pressed our tattooed indexes together and summoned all my courage. “We’re in this together. You told me so yourself.”
He tensed; his face twisted with unmentionable emotion. Hanging his head, he nodded. “Together.”
“In that case, do what you need to do.”
We stood awkwardly, both wanting to say things that would break the fragile bravery of the moment, but neither strong enough.
Finally, he nodded, and pointed at my shoes.
I didn’t argue or reply.
Kicking off my jewelled flip-flops, Jethro led me silently out the door and through the Hall.
Every footfall sent my heart higher and higher until every terrified beat clawed at the back of my throat. I’d been scared in my life. I’d bawled my eyes out when Vaughn had almost drowned at the beach. I’d become almost comatose with terror when I knew I’d never see my mother again.
But this…this marching toward the Second Debt turned my blood into tar. I moved as if I were underwater, suffering a terrible dream I couldn’t wake from.
I wanted my twin. I wanted him to make it better.