First Debt

Irreversible and responsible for me hurting Kes and ruining any chance of having another Hawk on my side.

Goosebumps scattered along my arms at the thought of bumping into him and the awkwardness that would follow.

I might’ve lost Kestrel, but I’d somehow chipped into Jethro’s arctic shell. No matter what Cut or the debts did to me, no one would be able to ruin what I’d found with one of their own.

I had no clue what it all meant, but Jethro Hawk was no longer Cut’s little plaything. He was mine. And despite the guilt I felt at potentially using Jethro to save my life, I knew I would do it. Eventually, I hoped to bring Jethro deeper into my spell. I would make him protect me. I would somehow survive this Debt Disaster.

We’d started as enemies and still were, but now…now we were enemies with a common goal. A driving need to fuck and devour.

A strange combination of delivering pain and pleasure.

It wasn’t ideal. It probably wasn’t healthy.

But it was the best damn relationship I’d ever had.

Deciding to make my way to the kitchens, rather than have staff wait on me, I entered the realm of baking and home, inhaling deep the delicious smells of rosemary and garlic.

One of the maids, who I recognised with curly blonde hair, looked up. Her pretty button nose and brown eyes were open and honest. “Hungry, miss?”

I nodded, drifting forward and running a fingertip through the dusting of flour on the countertop. Hawksridge Hall had been updated with every modern convenience imaginable but still managed to retain its heritage. The kitchen was no exception, with a brilliant blend of old world and new. Stainless countertops rested on rickety handmade cupboards. Ancient flues, stained black from coal smoke, loomed over top-of-the-line stovetops and ovens. The massive rotisserie was still used over a large open fire, and a huge black pot dangled on a tripod in the corner. Mortar and pestles lined the windowsill with herbs and flowers drying above.

The maid kindly wrapped up a fresh baguette with a dollop of fresh cream and strawberry jam, and shoved a packet of salt and vinegar crisps into my hand.

A random meal, but I took it with gratitude. “Thank you.”

She smiled. “Don’t be outside too long today. A storm is coming, according to BBC. The fine weather is over.”

Is that a metaphor for my life? That my summer is past and now I have to survive the winter?

Nodding my assurances, I climbed the steps to the main part of the house and exited Hawksridge by the front door.

The maid was right. On the horizon rested heavy clouds, black and ominous. Regardless, I wanted to stretch my legs; fresh air never failed to bring clarity to my world.

And I needed clarity after Kite’s message. Every time I thought about it, my heart squeezed in regret.

My jewelled flip-flops, cut-off shorts, and turquoise t-shirt were hardly suitable clothing, especially as small raindrops splashed from above, but I refused to go back inside.

“Nila!” Kes appeared from the side of the house, his boots crunching on the gravel as he jogged closer.

Shit.

As much as I wanted to confront him, I had no clue what to say. Breathing shallowly, I hoped the faint bruises Jethro had left on my upper arms didn’t show.

Kes came to a stop, his eyes drifting over me. “Where are you going?”

I frowned, drinking in his face, seeking the hurt that had been in his message. His gaze was blank, locked against any cypher or clues.

How is he hiding what happened between us?

Unable to understand, I shrugged. “Nowhere in particular. Just getting some air.”

“Mind if I join you?”

I shrugged again. It was best to clear the air sooner rather than later. “Sure.”

Kes fell in step beside me, his gaze rising to the black clouds on the horizon. His silence was heavy, judging.

“Where were you going?” I asked. Were you running after me?

His golden eyes landed on mine. My stomach twisted, thinking how fiery Jethro’s had been last night as he pushed himself inside me.

“I was just going to the stables. There’s a polo match next week—wanted to make sure my horse is shipshape.” Kicking a pebble, he added, “Bloody Jet always wins at polo. This time, I’m going to kick his arse.” His voice was sharp, completely unlike his usual ease.

I wanted to bring up the message but had no idea how.

Instead, I took a bite of my baguette. Once I swallowed, I mumbled, “I’ve never watched a polo game. Do you think I’ll be allowed to come?”

Please tell me I haven’t ruined our friendship. That you’ll let me hang out with you still.

If I didn’t have Kes’s company, I would go bonkers when Jethro disappeared.

God, I was selfish.

Selfish and greedy to try and keep both men, while using them for my gain.

Kes grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course. All the staff are given the afternoon off to come and watch.” He joked, “Even prisoners are allowed to go.”

Before Jethro had shown any signs of caring for me, that would’ve stabbed me in the heart and fortified my need to run.

Now…it only gave me courage to continue with my plan. And gave me strength to ignore the hurt I felt at pushing Kes away.

Yes, I enjoyed sleeping with Jethro. Yes, I could even admit to developing confusing emotions toward him. But my end game was the same.

I wanted him to fall in love with me.

Only then would he stand up to his family. Only then would he be so blindsided by affection, he wouldn’t see the knife when it went into his heart.

Gratefulness filled me. Kes had just reminded me of my goals. I had no time for bruised feelings or misunderstandings. I had to be as manipulative as they were and never waver.

You’re just as bad as them.

Good.

I never admitted I would die for them. I would eat their food, play with their toys, and fuck their oldest son, but I wouldn’t die. If the Weaver Wailer collar couldn’t come off until my death, I planned to wear it until I died in my sleep at a very old age.

Kes and I walked in awkward silence, neither of us willing to go too deep. The Hall grew smaller behind us as we traversed the lawn, heading into the woods.

Silently, I offered him my packet of crisps. With a sideways glance, he took it.

A bird of prey swooped from a tree as we moved further into the forest.

Kes paused. “See that?” Slowly, so as not to spook the animal, he pointed to his bare forearm and the bird tattoo inked into his flesh. “See how similar they are?”

My heart beat faster. I peered into the foliage. The plumage of the bird glistened like fine auburn.

“That’s a kite—see him?”

Something twisted inside at the mention of Kite.

I narrowed my eyes. The raptor spread its wings, soaring away. Glancing at Kes’s tattoo, I said, “It didn’t match the bird on your arm.”

He nodded. “That’s because mine’s a kestrel. They’re from the same family, though.”

Everything went very still.

Was this it? The admission.

Nerves scattered over my spine as Kes looked at me with tension etching his jaw. “Same family, same genes, just a different name.”

I stopped breathing.

He stepped away, popping another crisp into his mouth.

Dammit.

Why didn’t he just come out and admit it? I didn’t want to have to prompt him, but I was done waiting for the truth.

Wiping my crumb-riddled fingers on my shorts, I asked, “Same family just a different name. Tell me, Kes, do you have another name, or was that a riddle I’m supposed to never figure out?”

He stopped, sucking in a breath. “If you’re asking if I have another name, I do.”

My knees wobbled, waiting.

Go on…

I waited. And waited. Tension thickened. Come on. Admit it. Admit that you’re Kite.

Admit that, until recently, you were the man I spoke to every night. The man I relied on for my sanity, even while you were cruel and unpredictable.

My heart bucked in sadness.

I’d been kidding myself. I would miss Kes. I would miss our affinity and dirty conversations. I would miss the strength he gave me and the sexual power that came from talking like a masturbating minx.

Suddenly, I didn’t want to give him up.

He was the missing link—the brother so different from Jethro. Maybe I could have them both—have a balance of nasty and sweet.

My eagerness to uncover the truth waned.

Taking a step back, I whispered half-heartedly, “What is it? Your other name?”

Kes shook his head. “I don’t want to tell. It sucks.”

Kite doesn’t suck.

It was rather…sexy. Not Falcon or Eagle or Vulture.

Kite.

A sharp bite of a name. Violent and dangerous, but also whimsical, with its fellow paper-bow-flying counterpart.

I shifted closer, placing my hand over his. “Tell me.”

He froze, his eyes filling with uncertainty.

“You can say it,” I whispered. “I know I ruined it, but it’s best if you tell me.”

His forehead furrowed. “Ruined what?”

Before I could reply, he licked his lips and asked, “Promise you’ll still like me after I tell you?”

My heart skipped, fluttering faster at the thought of finally knowing. I couldn’t hide the ugly truth anymore. The lies I’d spun disintegrated. It didn’t matter I was Jethro’s plaything; I wasn’t prepared to give Kes up. Not when faced with all my future held.

I wanted to keep him. I would play two games. One twisting Jethro around my finger and another evolving Kite’s and my conversations to something deeper.

I could have both.

I nodded. “Yes.”

He sighed, his large shoulders rising and falling. “Fine. It’s Angus.”

My world screeched to a halt. “What?”

He shifted, his body wary. “I know it’s not the greatest name in the world, but it’s my given name. People called me Gus as a kid, which I hated. Luckily as a Hawk, we’re given nicknames. I demanded everyone use mine from my eighth birthday onward.”

My mind wheeled.

Pieces slowly realigned, slotting unwillingly into place.

No. It couldn’t be.

Horror filled my heart.

Could Kestrel be using another name or could it be worse…

Could Kite be Daniel? That psychopathic fiend who would die at my hand the moment I had the opportunity.

Holding my chest, I demanded, “What’s—what’s Daniel’s nickname?”

Kes smiled. “He hates it. That’s why he sticks to his true name.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Can’t say I blame him, though.”

Stop stalling!

“What is it?” I croaked.

His eyes tightened, staring at my shivering frame. “Buzzard. His nickname is Buzzard.”

I couldn’t breathe.

It’s not him.

Then…

Oh, my God.

The betrayal. The unfairness.

Please, no.

I swayed on my feet as a black gust of vertigo took me prisoner. I fell forward, crashing into Kes’s arms. “And Jethro’s?” My voice was just a whisper. “What’s his nickname?”

My heart roared. I felt sick. I felt suicidal.

Kestrel held me tight, his fingers digging into the bruises his brother left last night. The brother I’d believed was falling for my games.

But all along…was I falling for his?

Alarm at my sudden change of mood widened his eyes. “Nila, it’s okay. Sit down and breathe.” He tried to gather me close, but I flinched away. Blinking back the nausea and urge to topple, I breathed, “Tell me, Kes. What’s Jethro’s nickname?”

I waited with bated breath.

I cursed my flying heart.

I overheated with terror.

My sanity hinged on the answer Kestrel gave, but it was too late.

I already knew.

Of course, I knew.

Of course, it was true.

Why did I think otherwise?

My instincts blared an answer I didn’t want to believe.

The name reverberated with every panicked breath.

Kes placed his large, warm hands—so unlike his older brother’s icy ones—on my shoulders. “Jethro? He never goes by it. Never has.”

I don’t care. Tell me!

I swallowed back my scream. Impatience roared in my blood.

Kes sensed my unravelling. He narrowed his eyes, anger flushing his skin. “It’s Kite.”

I couldn’t do it.

I collapsed, landing in his arms.

He huddled me close, pressing a kiss against my forehead. “His nickname is Kite...but I think—I think you’ve known that all along.”

I wanted to cry, but no tears came.

I wanted to rage, but no sound remained.

Him.

He’d not only stolen my body but my mind and fantasies, too.

He’d infiltrated me when I still believed in princes and fairy tales. He’d corrupted me before he’d come to steal me.

Kite.

Jethro.

Kite is Jethro.

A wail clawed up my throat.

Not only had I given my body to my mortal enemy, but I’d unlocked my heart for him, too.

He’d gotten under my skin. He’d heard my innermost desires.

He was playing me like a master of duplicity.

My ridiculous game at making him fall in love with me pulverised.

I had no chance at winning.

Not when faced with the proficient firstborn Hawk.

My salvation was now my damnation.

Jethro is Kite…

…

And he’d successfully trapped me in an aviary of deceit.