Fourth Debt
Page 37Jaz sucked in a breath. “I hope so. If Kes and Jet make it, there will be hope for all of us.” Her eyes captured mine, dark thoughts lurking in the depths. “One thing’s for sure. It’s no longer Hawk versus Weaver. We’re the new generation. We’ve inherited the sins of our forebears.
“But we’ll be the ones who will change history.”
NILA LAUGHED.
I looked up from my report on the latest smuggling shipment and covered my eyes from the overwhelming sunshine behind her.
She stood haloed in golden warmth—like the goddess I worshipped daily. She was ethereal, magical…mine.
“What’s so funny?”
She skipped to my side and took my hand. The instant her skin touched mine, my heart tripped over. Even after all this time together, even after entwining our lives completely, I was still hopelessly smitten. She was my queen—the custodian of my soul—just like I’d promised when I’d given in to her the night I told her everything.
With a tender smile, she placed my hand on her growing belly.
My jaw clenched with a mixture of all-consuming love, pride, and protectiveness.
She’s carrying my child.
We made this unborn creature together.
Half her, half me. It would be a Weaver and Hawk. Seamstress and diamond smuggler.
Ours.
“He kicked.”
“Really?” I pressed my hand harder.
Nila’s face fell. “He’s stopped.”
I gathered her close, pressing a kiss on her cotton-covered bump. “You keep saying he. We haven’t found out the sex yet. It could just as easily be a girl.”
She shook her head, her long black hair soaking up the sun as if she somehow harnessed its power. I loved her hair. I loved how free it made her.
“It’s a boy.”
Tugging her onto my lap, I kissed her lips. This woman utterly beguiled me. “What if I don’t want a boy? What if I want a little girl who is as perfect as you?”
“He’s coming to.”
“Move aside, please.”
Loud beeps filled my ears. Pain swamped. Heaviness shackled. Agony battered from all directions.
Fuck, make it stop.
I didn’t like it here. I wanted to go back. Return to where the sunshine glowed and my wife carried my child.
More pain crescendoed. I gave up fighting.
Fuck, make it stop…make it stop!
My heart accelerated, shoving me head-first into my wish.
With a sigh, I let go of my body, ignored the summons trying to drag me back to life, and fell.
I nodded. “More than anything.”
“And what if I want a son?”
“You’ll just have to wait.”
Nila giggled. “Wait?”
I pulled her close, inhaling her soft scent of wild-flowers and summer. “Until we have another one.”
“Mr. Ambrose. Come on.”
The warm illusion shattered again.
I tensed, preparing for pain to welcome me back. There was no pain. Only a fog. A metallic blanket blocked the fever and excruciating agony. For the first time in forever, I could think without being handicapped by suffering.
With the discomfort gone, it opened the gates for everything else to become known.
My body was tired. Beyond tired. Bone weary and sluggish.
I don’t want to be here.
I missed my dream world where everything was sunshine and smiles, away from whatever memories snarled on the outskirts of comprehension.
I want to forget…just for a little longer.
Sleep gripped my mind, tugging me backward, slipping me under the surface and delivering me back to Nila.
I nuzzled her neck. “Greedy? I wouldn’t call it greedy.”
Her lips parted as I trailed kisses up her throat, skirting her chin, hovering over her mouth. Her breath cracked and shortened, waiting in anticipation of a kiss. “Oh? What would you call it?”
I paused over her lips. I wanted so badly to kiss her. To drink her taste and pour my love down her throat. I wanted so desperately to heal her. To forget about the past and remind both of us that it was over. That we were free.
“I call it building a better future.”
Nila’s head tipped back. I captured her nape, keeping her locked in my control. My mouth watered, still millimetres from kissing her.
“How many?” she whispered as my lips finally touched hers.
My tongue slipped into her mouth, tangoing with hers, dancing the same dance we knew by heart. I would recognise Nila even if all my senses were stolen. I would know her if I was blind, deaf, and mute. I would always know her because I could feel her. Her love had a certain flavour—a sparkling liquor that intoxicated me whenever I let down my walls and felt what she felt, lived what she lived.
I murmured, “As many as we can.”
“Mr. Ambrose, you have to open your eyes.”
That damn voice again. And that name…it was wrong. That wasn’t my name.
Once again, I tried to ignore the tugging, wanting to fall backward into sleep, but this time the gates were shut. I couldn’t slip.
I hovered there—in an in-between world where darkness steadily became lighter and the world slowly solidified.
The pain was still blanketed, the tiredness not as consuming, but there was strangeness everywhere.