Second Debt

Bloody woman.

Catching up to her, I captured her hand.

My heart skipped at the simple touch. Up until now, I’d always grabbed her elbow or arm—keeping our roles perfectly clear. So, what was I doing grabbing her hand like an equal?

Her fingers twitched then looped purposely through mine.

My cock hardened and I slammed to a halt. Christ, I wanted her.

Her nails were long and the tips suddenly sliced into the back of my hand.

I hissed between my teeth. The pinpricks of pain sent me reeling into a memory of her clutching my back as I thrust deep inside her.

Her fingers turned white as she tightened her grip. I didn’t jolt as two fingernails broke my skin and drew blood. This was a perfect example of her undoing. She didn’t understand me. Didn’t understand that she’d just given me a gift better than anything. With pain, came relief, and with relief, came snow.

My heart slowed its beat. My temper faded. Any remaining fire dwindled to nothing. “Thank you for reminding me of my role in your life, Ms. Weaver. What just happened won’t happen again.”

I won’t be so weak as to kiss you again.

I won’t be so stupid to believe you can see me.

She tilted her chin. “Good.”

I slipped into the dutiful firstborn son. “Kindly remove your claws.”

A coy smile played with her lips. “My claws?” She blinked innocently. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Lowering my head, I murmured, “You know exactly what I mean.”

Your claws around my fucking heart.

Untangling our fingers, I snagged her elbow. The throb where her nails had punctured helped me focus. I’d been blinded by her. Hypnotised by a promise of more—of a connection I never dared dream of.

It was a lie.

And I was sick of being used.

Striding down the corridor, dragging my prey through the house, I said, “No more, Ms. Weaver. No more games. We’re through.”

The solar.

A room hidden on the second floor located down twining corridors. Glass cases lined the hallways displaying ancient crochet and needlepoint. Black Diamond brothers and visitors were prohibited from this floor.

It was feminine territory—housing only my grandmother and sister, along with my father’s study and private rooms. His bedroom was up another level in one of the turrets. Fortified and armed, ready for a war that never came.

Nila didn’t speak as I guided her up the massive spiral stone staircase in the east wing. She’d gone peculiarly obedient but lagged behind me; I practically had to drag her.

“Where are you taking me?” Her eyes darted around the second floor as we stepped onto the landing.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Gritting my teeth, I pulled her forward.

“Did a Weaver do those?” she asked, jerking me to a stop to stare at an embroidery of Hawksridge Hall bathed in golden sunlight with wild horses prancing on the front lawn.

“No.”

Her eyes met mine. “Who did then?”

“No one you need to know about.” We moved in testy silence to the large double doors at the end.

“Is this where you sleep? Upstairs, I mean?”

My head whipped to face her. “You’re asking where my quarters are?” Dragging her close, I whispered hotly in her ear. “Why? So you can sneak inside and fuck me? Or perhaps murder is more on your mind.”

She vibrated with anger. “Like I would tell you.”

My palm itched to strike again. I’d never been a violent person, preferring to intimidate with winter rather than with fists, but goddammit, she made it hard to remember just who I was and what was expected of me.

I’d lost myself.

I’m fucking floundering.

“Stop asking questions.” Splaying my hand on the doors, I pushed them open.

Her gaze went wide, sweeping around the large space. The solar was masculine in both use and décor, and frankly, rather drab. Heavy oak panels, with carved hawks and feather wreaths, covered the ceiling. The walls were gold-gilded leather, oppressing the space with dark brown while the carpet was blood red.

Slouchy black couches rested in clusters, some by the huge fireplace, and others by the lead-light window. An oversize coffee table took centre place with thick glass imprisoning the bleached bones of my father’s old dog, Wrathbone.

A slow clap filled the space. Daniel smirked, his eyes locking onto Nila. “You didn’t get lost after all. Pity, I’d just volunteered to be the search party.”

My spine locked. Shit, not only had my father decided to be present for this, but he’d invited Kes and Daniel, too. The thought of Daniel seeing me around Nila both enraged and terrified.

He’d always seen how different I was and used my flaws to hurt me.

Nila subtly moved closer to me, never taking her gaze off my younger brother.

So, she hates me but still expects me to protect her.

I wanted to pull away and leave her on her own. She deserved it. But no matter what just happened, she was still mine and with ownership came responsibility. Her welfare was my concern.

“About time you two arrived.” Cut leaned against one of the embossed walls, his posture relaxed. In his hand was a tumbler of cognac. Not even midday and he had hard liquor in his belly. My father wasn’t a drunkard. He would never give up control enough to be under the influence. He just indulged in things he wanted, when he wanted them.

Cut’s gaze went to Nila. “Pleasure to see you, my dear. I heard you’ve recently relocated to the Weaver quarters. How are you finding your new accommodations?”