Nila #2
I flinched, turning my head to see what it was.
At least we have drugs to stop infection. Back in the 1400s they wouldn’t have been so lucky.
Jethro’s fingers landed on my hair, stroking softly. “I’m going to fix you. Don’t move.”
“Fix me?” My voice came out scratching and sore from previous screaming. “You can’t fix me.”
He didn’t reply.
Instead, he dipped a soft white cloth into the bowl of clear brown liquid and wrung it out.
His eyes met mine then locked onto the mess that was my back. The moment he pressed the warm dampness against a cut, I burst into tears. The lashes roared with everlasting brimstone. “Stop! Ah, it hurts.”
His other hand held me down, petting my head as if I would endanger myself further. “I know it hurts, but I have to clean your wounds before I can bandage them.”
My mind twisted, trying to make sense of this. “Why—why are you the one tending to me?”
He took a while to reply, dipping the now hated rag into the disinfectant concoction and once again searing my skin with purgatory.
“Because you’re mine.”
I hated that reason. “I’m not yours.”
His voice came softly. “There are a lot worse things than being mine, Ms. Weaver. Being under my control means I’ll do anything to keep you safe. Keep you from other’s cruelty. Don’t throw my offer in my face without fully realising what I’m giving you.”
His touch dropped lower, gently dabbing my open sores.
My hands fisted the sheet, breathing hard through my nose. My head ached from tensing, and tears leaked unbidden from my eyes.
“I do know what you’re offering, and I don’t want it.”
The moment I said it, I wanted to snatch the words back.
I wanted him on my side.
I wanted him to care for me, so I could use him to exterminate his family like vermin.
“Are you sure?” he murmured. “Are you sure you want to throw away whatever’s building between us?”
I flinched, bracing myself to deny it. There’s nothing building between us.
You always were a hopeless liar, Nila.
How could I admit to an emerging connection between hunter and prey?
Jethro caressed my hair again. “I know what you’re thinking—I know you feel it, too.” He dropped his voice, whispering, “Don’t lie, Ms. Weaver. Not when we both know the truth. Do you deny we’re drawn to each other? Fighting more with ourselves than what we know we shouldn’t feel?”
Silence.
I had no reply. Nothing that wouldn’t give me away.
Jethro continued to rinse and dab, slowly but tenderly cleaning my smarting back.
“You’re strong. Stronger than anyone I’ve met. But still so na?ve, which makes you incredibly dangerous.” His touch pulled me deeper into his icy charm.
“What are you trying to do?” I pinched my lips together as a particular sharp lance of pain caught me by surprise. “Why are you saying all of this?”
A minute ticked past.
For the longest moment, I worried he would never reply, just like so many of my questions.
“I don’t know.” His answer ached with confession, cleaving open my chest.
Memories of what happened at the end of the debt repayment took my mind prisoner. “How could you do that? How could you come after hurting me so much?” I pressed my cheek harder against the bed as agony bonfired down my spine. “To get off on drawing blood makes you sadistic. It makes you twisted.”
Jethro paused, letting me go completely to swirl the cloth in the bowl. The brown liquid turned rusty from my blood. “Sadistic?”
I swallowed back a groan as I arched my neck, making eye contact with his turbulent golden gaze. “Yes. You enjoyed seeing me hurt from running in the woods. You like seeing me uncomfortable. Sadistic fits you perfectly.”
He sighed, looking at the dripping cloth in his hands. It stained his trousers, not that he seemed to care. “I’m many things but not a sadist.”
I scoffed, tearing my gaze away.
He didn’t deserve a reply when he blatantly lied.
Silence fell between us as he slowly continued to wash my back.
His hands dropped lower—to where he’d branded me with his orgasm.
I flinched. He sucked in a harsh breath as he reached the base of my spine. The residue stickiness felt foreign and unwanted. I wanted his pleasure gone. I didn’t want to wear evidence of his toxic mind games.
I whispered, “See the evidence? You came in seconds. You were so caught up in needing a release, you couldn’t even wait to subdue me to rape me.” I sighed. “Who needs to come so badly they’ll throw their dignity away and come like a little boy caught looking at Playboy for the first time?”
The memory of walking in on Vaughn doing exactly that was seared into my brain. I’d been scarred for life after that. Terrified of what it meant. Unable to understand what my brother was doing hurting himself in such a manner.
I’d bolted the moment I’d seen, and to this day, we’d never discussed it.
“You’re right,” Jethro whispered. “I disgraced myself. But I had no alternative. I couldn’t do what I wanted without hurting you more, and you’d already been hurt enough. It was the only way to see straight—to let the poison out of my system.”
“Poison?”
He chuckled sadly. “It’s one word for it.”
His touch landed on my spine again, wiping away the leftovers of his transgression. “If you want an apology, I won’t give it.”
“So I’m to accept you smearing your cum into my flayed back?”
I’m to accept that I belong to you, because I have no other choice?
He didn’t reply. Tossing the rag into the bowl, he grabbed a tube of cream beside it. Silently, he smeared the lotion onto my cuts.
I hissed as the cream stung before fading to a gentle throb. Every hair on my body bristled with how tenderly he cared for me. My heart raced for an entirely different reason as he meticulously smeared my entire back in balm.
The moment I was covered, he stood.
“Sit up,” he ordered.
Sit up? That was asking for the impossible. I couldn’t.
When I tried half-heartedly and swallowed a moan of agony, Jethro moved closer. “Let me help.”
He hovered, his scent of woods and leather scrambling my heart until I suffered a bad case of arrhythmia.
He didn’t touch me, only waited.
He’s waiting for your permission—transferring power back to you.
I frowned. What tricks was he playing? Who was this silent attentive man, and what the hell happened to the bastard I wanted to murder?
Jethro continued to watch me, his face tight and unreadable.
I nodded once.
With powerful hands, he helped me sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed.
Squeezing my eyes, I almost succumbed to pain-induced vertigo as I swayed in his grip.
“Trust me,” he murmured, reaching beneath my arms to scoop my weight, helping me stand.
I moaned as a few of the shallower cuts reopened, oozing painfully.
“Can you stand on your own?”
I wanted to berate him. Ridicule his kindness with what he’d done. But something in his eyes implored me to relax—to not fight him on this particular subject.
I blinked, completely lost as to his motives or plans.
Slowly, I nodded.
Leaving me to wobble in place, he pulled free a large bandage from a first-aid kit on the floor.
Between my teeth, I muttered, “You always intended to patch me up...afterwards?”
His eyebrow rose, locking me in his stare. “You still don’t understand.”
I struggled to suck in a decent breath with the intensity in his gaze. “I understand plenty.”
He shook his head. “No, you don’t. You think we’re going to torture and maim you for the next few years.
Yes, your future is set in stone, and yes, it will hang over your head until it’s finished.
But you have to keep living, keep experiencing.
You’re part of our family now. You’ll be treated as such. ”
My brain whirled.
“In answer to your question, I always intended to tend to your wounds, just like I will do with every debt. You’re mine.” His lips twitched. “In sickness and in health.”
Temper flared through my blood. “Don’t twist the vows of matrimony. This isn’t a marriage. This is the worst kind of kidnapping.”
His eyes hooded, hiding his thoughts. “A marriage is a kidnapping. After all, it’s a contract between two people.
” He came closer, unravelling the end of the bandage and holding it against my side.
My arms wrapped around my naked chest hating that even now, even after everything he’d done, my skin still rippled with want.
His face tightened and he grabbed my wrists, placing them forcibly by my sides. “Arms down.” His attention turned to holding the bandage against my ribcage. Once in place, he moved in a circle around me, wrapping my torso caringly in gauze. The soft fabric granted needed relief.
I bit the inside of my cheek. How was it that the gentlest of his touches killed me the most? I’d never been this light-headed without the curse of vertigo. Never been this confused by one person.
Jethro kept his eyes down as he waltzed around, slowly binding me with more of the bandage.
On his second rotation, he murmured, “In a way, we are married.”
I rolled my eyes, cursing my taut nipples. “In no universe would this be called a marriage.”
He sighed. “How do you explain the similarities then? The fact we were raised to be a part of each other’s lives, groomed by families, governed by dictators, and forced into a binding agreement against our wishes.”
The air solidified, turning from unseen substance to heavy bricks of truth. My head snapped up, eyes latching onto Jethro's golden ones. “What did you just say?”
The man he kept hidden blazed bright.
Against both our wishes.
That was the second time he’d said it.
Go on. Admit it. Say that all along you’ve been acting. That this is as repulsive to you as it is to me.