“I don’t—I don’t understand. You weren’t ill.”
“You wouldn’t understand. No one can understand another’s problems. All you need to know is that I’m cured and I won’t make the same mistakes again.”
I took a step back, goosebumps scattering over my body. “Don’t say that. I’m in love with you. Something like that cannot be undone—”
“Love is a chemical imbalance, Ms. Weaver. I am no longer imbalanced.” He came closer. “Don’t get cold feet on your invitation. You promised you would come, and you don’t want to give me a reason to punish you so soon…do you?”
My skin pinpricked with panic. That sentence should’ve dripped with eroticism. But it wasn’t. It was cold…lifeless…like him.
Snapping his fingers, Jethro held out his hand. He kept his digits curled slightly so I couldn’t see the tattoo marks on the tips. “Come. I want to be back at Hawksridge before sunrise.”
I eyed his hand, taking another step backward. My instincts blared that all of this was wrong. My careful planning of seducing him and carrying his baby was obsolete if he’d turned back into the monster who’d stolen me from Milan.
“What did they do to you?” I breathed. “This can’t be real.”
He snorted. “They?” Stalking forward, he snatched my wrist. “They did nothing.” Yanking me forward, he slammed me against his body. “You did this, pretty little Weaver. Don’t blame anyone else for your flaws. I no longer do. I’ve accepted them. I’ve dealt with them. And now it’s time to go.”
He pulled me again, knocking me off balance. Pressing a hand against the chilly zipper of his jacket, I said, “I’ll come with you. I’ve told you that. But first let me write a letter to V.”
Jethro sneered. “No. No more letters or scams. The whole world believes they’re privy to our private business. Your family has done enough damage without telling your brother how to rescue you again.”
I shook my head, my knees shaking.
What had he done?
Why is he so different?
He was scaring me and not in a good ‘I want to blow you and then let you fuck me kind of way’ more of a ‘I’m thinking of stabbing you in the heart to see if you’ve misplaced it’ kind of way.
“It’s for those reasons that I’m leaving him a letter.” Twisting my wrist, I broke his hold and beelined for my wardrobe.
I was about to leave this house, this bedroom, this world. My world.
For good this time.
I had no intention of coming back.
I would either win or lose.
My destiny was elsewhere. I had no urge to pack anything—most of my things were still at Hawksridge anyway. Seeing as Jethro was in leather, I assumed he’d come on his two-wheeled death machine.
Rifling through my drawers, I quickly pulled on a pair of black skinny jeans, a black sweater, and tapered leather jacket to match his ensemble. We were both creatures of the night.
Jethro crossed his arms, glaring as I slipped on a pair of knee-high boots and stomped past him. “I’m leaving a note, and then we’ll go.” Not waiting for Jethro to reply, I headed toward my desk and tore off a piece of paper from my sketchpad. With my scalp prickling, I selected a ballpoint and tried to concentrate.
A rustle of denim sounded as Jethro came closer. His large bulk seethed behind me, watching my every move.
I waited for that spark—the lust that was always beneath the surface. But once again, there was nothing but ice.
Sighing heavily, I wrote:
Dear V and Dad.
I love you. I hope you know that.
The past few weeks with you have been tough, but I love you both so much. I don’t want to seem ungrateful for your hard work rescuing me, but this is something I have to do.
Don’t come get me.
Don’t worry on my behalf.
I have a plan.
If it works, then I’ll see you again.
If it doesn’t, then I’ll forever be your Nila.
I didn’t sign it. I just folded it in half and left it unaddressed on the table.
I spun to face my kidnapper for the second time in my short life. At least this time, I wasn’t petrified of the unknown. I knew exactly what I’d agreed to and how hard it would be.
Jethro clenched his jaw. “What plan, Ms. Weaver?”
I suffered a mental image of him thawing and falling in love with me all over again—no hidden lies, no secrets. I imagined him holding a black-haired baby girl with a combination of his perfect white skin and my tanned heritage. A Hawk-Weaver. A new legacy that would erase the sins of her forbearers.
Am I strong enough to make that happen?
“No plan. Just a hope.”
“Well, whatever hope you have, you might as well leave it here. It’s useless baggage that will only upset you.” Silently, he stole my wrist again and carted me from my room.
I’d thought he’d sneaked in using my window—after all, it was a fairly easy climb up the façade of the manor—but he’d been bolder. He’d used the front door.
The two servants we employed had their rooms downstairs. It was sad to think even now, in this day and age, our help was still housed in the basement. Had we learned nothing from our past transgressions?
They have an apartment down there. Private suites, a bathroom…it’s not as if it’s a dank cellar.
That was the truth, but it still couldn’t hide that they lived below us. Below our high and mighty rank as Weavers.