I knew what it did to me. I knew how to survive with the sessions, but ever since Nila had arrived, it hadn’t been enough.
Nothingwas enough anymore.
“You’re not fine, Jethro, but I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. One more chance, son. Don’t make me regret it.” Striding past, he ordered, “Go fetch your Weaver. It’s time to fix your mess.”
* * * * *
Nila looked up as I entered her quarters.
Her onyx eyes cleaved right through my heart. I slammed to a stop as she glowered. Words flew between us, but none were spoken aloud.
I don’t want you here. You disgust me.
I want you to obey. You terrify me.
I understood her temper, but it didn’t mean I had to take it. It wasn’t me who’d slaughtered and buried her family.
I fumbled for my ice and strode into the room.
Nila looked away, cutting me off from her thoughts. She sat in the middle of the huge oblong table, surrounded by material and brightly coloured pins.
She’s sewing.
I didn’t know why that comforted me, but it did. She’d returned to her craft because it was a part of her. She’d found a way to stay fundamentally true to her family, all while I drifted further and further from mine. Where I was melting and losing myself, she was forming into a defiantly stronger person.
You’re doing that.
It was because of me that she’d grown. Because of who I was and what circumstances we found ourselves in. I shouldn’t take such perverse happiness from that, but I did. It wasn’t her father or twin who’d made her grow and see her own potential.
It was her sworn enemy.
The man who’d tasted and fucked her.
The man whose heart thumped uncomfortably alive whenever she was near.
I couldn’t work out the complex mess inside. One moment, I hated her for dragging me from where I’d existed all my life, but the next, I wanted to kiss her for showing me an alternative to how I’d been living.
My ice couldn’t compete with her.
And what was worse, I didn’t want it to.
“What are you doing in here?” Suspicion, lust, and anger buffeted me in her stare, turning me to stone.
Before she’d arrived, I’d been a ball of twine—carefully packaged with no loose ends in sight. But Nila, with her needles and scissors, had somehow found a thread and pulled. Every tug undid the tightly wrapped nucleus of who I was, and I battled with fighting against the change or just giving up and letting it happen.
I couldn’t remember the last time it got this bad. But it was my own fucking fault. I shouldn’t have let myself slide so far from my safety net. Who knew if I could find my way back?
When I didn’t move or speak, Nila placed the swatch of turquoise cloth onto the table and narrowed her gaze. “Either speak or leave, I can’t be around you right now.”
She couldn’t be around me? How aboutIcouldn’t be aroundher?
Silence granted me a reprieve. I stood taller, locking my muscles against the haunting memory of her yesterday.
My eyes fell to her hands. Her index finger had a bright pink plaster on the tip—no doubt from pricking herself with a needle while working.
Needle.
What would she do if I were to suddenly call her Needle? What if I just admitted I was Kite? Would she hate me for the deception or be grateful that she no longer had to pretend?
