But I won’t.
I wanted what I’d inherit on my thirtieth birthday. I was selfish, greedy, and vain. I wanted Nila, too. I believed I could have both.
If only I had more time.
You don’t have more time. Not today.
Securing her other ankle, I stood.
I waited for her to look at me—to give me some sign she understood that we were in this together. That despite what I did, thetattoos overrode my loyalty to my family and bound me to her.
My Weaver.
Her Hawk.
I waited another second, and another.
But she never opened her eyes. Her forehead furrowed harder, her fists curled tighter, and she withdrew from me until there was no emotion left—just a tiny dying star that once had shone so bright.
Leaving me heartless and bleeding, she gave me nothing else to do.
I slipped into my role as torturer and began.
Chapter Eighteen
Nila
––––––––
PLEASE, GRANT ME strength.
Please, grant me power.
Please don’t let me scream.
Fettered to the chair, I kept my eyes squeezed as tight as possible—so tight—no light entered, no swirling colours from behind my eyelids. Just pitch black darkness.
When Jethro looked at me with agony in his gaze, I’d pitied him. He held so many secrets in his golden depths. So many rights. So many wrongs.
I could have a lifetime with him and never understand.
But in that moment, Ididunderstand, and I both despised and bled for him. He was supposed to give me strength by making me hate him. I wanted to rue him as much as I did the day I found my ancestor’s graves. Hate would’ve kept me warm and alive.
But he’d stolen that by looking destroyed, crippled with conflicting loyalties.
It made me fall harder.
It made me slam to the bottom of my feelings for him.
I wanted to praise him for letting me into his heart. I wanted to tell him I had the capacity to love him in return.
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
He didn’t deserve it.
And then, I found my hate again.
