He laughed, absently stroking Squirrel’s head as the dog plonked himself by Jethro's feet. “Advantage? I wouldn’t go that far, Ms. Weaver.”
My skin crawled at the use of my last name. He didn’t use it out of consideration or even because the address was my identity—he used it to keep the barrier between us cold and impenetrable.
What is he so afraid of? That my first name will make him waver in his ludicrous family’s goals?
“Why don’t you call me Nila?” I leaned forward, not caring I was naked or stuck in a tree. I had the power for however long I kept him talking. “Are you afraid using my first name is too personal? That you’ll start to feel something for me?”
He sneered. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“What you did at the stables. Showing me sides of you that you’ve kept hidden, in the hopes it will spark some sort of humanness in me.” He shook his head. “I’m not someone you can manipulate.”
A small smile stretched my lips. “I already did.” Gathering my leaf-tangled hair, I draped it over my shoulder. The last dregs of sunshine disappeared behind a cloud, leaving us in green shadows.
“What?” His nostrils flared, his temper sparking like an uncontrolled blaze.
I smiled, enjoying his annoyance. He claimed he was cold-hearted and impervious. He lied.
I’ll show him. I’ll prove he’s as ill-equipped to play this charade as I am.
“Do you want me to paint it out for you? To show you how hypocritical you are?”
He grabbed Squirrel’s ear, making the dog flinch. Squirrel moved away, an angry reproof in his black eyes. “Careful, Ms. Weaver,” Jethro whispered. “Everything you say up there will have consequences when you get down here.”
I refused to let fear quiet me. Not when I had the freedom to speak—no matter how brief.
“Nila. My name isNila. Say it. It seems we’re going to be spending a lot of time together, so you might as well save yourself breath when you need to summon me. Or do you like reminding yourself that I’m a Weaver? Your so-called hated enemy. Do you need to reinforce thatknowledge every time? How about that beloved silence you keep claiming you wield? You think you hide so well. Listen up. You don’t.”
Jethro backed away, crossing his arms. A dark, unreadable expression etched his face. “I call you by your last name out ofrespect.” He spat the last word. “We aren’t friends. We aren’t even acquaintances. We’ve been thrown into this together, and it’s up to me to make the fucking rules on how you’ll be treated.”
We both froze, breathing hard.
Oh, my God.
He’s been thrown into this.My mind charged ahead with questions.
Did he not want this?
Was he forced, same as me?
Jethro hissed, “Get out of the fucking tree. I want to be home before dark.”
Hoarding my questions and the small furl of hope, I pointed at the sky. “It’s already dusk. How long did you hunt me, Jethro? How long did you search for a vulnerable, weak, little Weaver?”
He ignored my questions, focusing on the last part of my sentence. “You think you’re weak?”
“No,youthink I’m weak.”
“How so?”
I straightened my shoulders. There was a...genuineness in his tone. The animosity between us suddenly...disappeared. It took me a few seconds to answer. My voice was quieter, less abrasive. “You think I’ll put up with what you plan to do with me—that I won’t fight? That I won’t do everything in my power to stop you from killing me?”
His face battled with a smirk and understanding. He settled on a frosty grimace. “Of course, I expect it. If you didn't, I’d say you were already dead inside. No one wants to die.”
I had no reply to that. A chill darted over my skin. For the first time, we were talking. So much had happened since we met. There was so much between us that it felt as if we’d been fighting this war for years—which maybe we had, and we just didn’t know it.
“What do you mean to do with me?” I whispered, dropping all pretence and opting for truth.
