It wasn’t a happy sigh or even satisfied he’d won—more like a weary, ancient sigh speaking of a man who showed nothing but violence. “My son loves you, Nila, and not a day will go by he won’t remember this cave or your death. That is your legacy to him.”
Wrapping his arms around me, he whispered, “Don’t worry, I’ll give you time to say goodbye.”
Pulling back, he smiled at Jethro. “Now we all know what to expect, let’s begin.”
Chapter Eleven
Jethro
I’D LOVED HER for months.
Yet it seemed like my entire life.
I’d fallen for her as an adult.
Yet she’d intrigued me as a child.
She’d been born for me.
I’d been born for her.
We were linked. Joined by fate and history and destiny. Star-crossed, doomed from the start, absolutely forbidden lovers.
Bound and gagged and utterly fucking helpless, I faced the truth head-on. I’d entertained fantasies of living a normal life. Creating my own family, putting an end to grief and wretched revenge.
But I think I’d always known that no matter what we did, no matter how hard we fought, no matter what we sacrificed, there would be no other ending than the one signed in blood by my ancestors.
I’d said I’d loved her.
I’d proved I’d loved her.
I’d vowed to love her forever.
But the Debt Inheritance was too strong.
It wanted what it’d been given time and time again. Fate marched us faster and faster, stealing everything we’d promised.
Not many people had lived in hell. Not just visited for a while, but actually slept and ate and breathed there. As I watched my father manhandle my woman, the girl I wanted to marry, I set up home in hell. I breathed its sulphur air. I ate its brimstone hate. And I gave my soul over to the devil because what good was righteousness when only evil prevailed?
I was a demon’s son.
Thedemon’s son.
Wrought in fire and moulded by sins. My blood forged with terror; my body formed from mistakes and wrong turns. Debts. Contracts. Vengeance.
And no matter how I raged to be free, to end my predetermined inevitability, I couldn’t find a way to triumph.
Nila had fixed me.
She’d helped me escape my purgatory.
She’d been the nebula of perfection. The freedom of flying with no wings. Granting wind to a kite with untethered strings.
I’d soared. I’d rejoiced.
And now, I’d fallen.
Whatever Cut would do, whatever he would make me witness and Nila endure, I wouldn’t walk away intact.
