She’s protecting him. She thinks there’s no hope.
“Oh, and Nila?”
My eyes met Jasmine’s. She said in a monotone, “Don’t ever come back here. Leave my brother alone. Let this madness end. I’m begging you.”
It wasn’t until I’d descended the stairs and entered my own quarters that I unravelled the message in her final words.
Let this madness end.
She’s asking me to let them win.
She’s asking me to die.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jethro
SLINGING A TOWEL around my waist, I exited my steamy bathroom and stalked across my bedroom to get the first aid kit.
My knuckles were torn, I could barely see out of my right eye, my lip was split, and countless bruises mottled my torso. But fuck, I felt better than I had in months.
I shook like a damn junkie needing another fix, but I relished the win and adrenaline of playing God over someone else for a change.
Passing the full-length mirror, I cringed at my reflection. It didn’t look like I’d been the victor, but I was still here and they weren’t.
Suck on that, arseholes.
Grabbing the first aid kit from the 17thcentury dresser, I returned to my bed to begin repairs.
I didn’t need stitches or serious medical care, but I did need antibacterial cream and a few butterfly strips to hold the cut on my forehead together while it healed.
Damn Cannibal cunts—thinking they could kill me when I was alone. Their president would have a nasty surprise tomorrow when the local farmer inspected his potato field and found three new varieties sprouting instead.
I’d left a calling card on each—a single worthless diamond. Courtesy of my family and our power over immortality.
There would be no retaliation. They were on our turf—fair and fucking simple.
My muscles ached, my head pounded, but my mind was blessedly clear. I could think straight—free from emotions and pressure. I hadn’t run into anyone since my arrival.
A new prescription for pills rested on my bedside table. As much as I loved this clarity, I couldn’t stomach it come morning. I made a note to take one the moment I’d finished patching myself up.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I popped the lid of the first aid kit and selected a tube of antiseptic.
My door flung wide.
Shit, I forgot to lock the damn thing.
I looked up, expecting to see Kes, my father, or even Daniel popping in for a three a.m. chat. Instead...Nila fucking Weaver stood frozen on the threshold.
I dropped the tube of cream.
She brandished her stolen dirk and a brass candlestick from one of the tables lining the halls. Her hair was untethered—a curtain of midnight—and her black camisole and shorts made my mouth instantly dry up.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
What thehell?
I stood up instantly.
