It felt…

…

Fuck, I don’t know.

Strange. Exotic. Not entirely distasteful but not fully delectable either.

A realm of uncertainty.

Nila slouched against the post as pain washed through her system. She panted, moans ragged in her chest.

I’d done my part, but she’d yet to do hers.

“Count!” I roared.

Flinching, she stood taller. Sniffing back unshed tears, she yelled, “One!”

Her voice hijacked my body; my cock throbbed.

I’d been prepared to do everything that I’d been ordered. After all, I wanted to. I’d been taught to crave this control. To hurt others.

But in that second, I craved something entirely different. I wanted to feel the heat of her whipped back against my front as I slid into her tightness and fucked her. I wanted her to scream for an entirely different reason.

Goddammit, what the hell is happening to me?

I struck again, sending the flogger flying. The soft leather bit into her back. “Count!” I snapped. Causing her pain helped ease a little of mine. This woman had the power to ruin me. That would never be permitted. I have to ruin her first.

She screamed again. “Two!”

My muscles already ached from being tense and on edge. My balls disappeared inside my body with the urge to come.

How the fuck will I get through this?

Two down.

Nineteen to go.

The number was written in the logbook of the county enforcer. Twenty-one lashings for Frank Hawk on account of thievery. His son, Bennett Hawk, was the stable boy who wrote up the Debt Inheritance.

Frank had been bleeding and left to freeze. Twenty-one oozing cuts turning to red frost before being deemed repentant for providing for his family.

Like for like.

Debt for debt.

That was my purpose.

That was the madness of my family. Not so much for principle or honouring our ancestor’s hardships—but to embrace the power we once lacked. Power we now wielded in perfect precision. The Weavers weren’t our agenda—it was the convenience of having an exclusive family tree destined to let us torment and torture, to keep our fangs dripping and claws sharp.

I raised my arm, sailing the knotted strands, tearing across Nila’s skin.

“Ah!” Her body shuddered with agony.

My cock stabbed painfully against my belt as Nila writhed on the pole. Dropping my hand, I grabbed the rock hard piece of flesh, rearranging its position so it didn’t snap itself in two in my trousers. “I don’t hear counting,” I growled.

“Three,” she cried.

Another lash.

“Four.”

Another.

“Five!”

With each one her back blistered, turning from un-whipped perfection to weeping rawness. The humidity of the conservatory drenched my shirt until liquid salt covered my skin. Every lash, savage hunger built inside, feeding off Nila’s pain and my own for wanting her.

My mouth watered to kiss her spine, to lick at the mess I’d caused.

I wanted to nuzzle her tears and whisper the truth of who I was.

You never can.

Just the mere thought of being honest petrified me. If I spoke it, how would I keep it hidden?

I should never have done this in such a hot place. I should never have attempted something so barbaric without shielding my mind properly. Every strike hurt Nila externally, but she couldn’t see what it did to my soul.

I struck again, breathing hard through my nose.

“Six,” Nila moaned.

The heat of the room seeped through my pores, twisting my heart, melting any frost I might’ve conjured. Every cold shard melted, turning into a cascade of warmth.

I swallowed as I drank in Nila’s exquisite form. The way she trembled but refused to let her knees buckle. The way her cheeks flushed and dark eyes sucked power from the room.

She was…magnificent.

I cocked my arm, sending the flogger to claw at her lower back.

Nila groaned loudly. “Seven.”

My arm ached as I struck again.

“Eight.”

And again.

“Nine.”

Nine down.

Twelve to go.

Shit, I was ready to collapse. I was ready to crawl to her feet and beg for her to forgive me.

Forgive me?

There was nothing to forgive. She deserved this!

I struck hard, forcing myself to stay ruthless.

“Ten!” she screeched.

My ears rang with her pain.

I gave up trying to control my emotions and surrendered.

The sooner I delivered her penance, the sooner I could undo the wrong I’d done.

Gritting my teeth, I picked up my pace. Delivering blow after blow, quicker and quicker.

“Eleven,” Nila sobbed.

“Twelve.”

“Thirteen.” Her voice broke and a glistening tear slicked down her cheek.

It cleaved my fucking heart.

“Fourteen!”

Sweat poured down my face as I hit again and again. My breathing matched hers. I’d never been so turned on in all my life or so fucking disgusted.

It made me face things I’d hidden deep, deep inside. It drew ghosts and terrors all into confrontation. I needed to run. Before I lost myself.

But I couldn’t leave. I knew in my heart, I wouldn’t be able to walk away from this without fucking her. There was nothing on this earth that would stop me from taking her the moment I’d finished the last lash. I didn’t care I wasn’t supposed to touch her until the Third Debt.

I don’t fucking care.

Everything was on the line. Everything that before had been enough to keep me subservient and in my father’s pocket, now wasn’t.

I’d been obedient. Loyal. Done everything he ever asked of me.

But that was before I found something I wanted more than what my future held.

My cock rippled with pre-cum as I struck.

“Fifteen!”

Nila was mine.

I wanted her.

I’d take her.

I grunted as I swung again, throwing my body weight into the strike.

“Sixteen.” She shifted, pressing her forehead against the post. Her hair stuck to the blood oozing on her shoulders. She gasped, dragging in air as if she drowned.

“Seventeen!” she screamed as I drew forth more crimson agony. Her abused, glowing skin split, sprinkling rusty droplets down her ribcage.

My eyes glazed; I stumbled closer.

I’m sorry.

You’re not sorry.

I needed to touch her. Heal her. Fuck her.

My arm bellowed as I delivered three in quick succession.

“Eighteen.”

“Nineteen.”

“Twenty!” Nila collapsed, her knees buckling. Her weight transferred entirely to the cuffs.

My arm fell by my side. I could barely stand. My lungs sucked in air as if I were dying; my heartbeat existed everywhere, vibrating in the plants around us, roaring in my ears.

One more.

Do it.

I looked to the camera hidden in the ferns. My father would watch this later and reprimand me for being affected. He would see the glaze in my eyes, the desire on my face. He would make me pay for not freezing her first. He would destroy all the warmth that now existed in my heart and take me back to the person I hated.

That was my future.

But this was our present.

This was ours.

I struck. Hard. Too hard. Too fucking hard. My mind couldn’t free itself from things Nila would never understand. Her world was black and white. Betrayal versus love. Truth versus deception.

My world was different. So very, very different.

“Twenty-one!” Nila let go of her frayed self-control. Sobs broke through her lips, tears cascading down ghost-white cheeks. “Please—no more. Stop.” She tried to stand but couldn’t find the strength. “Please! No—I can’t—”

Twenty-one.

The lucky number.

Her tears dragged dangerous compassion from my arctic soul, hauling me into humanness.

Bad things happened when I let myself get this way.

Terrible things that I couldn’t control.

But Nila was my undoing.

I think I’d known that the moment I tore her dress off in Milan. I had no strength to pretend—not after this. Not now.

I needed to take her. To fully claim her, so I could give in completely to the one thing I’d run from all my life.

If I took her now, there would be no turning back for me. Damn the fucking consequences.

Groaning, I threw away the flogger. “It’s over.”

Nila sobbed harder, gratefulness a sharp tang in the air.

With shaky fingers, I unbuttoned my jeans, moving forward into destruction and disrepair.

She was my prize.

Nothing would stop me from taking it.

I COULDN’T MOVE.

I couldn’t stand up, breathe, think, or feel without being bombarded by agony. I’d never hurt so much. Not even after a tortuous fifteen-hour day huddled over a sewing machine, or twelve hours on my feet in stilettos.

I’d never been subjected to pain such as this.

To a beating such as this.

And this was the easiest of the debts?

Terror clogged my throat at the thought of what the others entailed.

Movement caught my attention. I forced my tear-stained vision to focus on Jethro as he prowled to the ferns and reached into the foliage. What was he doing?

A second later he moved toward me¸ every step full of temper and thick, thick lust.

Shit.

I squirmed, tugging on the cuffs. Before the whipping, I would’ve willingly let him take me. I wanted him to.

But not like this.

Not like this!

Not when my brain wept with agony and my emotions were completely screwed up.

“No,” I groaned.

Jethro gritted his jaw, his hand disappearing into his jeans.

A keening wail clawed up my throat. I couldn’t let him fuck me. I hurt. So damn much. I wasn’t turned on or interested in the slightest. I couldn’t stomach being molested further.

You don’t have a choice.

My heart cracked at the thought. No, I didn’t have a choice. He would take me. There was nothing I could do about it.

Apart from…

Appeal to the warmth you know is inside him. Make him listen. Make him see.

Jethro’s hands landed on my hips, yanking me away from the post. My body was jelly, my skin slick with sweat and blood.

Shaking my head, I moaned, “Please don’t touch me.”

Jethro’s only response was rubbing his thumbs in slippery circles on my damp hips.

Clamping my thighs together, I forced my depleted body to obey. My ankles crossed awkwardly, my breathing tattered. “Jethro—please…don’t do this.”

He froze, panting harshly in my ear. “You want me. You’ve toyed with me and offered yourself up every time we fight.” His forehead rested against my nape, his breath scattering down my spine. “Yet, now that I’m willing to throw away the fucking rule book, you decide you don’t want me?” His voice dripped with venom. “Make up your damn mind, woman.”

His knee tried to wedge between my legs, working its way to widen my thighs. I used every ounce of remaining strength to lock my knees tighter.

“Let me give it to you. Don’t take it. Not by force. Don’t make me ha—hate you more than I already do.” Tears torrented from the corners of my eyes.

Jethro sucked in a breath. “Goddammit.” His voice was alive and full of need. More alive than I’d ever heard him. Gone was the cold precision and careful calculation. He was hot-blooded and raging, and some part of me was flattered by his desire.

He wanted me.

A lot.

That power turned the burning fire on my back into something twisty and wrong. But I didn’t succumb. I couldn’t.

If I did, there would be no hope for me. No chance at ever redeeming myself if I let him take me like this.

I wanted to seduce him.

I wanted the power of winning.

This…this would be rape, and it would reinforce in his head that he could take whatever he damn well wanted and suffer no repercussions.

“Stop it!” I screamed as his hands drifted down my front. The fight inside intensified, blotting out the awful radiating pain in my back.

Something hot and silky nudged against the small of my spine. “Christ’s sake, woman. You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

What is that?

All senses shot to where he stroked me with a hard throbbing…

It’s his erection.

My heart leapt into my throat.

Jethro rocked harder, his body heat scalding every inch. His naked cock lurched against my bloody back.

I hissed as pain intensified.

He grunted as I jolted in the bindings. “Please—” I begged.

The tips of my fingers scrabbled at the post as I tried to keep my balance. His knee worked harder to unlock my thighs.

“You can’t stop this. Neither of us can.”

The truth in his voice daggered my heart.

If we did this, we would slip from humanity and turn over our souls. We’d become animals, forever fighting and cursing each other.

My back flared with flames as his arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me from the post and into his twisted embrace. I wriggled against him, blocking out the agony. “Jethro!”

His cock nudged me again, bruising me with his need.

“Shit, let me—”

“I won’t! Not like this.”

He groaned, a savage mixture of a growl of frustration and grunt of regret.

My vision blacked out then returned, masking the pain and encouraging me to drift. I expected a longer war. In complete truthfulness, I expected to lose and be taken like a common slave against the whipping post with my blood smearing between us.

It was better to give in—get it over with.