Why did Jethro want me to use it? Wasn’t he jealous that I had an affinity with Kes/Kite? You have to put a stop to that. It wasn’t fair to confuse Kestrel by flirting with him via messages only to pull away in person.
I had too much to juggle with dealing with Jethro; I couldn’t enter into another masquerade with his brother.
Grabbing the device, I skimmed through my emails and opened text messages.
There were a few from Vaughn, a couple from my father, and one only an hour old from Kite.
My heart skipped a beat as I read.
Kite007: I dreamed of kissing you last night.
I reclined against the pillows. Ordinarily, I would’ve loved to respond and tease. Now, I felt as if I was cheating on Jethro.
Needle&Thread: Sorry I haven’t been in touch. I—I think…it’s time to end this. Don’t you? We both know who each other is. It’s too complicated to keep pretending.
I chewed on the inside of my cheek. My heart ached at pushing him away, especially as I’d relied on Kite to be neutral. Giving him up, even though I knew the truth, seemed like I’d pulled away from the last remaining part of my past.
Kite007: End it? As in the thought of sleeping with me was so abhorrent, you’re done?
Needle&Thread: I just…I’m sorry.
Kite007: Fine.
Needle&Thread: We’ll still be friends. I’ll still see you every day.
Kite007: Sometimes, having a relationship entirely based on seeing each other stops us from learning the truth. Sometimes, the only way to see that truth is to block off all other senses but the mind. Goodbye, Needle. Guess you weren’t ready to see the truth after all.
Four hours had passed since Kite’s text, and I still hadn’t shed the pain inside my soul. What had he meant? And why wouldn’t he reply to any of my messages?
I’d frantically sent text after text, asking for forgiveness and an explanation.
But nothing.
It was only hunger that drove me from my room in search of lunch.
I hadn’t seen Jethro again, and the burn between my legs was the only reminder that something irreversible had happened between us last night.
Irreversible and responsible for me hurting Kes and ruining any chance of having another Hawk on my side.
Goosebumps scattered along my arms at the thought of bumping into him and the awkwardness that would follow.
I might’ve lost Kestrel, but I’d somehow chipped into Jethro’s arctic shell. No matter what Cut or the debts did to me, no one would be able to ruin what I’d found with one of their own.
I had no clue what it all meant, but Jethro Hawk was no longer Cut’s little plaything. He was mine. And despite the guilt I felt at potentially using Jethro to save my life, I knew I would do it. Eventually, I hoped to bring Jethro deeper into my spell. I would make him protect me. I would somehow survive this Debt Disaster.
We’d started as enemies and still were, but now…now we were enemies with a common goal. A driving need to fuck and devour.
A strange combination of delivering pain and pleasure.
It wasn’t ideal. It probably wasn’t healthy.
But it was the best damn relationship I’d ever had.
Deciding to make my way to the kitchens, rather than have staff wait on me, I entered the realm of baking and home, inhaling deep the delicious smells of rosemary and garlic.
One of the maids, who I recognised with curly blonde hair, looked up. Her pretty button nose and brown eyes were open and honest. “Hungry, miss?”
I nodded, drifting forward and running a fingertip through the dusting of flour on the countertop. Hawksridge Hall had been updated with every modern convenience imaginable but still managed to retain its heritage. The kitchen was no exception, with a brilliant blend of old world and new. Stainless countertops rested on rickety handmade cupboards. Ancient flues, stained black from coal smoke, loomed over top-of-the-line stovetops and ovens. The massive rotisserie was still used over a large open fire, and a huge black pot dangled on a tripod in the corner. Mortar and pestles lined the windowsill with herbs and flowers drying above.
The maid kindly wrapped up a fresh baguette with a dollop of fresh cream and strawberry jam, and shoved a packet of salt and vinegar crisps into my hand.
A random meal, but I took it with gratitude. “Thank you.”
She smiled. “Don’t be outside too long today. A storm is coming, according to BBC. The fine weather is over.”
Is that a metaphor for my life? That my summer is past and now I have to survive the winter?
Nodding my assurances, I climbed the steps to the main part of the house and exited Hawksridge by the front door.
The maid was right. On the horizon rested heavy clouds, black and ominous. Regardless, I wanted to stretch my legs; fresh air never failed to bring clarity to my world.
And I needed clarity after Kite’s message. Every time I thought about it, my heart squeezed in regret.
My jewelled flip-flops, cut-off shorts, and turquoise t-shirt were hardly suitable clothing, especially as small raindrops splashed from above, but I refused to go back inside.
“Nila!” Kes appeared from the side of the house, his boots crunching on the gravel as he jogged closer.
Shit.
As much as I wanted to confront him, I had no clue what to say. Breathing shallowly, I hoped the faint bruises Jethro had left on my upper arms didn’t show.
Kes came to a stop, his eyes drifting over me. “Where are you going?”
I frowned, drinking in his face, seeking the hurt that had been in his message. His gaze was blank, locked against any cypher or clues.
How is he hiding what happened between us?
Unable to understand, I shrugged. “Nowhere in particular. Just getting some air.”
“Mind if I join you?”
I shrugged again. It was best to clear the air sooner rather than later. “Sure.”
Kes fell in step beside me, his gaze rising to the black clouds on the horizon. His silence was heavy, judging.
“Where were you going?” I asked. Were you running after me?
His golden eyes landed on mine. My stomach twisted, thinking how fiery Jethro’s had been last night as he pushed himself inside me.
“I was just going to the stables. There’s a polo match next week—wanted to make sure my horse is shipshape.” Kicking a pebble, he added, “Bloody Jet always wins at polo. This time, I’m going to kick his arse.” His voice was sharp, completely unlike his usual ease.
I wanted to bring up the message but had no idea how.
Instead, I took a bite of my baguette. Once I swallowed, I mumbled, “I’ve never watched a polo game. Do you think I’ll be allowed to come?”