I couldn’t have her passing out from lack of oxygen. She had to stay with me. We were in this together.
Gathering the knotted torture device, I murmured, “Do you repent? Do you take ownership of your family’s sins and agree to pay the debt?”
Nila pressed even harder against the post, as if she could morph into the wood and disappear.
When she didn’t reply, I coaxed, “I asked you a question, Ms. Weaver.” Running the flogger through my hands, I stepped closer. “Do you?”
She sucked in a breath, her ribcage straining against her blemished skin. “Ye—yes.” Her head bowed, and her lips went white.
I nodded. It was on record. I’d asked and she’d agreed—that was all I needed.
Taking my place for deliverance, I murmured, “I want you to count.”
Her eyes shot wide, her cheek squished against the bark of the post. “Count?”
I smiled. “I want to hear you acknowledge every lash.”
With my heart in my chest, I spread my thighs and jerked my arm back. I told her the truth about disobeying the order to lock her in the chiller. If my father found out, I could be in serious shit.
We both could.
I hadn’t found the balls to delve into the reasons why I hadn’t obeyed the procedure. All I could focus on was delivering the First Debt. Then I could get out of here. Then I could get some peace.
“Don’t stop counting,” I grunted. My arm sailed forward, sending the four-stranded flogger whistling through the air.
For a split second, I suffered an out-of-body experience. I saw myself. I witnessed the anger and power on my face. I watched as if I wasn’t the one wielding pain but an outsider. And I wondered what it would be like to belong to a different family. To have a different upbringing.
But then the experience stopped, slamming me back into my body.
The flogger sliced through the thick silence.
Nila screamed.
I jolted.
Raw redness bloomed as the lash licked across flesh.
Her skin was so delicate; blood welled instantly.
I stumbled at the sight. My heart shot from my chest and lay beating and mangled on the floor. Images of hunting and killing flurried in my mind. Drawing blood was not new to me. But drawing it from a woman I’d developed feelings for was.
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.