Fourth Debt
Page 76

Wake up, brother. Don’t leave me when we’re so close.
“How is he?”
I glanced at Nila. The simplistic beauty of her onyx eyes and sexy lips twitched my cock again. “He’s still alive.” My voice hung in the stagnant quiet. No horses were hobbled tonight—the dogs slept across the yard, and the witching hour gave us our own seclusion from reality, hiding us from nightmares.
Nila plucked at the plaid blanket that I’d placed over the hay bale. “Will he remain that way?”
My heart clenched. I hope so. “He will if he knows what’s good for him.”
She smiled but didn’t laugh, too full of melancholy to lighten the mood. There was no lightening the mood—not when a brother and friend was dying.
Changing the subject, I looped my fingers with hers. “Can I ask you something?”
She nodded slowly. “Of course.”
“Can you take off the hood? I want to see you. You’re in too much shadow.”
Instantly, her emotions scrambled. Fear drenched, followed by despair. Sitting up, she shook her head. “I’d prefer to keep it on. I’m cold.” To add value to her lie, she gathered her coat tightly and hugged herself.
I soared upright. “Bullshit. I know when you’re lying. Just like I knew you were lying in most of the texts you sent.”
Her shoulders hunched. Her hands went to either side of her hood, keeping it tight around her face.
Moving in front of her, I tugged on the black material. “Nila…take off the hood.”
“No.”
“Nila…” My voice dropped to a growl. “What are you hiding from me?”
Tears glassed her eyes.
My heart splintered. “Nila, please. I can’t stand it when you don’t tell me the truth.” My hands pulled again, fighting against her hold.
A single tear slipped down her face. “Please…don’t make me.”
My heart stopped beating.
“What happened to you? When I first saw you, you were almost dead inside. I feel you coming back to life, but something’s changed.” My voice turned heavy. “Please, Nila. Let me fix this. Whatever happened; let me try to help.”
More tears ran silently down her face. She looked away. “I—I was weak. I gave in. I didn’t think I had anything left inside me.” Her breath caught. “But then I saw you, and I remembered why I was fighting. You gave me purpose again. You reminded me that I’m still cared for and it’s my duty. Not to stay alive for myself, but for you. You’ve already helped, more than you know.”
“Fuck…Nila…” My chest seized as her sadness crested over me. “What can I do to make this right?”
She smiled weakly. “You’ve already done it. I’m piecing myself back together. I’m better now. I’ve remembered who I am.” Her fingers tightened. “Just…please, don’t ask me to take off the hood.”
I couldn’t stand it. My temper thickened. “Take it off. I have to know.”
She shook her head.
“Don’t make me tear it off you. You have to show me. We’re in this together, remember? That means sharing our pain and telling the truth.”
Her shoulders hunched. She hesitated for too long. Finally, her head bowed. “Please…please don’t find me ugly.”
“What?” My air exploded. “Why would you ever ask such a thing?”
Sucking in a shaky breath, she let go of the hood.
My condition soaked up her thoughts—despair, pain, confliction, anger. But most of all, paralyzing hopelessness. My soul pulverised as I slowly slipped off the shadowy material and saw what she’d tried to hide.
I couldn’t speak.
I couldn’t think.
All I could do was stare and fill with such fury, such motherfucking hate, that tears sprang to my eyes.
She couldn’t look at me, her shoulders hunched dejectedly. “I—I—” She gave up, hiding her face in her hands and letting go of her sadness.
Her stunning hair had been replaced with multiple different lengths and shapes. The bedraggled strands cascaded over her hands.
They would pay. They will fucking pay for this.
Trembling with rage, I gathered her to me, crushing her in my arms. “Those fucking bastards.”
She turned in my embrace, wrapping her arms around me, crying silently into my neck. I stroked her back, her neck, the scruffy locks of hair. It felt so different, so strange.
That was what was so wrong. Why she felt so peculiar.
Her courage had been stripped, just like her beautiful hair.
I have to fix this.
I had no idea how, but I couldn’t let her suffer.
Letting her go, I stalked to the end of the stable and grabbed a pair of scissors from the tack room. Stalking back, I sat behind her on the hay bale and without a word, brushed out the tatty strands with my fingers and kissed her neck.
With silence heavy between us, I snipped the mismatched ends.
I poured my love and commitment into her with every cut, sacrificing myself for every strand I snipped.
My heart raced as her hair fell to the hay, entwining gold with black. She shivered and hiccupped with teary breaths, but she didn’t stop me. If anything, her shoulders relaxed and she let me fix the agony my family had caused.
I took my time.
I stroked her like I would any broken filly, reminding her that I cared and adored and would never hurt her. The soft thickness of her hair slipped through my fingers, slicing into uniformity the more I tended.