Debt Inheritance

But it wasn’t just mine. I had to share.

Squirrel, my favourite of the eleven canines I’d spent the night with, nudged my arm. I’d named him after the tree-climbing rodent thanks to his slightly bushy tail. With a doggy smile, he wheedled his way under my arm, leaning heavily against my torso.

I’d never had pets growing up. As a family, we were too busy working or travelling to exotic places to source more material and merchandise. Until last night, I’d had an adolescent fear of dogs.

That had evolved to terror when Jethro threw me inside.

I shuddered, hugging Squirrel closer to me, stealing his gentle warmth. Last night Jethro had tried to destroy me. Not through fists or rape or even harsh words. No, he tried to destroy me by removing any entitlement I had as a human. Marking me as no better than the dogs he kept.

He would’ve succeeded if my terror hadn’t mellowed into bewilderment then gratefulness. He’d done me a favour—I preferred the company of his hounds. They not only tolerated my intrusion but welcomed me into the pack.

Squirrel licked my pebble-indented palm, letting me know he understood my aches. I still suffered from crawling from the manor, past immaculate flower beds, over precision mowed grass, and cutting through shadows cast by imposing hedges.

Everything throbbed when I finally crawled the last metre and sat waiting beside a large roller door. My dress was torn, my knees bleeding—not that he’d cared.

The estate was bigger than I could contemplate, but even in the darkness, I’d made out the buildings around us. The stables were across the cobblestone yard. A granary let its soft grainy fragrance permeate the air. The gentle huffing of horses broke the silence along with wuffles and snuffles from dogs.

Jethro left me sitting on my knees while he disappeared into what I assumed was a tack room. He returned with a large scratchy blanket and a bucket, before unlocking the roller door and beckoning me inside.

Throwing the items into the dark interior, he bowed. “Your boudoir, my lady.” Leaning down, he swatted my behind. “Go to bed like a good little pet. You have a big day ahead of you.”

When I didn’t move, his foot landed on my arse, shoving me forward, giving me no choice but to crawl quickly into darkness.

The moment I’d traded starlight for no light, I panicked.

Jethro threw the bolt home, locking me inside a room that thrived with moving bodies, claws on cobblestones, and soft growls of ownership.

The first brush of a wet nose on my cheek ripped a small scream from my lips. I curled tight into a ball, hugging my knees, squeezing my eyes against being eaten alive.

I waited for sharp teeth. I waited to be bitten.

But they hadn’t eaten me.

Far from it. I’d been licked and nuzzled and welcomed into a pack of unknown numbers.

I was a stranger in their domain, but when I finally overrode my fear and looked into their eyes, they were bright with curiosity rather than territorial anger.

The rest of the night was spent making a semi-comfortable bed out of a loosely packed hay bale, and wrapping myself tight in the scratchy blanket. I’d aimed to sleep alone with my new friends scattered in their usual spaces, but they had other ideas.

Once I was settled, they’d crowded around me, squeezing close, curling around each other until I was the epicentre in a nest of canines.

The moment they’d quietened, I took out my phone.

Five missed calls, three messages from my twin, and one from my father.

Biting my lip to retain what composure I could, I read my father’s first.

ArchTextile: Nila, I know you’ll have questions. I know you’ll hate me. But please, my wonderful girl, know I didn’t want any of this. I was stupid not to heed your mother’s warning. I thought—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I hope we can talk—when you’re ready. I understand if you can never forgive me. I don’t know how much of this they’ll see, but I’ll never stop searching, never stop hoping. Please don’t think I gave you up lightly. They have…ways. They have you but they’ll keep you in good health. We have time. Love you, sweetheart.

I didn’t want to focus on what time meant. The slow plod of time intertwined with the fast tick, tick, ticking of my final heartbeats.

My fingers hovered on the reply button. But I couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, I opened my brother’s messages.

VtheMan: Threads, pick up your goddamn phone.

VtheMan: Threads. I’m warning you. You’re not happy. I sense it. I’m worried shitless and Tex is being a secretive arsehole. Call me immediately, sister. Or I’ll make your life a living hell.

VtheMan: Please, Nila. Talk to me. Put me out of my misery. I miss you. Love you so fucking much.

My teary gasp in the darkness pricked a few hounds’ ears. I wanted so much to reply. But I didn’t dare. I didn’t trust myself not to beg him to get me out of this. I was there of my own free will to protect him. I wouldn’t be protecting him if I was weak.

Tomorrow. I wouldn’t put up with any more flimsy talk of debts and centuries past. I wanted hard facts on why they could do this. And I wouldn’t stop until I knew everything.

Closing my messages, I opened up a picture of Vaughn and me that’d been taken right before the doors opened to the show last night. The tiny bit of strength I had left deserted me and I let go of my tight control.

I sobbed.

My heart expunged its grief through my eyes, drenching my cheeks, blurring the last photo I had of my brother —happy, nervous, dressed up in finery—with a waterfall of liquid. I cried until dehydration throbbed my head and my neck was sticky with salt.

A low battery reminder beeped. It was the hardest thing I’d done to shut down the picture of V and turn it off.

More tears trickled and a hound raised his head, looking at me with wise understanding. He inched forward on his belly, crossing the hay until his claws tugged at my blanket.

His canine concern produced another torrent of liquid, but I opened my arms, and with a wagging tail, he fitted himself around me like a living shield. His doggy heart thudded against mine as I hugged his silky coat.

I went from the Darling of Milan with needle pricks on her fingers to huddled on the floor with only hunting dogs for company.

A soppy tongue had licked my cheek, stealing the endless stream of tears. And that was when it happened. The change I’d told Kite about. The ending. The beginning. The freedom of just letting go.