The Wicked and the Wondrous

by Christine Feehan

  Jessica tugged at him, forced him to move away from the others, out of the kitchen. She guided him through the house up to his private floor. He went with her willingly enough, but she could still feel the edge of violence in him, roiling and swirling all too close to the surface.

  “I learned a lot of things about myself when I was at the burn center,” Dillon said, as he pushed open the door to his study and stepped back to allow her to precede him. “There’s so much pain, Jess, unbelievable pain. You think you can’t bear any more, but there’s always more. Every minute, every second, it’s a matter of endurance. You have no choice but to endure it because it never goes away. There’s no way to sleep through it, you have to persevere.”

  The room was dark with the shadows of the late afternoon but he didn’t turn on the light. Outside, the wind set the tree branches in motion so that they brushed gently against the sides of the house, producing an eerie music. Inside the room the silence stretched between them as they faced one another. Jessica could feel the turbulence of his emotions, wild, chaotic, yet on the surface he was as still as a hunter. She knew his strength of will, knew why he had survived such a terrible injury. Dillon was a man of deep passions. He sounded as if he was describing his physical pain, but she knew he was telling her about the other kinds of pain he’d also endured. The emotional scars were every bit as painful and deep as the physical ones.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Jess, it’s too dangerous.” He warned her softly, even as he moved to close the distance between them. “I don’t want to hurt you. You can’t look at me with your beautiful eyes so damn trusting. I’m not the man you think I am and I never will be.” Even as he uttered the words aloud, meaning every one of them, his hands, of their own volition, were framing her face.

  Electricity arced and crackled, a sizzling whip dancing with white-hot heat through their blood. The heat from his body seeped into hers, warming her, drawing her like a magnet. His head was bending toward her, his dark silky hair spilling around his angel’s face like a cloud. Jessica’s breath caught in her lungs. There was no air to breathe, no life other than his perfectly sculpted lips. His mouth settled over hers, velvet soft and firm. The touch was tantalizing. She opened her mouth as his teeth tugged teasingly at her lips to give him entrance to her sweetness, to the dark secrets of passion and promise.

  Dillon closed his eyes to savor the taste of her, the hot silk of her. There was sheer magic in Jessica’s kiss. It was madness to indulge his craving for her, but he couldn’t stop, taking his time, leisurely exploring, swept away from the gray bleakness of his nightmare world into one of vivid colorful fireworks, bursting around him, in him. The need was instantaneous and elemental, the hunger, voracious. His body was all at once savagely alive, thick and hard and pounding with an edgy, greedy lust that shook him to the foundations of his soul. He’d never experienced it before, but now, it surged through his body, primitive and hot, demanding that he make her his.

  Jessica felt his mouth harden, change, felt the passion flair between them, hot and exciting, a rush that dazzled her every sense. Her body melted into his, pliant and soft and inviting. His mouth raged with hunger, devoured hers, dominating and persuasive and commanding her response. She gave herself up to the blazing world of sheer sensation, allowed him to take her far from reality.

  The earth seemed to shift and move out from under her feet as his palms slid over her back, down to her bottom, where they settled to align her body more firmly with his. His touch was slow and languorous, at odds with his assaulting mouth. His tongue plundered, his hands coaxed. His mouth was aggressive, his hands gentle.

  Dillon’s body was a hard, painful ache, his jeans stretched tight, cutting into him. The feel of her, so soft and pliant, was driving him slowly out of his mind. There was a strange roaring in his head; his blood felt thick and molten like lava. She tasted hot and sweet. He couldn’t get close enough to her, wanting her clothes gone so that he could press himself against her, skin to skin.

  His mouth left hers to travel along her throat, with playful little kisses and bites, his tongue swirling to find shadows and hollows, to reach little trigger points of sheer pleasure. When he found them, she rewarded him with a little gasp of bliss. The sound was music to him, a soft note that drowned out his every sane thought. He didn’t want sanity, he didn’t want to know that what he was doing was wrong. He wanted to bury his body deep inside of her, to lose himself forever in a firestorm of mindless feeling.

  His mouth found the hollow of her throat, the pulse beating so frantically there. He nudged aside the neckline of her blouse to find the swell of her breasts. She was soft, a miracle of satin skin. His hand closed over her breast, her taut nipple pushing into his palm through her blouse, through his glove. Beckoning. Urging him on. He bent his head to temptation.

  The door to Dillon’s study burst open and Tara stood there, her face white, her hair wildly disheveled. There was sheer panic on her face. “You have to come right now. Right now! Jessica! Hurry, oh, God, I think he’s crushed under the logs and dirt. Hurry, you have to hurry!”

  chapter

  8

  PANIC SENT ADRENALINE coursing through Jessica’s body. She looked up at Dillon, sheer terror in her eyes. His eyes mirrored her fear. He circled Jessica’s waist with one strong arm, pulling her tight against him so that, briefly, they leaned into one another, comforting them both.

  “Take a deep breath, Tara, we need to know what happened.” Dillon’s voice was calm and authoritative. He pulled the child into the circle of his arms, up against Jessica where she felt safe.

  Tara gulped back her tears, buried her face against Jessica’s shoulder. “I don’t know what happened. One minute we were walking along and then Trevor said something weird, it didn’t make sense, something about a magic circle and he ran ahead of me. I heard him yell and then there was a huge noise. The side of a hill gave way, rocks and dirt and logs rolling down. His yell was cut off and when I got to where I thought he was, the air was all dirty and cloudy. I couldn’t find him and when I called and called, he didn’t answer me. I think he was buried under all of it. The dog started digging and barking and growling and I ran to get you.”

  “Show me, Tara,” Dillon commanded. “Jessica, you’ll have to find the others, tell Paul we’ll need shovels just in case.” He was already pushing his daughter ahead of him.

  They ran down the stairs, Dillon calling for the band members. As he jerked open the front door and raced across the front verandah, he nearly knocked Brian back down the front steps. They steadied one another. “It’s Trevor. It sounds bad, Brian, come with me,” Dillon said.

  Brian nodded. “Where are the others?”

  “Jess is rounding them up,” Dillon replied. Tara ran ahead of him, but he kept pace easily, swearing under his breath. Night was falling all too fast and it would be very dark in a matter of minutes. He prayed his daughter didn’t get lost, that she could lead them straight to his son.

  Tara ran fast, keeping to the main path, her heart pounding loudly in her ears, but terror had subsided now that her father was taking command. He seemed so calm, so completely in control, that she felt her panic fading. She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to find the exact location in the dark so she ran as fast as she could in an attempt to outrun the nightfall. It was even more of a relief when the large German shepherd came bounding out of the timberline to pace beside her. He knew the way to Trevor.

  Jessica took several deep breaths as she hurried through the large house calling for the others. She found Brenda outside the kitchen, in the courtyard, smoking. “What is it now? I swear there’s no rest for the wicked around this place.”

  “Where are the others?” Jessica demanded. Brenda’s chic hiking boots were covered in mud. Pine needles were stuck to the bottom and Brenda was trying to remove them without getting her fingernails dirty. “There’s been an accident and we need everyone to help.”

  “Oh good heavens, it’s those kids ag
ain, isn’t it?” Brenda sounded annoyed. She backed up a step holding up a placating hand as Jessica advanced on her. “Really, darling, you wear me out with your agonizing over those children. See? I’m learning. Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll do my part to help, although I hope you send them both to their rooms and punish them suitably for disrupting my day.”

  “Where are the others?” Jessica spit each word out distinctly. “This is an emergency, Brenda. I think Trevor is trapped under a landslide, under dirt and rocks. We need to dig him out fast.”

  “Surely not!” Brenda’s hand fluttered to her throat and she paled visibly. Her throat worked as if she was struggling to speak but no words would come. When they did, it was a choked whisper. “This place really is cursed, or maybe just Dillon is.”

  Jessica was surprised to see the woman was close to tears. “Brenda,” she said desperately. “Help me!”

  “I’m sorry, of course.” Brenda straightened her shoulders. “I’ll find Robert, he’ll know what to do. Paul’s around back playing horseshoes, at least he was when I walked up. I think Don was going to the beach, but I’m not certain. You get Paul and I’ll find the others and send them to you. Which way did they go?”

  “Thanks.” Jessica put a hand on Brenda’s arm, touching her to offer comfort. There was something very vulnerable on Brenda’s face when her mask slipped. “I think they took the main trail heading into the forest.”

  “I just came back from that way,” Brenda frowned. “I didn’t see the kids.”

  Jessica didn’t wait to hear any more; she raced around to the back of the house. Paul was idly tossing horseshoes. He paused in mid-swing when he spotted her. “What is it?” He tossed the horseshoe aside and hurried to her.

  Feeling desperate, Jessica blurted out what she knew. Time seemed to be going by while she was getting nowhere. She wanted to race to Trevor, dig him out with her bare hands, not rely on the others.

  “I’ll get the lights,” Paul told her, pulling open the door to a small shed. “There are shovels in here. I’ll meet you around in the front.” He was gone quickly.

  Jessica pressed a hand to her churning stomach as she looked frantically through the potting shed for the shovels. All the larger tools were at the back of the shed. She felt sick, sick with fear for Trevor. How many minutes had gone by? Not many, her conversation with Brenda had taken only seconds, but it seemed an eternity. It was dark in the shed, the waning light insufficient to light the interior. She felt her way to the back, placing her hand on first a rake, a pry bar, and two sharper tools before she found the shovels. Triumphantly she caught up all three and rushed out of the small building.

  Don was waiting impatiently for her. “Paul’s gone on ahead.” He grabbed the shovels from her, frowning as he did so. “What the hell did you do to your hand?”

  Jessica blinked in surprise. Her palm was muddy and a single long slash in the center mingled blood with the dirt. A few stray pine needles stuck in the mixture as if it were artwork. “It doesn’t matter,” she muttered, and hurried past him to take the trail.

  Darkness had fallen in the forest, the heavier canopy blocking out what little light remained. Jessica ran fast, uncaring of her burning lungs. She had to get to Trevor and Tara. To Dillon. It couldn’t be that bad. She consoled herself with the thought that someone would have come for her if the news were the worst. She could hear Don running beside her, and was vaguely aware of her throbbing palm. She wiped it on her thigh as they spotted lights off to her left.

  Tara threw herself at Jessica, nearly knocking her over. “He’s under all those big rocks and dirt. That big log fell on him, too! Dad’s been trying to dig him out with his bare hands and Robert’s been helping.”

  “They’ll get him out quickly,” Jessica reassured, holding the little girl close, “the soil is soft enough for them to dig him out very fast.”

  “Take her up there, out of the way,” Dillon directed. His gaze met Jessica’s over Tara’s head as he caught in midair the shovel that Don tossed to him. “It’s going to be okay, baby, I promise. He’s talking, so he’s alive and conscious. He’s got air to breathe, we just have to get him out to see the damage.”

  Jessica nodded. Hugging Tara closer to her, she bent down to the child’s ear. “Let’s move out of the way, honey. We’ll go up there.” She pointed to a small embankment off to the side but up above where the men were frantically digging.

  The dog nudged her legs as she walked and Jessica absently patted his head. “Are you all right, Tara?” The girl was trembling.

  Tara shook her head. “I shouldn’t have insisted we keep looking. We found two trees we thought you and Dad might like, but I wanted to keep looking. Trevor said it was getting dark and wanted to go back to the house.” She rubbed her face against Jessica’s jacket. “I knew if I hadn’t been with him he would have kept looking. I hate that, the way he always treats me like I’m a baby.”

  “Trevor looks out for you,” Jessica corrected gently. “That’s a good thing, Tara. He loves you very much. And this wasn’t your fault.” She stroked the girl’s hair soothingly. “It just happened. Sometimes things just happen.”

  Tara shivered again. She looked up at Jessica, her eyes too large for her face. “I saw something,” she whispered softly and looked around quickly. “I saw a shadow back in the trees, over there.” She pointed toward the left in the deeper timber. “It looked like someone with a long cape and hood, very dark. I couldn’t see the face, but he was watching us; he watched it all happen. I know he was there, it wasn’t my imagination.”

  If it was possible, Jessica’s heart began to pound even harder. “He was watching you while the rocks and dirt crumbled down on Trevor?” Jessica struggled to get the timing right. She believed Tara, she’d seen a cloaked figure in the woods the night they’d arrived, but she couldn’t imagine any of the band members not rushing to aid the twins. Whoever had been in that cloak really might want to cause harm to one of them. Could someone other than the band members be on the island? The groundskeeper was an older, kindly man. The island was large enough that someone could hide out, camping, but surely the dog would have alerted the children to a stranger’s presence. The twins had been spending time with the animal and she knew the German shepherd had guard instincts.

  Tara nodded. “I yelled and yelled for help. I couldn’t see Trev, he was buried under everything and when I looked back, the person was gone.” She wiped her face, smearing dirt across her chin and cheek. “I’m telling the truth, Jessie.”

  Jessica brushed the top of the girl’s head with a kiss. “I know you are, honey. I can’t imagine why whoever it was didn’t come to help you.” She was determined to find out, though. She had been lulled into a false sense of security, but if the cloaked figure was a band member, and it had to be, then one of them was behind the accidents and the death of her mother. Which one? “Stay here, honey, away from the edge.”

  She couldn’t stand still, pacing back and forth restlessly, her fist jammed in her mouth to keep from screaming at them to hurry. Don and Robert pried a rather large rock loose and it took all of the men to move it carefully away from the site.

  Brenda joined Tara a little hesitantly. “He’ll be all right, honey,” she offered, placing her hand on her niece’s shoulder in an attempt to offer comfort.

  “He hasn’t moved,” Tara told her tearfully. “He hasn’t moved at all.”

  “He’s breathing though,” Brenda encouraged. “Robert said Trevor told them he dove into a small space, a depression against the hillside.”

  “He was talking? Dillon said he spoke, but I haven’t heard anything.” And Jessica wanted the reassurance of the sound of his voice. She continued to pace, rubbing her arms as she did so, shivering in the night air. “Are you certain he spoke?”

  “I’m pretty sure,” Brenda answered.

  Jessica stared up at the sky. She could hear the pounding of the sea in the distance. The wind rustling through the trees. The chink of the s
hovels against rock. Even the heavy breathing of the men as they worked. She could not hear Trevor’s voice. She listened. She prayed. There was not even a murmur.

  “He’ll be all right.” Brenda tried again to be reassuring. She tapped her foot, drawing Jessica’s attention to the muddy ground strewn with pine needles and vegetation. A few fallen trees crisscrossed the area from the violent storm. Most had been there for some time but two smaller ones were fairly fresh.

  She couldn’t help the terrible suspicion that slid into her mind. Another accident. Could it have been rigged? Almost without even being aware of it, she examined the ground, the position of the logs, searching for clues, searching for anything that might provide an answer for what had happened. There was nothing she could see, nothing that would make Dillon listen to her that something wasn’t quite right. Maybe she was paranoid, she didn’t know, only that she had to find a way to make the children safe.

  “I won’t be able to take it if anything’s happened to him,” Jessica murmured to no one in particular. She meant it. Her heart was breaking. She was white-faced, sick to her stomach, and moving to keep from being sick in front of everyone. “I shouldn’t have let him go off like that. I should have been with him.”

  “Jessica, you couldn’t have prevented this,” Brenda said firmly. “They’ll get him out.” Awkwardly she hugged Tara to her as a muffled sob escaped the child. “Neither one of you could have stopped this. After a storm, sometimes the land is soft and it just shifts. You both would have been hurt had you been with him.”