Bad Blood Collection

by Various Authors

  His father didn’t stop. William Wolfe’s hand was raised, the riding crop curled around his fist, his face twisted in a terrible anger.

  Jacob saw the whip, the blood, and he felt something in him snap; it was as if he heard the sound deep within, the very core of him crumbling under. Too much. It was finally, finally too much.

  Acting out of instinct, he pushed his father hard on the shoulder, felt the flat of his palm connect with slack muscle. He felt his own strength and his father’s weakness. Then William let out a bellow of rage, and he hit Annabelle again, the crop slicing through the air and whistling as it connected with her bloody flesh.

  Jacob’s fists clenched; he felt powerful with fury. He felt like he could do anything, he would do anything in that moment, to save his sister. To hurt his father. He heard the deadly venom of his voice, except it sounded like the voice of a stranger. A demon.

  You will not touch her again.

  And then, the worst moment of all, the moment that revealed and defined him. The moment Jacob could never escape or forget.

  He raised his clenched fist. His father raised the riding crop again, preparing to bring another blow onto his daughter. Jacob knew he could not allow that to happen. He would not. And so he hit his father with all the force and fury of fifteen years of anger, hurt, disappointment and despair. He hit him as hard as he could, and in that second of vengeance he felt a fierce sense of satisfaction, of relief.

  And then, worst of all, a sound rent the air. A sound of wild laughter. Jacob never knew who had laughed—who could laugh in such a moment. Had his father laughed at the thought of his son turning against him? Had he laughed because it had felt so good—in that one brief second—to finally fight back?

  In the dream the sound echoed through him, a raucous, wild peal. It was the laughter, Jacob always thought, of a madman. Two madmen—for surely they both were, he and his father, in that moment.

  ‘Jacob, Jacob!’

  The red haze was starting to lift as Jacob heard the voice, high-pitched, familiar, frightened. His eyes jerked open and he awakened as if he’d been doused in ice water. He felt like he had, for his body was drenched in a cold sweat.

  Mollie half sat in bed, clutching a sheet to her, her face pale and shocked, her eyes wide and dilated with fear.

  Oh, God.

  Revulsion swept through Jacob in a humiliating, sickening wave. He knew what Mollie had seen. He knew what she’d heard.

  His stomach lurched and in one abrupt movement he rolled out of bed and slammed into the bathroom.

  He retched, disgusted with himself more than ever before. From outside he heard a timid knock.

  ‘Jacob … are you … are you all right?’

  He rinsed his mouth out and braced his forearms against the sink. His heart was throwing itself against his ribcage as if it had a death wish. Perhaps it did.

  He’d never felt so low, so wretched, and that was saying something. That dream defined him. It revealed him, and Mollie had seen him at his worst. His worst … and she was afraid.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said. His voice sounded hoarse. In the mirror his face was pale, his eyes as dilated as Mollie’s, his hair dampened and spiky with sweat. Jacob washed his face and resolutely opened the door. He knew how things would have to be now.

  He had been a fool ever—even for a single night—to believe in hope.

  Mollie stood in the centre of the room, still clutching the sheet to her chest. Jacob ignored her. He reached into his suitcase for a fresh T-shirt and shrugged it on, raking his fingers through his hair, his back to her.

  ‘Jacob …’ Her voice sounded so very small.

  ‘What?’ He didn’t turn around.

  ‘What …? What was …?’ She hesitated and then said very quietly, ‘Tell me what happened.’

  Jacob shrugged. ‘It was just a dream.’

  ‘What kind of dream? You looked as if—’ She swallowed. ‘Strange.’

  Jacob almost laughed again, this time the dry, humourless laugh of the utterly despairing. He turned around. ‘People sometimes do strange things in dreams, Mollie,’ he told her, his voice sharp with a mocking edge. ‘Did I scare you?’ He made it a question of no real interest to him.

  ‘No, of course not,’ she said quickly. Too quickly. ‘Your dream scared me,’ she clarified. ‘It looked like it was … terrible.’

  ‘Really?’ He sounded bored now. It was all too easy to affect these poses, to push her away. He’d had so much practice.

  Mollie shook her head, her eyes wide. ‘Do you remember the dream?’

  He hesitated, finding it surprisingly hard to lie. Suddenly it wasn’t so easy any more, because even now, when he knew he couldn’t, when he knew how he’d terrified her, he wanted to tell her everything. He swallowed. ‘No.’

  Mollie nodded slowly, and Jacob couldn’t tell if she believed him or not.

  Mollie stared at Jacob, wishing she knew what words to say, and that she had the strength to say them. His face looked blank, bored, yet his body was nearly quivering with a tension, an anger, that Mollie couldn’t understand.

  What had he dreamed about? Why had he been making that sound—that horrible sound—something halfway between a laugh and a sob? It had been such a terrible, lonely, awful sound; she hadn’t even realised it had been coming from Jacob, and when she’d rolled over to look at him she’d seen him in the throes of a terrible dream, a nightmare, the look on his face one of utter agony.

  She’d assumed for so long that he was cold, emotionless, even soulless. Now the idea seemed laughable. She’d thought, even that very night, that he’d walked away from his family because he didn’t care enough, didn’t feel their pain.

  Now she knew he felt too much.

  ‘It’s late,’ Jacob said into the silence of Mollie’s own spinning thoughts. ‘You should get some sleep.’ He walked towards the door.

  ‘Jacob—’ Mollie reached one hand out towards him even though his back was to her. She felt the moment slipping away from her, the opportunity to question and comfort and maybe even understand gone—perhaps for ever. ‘Aren’t you going to come back to bed?’ she whispered.

  He turned to flash her a grim smile. ‘I’ve had enough sleep for one evening,’ he said, and then he walked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him with a final click.

  Mollie stood there for a moment, the sheet still clutched to her naked body. She felt cold and alone and afraid. Too afraid to open that door and ask Jacob to tell her—what? Did she even want to know what caused that dream, what memories and regrets lurked inside of him? Could she accept the truth?

  Her own cowardice shamed her. Disconsolate, uncertain and suddenly, unbearably sad, Mollie turned back to the bed. Curled up on one side, she had a feeling she wouldn’t sleep any more either.

  Morning dawned slowly, pale grey fingers of light creeping across the floor of the bedroom. Mollie shifted, every muscle aching. Her eyes were dry and gritty. She must have dozed at least a little bit, but she didn’t feel as if she had.

  She slid from the bed and tiptoed out of the room, glancing around almost furtively for Jacob. She didn’t see him anywhere though, and she retreated to her own bedroom, still filled with a miserable uncertainty. She had no idea what to do now, what would happen next.

  A stingingly hot shower helped, as did a fresh change of clothes. Her Italian clothes, a close-fitting cashmere sweater in soft, pussy-willow grey and a pair of skinny designer jeans bolstered her confidence and gave her courage. She pulled her hair back with a scarf and repaired her still-pale face with make-up, then taking a deep breath headed out into the rest of the suite.

  Jacob sat at the desk in the living room. He had showered and changed as well, and now wore an immaculate grey suit that made him look gorgeous and very remote. He looked up from his laptop as she entered, and gave her a small, cool smile.

  Mollie’s heart sank. So that was how it was going to be.

  ‘Would you like some breakfast?’
His voice was scrupulously polite, carefully devoid of emotion, just as it had been when she’d first seen him at her cottage. He was a stranger, nothing but a beautiful stranger. He gestured to a table tucked into the corner of the room. ‘There are muffins and croissants there, as well as a pot of tea. If you’d prefer something more substantial, I can order it for you.’

  Mollie didn’t think she could manage a morsel. ‘No, thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘This is enough.’

  Jacob turned back to his laptop. ‘I’m afraid I can’t go to the expo with you today,’ he said in that awful, polite voice. ‘I have some business to attend to. But I hired a car to take you there.’

  ‘I’m perfectly capable of taking the tube,’ Mollie returned stiffly. ‘I lived in London for three years.’

  Jacob’s gaze remained on the screen of his computer. ‘If you have the opportunity, why not take it?’

  Mollie swallowed down the words Because I don’t want anything from you when you’re like this. She reached for a muffin. ‘Are we still returning to Wolfe Manor tonight?’

  Jacob glanced up, his body stilling, his eyes so very dark. ‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘We’ll go back tonight.’

  Mollie crumbled the muffin onto the plate. ‘Jacob.’ He waited, saying nothing, and she made herself go on. ‘Why are you being like this? So … remote? Last night—’

  ‘Last night shouldn’t have happened,’ Jacob cut in, his voice flat. Mollie felt the blood drain from her face. She should have expected this, based on his attitude this morning, yet it still hurt, like blood drawn straight from her heart.

  ‘Why not?’ she whispered.

  Surprise flashed briefly across Jacob’s features, as if he hadn’t expected her to ask that question. She wondered if he would answer it honestly, or at all. ‘Mollie …’ He began, his voice low, and she knew this was all the opening she would ever get.

  ‘Jacob, what happened last night was real. I know it was. This—’ she flung an arm out as if to encompass the tension tautening the very air between them ‘—this isn’t. This is fake.’

  ‘You don’t know what’s real,’ he said quietly.

  ‘The dream wasn’t,’ Mollie told him. She could feel her heart pounding so hard it hurt. She spoke from a deep instinct that the dream had changed everything. Ruined it. And right now she was damned if she would let it. ‘That dream wasn’t real, Jacob. It was just a dream. A nightmare. Why won’t you trust me?’

  He didn’t answer, just stared at her with that infuriatingly blank expression. What seethed beneath the surface? Why wouldn’t he tell her?

  ‘Jacob, what do you dream about? What haunts you so, even now? Was it something that happened in your childhood? Is that why you ran away?’ She felt as if she were stumbling through the dark, her hands stretched out in front of her like a child’s. ‘Is it your father? Or Annabelle—’

  ‘So many options,’ he drawled. Mollie recoiled from that light, scornful tone. ‘I had such an unhappy childhood. A therapist would have a field day.’

  ‘I’m not your therapist—’

  ‘You sound like you’re trying to be.’

  ‘No,’ Mollie retorted, her voice rising in frustration. ‘I’m trying to tell you that we can work through this … together—’

  ‘Stop it, Mollie.’ He snapped his laptop shut, rising from the desk in one graceful movement. His back was to her. ‘Forget the dream. Forget it all.’

  ‘I can’t.’ Her throat felt as if it were closing in on itself, as if she could barely speak. ‘Can you?’ she managed. She saw his shoulders stiffen, his body tense. She waited, afraid to say any more, afraid she might beg. Cry.

  ‘I have to,’ Jacob said. His voice sounded quiet and even sad. She saw his head bow, his shoulders slump for an instant before he straightened again to his normal militarily precise posture … just as he’d been doing his whole life. Being strong. Taking all the weight. All the guilt.

  ‘No, you don’t,’ Mollie said. ‘You don’t.’

  He shook his head, his back still to her. ‘There are things you don’t understand.’

  ‘Stop using that as your excuse and tell me.’

  He shook his head again, and she thought she heard him make a choked sound, almost like a cry. Yet when he finally turned around, she wished he hadn’t. He looked so resigned, so resolute, so sad. ‘I don’t want to tell you. If I do, it will change how you think of me, and I couldn’t bear that.’

  Her heart twisted, tore. A tear trembled on her eyelash and then slipped silently down her cheek. ‘And you’re not willing even to risk it? For … for us?’

  ‘There is no us.’

  ‘There could be.’ She was begging. And crying.

  ‘No, Mollie.’ Now Jacob sounded regretful, and very, very final. ‘I’m sorry, but there isn’t and there will never be. There can’t be.’ He paused, drawing a shuddering breath. ‘Sometimes I wish there could. I wish I was different but I know myself and I know what I’m capable of—what I have inside of me. And it’s not enough for a woman like you.’

  ‘What is that supposed to mean?’ Mollie asked. She heard the brokenness of her own voice; she couldn’t even hide her heartache.

  ‘It means that you are a warm and wonderful and loving person, and you deserve and need someone far better than me.’

  ‘That sounds like an excuse.’

  ‘I wish it was. That would be easier.’ He rubbed a hand across his face, looking so tired and lonely and lost that Mollie wanted to put her arms around him and draw him to her. As if sensing that need in her, Jacob looked up sharply. ‘You can’t save people, Mollie. Just like you said. You were right.’

  ‘I know you can’t save people, Jacob. I told you that yesterday. I don’t want to save you—’

  ‘You do. You might not think you do, but I can see it in your eyes. You think you can help me. Heal me. But you can’t. And trust me, I’m not worth saving anyway.’

  Mollie let out a sound that trembled between a laugh and a sob. ‘Yes, you are.’

  He shook his head. ‘If you knew—but it doesn’t matter. I know. And I know there can be no future for us. I’m sorry to have taken advantage of you last night. I thought I could control myself, but I—I couldn’t.’ His voice trembled for an instant. ‘I failed. I failed you …’

  Rage tore through her heart, spilled into her words. ‘Last night was not a failure. Last night was a success, one of the most beautiful things that has ever—’

  ‘It was,’ Jacob agreed quietly. He smiled, sadly, and Mollie felt her heart break. It was a physical thing, as if her body were being cut in half. She could hardly breathe for the pain of it, and she understood why they called it a break. It wasn’t an ache, or a soreness, or a twinging pain; it was too agonising for that. Too final. Jacob crossed the room and reached out to wipe the tear still trickling down her cheek. ‘It was beautiful,’ he said, and still smiling that achingly sorrowful smile, he turned away. ‘I’ll have my driver get the car for you,’ he said, and then he was gone.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MOLLIE walked through the expo practically on tiptoes, as if she were made of glass. Bubbles, and they were popping slowly, one by one, so that when they were all gone there would be nothing left.

  She barely took in the sights that only yesterday had fired her imagination. Everything seemed to hold a memory; she could hardly walk through the hall without picturing Jacob by her side, listening to her wild ramble of ideas, offering his little suggestions, smiling faintly.

  How could it hurt so much, after so little time?

  She felt only relief when the day came to a close, even though it meant she’d see Jacob again, which she both desired and dreaded.

  In fact, she didn’t see him until he lightly touched her shoulder. She’d been standing in front of the Zen garden exhibit again, recalling his words from yesterday: I have no trouble believing the world possesses imperfections. Or that they exist in myself. But to embrace them …

  She understood what
he meant now. Not only could Jacob not accept the imperfections in himself, he couldn’t forgive them. Forgive himself.

  What could he not forgive? Mollie wondered helplessly. Was it the night he hit his father? Surely he knew that was self-defence. Or was there something else—something she was afraid to know? Would it change everything, like Jacob had said?

  ‘Did you have a good day?’ Jacob asked, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder for only a second, and startled, Mollie turned around.

  A good day? Was he joking? ‘Not really,’ she said rather flatly, and Jacob simply nodded in acceptance.

  ‘The car’s outside.’

  No more red sports car, Mollie soon saw. This was not a joyful jaunt in the countryside with the top down. Instead Jacob had hired a limo with acres of space between them and a driver at the wheel.

  She slid into the leather luxury with a sharp little smile. ‘What happened to the convertible?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’m leaving it in the city for a bit. I’m afraid I have to work on the way back.’ He didn’t sound remotely apologetic as he snapped open his briefcase and took out a sheaf of papers. Mollie turned to stare out the window. It was a good thing they hadn’t taken the convertible, she thought drearily. It had started to rain.

  As the limo turned off the motorway and Mollie saw the sign for Wolfestone with a little tremor of dread, she finally summoned the courage to break the silence.

  ‘So what now?’

  Jacob stilled. He looked up, his expression composed, although Mollie saw a flicker of wariness in his dark eyes. She was good at reading him now, at even understanding him. Even though she still didn’t understand—or know—enough.

  ‘What now?’ he repeated carefully. ‘I imagine you have a bit more work to complete on the gardens.’

  ‘Another fortnight and it will be finished. I’ll be finished,’ she emphasised starkly. Jacob said nothing and she made herself ask, ‘So we just go on for the next two weeks as if nothing has happened?’

  As if you didn’t come in and shatter my world?