Hidden Currents

by Christine Feehan

  Joley, the sixth Drake sister, the musician of the family, ran to fling herself in Ilya's arms. It always astounded Jackson that a man as remote and unemotional as Ilya, lit up when Joley was anywhere near him. The Russian brushed a kiss on top of her blond-streaked head, his arms tightening protectively around her.

  "Did you feel her?" Jackson asked Hannah. "I had a small connection to her just now, but then I lost her."

  Hannah, tall and elegant with long platinum spiral curls and wide blue eyes, spun around to face him at his question. An ex-supermodel, married to Jonas and already pregnant with their first child, Hannah was particularly strong in her talents and would be one of their greatest assets in trying to find Elle. Jackson saw the answer on her face, the complete blank look that told him she hadn't caught even a small ripple from Elle.

  It should have made him happy that his connection with Elle was so strong, so much so that he had found her and not her sisters, even for just a few moments, but what mattered most, was getting her home safe and unharmed.

  "You spoke to her? Are you certain?" Hannah asked.

  The room went silent and all faces turned toward him. Kate the writer, serious and gentle, Abigail the marine biologist, Libby the doctor and healer, Sarah, Hannah and Joley, and the men who loved them, waiting, holding their collective breath.

  "She's alive. Hurt." Jackson frowned. "A head injury, I'd guess. She was confused and the pain was excruciating. Someone was questioning her and they used the name Sheena MacKenzie, so hopefully her cover is still intact, although they wanted to know who had sent her and asked what she was doing there. They spoke English with a heavy accent."

  "Greek?" Ilya asked.

  Jackson shrugged. "I couldn't say one way or the other. I wasn't there, just heard it through her and I got the feeling of a great distance." He rubbed his shadowed jaw, needing to find a way to still his hands, to keep from betraying the terror building in his gut. Elle. Damn him for not taking charge. For not keeping her safe. Baby, I'm coming for you. If you don't believe anything else, believe I'll come for you.

  He sent the message to her in the way he'd been whispering to her for the last couple of years. Soft. Intimate. Intense. He could tell her things across a distance he couldn't seem to say to her face. He could feel the emotions, so deep they shook him, across that same distance, but up close, he was always so carefully controlled.

  "Come into the house," Sarah said, her voice gentle, almost as if she knew what he was feeling. "Standing in the entryway isn't going to help. You have to commit to us, Jackson. We can't help if you don't give us your full commitment, and it seems to me, as close as we are to Elle, you're her soul mate and you're the one that's going to find her."

  There was that waiting again. The silence. He lived in silence. Understood it. These people in this room had opened their lives to him, shared their world, yet he had always stood apart by choice, refusing to go all the way with the very commitment Sarah was asking of him. He didn't understand people. He wasn't comfortable being around them. The desert, the mountains, the sandy dunes above the ocean were places he sought and understood.

  Emotions were kept at a distance, yet this family, these people who always welcomed him, kept emotions close and intense, and every moment he spent with them made him feel both cared for and yet isolated and apart. For Elle he went deeper into the room, into the circle of her family.

  The candles made a pattern on the floor, the flames flickering with life. He looked around the house. It would be his home. His life would be here when he married Elle. He walked across the room and laid his hand on the wall. It was an old house, yet always appeared new. He had seen the house come to life, protecting those who dwelled inside. When he laid his palm on the wall, he felt energy, strong and pulsing. Little sparks danced around his fingers and across the back of his hand.

  If you're alive, the way the Drakes believe, help us find her. Help me find her.

  Beneath his palm, the walls undulated, and for a moment he thought he heard the sound of feminine voices rising in the distance.

  He turned to look at the Drake sisters, but they were looking at one another, their eyes wide, their faces slightly shocked. He dropped his hand and moved back to the center of the room. "The storm is nearly overhead. Let's get this done."

  "The house spoke to you," Sarah said. "Jackson, do you know what that means?"

  His dark eyes slid over her face, noting her astonishment. "Did you really think Elle didn't belong to me?" His voice was quiet. Low. Soft even. The menace there reverberated through the room, enough that Damon stirred from his place against the wall and limped over to Sarah, his cane supporting his weight as he put one arm around her.

  "Jackson, we all know you're meant for Elle," Sarah said softly. "You're the one who is holding back, not us."

  He felt the arrow in the pit of his stomach. Damn her, she was right. They said she could see into the future at times, and right now she looked a little fey. She was seeing too much and what was inside of him wasn't fit for a woman to see, least of all a Drake and the sister of the woman he was going to marry.

  He could smell the scent of the herbs each sister had used to cleanse herself before the ceremony. The pentagram was laid out with the mosaic tiles in the center of the circle. Candles lit the way in four directions. He took a deep breath and forced himself forward when Hannah gestured to him to come take his place in the center. Each sister sat near a point of the star and Jonah and Ilya sank down beside their women, close, thighs touching. Abigail's husband, Aleksandr, threw open the double doors to allow the storm into the house. This was not his way, but it was the Drakes' way, as it had been for hundreds of years. It was Elle's way and he needed the strength of her family to send the summons, create the bridge and gain the information they so desperately needed.

  Outside the wind shrieked and moaned, rising and falling like the churning waves. Jackson took a deep breath, drawing in the salty mist. The rain began to fall, a light drizzle, promising a much more ferocious downpour. Thunder boomed just as a wave crashed against the rocks and white water formed a geyser, hurling into the air. Jackson could see the white foam bursting above the cliff and then falling out of sight again.

  Unconsciously he rubbed his palm along the floor, over the mosaic tiles Elle's ancestors had placed a hundred years earlier. He felt the life in them, warmth against his skin, as if the mosaic breathed. Once again he heard the soft feminine voices speaking from a great distance. Some speaking in an ancient tongue, others more modern, but all whispering to be strong, that they were with him. He had never sought nor wanted a family, or unity or the belonging. It wasn't for him. Yet here he was, the house, the family, the woman, and he had shoved it away.

  Elle. Stay alive for me. Believe in me.

  He was asking from her what he hadn't done himself. He should have believed in what Elle was offering. Love. Unconditional love. Elle had watched him quietly, waiting for him to recognize what was in front of him. He wanted, not unconditional love, but unconditional surrender. Her will to his. He didn't want to be out of his comfort zone, he wanted Elle to come to him, bending her ways to his. He hadn't wanted to give away the violence inside him. He'd wanted acceptance without having to give anything of himself.

  And he had lost her. He even knew the exact moment she had turned away from him and had chosen to go her own way. She had left him behind just as he expected her to do, just as he'd pushed her to do. Jackson shook his head. He had pushed her. He wanted to remain the rolling stone, the man who refused to need anyone. He was determined to show her she was the one who would have to change. He wasn't going to explain himself to her or change for her. She had knocked on his door, stood just outside on his porch with the ocean roaring behind her, her delicate features soft and beautiful, her emerald eyes deep and fathomless, her long red hair blowing in the wind.

  "My house was obviously wrong," she'd said. "You're not man enough to take on this task and I'm done waiting for you." She had tu
rned away from him and walked away, never once looking back. Worse, he hadn't stopped her.

  He looked around at her family, feeling the weight of the ancient Drakes who had gone before, measuring his worth. And right now, at this moment, he wasn't worth very much and he just couldn't give a damn that they would all see. Elle was too important. Getting her back was too important; he'd just have to sort the rest of it out later. Right now, none of his well-thought-out reasons for not believing in her lifestyle seemed to matter at all.

  Outside the open door, lightning lit up the sky in white jagged streaks, illuminating the dark turbulent water of the ocean. Thunder crashed, immediately followed by the angry boom of the sea. The wind rushed into the house and swirled around the women, feeding into the building energy and power in the room.

  There was no way not to believe in the strange magic the sisters had when they were together. He knew Jonas thought it was their love and closeness that somehow made them a powerful force, but Jackson knew it had to be more than that--they seemed elemental parts of the universe--perhaps blessings bestowed on the family at birth. Whatever one believed in, they were a force to be reckoned with.

  Electricity crackled in the room. Power built until the walls undulated and the floor shifted.

  3

  ELLE could hear a woman weeping in the distance. Hopeless. Broken. The sound filled with despair. She wished someone would help the woman because the closer she came to the surface, the more pain wracked her entire body and the crying kept pulling her out of her cocoon. She couldn't imagine what had happened. She couldn't remember.

  "Sheena. Open your eyes. Stop crying, sweet, I'm here now and it's going to be okay."

  Her body jerked involuntarily at the sound of that voice. She knew him. Knew his scent. Knew his touch. He brought pain or took it away. He had become her world. She knew nothing and no one else but him. He fed her. He took her to the bathroom. He chose whether or not she could wear clothes, or have a shower. His punishments, when she defied him--which was often--were terrible. He never changed tone. His voice always remained calm and matter-of-fact. Very powerful.

  His hand stroked over her hair. The tumbled mass of red strands was the only place on her that didn't hurt. Her back and buttocks were fire. Her breasts burned. And between her legs it throbbed and ached, so sore she didn't want to move for fear her insides would fall out. But the pain in her head was the worst of all.

  It took a few minutes before she realized that she was the woman weeping. Elle made an effort to quiet, to remember what happened. What had she done that had earned another of his terrible punishments?

  "Sheena, come on now. Open your eyes for me."

  Her mouth went dry at the sound of his soft, persuasive voice. There was a metallic taste in her mouth. Someone touched her wrist and she knew instantly it was Stavros. In all the weeks he'd kept her, she'd never seen another human being, other than his brother that first day. Not one. She hadn't heard another voice. He brought food and water. He tied her up and used her in every way he wanted. He whipped her repeatedly, left her alone until she thought she might go insane and yet often spent hours attempting to pleasure her with his hands and mouth and body. She never knew what his touch would bring. Her heart slammed hard in her chest and she tried to jerk away.

  "Shhh, my sweet. I'm going to carry you to the bathtub. When I put you in the water, you have to stay on your hands and knees for me. Can you do that?"

  She felt him slip his arm under her legs. The moment he made contact with her skin she suppressed a scream. Pain flashed through her and her stomach lurched. She tried to bring her hand up to cover her mouth, but her arms were too weak and felt too heavy, as if she were weighted down. Her wrists were burned and swollen.

  His arm came up under her back and she screamed, arching upward trying to avoid contact. Her skin hurt and every movement made the pain crash through her skull. Fear ate at her. She couldn't remember. She was so thirsty she could barely part her swollen, dry lips.

  "Shhh, Sheena, stay still. You'll only hurt yourself more." He sounded sad, his voice almost sorrowful and disappointed. "You have to get control of yourself. You can do that for me, can't you?"

  He gently set her in the bathtub on her hands and knees, the warm water lapping at her body. Elle managed to open her eyes to narrow slits. Blood turned the water to a pale pink. Her skin burned and stung, causing her to shiver uncontrollably.

  "It's antiseptic, my sweet. It will help numb you." Very gently he wrang a warm cloth over her back. "Let me take care of you."

  But he had done this to her. She remembered now. All of it. He'd been so angry, although he hadn't shown it, never raising his voice, but she knew him now, knew when she displeased him. He wanted obedience from her. She was his to do whatever he wanted. She knew that the weeks spent in his company, forced to turn to him for comfort, for companionship, food and water, even permission to go to the bathroom, was all designed to mold her and break her spirit. And God help her, sometimes she couldn't remember who she was anymore.

  The island had some kind of energy field that prevented her from defending herself using her psychic abilities. She'd tried testing it over the weeks, looking for weaknesses, trying different levels of strengths against it, but every single time, she'd been defeated, her headaches instantaneous and so painful she would vomit. Sometimes the pain was so severe she bled from her nose or mouth. Each time he'd forced her to have sex, usually daily, she'd tried to stop him, fighting physically and with her psychic talents. And each time had been a disaster for her.

  First there was the pain in her head driving her to the floor where she could only writhe and weep. And then his retaliation, whipping her or beating her with whatever he chose, and he had a variety of instruments at his disposal, each worse than the other.

  Her first time with a man had been with him. Shockingly, he had been gentle with her. He'd actually tried to make it pleasurable for her, and that was his way to break her. One moment he would offer comfort, taking care of her, seeing to her every need, and the next, if she in any way defied him, he would be ruthlessly frightening, punishing her swiftly and without mercy. She could never relax, never know what was coming next, fixing her attention on him the moment he entered the room, thinking about him when he wasn't with her, so that he was her entire world and nothing else mattered.

  He washed her body gently. "Don't make me do this to you, Sheena. Accept that you are mine and that I am all you will ever need or want. I can make you happy and bring you more pleasure than you've ever imagined." The warm water poured over her body, helping to numb the terrible pain of the raw wounds crisscrossing her back and buttocks and thighs. "You were born for me, to please me, to bear my children, strengthen my line. I wouldn't have to punish you like this if you would simply obey me, Sheena."

  His hand continued to gently wash her wounds, the warm water and caressing fingers providing a balm to her tortured body. She closed her eyes again, shuddering, shaking, completely dependent on him for his help. Her arms began to collapse and he had to wrap his arm around her waist to keep her from falling. Very gently he rinsed off the rest of her body and then pulled the plug in the ornate, sunken tub.

  Wrapping her in a soft, fluffy towel, he lifted her into his arms, cradling her as if she was the most precious woman in the world. Elle's head fell back against his shoulder, and then she turned to bury her face against his neck. It was her first act of submission and it frightened her. She needed comfort, needed someone to hold and soothe her, rock her as he was doing. He took her to her bed and laid her gently on her stomach, massaging an ointment into the thin stripes covering her body.

  She knew he had noticed her slip, that little drop of her head; she'd felt his heart jump and her eyes burned with tears. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably, but her brain was beginning to kick in again. This couldn't go on. She was going to be lost, or maybe she already was. There was no way out. Stavros was too powerful, his private island too isolated. No one kn
ew where she was. She was tied or chained most of the time, locked in a room, and she couldn't use even the smallest psychic talent. Her body hurt every minute of the day. She was exhausted and worn from fighting him.

  He turned her over and rubbed the ointment into her breasts and belly, lower still, following the thin stripes inside her thighs and across her painful bare mound. Unbidden came the humiliating memory of him shaving her clean, right before he took her virginity. She bit at her lip to keep from crying out, but tears squeezed between her lashes. He leaned down to lick them away.

  "You look so beautiful, sweetness." His tongue traced a path to the edge of her mouth, down to one stripe across the swell of her breasts. "Your body will know only mine, and you'll always crave my touch."

  She opened her eyes then to look at him. He seemed invincible. All powerful. She tried to make a sound, but her mouth was too dry and he immediately held a glass of water to her lips, helping her drink. He looked so caring she could almost believe him, but he had been the one to inflict the damage on her.

  "Why do you keep hurting me?" She could barely form the words.

  "You must learn obedience, Sheena. You are to serve me, at my pleasure. When I tell you to do something, you must never argue. You must obey without question." He lowered her back to the bed and stroked his fingers over her shivering body. "Sometimes it may please me to hurt you and you will learn to be happy to do this." He bent his head to her breast, his tongue flicking her nipple.

  She hurt so much she couldn't stop the little shudder that went through her, but still, he had been training her body to accept pain and find pleasure there as well. Already his fingers were probing between her legs, and, ignoring her wince and small cry, he pushed his head between her thighs, letting the dark shadowed jaw slide across the whip marks.

  Oh God, she couldn't do this anymore. She didn't have the strength to fight him. Her fingers clutched at the silken sheet, bunching it into her fists while tears poured down her face. There had to be a way out. She just had to think. To find it. To stop feeling helpless like the victim he'd made her.