Hidden Currents by Christine Feehan Page A

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 turned 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