"I have to be with you right now, Jackson. I know no one else understands it, but I know I won't be safe without you."
He couldn't pull out of her mind and he didn't want to think too much about the why of Elle's belief that she was safer with him, not until he could be alone with his thoughts. Something wasn't right and Elle had more psychic gifts than most people. If she didn't believe she was safe without him in the Drake house, with Ilya and Jonas and Matt to protect her, then whatever threatened her had to be more than physical--and he had a really bad feeling about who was behind that threat.
"Jackson?" Elle's voice quivered.
"We'll be fine, baby. You want to stay with me, then you'll stay. I've got a couple of friends--the woman I told you about who trained Bomber, and her husband--who can give me a few tips on keeping you safe. She's sending me the two dogs I told you about as soon as they're ready. I've already made the arrangements. One in particular is for you."
Elle slid her palm over Bomber's head. "He's comforting."
Bomber gave a short bark. Jackson's hand slid smoothly inside his jacket. "Show me."
Bomber started toward the trail leading to the beach just below the house.
"It's my sisters," Elle said. "They're on the beach."
Jackson called the dog back to him and Bomber instantly responded, coming to heel, sitting at Jackson's side. Man and dog shielded Elle while Jackson peered through the thickening fog, trying to make out the figures taking shape on the sand.
The six women looked ethereal. He could just make them out in their long, flowing skirts, bare feet and loose hair. He could hear feminine voices rising on the wind and the crackling of a fire as they lit pieces of wood they drew into a fire pit. Arms raised toward the graying sky, they sang, feet dancing a pattern in the cool sand.
Elle came down the stairs of the deck to stand beneath his shoulder, her smaller body pressed against his. Jackson wrapped his arm around her, drawing her close to shelter her as they watched the flames, orange and red, glow bright through the heavy fog. She slipped her arm around his waist, her fingers curling into his shirt like a fist.
"You want to be with them." He made it a statement.
"Yes." She rubbed her face against his ribs. "They're determined to heal me one way or another. Please stay in my mind, Jackson, just in case."
He didn't like the way she was shivering, as if the piercing cold went straight to her bones. "I'm not leaving you, Elle." His voice went gentle, shocking him. He wasn't a gentle man. Demons rode him hard and he often was abrupt to the point of being rude, yet Elle brought out the best in him--the best he didn't even know he had. He felt at once protective and soft inside where she was concerned. "Your sisters aren't trying to get inside of you, honey, they're just trying to give you strength."
"I know." She kept her head low. "Once I know we can shield from Libby, I'll ask her to help me heal faster. I don't want her in my brain though, not even to help with the psychic healing."
"Isn't that more Kate's thing?"
Elle did look at him then, shocked that he knew. Libby's ability to heal was famous in the small town, but few knew of Kate's ability. "How?"
"Last Christmas, when the town was attacked by the entity in the fog, Kate brought peace to everyone. Matt and Jonas brought her to my house, thinking I needed peace like the others, but I was going through a rough time and I was worried for Jonas, that I might do something crazy. So I tried to burn out my talent." His voice was low as he admitted it to her.
She raised her head, gasping. Her fingers tightened in his shirt. "Jackson. Where was I? How come I didn't know?"
"You were off somewhere, South America maybe. Who knows. And Kate and the town were in trouble so your attention was centered there."
Elle let out her breath. She hated that. Hated that she hadn't known he was in such trouble that he might think about psychic suicide. "You couldn't stand to touch anyone."
"I don't just get emotion that way. I'm different, Elle, and I don't know how to explain it. With you I have telepathy, we're on the same wavelength, but with everyone else, I know things some of the time and mostly it's things I don't want to know. It can be very disturbing, especially if I've had a bad day at work." He looked down at her, his gaze locking with hers. "But then you know that. You've had the same overload many, many times in your life. You try never to touch others, but it doesn't always help, not even with your family."
She pressed her forehead against his chest. "No," she admitted. "It's overwhelming to feel so many emotions bombarding me day and night. How did Kate help you?"
"She talked to me, which I'll admit was soothing, but then, right before she left she shook my hand and wished me peace. But she took some of the shadows I live with, the darkness, with her, and I realized afterward, my brain was on overload and she eased . . ." He stopped and caught Elle's chin, pulling her head up to look into her eyes. "You think she can heal you psychically."
"There's a chance."
Jackson let out his breath in a rush of excitement. Stavros might be powerful, but he wouldn't be a match for the Drake sisters. Not with Elle truly healed. He'd been worried for their future, for their children's future.
"I don't know if I want her to try." The admission came in a small voice. "If she takes on the burden, or the illness in the same way Libby does, what would it do to Kate?"
They both looked out at the six women dancing around the bonfire. The wind came in off the ocean and blew the fog from the shoreline, corralling it and shepherding it back out to sea. Soft melodic voices lifted, the notes pure and beautiful, bringing a sense of peace to both Elle and Jackson. Bomber reacted as well, his ears cocked forward, his eyes bright and focused, following every movement of the dancers.
The bare feet stomped each step into the sand, creating a pulsing rhythm they could feel building in their blood. Hannah, recognized easily by her height and the platinum curls, raised her arms toward the sea while the others continued moving in a circle. Jackson felt the wind shift, a subtle difference. He felt the ocean, tasted salt, the fine mist of the sea itself on his face. Elle lifted her arms, moving away from his body to stand directly in the stream of air coming in from the beach.
It took Jackson a moment to realize what was in that mist. Hastily he pulled the sweater Elle was wearing over her head, and, ignoring her protest, dropped it into the sand.
"Take off the sweatpants," Jackson ordered, already moving behind her to grasp the waistband, pulling them down over her hips.
"I don't have anything on," she protested.
"Who gives a damn?" he snapped, his voice rough. "It's not like I haven't seen you and they're staying a distance away. I'll send Bomber to the front and he'll warn us if anyone is coming. Get them off."
He signaled the dog and yanked at the sweatpants simultaneously, not really giving Elle a choice. If her sisters were willing to try to heal her physical body from a distance, he was going to take them up on whatever they could do. It was painful to see her body so bruised and cut and welted. And she was ashamed, as if she could have somehow stopped Stavros from torturing her.
Elle drew in her breath sharply, but allowed Jackson to hold her arms out from her sides, and slowly turn her around so the steady stream of mist could coat her entire body, front, back and sides. She felt the burn of the salt in her wounds, but then a soothing heat followed, and deep inside, where no one but Jackson could see, she wept at the sheer joy of being joined, even just through the wind, with her sisters again.
Jackson could feel love and warmth pouring in along with the healing mist, but he was looking out beyond the sisters, out over the foaming sea. He expected dolphins and even perhaps a breaching whale, but instead, there was a thick gray fog bank hanging back from the shore, but threatening nevertheless. He swore something moved in the fog, stretching icy fingers toward the beach, but Hannah's wind kept the invasive tendrils at bay as her sisters danced.
Just what was Stavros's psychic talent? Could he proje
ct himself across the sea and hover offshore? Had he established a connection with Elle the way Jackson had? The thought upset him on more than one level. He didn't want any other man to have a psychic connection with Elle.
The fire crackled and snapped, glowing bright orange and sending flames skyward. The feminine voices slowly drifted away and the dancers fell exhausted into the sand. Hannah was last, holding the healing mist as long as possible before she, too, collapsed on the beach. Behind her, the sea was rough and choppy, stirred up from the high winds fighting to get past her to reach shore.
Jackson flung the blanket around Elle. "Go into the house, baby, and get dressed," he said. "I'll start the tea water and get your sisters."
"I can make the tea," she offered. "I'm tired, but I feel better already." She shivered a little as the fog crept closer to the beach. "I don't like them lying helpless in the sand with the fog coming in, especially Hannah. She's too close to the edge of the water."
"I'll get her." He didn't like the way the fog bank was so dark, or the way fingers stretched, elongated, looking eerily as if a hand reached toward them. "Go in the house, Elle. Get dressed and stay warm. Bomber is a trained protection dog and will protect you rather than property. I asked Lisset to train him with Russian commands because the family all speaks Russian and I figured it would be easier for any of us to direct him when necessary." He gave her a list of commands and made her repeat them back to him. "Dress warm, baby. It's cold out today and the fog is moving in fast." He signaled the dog. "Go with her, search."
Bomber's ears cocked forward, his eyes focused on the bank of heavy gray fog moving toward the shore. He whined, communicating his anxiety but he obediently preceded Elle up the steps to the house and disappeared inside.
"Wait for him, Elle. Let him clear the house. He'll signal when it's safe for you to go in. Always wait. You have to start taking precautions."
"I'm not used to this." She shivered inside the blanket.
"I know, but it will become second nature. It's better for us to learn how to take care of ourselves and our children. We both have something dangerous hanging over our heads that could affect our lives." He kept his voice matter-of-fact, as if it was nothing to live under a death threat. The one thing Elle's kidnapping had taught him was he had to grab ahold of life with both hands, and not watch it pass him by because he was afraid for Elle or for his children. Bad things happened all the time, but he was missing the good things while waiting and he was determined for Elle to see they had a future no matter what.
Bomber poked his head out the open door and gave a short bark. "Praise him and go in with him."
"I'll put the kettle on and get dressed," Elle said, grateful to be of some help.
Jackson waited until Elle and the German Shepherd were safely inside before he started down the worn path. The small stretch of dunes separating his property from the beach rolled gently, little plants pushing through the sand, dotting the landscape with bits of vibrant green.
Once on the beach, he crouched beside Sarah. "You okay?"
"Just a little drained. Did it work?" Sarah glanced out toward the sea, a small frown on her face. "I don't like the look of that." Her voice was thin and she didn't move, not even turning her head, but shifting her gaze to look at the brooding fog.
"I think you really helped her, Sarah. If nothing else, she felt better surrounded by you all. She's making tea. I'll help you into the house, but don't let any of your sisters try to get inside her head. She doesn't want that."
"We figured that out," Sarah said.
Jackson's stomach was beginning to tighten into hard knots and a frisson of awareness crept down his spine. He turned from Sarah to watch the sea. The waves receded, pulling back into the thick bank of fog gathering out at sea in an eerie calm. A dark channel of water ran from the shore to the sea, the deeper color pushing into the ocean water, staining the blue a muddy green right through the middle. Out at sea, a wave gathered force and began a rush toward the beach.
Jackson leapt to his feet, shouting a warning to Hannah as he ran, pounding through the sand toward where she lay, one arm and leg outstretched in the damp sand. Hannah was pregnant, Jackson knew, although only a small rounded bump on her thin frame gave evidence of the fact. Her eyes were closed and her body limp, drained from using psychic energy to direct the healing mist to her youngest sister. The waterline closest to Hannah was much shallower than it should have been, creating the illusion of utter calm. He was nearly to her as the water hit and the long thick arms of the tubular kelp reached up out of the fast approaching wave and wound itself around Hannah's wrist and ankle.
With the wind driving the wave onto shore with such force, the backwash, with nowhere else to go, was pushed to the side--surrounding Hannah completely as the water sought to return to the sea. The hidden current, much stronger on the surface than underneath, gathered in strength, and beneath the murky water, the returning kelp jerked hard and Hannah's slim form slid toward the open sea. Water foamed around her body, splashed over her face, and her eyes snapped open in panic. She began to struggle, but her movements were feeble and no match for the power of the retreating rip current as it dragged her out to open water.
Jackson dove after Hannah, catching her arm, holding on as the wave sucked both of them under, rolling them violently as it rushed them into deeper waters. He hung on grimly, refusing to give her up to the sea.
Don't fight it. Stay calm, Hannah. He had never used telepathy with anyone but Elle, but Elle was with him, directing the communication in his mind. He could feel her, the fear, the knowledge they were in terrible trouble.
Rip currents, hidden beneath the surface of the water, caused more deaths than any other natural disaster except floods and extreme heat.
Let it take us out to sea. Swim parallel to shore. The current isn't that wide.
He kept his fingers locked like a vise around Hannah's arm. Already the cold was invading his body and his jeans were heavy, trying to drag him down. He couldn't imagine what it would be like for Hannah as thin as she was. The ocean was cold and hyperthermia would set in fast.
She's already exhausted, drained of all energy by the healing she performed, and trying to move her arms and legs is impossible. Elle's voice cut in, very calm.
Tell her to turn over and float for me. Jackson was fighting the strong current that kept trying to rip Hannah away from him. He swore the water around them was alive, ripping and tearing at them both. He knew fighting was useless, they had to let the current carry them as far out as it went.
The kelp has her trapped. You have to free her, Jackson.
For a moment, in the dark sea, with the icy cold and strong current pulling at him, it didn't feel possible, but still retaining possession of her arm, he stopped swimming, abandoned trying to pull Hannah along in the grip of the riptide, and jerked the knife from his belt. At once he felt the rush of powerful water pulling them farther out to sea, but he closed his mind to everything but freeing Hannah from the kelp.
Somehow the thick tubes of kelp had wrapped Hannah's arm and leg repeatedly as they tumbled over and over in the churning water, sand abrading exposed skin as they were swept through the sandbars out to sea. He slashed through the rubbery fronds along her arm until she waved her arm freely. He kicked strongly, holding her clothes as he fought his way to her leg and the kelp she was entangled in. It had been uprooted and was a deterrent to swimming, so he slashed through that as well and caught her hand, tugging to get her going in the right direction.
Jackson was nearly out of air and knew Hannah had to be terrified. Tell her we'll be fine, to swim parallel to the shore. He kicked out strongly, taking Hannah with him, praying she wouldn't fight. They broke the surface and both gasped for air. Tell her not to look at the beach, to just keep swimming.
9
ELLE put on the teakettle, resisting the urge to use her abilities to instantly heat the tea. She hadn't realized how often she actually used psychic talent in everyda
y life. Hastily throwing on a clean pair of sweats and finding a comfortable sweatshirt in Jackson's bureau, she started into the kitchen when Bomber gave a short, alarmed bark. She turned toward him when the first wave of panic hit her. Something was terribly wrong, and Jackson had inadvertently pulled out of her mind. And when she reached for him . . .
Her throat closed and she gasped and fought for breath. Fingers closed tightly around her throat and pressed deep, choking her. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she found herself on the floor, dizzy and weak, gasping, tears burning in her eyes as she tried desperately to pull nonexistent fingers from her throat. Was she losing her mind? She tried to reach for Jackson. Dimly she could hear Bomber barking.
I'll kill everyone you care about if you don't come back to me. Do you hear me? I'll keep killing until you come back to me. The voice whispered in her head, a soft menace that filled her mind and amplified her fear to the point of terror. She felt herself slipping, letting go and then Bomber's wet tongue slapped her face repeatedly. When she opened her eyes, Jackson was there, flooding her mind with need, with a strange calm, with a demand that she aid him.
Hannah. She whispered her sister's name, reached out and found Hannah shivering uncontrollably, afraid for her unborn child, for Jonas, for all her sisters. She could hear Hannah's silent scream as she joined with her and immediately felt the impact of the cold water. For a moment they were together, swept out to sea, trying to peer through the heavy veil of fog and unable to make out the shore. Kick. Swim, Elle urged, and Hannah tried to help Jackson by using her long legs, but she was so weak.
Elle felt Jackson there, strong, fierce, and it steadied her. She took a deep breath, sat up, using the dog to help her stagger to her feet. Patting him, she sent Hannah warmth and strength and reassured her that help was on the way. She touched Jonas's mind, and knew it was true, he was coming at breakneck speed, Ilya following close behind. Because they were locked so tightly together, there was no way to hide from Jackson the way her brain misfired, the tiny electrical shocks that jolted her. She could feel the blood trickling from her mouth and nose and she accepted the fact that she wasn't simply risking her life to aid them, she was risking becoming a vegetable. Her brain desperately needed healing, and she was only adding to the stress it was under, deepening the lesions, ripping open the wounds in order to save Jackson and Hannah.