Hidden Currents (11 page)

Stavros killed easily, yet he refused to even argue with Sid when Sid intervened. Stavros had walked out, shaking with anger, but still, he’d left Sid to pick up the pieces, trusting the bodyguard with her when he wouldn’t even allow his own brother to lay a finger on her. Sid had been gentle, washing her, checking her ribs, whispering to her in Russian, telling her to stop fighting, to just endure, to wait. For what? She didn’t even have a sense of time anymore.

Elle wondered for the millionth time if she had dreamed Jackson’s voice. If anything was real. Everything around her seemed hazy and faraway. What had roused her from her semistupor, an urgent feeling that wouldn’t let go of her? She didn’t want to actually feel, or think; she wanted to slip back into that place where no one could touch her. But . . . She turned her face toward the long glass wall and looked out to the sea.

The wind slammed against the building, rising to a shriek and then retreating, only to return with full force, knocking, again and again. Her breath caught in her throat. The wind.
Watch for the wind
. She tried to sit up and found she couldn’t move. She pulled experimentally at the cuffs on her wrists. He’d tied her to the bed. Stavros didn’t ever need a reason; he wanted her to know she existed at his whim—that whatever he chose to do, he would do, and she was powerless. He drove the point home to her often. He was tired of her fighting him, and in truth, she was tired of it, too.

She looked toward the glass again, moistening her dry lips. Had Jackson come? Had her sisters sent the wind to tell her they were coming for her? She didn’t dare hope. A prickly sensation crept down her spine and she knew without turning her head that Stavros had entered the room. She let her head fall back on the pillow and braced herself for his touch.

“I thought the storm might be making you nervous,” he said. “The glass always makes it seem as if you’re out in it, when really you’re safe.” His voice was very solicitous and she wondered, not for the first time, if he really believed himself in love with her. And if he did, it was a sick kind of love—ownership she wanted no part of.

“It is a little nerve-wracking,” she admitted, surprising him. His eyes went wide at her answer. She rarely responded to anything he said or did, her only real way of keeping control.

Stavros looked pleased. Immediately, as if to reward her, he crossed to her side and bent down to brush a kiss over her mouth. Elle forced herself not to turn her head. She didn’t respond, but she let him have her lips again, a big victory for him.

“Were you missing me?”

She swallowed the bile rising. “I was lonely.” She turned her head toward the glass. “And the wind . . .”

“Don’t worry, my sweet. This house is a fortress. Nothing will destroy it.”

He’d better hope his psychic barrier never came down, because if it did, she would take down his house and everything in it.

“I have to use the bathroom.” She hated that she flushed red when she said it. He loved the humiliation of her having to ask. Sometimes he made her “ask properly”—asking “please” and thanking him afterward, even when he stayed in the room with her. She’d never detested anyone more in her life. At least she wasn’t so apathetic that she couldn’t feel her hatred of her captor.

“Of course, Sheena.” His hands were gentle as he took off the cuffs on her wrists. “Good girl.” He smiled, rubbing at the bruises on her skin. “You didn’t fight this time and break the skin.”

Only because she’d been unconscious, or asleep—she couldn’t tell anymore. Elle glanced again out the window, trying not to hope, forcing herself not to reach out to see if Jackson or her sisters were close.

“Are you afraid of storms?” Stavros unlocked the cuffs on her ankles and rubbed her legs, his fingers lingering over her wounds.

Elle took a breath and let it out, letting him see how fragile and vulnerable she felt. If it lulled him into a false sense of security, she would concede to him almost anything. She nodded her head. “I try not to be. I know it’s silly.”

It was probably the most she’d exchanged with him since he’d first taken her prisoner. How long now? She didn’t know, but it seemed as if he’d become her entire life.

Stavros helped her to sit up, holding her when she swayed a little, still holding the sheet over her body. “I’ve told you not to be modest around me,” he reminded her. “I like to look at your body.”

Involuntarily she tightened the hold on the sheet. At his look of annoyed impatience, she took another stab at playing to his ego. “I don’t feel very attractive right now. My hair is tangled and my bones are sticking out.” She’d always been thin, but now she looked like a scarecrow. “The doctor said . . .” She trailed off, looking away from him. “I don’t like you seeing me like this.”

“You’re beautiful, Sheena. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You’ve been ill, that’s all.” Stavros tugged at the sheet until she reluctantly dropped it, and then he helped her to swing her legs over the side of the bed.

The room spun for a moment. She was weaker than she realized. She waited for the world to right itself and stepped upright onto the floor, leaning on Stavros a little more than she wanted. He wrapped his arm around her waist and helped her to walk to the bathroom. The wind slammed against the glass wall and Elle jumped, turning to look over her shoulder at the darkened sky. The clouds spun, whipping around, slowly forming pictures, taking her breath. Long hair blowing wildly with the wind, six distinct faces, looking left and right, searching . . . searching.

Elle’s breath caught in her throat. She wanted to walk over to the long glass wall, not away from it. She could feel her entire mind reaching for those faces.
See me
.
I’m here
. But she didn’t dare try to use telepathy, not with the barrier up and Stavros in the room. She could only hold her breath and pray that they would see her—feel her. The faces turned almost as one, eyes wide open and sharp, piercing the veil of the storm, hair swirling around in the clouds, as her sisters looked at her. And she looked at them.

Elle felt each distinct heartbeat in her body like a drum playing in her head. She felt each beat like thunder clapping in the sky. There was no mistaking her sisters. She sagged against Stavros, her knees going weak with relief. Tears burned behind her eyelids. They had come for her. It wasn’t her imagination. She wanted to weep and laugh at the same time. Instead she forced herself to undergo the humiliation of using the bathroom with Stavros watching her every move. It sickened her that he needed such control over her, that he enjoyed his petty power issues. She washed carefully and made her way back into the room.

“May I sit for a few minutes?” She shivered, feigning cold, when it was sheer excitement. “I have a difficult time lying in bed when the wind is so strong.”

She
never
asked for concessions and Stavros all but beamed, his dark eyes sliding over her with evident pleasure as he gallantly escorted her to the thickly cushioned chairs and settled her into one, retrieving a blanket to tuck around her.

She smiled wanly. “Thank you.”

A bolt of lightning lit the sky and threw the grounds into sharp relief. Rain began to splatter against the glass in big, fat drops. Tears. Her sisters weeping for her destroyed soul. The thought came unbidden, but once she had it, she knew it was true. There was nothing left of the Elle that had left home so many weeks ago. She was gone and whoever was left in her empty shell of a body was lost.

“Was that so hard, Sheena? Asking for my help?”

She lowered her eyes and shook her head, cringing inside that she had to play this disgusting game. She wanted to think of it as she used to, her undercover persona outwitting her prey, but she no longer felt strong and in control. She wasn’t strong. She might never be again. She continued to look out the window, not wanting to see Stavros’s handsome face. He was the devil incarnate, and just looking at him filled her with fear. She thought him invincible and it frightened her to think that he might get his hands on her sisters.

“Sheena.” His voice was purring softly and filled her with terror. “Look at me.”

He couldn’t possibly be reading her mind, the psychic energy barrier was in place. She could always feel that low hum, hurting in her head. She made herself look away from the hope the storm brought, to meet his dark, hooded eyes.

“See, my sweet, life doesn’t have to be difficult, if you just do as you’re told.” Stavros swept his arms to encompass the room. “You can live a beautiful, privileged life here with me, having our children, having anything you want.”

“Why me, Stavros? I’m not like the women you’re usually with.” Not tall and beautiful, just intriguing enough to get his attention to be invited to his parties. She wasn’t one of the statuesque blondes he’d seemed to prefer.

He took her comment as a plea for reassurance. “Is that what concerns you, sweetness? That you’re not going to hold my attention?”

Her stomach turned over. The last thing she wanted was to hold his attention. She forced her mind to keep up. It was so hard to think, but if she could just engage with him sitting a distance from her, not touching her, she could wait for a signal. Oh God. She could wait for the energy field to come down. That’s what they had to be doing—taking down the energy field. Her heart jumped with anticipation. Stavros would be very sorry he ever laid a hand on her if that field came down.

Elle looked at the man, hoping he couldn’t see her hatred of him. She forced a casual shrug, searching for the right words to appeal to his massive ego. “You’re like a fairy-tale prince, and don’t pretend you don’t know it. Every write-up about you describes you that way, and look in the mirror. I’m no princess.”

Stavros leaned toward her, looking more pleased than ever. “You’re exotic, Sheena, a very rare jewel. And I know jewels. I searched the world over for a woman like you.”

He had the purring quality to his voice again, meant to mesmerize her. He reminded her of a cobra hypnotizing prey. She suppressed the shudder and drew the blanket closer around her. Elle was thankful to her sisters as the wind slammed against the villa hard, drawing her gaze naturally so she could look away from those watchful eyes.

“I’m not, Stavros,” she whispered and the shame in her voice was real this time. “I’m weak. I should have been able to keep standing up to you, to have pride. I feel as though I’ve failed some test you set out for me.”

She rubbed the edge of the blanket against her trembling mouth. She wanted to go home—but home would never be the same—because
she
wasn’t the same. She was no longer Sheena MacKenzie or Elle Drake. She didn’t know who she was anymore. Her temples throbbed and the constant headache reminded her that she’d nearly burned out her talent fighting the energy field. What did she have left? Stripped of everything she was, everything she knew about herself, she felt like an empty shell with nothing inside.

“Sweetheart, this was no test for you. There was never a need to prove to me that you were strong enough or worthy enough.”

Not for him. Never for him. To be a Drake. To pass on her legacy to seven women. To be strong enough to guide them over the coming years in the things they would have to learn to wield such power. She’d had power all her life, self-esteem, training, her body and mind fit, and yet now, at the first real test, she’d failed her seven daughters, her six sisters and every single Drake woman who had come before her.

She was broken and there was no fixing her. Even if they managed to get her off the island and away from Stavros, she would never get him out of her mind, or his touch off her body. He had done what he set out to do and she was changed for all time.

Elle shook her head and pushed back the tangle of bright red hair. She hated her hair because he ran his fingers through it constantly. He wrapped his fist around it and yanked her head back, forcing her to do his bidding over and over. There wasn’t a part of her that felt clean, no part of her that felt as if it was hers. He had done that. Stavros. Even with the wild wind slamming into the villa and her sisters close, she felt terrified of him. He seemed invincible. Elle kept her head down, not wanting him to see her utter defeat at his hands.

“Sheena.” His voice was deceptively gentle, compelling her to look at him, her heart in her throat. “I want your obedience. You will have to live here of course, but I will make your world an incredible one. We’ll have our children and our home away from everyone. You’ll be protected and so will our children. Here, where I can make certain no outside influences adversely affect our lives.”

He sounded so reasonable. She couldn’t help but wonder, with her sitting there naked, wrapped only in a blanket, bruises and whip marks crisscrossing her body, how he could sound so sane and reasonable.

“You beat me.”

His eyelids flickered and her heart jumped, frightened she’d pushed him too far. It was such an edge, a balance, trying to maintain a semblance of control when she really had none. Control was an illusion.

“I punished you, yes, because you misunderstood what I wanted from you. I want obedience, Sheena. I will take care of your every need, see to your wants and desires, even the ones you don’t know you have, but in return, I need you to give yourself completely to me. Body and mind wholly into my care. My wants and desires should always be your first thought.”

Like a slave. Like the women his brother had stolen and crammed into his freighters to sell into a life of hell. She felt resistance pouring through her mind and fought to hold back her natural use of power. She didn’t need him to beat her again. Her breath left her lungs in a deliberate long rush and she nodded her head. “I thought you were testing me, testing my strength.”

She shivered beneath the blanket and glanced again at the sky—at the clouds. Had it been her imagination? Was her mind playing tricks on her? The clouds looked like huge boiling cauldrons, a witch’s ancient brew, roiling and whirling darker and darker as they spun. The rain lashed the glass, dimming the room even more. She hoped it hid her expression and the terror building inside her.