Hidden Currents by Christine Feehan Read Free Book Online Page A

usual.”
    Jackson clung to that, without thinking too much about what a man who held himself above the law and unscrupulous enough to deal in human trafficking, might do to a woman he believed he now owned. Elle was in trouble and if Gratsos was the man holding her, he had the means to keep her hidden from the world for a long time—until he tired of her.
    He took a breath and forced his mind away from disaster. He had to think with a clear head. Find her first. Extract her. Keep her safe. Deal with everything else later. Just first find her. He looked up at the sky. Already he could feel the crackling of energy. Hannah was moving off the captain’s walk back to the house, signaling it was close to time.
    The Drake house towered above them, rising like an ancient dragon with widespread wings poised on the edge of the cliff. Water pounded below, sending giant sprays of white foam high up into the air, the water murky and dark, roiling like a witch’s cauldron. The wind whipped across his face, lashing him with stinging droplets of seawater. Jackson tasted the salt along with his fear. This house would be his when he claimed Elle. Her legacy would be his.
    Elle was the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. She carried all the powers of the Drake family in her slender body, and with it, the ability to continue the line. Which meant birth control didn’t work well on her.
    She was to be the mother of the next generation of Drakes. He would marry her, but they would keep her name. Their seven daughters would possess the power of the Drake family. He had waited, letting Elle run, making her run, because he had been afraid. Not of the children he had no idea how to be a father to—he’d learn that—but of his own violent legacy. And how could he explain it to her without putting her in danger?
    He wasn’t a man able to relinquish too much control, and Elle defied him at every turn—more than defied him, she challenged him. He hadn’t trusted himself enough not to lose her when they both were such strong personalities and in hesitating, she’d turned away from him—and eventually, she’d even given up on him.
    Elle. Damn it. Where are you? Answer me. He put every ounce of command, of iron will—a will honed and shaped by violence—into the demand. Answer me now.
    He rubbed his shadowed jaw and looked up as lightning lit up the darkening sky, lacing the brooding clouds with white-hot lances, spears that felt as if they pierced his eyes and went through his skull right to the back of his head. He dropped to his knees and pressed his fingers hard to his temples, his stomach churning, the pain in his head so intense he was sick to his stomach.
    Everything receded into the background, Ilya’s and Jonas’s anxious voices fading away. The world around him curved and trembled. The ground shifted, became soft and giving beneath him. He heard a voice whispering and at first he couldn’t make out words, but he reached and the voice became stronger. Sheena. Look at me. Talk to me. Who are you? What are you doing here? Who sent you? Talk to me, Sheena, and the pain will go away. Male. Persuasive. He’d heard voices like that before, molding their victim, holding hope just out of reach.
    Jackson went still, afraid to move, afraid to hope. He’d touched her. He’d connected and if someone was questioning her as Sheena, her cover was still intact. He tried to breathe through the pain—her pain—and let his mind expand, reach out strongly to hers. Elle. Baby? Can you hear me? I’m coming for you. We’re coming. Stay alive for me, honey.
    He felt the faint far-off touch, just a slight stirring in his mind. Fragile. Tenuous, as if she was afraid to believe. Jackson?
    Her voice sent a vise gripping his heart, squeezing until there was actual pain. For a moment he thought he might be having a heart attack. I’m here. I’m with you. Tell me where you are, Elle.
    I don’t know. I can’t think straight. My head . . . She