by Emma Castle
“I love you . . . I love you . . .”
His lazy, seductive smile was full of leonine confidence. “I know.”
“You do?”
“We are mates. Of course you love me.” His easy confidence behind that statement felt oddly right. Of course she loved him. How could she not? She had been silly to think she ever could have denied that. But she had been afraid to let herself love him for so many reasons. Now it was too late. She was all in when it came to Thorne. Even if it got messy or painful, she was his to the end.
“Kiss me.”
His chuckle turned into a growl as he pinned her against the wall and did just that. He kissed her, loved her, and so much more.
Thorne met his uncle in his study half an hour before the guests were to arrive for the party. Though it was not uncomfortable to wear, he felt constrained in the dark-blue suit that he’d been told to wear. They called the look “sensible.” How could a man move properly when such clothing restricted him? He missed the freedom of wearing nothing but his bare skin.
“Have a seat.” Cameron put aside a stack of papers he’d been reviewing and gave his full attention to Thorne. Thorne liked that about his uncle, that as busy a man as he was, he could focus on the person he was speaking with. From what little Thorne had seen of this new world so far, men and women ignored each other and buried themselves in their digital devices. Yet Cameron and Isabelle were different.
“I know you must be worried about tonight, but it’s time we had a talk. An important one.”
Thorne remained silent, allowing his uncle to continue at his own pace.
“As I’m sure Eden has explained, your father was the eldest son of this family. That meant he became the Earl of Somerset when our father died. That was a year before you were born. As Jacob’s eldest and only son, the title now passes to you.”
Thorne’s stomach twisted, and he shifted restlessly in his chair.
“I don’t want it.”
“That’s not a choice, I’m afraid. These things are like nature. They occur despite our best intentions or desires. You are Jacob’s only child. There are ways to leave you without the title if you truly wish, but Thorne, please listen to me. This was meant to be your life. It feels uncomfortable now, but someday—someday this life may call to you as much as Africa does. Your parents lived their lives equally here and traveling the world. They made it work, and I believe you and Eden could too. You owe it to your parents to try.” Cameron cleared his throat. “That being said, I am aware of the shock and pressure this title and its responsibilities will bring to you. That is why I hope you will allow me to share the burden.”
“Share?” Thorne didn’t understand, but he was glad of any help Cameron could give.
“You will be the Earl of Somerset, but I would be at your side, helping you. You’ve had no schooling, but we can remedy that. Isabelle and I will help integrate you back into society far better than this little party tonight.”
None of this sounded appealing to him. “And if I wish to return to Africa?”
“You can, of course, but you can’t escape the title, Thorne. The world knows who you are now, and everyone is interested in knowing more about you. There’s no running away from this, no hiding in the jungle forever. You can leave the official title behind, but the world won’t forget who you really are.”
Thorne looked down at the floor, his thoughts jumbling as he tried to imagine dividing his life like his parents had. He couldn’t stay in England forever. He missed the call of parrots, the sound of waterfalls, and the humid feel of the jungle air embracing him. He missed Keza and Akika. But he wouldn’t let go of Eden, or this new world that held different joys.
“Were my parents happy? Living in two worlds?” he asked.
His uncle nodded. “Yes, yes they were. Quite happy. Like anything worth having in this life, it required work, but I think you’re quite capable of living just as they did.” Cameron offered a sympathetic gaze. “I know this is not what you want, but you’re British, and you’ll learn that if there’s one thing we do, it’s to keep our chins up and bear anything that comes our way with quiet grace. And the fact is that as an earl you can do far more to help protect the jungle you love than just living there and fighting off poachers, deforestation, and everything else that threatens the wilds of Uganda. You are not alone in all this. Isabelle and I are here for you.” Cameron leaned in and touched his shoulder, giving it a gentle shake.
Thorne nodded and stood. He paused at the doorway of the study and looked back at his uncle.
“I am going to marry Eden.”
“You mean you’re going to propose? We tend to ask our mates for their permission first.” There was a hint of teasing in his uncle’s tone at this correction.
Thorne nodded.
Cameron chuckled. “My boy, I am not surprised. You have my blessing. Isabelle will be thrilled. She sees much of herself in the girl. Take the advice I gave to your father when he first met your mother.”
Thorne waited expectantly.
“Go slow. Take your time. Be sure. Lust is fleeting and can feel a lot like love.”
“Did my father listen to you?”
“No, he married Amelia after just one month.”
Thorne smiled. “My heart has only one name carved upon it, and I will love her until there is no more breath in me. If I am following in my father’s footsteps, then there is no greater honor.”
“Then I am happy for you. To love greatly and be loved like that in return is a gift few have received.”
Half an hour later, the guests started to arrive. Thorne and his aunt and uncle met them at the door. It was a parade of faces that held no meaning to him, but he smiled, shook hands, and learned the art of what his aunt called “small talk.” The description was an apt one. Everything people said to him was of so little importance, and they often repeated one another with the same trivial questions.
Instead of focusing on the names, he focused on faces and the people’s tones as they spoke. More than one woman seemed to be interested in him as a potential mate, which he found irritating. They seemed to regard him as some kind of prize to be won.
Some of the men seemed threatened by him and would posture in defensive ways, putting their heads back, their nostrils flaring slightly, and thrusting their shoulders back to make themselves appear larger. These changes were subtle, but Thorne noticed them all the same. He wasn’t the least bit worried. Thorne had learned long ago how to gauge his strength against others. It was a vital skill of survival in the jungle.
As the latest group of guests passed by him into the large ballroom, Thorne felt an invisible pull, urging him to turn. He did, and there on the stairs was Eden. She wore a deep-blue gown that touched the tops of her golden sandals and pooled at her ankles like a waterfall. The dress clung to her body and only fueled his desire for her. Her long blonde hair was down and curled in waves that made her even more enticing. Why would a woman dress in such a way? If her intention was to stay and talk with people all night, why dress in a way that would make him want to take her away from all this and remove her clothing as quickly as possible? All it did was remind him how much he enjoyed making love to her and how he wanted to banish everyone so he could do just that with her in their bedroom.
She saw him, and the uncertain expression on her face vanished, changing to a delighted smile. He approached the foot of the stairs and caught her hand in a raised position as she reached the bottom. He’d seen others do this for their mates all evening.
“Sorry I’m late. The curling iron and I are not friends.” She laughed, and the sound was sweeter than any music. He didn’t know who the curling iron was, but if they were not Eden’s friend, then they were Thorne’s enemy. But he would deal with them later.
“You look . . . ,” he began.
“Incredible?” Eden put her arm in his and winked. “Thank your aunt for that. She loaned me the dress. I definitely didn’t pack anything this nice for my trip to
Uganda.” She squeezed his arm.
Thorne sighed contentedly and escorted her into the ballroom. He noticed his uncle at the front of the room. When he spotted Thorne, he waved him over. Thorne left Eden with Isabelle and then joined his uncle. Cameron clinked his glass with a fork and caught everyone’s attention. The room was silenced with a soft hush.
“Thank you for joining us at the last minute. Though I was already convinced that Thorne was indeed our nephew, the lab results confirmed it this week, much to my and Isabelle’s joy. Let me start by saying that everything you’ve heard is true. Amelia and Jacob survived a plane crash and lived for two weeks in the jungle with Thorne, only to be brutally murdered by poachers. Thorne was miraculously rescued by a family of gorillas, who raised him as their own. As to how he was discovered, that story has been extensively reported by most major news outlets by this point.
“I’m sure you all have a lot of questions, and tonight is a chance to meet and talk with Thorne. He is, quite literally, our ambassador to the Ugandan jungle, and tonight he’s going to remind you all why it is a land worth protecting. As of today, we have created the Haywood Impenetrable Forest Charity, where you may send donations to protect the wild and beautiful jungles all over Uganda. Please stay and enjoy the wine and hors d’oeuvres.”
Thorne answered with a minute nod and began to walk through the room, smiling and speaking with the guests. With his uncle’s guidance, he had several stories prepared for them, meant to convey the beauty and importance of his home. Eden had explained to him that if he could win the hearts and minds of the people in this room tonight, the money they would donate would help protect Keza, Akika, Tembo, and all the other animals that lived within the jungle. That alone made Thorne want to do his best to be a man of the modern world tonight.
“Thorne!” A man Thorne didn’t know clapped him on the shoulder, holding him in place. “My God, you do look like Jacob. Remarkable.”
The man, a portly fellow with red cheeks, now thrust his hand out. “I’m Lord Lofthouse. But everyone calls me Lofty, don’t you know? Good man, your father, and a dear friend of mine. Went to school with him at Eton.” Lofty smiled fondly. “Hell of a cricket player, that man. Don’t suppose you ever played? No games in the jungle, eh?”
Thorne could smell an excess of brandy on the man’s breath, but he seemed genuinely friendly, and Thorne detected no hint of danger or deception from him.
“Er . . . no.” Thorne’s solemn reply sobered Lofty up a bit, and a few more people gathered around Thorne.
“What was life really like in the jungle? How did you survive after . . . after Jacob and Amelia were gone? Everyone’s been wanting to know,” Lofty whispered a little too loudly.
Thorne ignored the pain he felt at having to casually discuss this, but he had to draw attention to the plight of his jungle. The men who would burn it to the ground if it meant getting one more piece of gold. His uncle had said that these people had the power to help.
The crowd around him gathered closer as he began to tell his story. “I do not remember much, not directly. But I know this: The land where I was raised was once home to a great kingdom. Long ago that kingdom was lost, and the jungle swallowed its bones. My parents were killed by men who wished to steal those bones.”
“Grave robbers?” Lofty said. “How fiendish. Nothing worse than disturbing a grave, I say.”
Thorne’s uncle had warned him not to draw too much attention to the gold and diamonds. He’d said that the idea of stealing the past was worse to these people than stealing treasure. Thorne wasn’t sure what he meant, but he did understand the difference between treasures that were simply pretty, such as those he kept in his tree house, and ones that held meaning, such as the knife Bwanbale had given him, or his father’s ring.
“These men believed my parents would soon be rescued,” Thorne continued, “and would warn people of what they had seen.”
Everyone near Thorne was hanging on his every word now, so he continued. “My father was shot first. I saw him die. Then my mother. She stood in front of me and begged for my life, but they killed her too. I was only three at the time, but I remember.”
“How tragic,” a woman whispered from the crowd.
A man echoed her sentiment. “Yes, bloody awful business.”
“Yet you were spared. It seems your mother’s pleas worked,” another man added. His familiar voice drew Thorne’s gaze as he added, “A mother’s love—how touching.”
Thorne’s world shrank to a pinprick, and his head was suddenly full of screams. Thousands of screams receding into the darkness until he heard only his mother’s voice begging.
“Please.”
“A mother’s love—how touching.”
Thorne knew that voice. He knew. He knew . . .
His muscles grew taut, and Thorne shed the vestiges of civilization and unleashed the beast within him. He launched himself at the man who had spoken those words. He would taste blood tonight. He would have vengeance.
17
Thorne tackled the man to the ground with a snarl. The tall man swung a fist, catching Thorne off guard. All around them people were shouting and moving back, and some were fleeing the room. But there was only one threat Thorne was concerned with. He roared, the sound exploding around them. The tall man’s blue eyes, cold and hard, widened with fear for just a second before he punched Thorne again.
Pain lanced through his head at the blow, but Thorne acted on instinct, the way silverbacks fought. He beat down on the man’s chest with his balled fists.
“Stop!” Cameron bellowed, but the sound didn’t reach Thorne’s rational side. It was just noise.
Stop him. End his evil . . . The voices of the cave howled inside his head.
He was struck in a vulnerable spot below his ribs, and he grunted as the wind rushed out of his lungs. Then several hands grasped his arms and chest, dragging him off the man. He roared again, but the men who hauled him back did not release their hold. Through a red haze, he saw Cameron kneeling by the man he had attacked. His uncle spoke quietly to the man before offering him a hand up. The man smacked Cameron’s hand away and got to his feet without assistance.
Blood trailed down his chin and coated his teeth as he sneered in Thorne’s direction, “It seems your nephew isn’t fully house-trained, Somerset. I suggest you keep a leash on him. He’s not fit for civilized society.”
Thorne still struggled against the men who held him pinned against the wall of the ballroom.
“I’m truly sorry, Mr. Holt. I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but you can be sure it won’t happen again. Let me see you out.”
“No, thank you, Somerset. I’ll show myself out.”
Only when the man was gone did the voices in Thorne’s head still and the choking rage subside. The anger slithered back beneath his skin, but it was still there, deadly but for the moment out of sight.
“Good God, my boy,” Lofty snorted at Thorne. “You even fight like your old man. Capital fellow, Jacob. A champion boxer in his day. Never had a taste for the sport, though, competitively speaking, but he was a damned good man to have watch your back.”
Cameron ignored Lofty’s ramblings as he came to Thorne and made sure they made eye contact.
“I need you to calm down, Thorne. Can you do that?”
Thorne drew in a series of short breaths and finally nodded. Cameron ordered the men holding Thorne to release him. Once Thorne was free, he rubbed his arms.
“You let him go,” Thorne growled.
Cameron sighed heavily. “Lofty, be a good man and take everyone here for drinks in the library. I need to speak with my nephew alone.”
Lofty marshaled the guests out of the room. “Everyone kindly follow me, thank you, very much. The family needs some time alone.” A few of the guests declared they wanted to stay. “Well you can sod off. Out, now, if you please!” He announced cheekily to the crowd who all shot him exasperated looks as they filed out of the front door.
&n
bsp; The moment they were alone, Thorne expected Cameron to berate him for his impulsive behavior. But instead, Cameron put a hand on his shoulder and with an emotion-roughened voice, speaking low, he said, “You know that man, don’t you?”
Thorne’s pulse began to pound harder. “Yes.” He could see those awful memories again, too vivid, too full of pain and fear.
“The only reason I could imagine you’d lash out like that is if he . . .” Cameron couldn’t finish the sentence, and instead said, “Are you sure?”
“He said that to my mother before he killed her. Same words. Same voice. He killed them.” And as Thorne was able to think more clearly, something else occurred to him. “How is he here? Why?”
Cameron’s eyes narrowed as he drew in a forceful breath. “That man is Archibald Holt. His company has interests all over the world, but he spends most of his time in Africa. I’ve met him only a few times. He expressed interest in coming to this party because of his corporate interests in Uganda. He could have been a powerful ally, but I never imagined . . .” Again his voice trailed off. “But perhaps I should have. He’s never been a kind man, and Isabelle always said he makes her nervous.”
“Females have a stronger sense of danger,” Thorne noted. “They are always the most alert. She must have sensed he was a predator.”
Cameron was silent a moment before he spoke again. “You attacked him like an animal.”
Thorne inhaled sharply as pangs of shame started to fill his belly. His uncle was ashamed of him—possibly even feared him.
“Just when I believe I understand what you’ve been through, I see this and it reminds me of all that you survived. You must have . . .” He struggled for words. “All those nights alone in the crushing dark forest, the dangers you faced. The pain, the scars, the fear . . .”
Thorne realized his uncle wasn’t speaking out of shame. He understood.
Cameron met Thorne’s gaze. “I wish I had found you, Thorne. I wish none of this had ever happened. You suffered so much because I couldn’t find you. Because I gave up.” The heartbreak in Cameron’s voice hurt worse than any wound he’d received in the wilds of Uganda.