Hidden Jewel (Heartfire Series)

by Strong, Jennifer

  "Unlock it," he commanded without turning around.

  "No."

  "Unlock the door, Ailill, or I swear to holy hell, I'll break it down."

  His words were met with a breathy chuckle. "Aye, I'd like to see you try it, Micah."

  He did. Absolutely in vain did he try to break Ailill's bedroom door down; to yank the knob through the wood; to tear it from the hinges. Almost in despair, sweating heavily, breathless, Micah turned at last to face her. Grinning ingratiatingly, Ailill shook her head.

  "Points for effort, lad, that I'll give you," she husked softly. "Your buttocks clench when you're angry."

  "Yeah? Well, you bare your teeth when you're angry."

  "You make an odd humming sound when you're frustrated."

  "You make odd humming sounds when I suckle your breasts; you cuss in Gaelic when I suckle your clit; and you whisper thanks to hmm, when you come." His finger pointed up, brows raised in an overtly pious nature. "Now, I ain't been nearly as well-taught as y'all," he reasoned, intentionally reverting to his own heavily flavored southern drawl, "but I doubt that the pagan hedonistsyou like to call the Elders would be too pleased to know that."

  "No, I don't suppose so but, you see, I don't care. I didn't have complete control at the time, and even if I had, well... I did not lie with you today for any reason other than my own, Micah. I wanted you, quite badly if you must know, and aye, I planned it. For tonight, not this morning."

  Gazing up at the man with wide, guileless eyes, Ailill did something Micah had never thought to see; she blushed; a rosy red climbed slowly up her chest, her neck; her cheeks glowed with it, the slightly pointed tips of her tiny ears blazed furiously. "I planned to woo you throughout the day, to kiss you and flirt with you; to fool around in the shallows of Rosewater until you were full with wanting, and to draw you naked up to my room, under cover of darkness, so that we might make love beneath the pale moonglow and sleep in the arms o' one another, our limbs all a-tangle as we danced the path o' shared dreams. This I wanted, because I feel so strongly for you, Micah; because I am destined to love you, and because you were to be my first." Her head dropped, eyes on the floor, and her hair, long and luxuriant, spilled over her shoulders in a flaming wave, cloaking her nakedness in vivid, earthy hues.

  "Curse me for wanting to make it memorable, for wanting this to stand out," she muttered. "It could not be helped."

  "And I guess now it will," Micah said, abashed. "Nothin' like makin' love, then fighting right after."

  "Aye. That will be my lot, I think."

  Moving soundlessly across the plush emerald carpeting, Micah stopped before her, took her small hand in his. "I'm sorry. I just assumed your reasons were... mmm, selfish."

  "Don't apologize." Her head came up slowly, blue eyes meeting darker blue. "They were, a wee bit. We've much to air, I believe. This has been proof enough o' that." When he pulled her toward the bed, she eyed Micah uneasily, readying a protest unnecessarily.

  "There's time to... air things right now. So, lets get comfortable and we'll talk." Once she'd settled, lying on her side to face him, Micah allowed a small smile to lighten his features, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "If the talkin' gets to be too much, Abby, we'll just have to shut-up and do it again. I think I could get used to that dying feeling I got the first time."

  "Aye, the little death... proof of all that you really are, Micah, son of Morna. Tell me of your childhood, your's and Jacob's."

  Yon Blackhearted Fiend

  Glancing about the yard, calm and quiet in the early morning air, fresh and green with new grasses, a hodgepodge of clumps amidst the muddy earth, the puddles left by the storm, Jacob breathed a small sigh of relief. No smoke rose from the chimney, though it had been a hot night, but that was the first clue he sought. His ears perked up, zeroed in on the small window glittering beneath a slowly rising sun. No noise could be heard from within, no telltale sound that would signal that the man inside was awake and about; that was a good thing. He and Micah had been gone for three full days this time, had spent their nights with Ailill. In spite of the fact that the girl seemed untouchable, he did not regret three nights of celibate sleeping arrangements. She would prove worth the wait; it was a given.

  As he stepped up to the edge of the small porch, far less wary than he'd been before coming to believe that Kiah was still in bed, sleeping off a drunken stupor if he knew the man at all, Jacob's mind wandered back to two months past, to that sweet, chaste kiss given him by Ailill. The innocuous nature of it was more stimulating to him than any of the bolder moves he'd experienced with others; the softness of those lips, the sweetness of her warm mouth... he felt a stirring beneath his filthy kilt that preceded a wolfish grin. His eyes, he knew, were that darker shade right now, almost black, the whites barely distinguishable; alien eyes, he'd always thought, all one color, as if the iris had grown exponentially, taking over the entire surface of the orb. Maybe that was what Ailill had been talking about, when she had cited the brother with black eyes and a mirrored face as the reason she could do no more than kiss; neither he nor Micah bothered to hide the desire burning in his eyes whenever she was near. It would have been impossible. And when he was turned on his eyes became the deepest shade of black, a fathomless abyss, as pointed out to him by the first woman he'd ever lain with; he would always remember her, though his many conquests since had become a blur. Yes, they had become nameless, faceless; hardly more than a warm, slick cleft in which to bury his cock, a pulsing void in which to give himself up to the always temporary desire to feel loved.

  It never lasted, that feeling, not since the first; a black haired beauty with dazzling black eyes, her name, her features a marked mix of Scottish and Spanish roots, and she had loved him more than any other in his entire life, except Micah. None could love him as his brother did, not even she. McKell Mariadelrosario. She'd loved Micah, as well, and Jacob had happily welcomed his brother into the fold, occasionally participated when the woman wiled his twin into situations of erotic experiment. But only Jacob had truly knownher, had planted his seed and watched it grow for a full seven months. In a town miles away from their well camouflaged desert home, a building secretly being used as a church had been destroyed on Christmas Eve, bombed into a rubble strewn crater. McKell, her unborn child, and two hundred souls seeking everlasting forgiveness for their sins were lost that night. Jacob had been mad with grief; despondent to the point that he'd very nearly died of dehydration; his will to live had died with his unborn child, his first and only true love. Micah had pulled him through, with help from his step-mother and, in a surprising twist of events, Kiah had even laid off the beatings... for awhile, at least.

  That had been over five years ago; he still struggled with the devastation of losing the only happiness he'd ever known; bouts of dark depression, sleeplessness; nightmares to wake the dead, after which he would sleep through entire days. He blamed himself; always would, for it had been he who took her away from the relative safety of Kiah's home, into the hands of disaster; it had been his Christmas gift, a chance to celebrate mass with others who had shared in her faith. Unable to give anything tangible for fear of Kiah finding out about their affair, Jacob had simply loved her, as well as he was able. It did not matter that McKell had come to be only because Kiah desired a second wife, deeming Lizzie too old, seemingly barren after ten childless years; too concerned with the fact that they were 'broker than a broke-dick dog' and always had been. The man had tricked his first wife into marriage with false promises and the knowledge that she would take one look at his motherless four-year-old sons and marry him out of pure pity for the 'little ones'; he had kidnapped the vivacious young McKell during one of his frequent, covert trips out of West Texas. They still did not know why Kiah had gone away each month for practically their whole lives, but the year that they were thirteen their father had come back with a sixteen year old second wife who took one look at his tall, dark, and stunning twin sons and ceased her defiant struggle. Jacob knew th
e child had been his; McKell used something for protection whenever Kiah forced her into his bed. It was one of the few things he had ever been certain of in his twenty year existence.

  But he was certain of Ailill; certain that she would bring happiness into his life once more; certain that he could love her, if she would only open up and let him. He felt that was so to the marrow of his bones. She was the most... interesting woman he'd ever met, the most desirable. The wanting would fairly kill him, but she was so worth it.

  Glancing around once more, he opened the door a crack and slipped silently inside.

  Their room was a windowless loft, hot and stuffy even now, the height of summer just recently past; a prison of sorts, the same type of living Jacob and Micah had always known. It was one of the reasons they disliked sleeping indoors. Only one. It was why they spent so much time out of doors, breathing great lungfuls of fresh air, untainted by the rotgut Kiah spilled liberally on the floorboards, on tables; on himself. The smell permeated the stale air in the cabin and Jacob inhaled shallowly through his mouth as he glanced about the nearly empty room; what few belongings they shared where meticulously orderly, with good reason. They did nothing to raise their father's ire, if it could be helped; carrying out his demands without question saved their skin, anticipating his demands made it that much easier to live under the man's roof. With the twins around, Kiah had to do nothing, his days filled with leisurely drinking binges; he did not have to step foot outside, and usually didn't.

  Shoving a small stack of carefully folded laundry into a worn canvas bag, painted at some point in a camouflaged design, Jacob took another look around, his gaze settling briefly on the bed he and Micah shared, no more than a stack of old blankets laid upon the floor, covered with a linen sheet and a heavy woolen blanket given to them by Old Ruth, the woman who made new moccasins for them when they'd first arrived. Wondering what Micah was up to just now, he flashed a look of loathing at the darkened room, the bed that was not fit to be called one, and turned to peer cautiously at the closed door below, thinking he'd heard a sound, a muffled susurrus of stealthy movement, but no shadow could be seen in the one inch space between door and floor, no sign of movement at all in his father's tiny room. Half wishing Kiah snored, though that would surely drive him mad if he had to hear it all night long, Jacob slipped the bag over a shoulder, descended the ladder two rungs at a time, stepping soundlessly to the bare floor where he paused again, listening. It was difficult to control the compulsion to tidy up, to wash the mess of dishes in the sink, wipe the counter and table clean of crumbs and spills, so deeply had Kiah impressed such upon him in his youth. Never again, he thought firmly, ignoring the mess, turning on his heel to slip away as silently as he'd slipped in.

  A single drink-hoarsened growl was all he heard before flying face-first into the oaken door. His nose met wood with a blinding pain that drew colorful spots before his eyes; the familiar taste of copper spilled over his lips, across his tongue; ruined the blue shirt he wore with spatters of livid crimson. Teeth clenched, bared in anger, he turned a hateful glare on his bane.

  "Don't touch me," hissed Jacob, reaching for the doorknob even as Kiah stepped out of the shadows beside the fireplace. Fists clenched for another blow, the man glowered, pale eyes gleaming with dark rage.

  "Don't touch me," Kiah mimicked perfectly; his teeth flashed in the sun streaming through the single window, brazenly ferocious. He looked like a shadow beast; a big, dark, amorphous ball of wrath wrapped in the flesh of a once extremely good-looking man; except for his eyes, two pale golden orbs, twin windows into a soulless void. Heart hammering the fortamente beats of his youth, Jacob forced himself to stand still, tall and strong, though his innards were clenched, writhing in a far too familiar way. "You take that insolent tone with me again, boy, you'll be knocked clear into next week," Kiah warned, stepping close enough that Jacob's fine tuned senses could not only smell the man, but taste him; unwashed flesh, rife with the sweat of a chronic boozer; breath to knock a dragon for a loop. His nostrils flared delicately, the door at his back the only impediment to a hasty retreat.

  "Where the helldo you get off disappearing for days?" Kiah demanded roughly. "More important, where you been, Jacob? And don't try to make up some foolish excuse, boy, I went to see a few of your many girlfriends." Golden eyes took on a lascivious glint as they traveled down Jacob's lean form. "Got quite a harem goin' on, don'tcha? Cocks as big as a friggin' stallion, the both a-you. But none of your regular tarts've had even a scent of you for three days. A bit put out, a couple of 'em," Kiah averred; he stepped even closer. "But your old man put 'em to rights. Nothin' like a good face fuckin', I always say."

  Jacob's eyes blazed, ever so briefly, the fire fading slowly. "What do I care," he spat. "Nothin' but a warm body to get off in, every one of 'em. I got bigger plans, now."

  Kiah's answering laugh was harsh, cruel. "Yep, I did teach you well," he replied, voice tinged with no more than feigned pride. "Too bad Micah proved a bit... hmm, feminine, in his own way. But, we'll leave that for another time. He'll show his pretty face... eventually." Shoving the lad out of the way, Kiah reached out a hand, slammed the door that Jacob had been slowly working open behind his back. It seemed too much of a surprise for reason. Kiah had been busy. A shiny brass padlock clicked softly on a newly installed steel ring. Wide blue eyes moved instantly to the tiny window, settled on a matching lock nailed into the sash. With dawning horror, a sense of impuissance deeply bedded, Jacob realized how effectively the man had trapped him; imprisoned him in a dark, airless cabin, not quite as full of painful memories, of twisted nightmares, as the shack he'd grown up in; but Kiah was a man of chance. What better way to dredge up childhood fears than to lock himself in with the lad; so deeply fearful of him was Jacob that he would hyperventilate sometimes just thinking about the wickedness he'd endured at the hands of Kiah Black.

  What could he do but submit? He'd not the boldness to fight Kiah; it did not matter that he was an easy match in size, in strength. In the end, it would be him beaten into a bloody pulp, broken in every aspect; it had happened countless times before; it would happen every time, now was no different, except that he'd never been locked up, hidden away like something shameful before. Like the shameful things he'd known all his life; would know yet again. There had been much behind those beastly eyes, plenty of clues to warn him, and he'd missed it, his only chance to get away.

  "What d'you want from me?" He cried, spinning about as Kiah took a seat at table, a self-satisfied grin making the man's face look as if it would split in two. "Why won't you just let us go? Let us live somewhere else? I'm a grown man- twenty last week! I'm older than most guys already settled with a woman and kids!"

  "What, and deny myself the enjoyment of watching you quake in fear?" Kiah retorted impudently. "Deny myself the love I know you feel so deeply every time Dear oldDadis near?"

  "Y'all ain't our Dad, Kiah. We always thought you lied about that. Now I'm sure of it. No father would treat his sons like you've always treated us."

  "Aw, you wound me, Jacob... my son." Kiah snorted, a sick-sounding laugh. "And, as for what I want from you... well, we'll just have to wait and see what I decide. I have rights where you boys are concerned, and it don't matter what your age is; never will. I couldkill you, if I so choose, and it would take care of the whole fuckin problem! Now, you took off, for three days this time. Punishment is a given, but the sort I might choose depends on you. Now, where've you been?"

  Jacob's eyes gleamed in defiance, his fists clenched at his sides. "None of your business."

  "Wrong answer." Moving with surprising speed, Kiah was up, away from the table in an instant. His fist, solid as stone, struck Jacob's mouth hard enough to crack bone, to shatter teeth; but Jacob was made of better stuff than most. The tear-wrenching pain was enough to drop him instantly to his knees; shredded lips filled his mouth with blood and he spat a glob of scarlet slime on the dusty floorboards between his knees, tongue automatically probing f
or shattered teeth, finding none. Fury coursed through him at the knowledge that he could say or do anything at all, carry out the man's most twisted desires with cowardly ease; hell, he could bow down and lick Kiah's feet like a dog, but he was still going to get the beating of his life; that much was obvious. Wiping his mouth on his shirt, he looked up, met the eyes of the man towering over him in a familiar stance of unequaled power. It was all he could do to keep from shrinking back, cowering like the battered child who dwelt deep inside himself.

  "Where were you?" Kiah's gaze held a flicker of triumph, a spark of expectation. Beating Jacob into the darkest depths of consciousness would be delightful, surely. Forcing a full-grown, overtly powerful young man into submission like a helpless girl made him hard with the mere thought. The trousers he'd insisted upon wearing since learning that James had instituted a kilt-wearing policy in his tiny village did nothing to conceal the blatant proof of the beast's thoughts. "Tell me!"

  Steeling himself, Jacob flashed a blood-red smile, shook his dark head in denial.

  Each singular blow was painful, excruciatingly so. It took longer than he'd expected for Kiah's rage to lessen, to exhaust itself into ragged, rasping breaths; to slow down to no more than an occasional punch, a kick to an already battered chest. Jacob was still on his knees, a feat in and of itself, but he could feel himself sway, near to fainting dead away; that could not happen... not at all. The way Kiah had looked him up and down... the man had a major fetish for blood. No, to pass out, to put his body at the mercy of... what had Ailill said? Yon blackhearted fiend. Yes, that was it. She seemed to know so much about their situation, but he hoped to hell she had never heard even the barest whisper of all that Kiah was capable of, of all that Kiah had ever done to the boys he so callously called sons.