Illicit
By
Jordan Silver
Copyright©2014 Alison Jordan
All Rights Reserved
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1 Chapter 2
Chapter 3 Chapter 4
Chapter 5 Chapter 6
Chapter 7 Chapter 8
Chapter 9 Chapter 10
Chapter 11 Chapter 12
Chapter 13 Chapter 14
Chapter 15 Chapter 16
Chapter 17 Chapter 18
Chapter 19 Chapter 20
Chapter 21 Chapter 22
Chapter 23 Chapter 24
Prologue
She came into the world when I was seven. I was one of the first to hold her, to see her, and touch her. She did not enter this world kicking and screaming, no; she came in, quiet as a lamb.
She was covered in her mother’s blood and the fluids she’d spent the last nine months being protected in.
From the moment she entered this realm I felt her. I had no knowledge of such things, no understanding of the strange force of emotion that overtook me.
All I knew was that this little being, no bigger than a doll, was somehow mine. I was in awe, the enormity of the moment maybe too much for one so young, but nevertheless, I accepted.
It was the way of my people, we’re a strong lot, from a great line, or so I’ve been told all my young life.
She had drawn me here, to this place where I was not allowed. But from her first stirrings in her mother’s womb, I knew that it was imperative that I be here.
Excitement kicked in my belly, my heart raced, and my mouth went dry. It was here, whatever it was.
It had been building for the past nine months, or however long it was that she’d slept in her mother’s womb.
The pull had grown stronger in the last few days; that’s how I knew tonight, was the night.
I could barely wait. For what, I hardly knew, but I knew that it was going to be something amazing; even better than the new puppy I’d got last summer. Anticipation flowed through my veins in a loud rush.
I felt the tension in the room, the sorrow, before a word was uttered. I sat hidden in the corner, quiet as I could be, my eyes peeled to the place from whence she would arrive.
I was not supposed to be here they’d said, but no force on earth could’ve kept me away.
She’s been calling to me since she was in her mother’s womb and I as always, answered her call. From then until now I’ve stayed close, ever watchful.
Slowly I came to my feet, a sudden fear making my heart tremble. There was a sense of darkness but one that I could not see with my eyes, I could only feel in my soul.
I crept forward, ever closer, my eyes drawn to the little form as it was held within the light of the moon, as it peeped through the branches of the trees outside and into the room. Slashing a bow of color across the bed.
“I’m sorry Anna but the babe…she’s dead.” The mother’s wail was full of torment, torture, and despair. I understood this even before I knew what the words meant.
They wrapped her in swaddling, but not as one should a newborn babe, no, they covered her face.
They all turned at the roar that rent the air. I too turned to see from whence it came, until I realized that it was I who had emitted the sound of rage. Flying out of my hiding place I confronted them, with one purpose in mind.
“Get away from here you bad boy, you should not see this.” I fought like the demons of hell. Kicking and scratching and biting until I reached her where they’d laid her.
I removed the cloth from her face gently, my young heart racing with fear. I alone cleaned her up, I alone opened her mouth and it was I who placed my lips above hers and breathed my life into her.
Her eyes flew open, eyes as beautiful as one of mama’s gems. We stared at each other for what seemed like forever before I turned back to the room that had gone deathly still.
“She’s mine.” I warned the room at large, even as she opened her lungs and wailed for her mother’s breast.
I did not know how I knew this, but I did. I felt it with everything that was in my young mind and heart.
The room became a flurry of movement as the grown ups sprung into action.
I released her only because I knew that now they would help her, but I stayed glued to the midwife’s side.
“You know you really shouldn’t be in here.” I ignored the woman as I watched her every move. Never taking my eyes away from my baby. Mine.
I felt the sense of excitement, of things to come. The pressure that had befallen me in the last hour or so was no more; it had eased with her first breath.
She was so tiny, no bigger than one of my arms, I felt fear for a moment as that darkness that my young mind had sensed loomed, but beneath I felt strength. No harm will come to her, I will see to it.
The little one held my eyes as they tended to her and I felt the pull from those deep orbs. Even then as a child, I knew that they were unusual.
A deep purple that changed to light as the tears and wailing subsided, to an unusual lilac.
I didn’t know the name of the color until some time later, but it stayed with me always.
It was then the bond was formed, a connection that would transcend time and place and see us through the darkest hours yet to come.
The mother reached out her arms to take her and laid her at her breast. Only then, when she’d taken her first draw of life giving sustenance did I feel my shoulders relax, and the tension leave my body that had been strung tight as a bow.
“Okay young man, you can leave now, if your mother ever hears of this there’ll be hell to pay.”
I paid no heed to the midwife or the other servants who’d come to help; my only interest was in her.
I didn’t wonder at my fascination with this new little bundle, when I’d hardly given my baby brother, born just a few short months earlier, a second glance.
There was something strange and exciting going on inside of me, but I was too young to understand it.
My world changed that day in that room where death had reached out its greedy fingers.
Something wild and wonderful had been born, and not just the babe, though she would prove to be that and more.
But something came alive in me, some hidden strength that had as yet been unknown.
Others saw it as well and wondered, I had no care for them or their petty murmurings.
Wherever she went I followed, always underfoot; I heard the whispers. None of it bothered me, as long as they left me alone to follow my heart.
Chapter 1
From that day on, I was her constant companion. I spent every free moment with the little bundle that brought me such joy.
I had no reference for the abounding love that sometimes threatened to choke me, when her mother would seat me in a chair and place her in my arms.
Neither did I understand the strong sense of possession; I was too young to understand such things.
I just knew that she was mine and would always be; and nothing was going to change that.
For my young heart, that was enough. I’d been raised on the stories of the strength of my lineage, fierce and honorable men.
Before her, those tales of my ancestors were my greatest source of pride.
I could spend hours at my father’s side, my chest swelling with pride, at the stories of valor and triumph, from a long line of men that led to me.
Now I’d given them up for days spent watching over her, somehow I knew it was what I was meant to do.
The adults had given up trying to keep me away after the first week or so.
Now they just shook their heads and went about their way when they’d find me in her nursery, when I should’ve been elsewhere.
Sometimes I hid in the corner of the little room that had been given to her here in the caretaker’s cottage.
I was too young, and maybe too disinterested at the time to understand the dynamics of the family who lived here; and it was of no great concern to me either way. As long as she was there that was where I longed to be.
It was hard staying seated while my tutor took me through my lessons, or my mother insisted on trimming my hair.
It was as if I was afraid to leave her alone without my protection. As though I somehow knew that that way laid danger.
So each morning, as soon as my eyes were opened, my every move was to get me closer to my little angel.
I rushed through my obligations, understanding full well that the adults had the upper hand, that we were caught in an invisible balancing act. I gave a little they gave a little…
“You must not spend all your free time with that baby, it’s not normal. Wouldn’t you like to play with your little brother?”
That was my mother’s daily argument, which fell on deaf ears, but still she tried.
“She needs me, I have to go; am I finished?” she brushed the hair from my neck with a shake of her head before shooing me away. No one seemed to understand.
Three Years Later
“No Jasmine you mustn’t.” The little doll ignored me as she ran after the puppy, too close to the water’s edge as usual.
I ran after her on my ten year old legs as she laughed and sped up. Everything was a game to my Jasmine, she had no fear and no amount of scolding deterred her from her path.
Was it because she knew even then that I would always be there to catch her? Maybe. Or maybe it was because she had an inner will of her own.
I could hear the servants calling after us, they’d finally missed our presence, or more to the point they’d finally realized that we were off together again.
For whatever reason, that seemed to be forbidden. There was always someone trying to keep us apart; but every chance I got, I sought her out or she me. Inseparable we were, that bond pulling tighter and tighter as the days grew on.
It had been this way since the day she was born. At night I would sneak out of the house and down to the little cottage where her family lived.
It wasn’t very close to the main house, but I was never too afraid to walk in the dark, because I knew she needed me.
I would stand watch over her at night while her family slept, until I grew too tired to keep my eyes open. Then and only then would I give into slumber.
In the mornings I would be found fast asleep in her nursery at the foot of her crib, where I’d usually finally fall asleep after keeping watch all night.
Sometimes her mother would find me there when she came to check on her in the night, but she would only smile and close the door again, before going off to her own rest.
Everyone else kicked up a fuss, especially my parents, which I didn’t understand.
Neither did I understand the whispers and the hushed tones. None of it made sense to a boy of ten and neither did the growing bond that had spanned three years.
With each passing year instead of waning, it only grew stronger. This seemed to be a cause of tension among the adults, but for me it was just as it should be.
No one seemed to understand, no one but Jasmine and I that is. Because as soon as she could form words and move around on her own, it was I she came to.
Even before her mother’s, my name was first on her lips. We were inseparable, as I spent my days teaching her new things and new words.
In the afternoons, as soon as my tutor was on his way, I would seek her out and we’d be off to our secret place.
Where I would watch her run and play to her heart’s content and my delight.
“Come Jasmine let’s go find the birds.” That was her favorite thing to do, trying to catch the birds in the trees.
Had I known then what was to come, I would’ve captured every moment on the new camera my dad had got me for my last birthday.
But back then at ten, my mind wasn’t on such things, besides it was better experiencing the real thing in the here and now.
How young I was then, young and naïve. But in those last few days had I known they would’ve never got me on that plane.
Chapter 2
It was a regular family trip, something we’ve done many times over the years, ever since I can remember.
That year I begged to be left behind with the servants. “Jasmine will miss me too much.” This was my argument to a mother who turned a deaf ear to my pleas.
No amount of kicking and screaming deterred my parents from dragging me off to Europe.
I’d defiantly spent the last night watching over her, asleep on her little big girl cot, as she liked to call it.
I remember the room in the old cottage; the way her mother had dressed it up to make it as pretty as she could for her little girl.
I was too young back then to understand such things as poverty and class distinction.
I never wondered why my little Jasmine’s father was never seen, or why sometimes her mother would disappear with her for days, which I did not like.
I did know that Anna was young, too young. I’d heard the servants whispering about it, though I had no idea what it meant. How could she be too young, she’d had the baby hadn’t she?
Such things made no sense to me and I didn’t much care anyway, so it didn’t matter. All that mattered was her happiness, seeing her smile as she ran freely around the gardens.
Hearing her bubbly laughter as she got up to some mischief or the other. The thought of leaving her for so long scared me even then.
Somehow I knew that without me there to protect her, things could go wrong. We’d never been apart for any real length of time. It was as if I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t function after too many hours away from her.
But who listens to the young? Who pays heed to the misgivings of a little boy who hardly knew what he was trying to say?
I was reassured that all will be well, as I said my final goodbyes to her. That day she had kicked and screamed even more than I had, refusing to release her hold on me, as our parents struggled to break us apart.
I never forgot the look in her eyes, a look of betrayal and abandonment. It was the first real heartbreak I’d suffered, that look pierced me to my soul, and stayed with me for a long, long time.
I’d run back to her in her mother’s arms one last time, and held her little tearstained face.
“I’ll be back soon Jazzy, I’ll bring you back something nice.” Choking back tears I’d walked away with my heart in pieces.
Then the evil had come and changed everything, and my world was turned upside down.
My life changed that summer; it was the year I lost my innocence. The year I stopped caring about anyone or anything.
It was also the year I learned about my true destiny. Who I was and what was expected of me.
None of it mattered to me back then; not the years of training, or the separation from everyone and everything I knew.
Not even the lost of my youth, as I was flung headlong into a life of mystery and darkness.
All that mattered was getting back to her one day. Everything I did, all that I endured, was with that one goal in mind.
Back In The States
The air was thick with the smell of pine and evening dew; in the distance a ways off, the sound of cars rushing by could be heard through the barrier of trees that lined the property.
The lone figure walked stealthily towards the backdoor of the old cottage.
There was no fear, no hesitation about what he was about to do; he’d done it so many times before after all, it had become second nature.
Only difference was, this time he wasn’t doing it for the sole pleasure of it all.
No, he had been hired if you could believe that. Someone was actually willing to pay him and pay him well, to do what he loved best.
He felt the rush of adrenaline, t
hat high that always came moments before. The sinister grin that crossed his face would’ve put fear in the hearts grown men it was so dark.
The old door hardly made a sound as he slid it open, removing the gum like paste he’d put in the lock earlier that day.
The idea of oiling the door on the pretense of helping had been inspired. He listened for the sounds of the house to be sure there were no late night eaters in the Thompson house.
Making his way by memory through the layout of the hundred-year old house, he found his way to the master bedroom, first things first.
He eased over to the side that he’d discerned to be the man of the house’ when the family had been so kind as to let him use their bathroom.
With a swift move he cut the man’s throat. Whether it was the hiss of the blood escaping, or the wind on her face from the movement of his hands Lenora Thompson woke up.
The scream became trapped in her throat when she saw the large hunting knife with her husband’s blood.
Holding a lone finger up to his lips he cautioned her to silence. “You make a sound and your sweet little girl will be next.”
He started to unbutton his pants, his cock already hard as a pike at the thought of what was to come next.
With her husband’s blood fresh and warm on his hands, the tinny scent adding to his already bursting erection, he approached the now cowering woman.
Her eyes were wide with fear as she tried valiantly to hold back the scream that could mean the difference between the child’s life and death.
His hand came down across her mouth and she tasted the metallic bite of her husband’s blood.
Her stomach revolted as she felt the breath leave her body. Rough hands pulled and tore at the simple cotton nightgown she wore, as she struggled to keep her legs glued together.
A hard punch to the side of her head stunned her into keeping still as the intruder forced himself between her thighs.
The face she’d seen for the first time that day hovered above her, as his hot breath blew across her face.
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