Authors: Lydia Michaels
She turned and looked at
him. The glassy sheen in her eyes gave him pause. Had she been crying?
He placed the jars on
the dry sink and turned to go to her. Something about her posture made him
hesitate. She blinked her tears away before a single one could be shed and her
expression became guarded.
“Thank you,” she rasped,
her voice strained.
He nodded and returned
to make her sandwich. Her gratitude sunk like a heavy weight in his chest. He
ached for her, finally coming to accept that her situation had to be extremely
confusing. At the same time, something warm and fiery bloomed inside of his
chest at the sound of her thanks. He’d done something she liked. It felt very
good to please her.
He returned to the table
with a new—meatless—sandwich. She picked it up and ate it quickly, sipping from
her glass of milk in between bites. She must have been starving indeed. When
she finished she leaned back in the wooden chair and patted her flat belly. The
press of her decorated nipples showed through the fine material of her shift.
She sighed.
“Would you like a bath?”
Her eyes opened and that
skeptical glint was back in her sharp gaze. “Alone?”
Disappointment weighed
heavy on his shoulders. Would she ever surrender to him again like she had the
night before? So freely and willing, he’d never forget how she offered herself
to him, how she accepted him into her body, held him to her, and cried out her
pleasure as he brought her to climax again and again. “Yes, alone.”
She nodded.
Rather than leave her to
clean the dishes while he filled her tub, he asked her to come upstairs with
him. Christian did not want her running away again. She’d been lucky it was
only his half-brother, Dane, who had seen her dressed in next to nothing.
Dane was a half-breed.
He, too, was a bastard of the male who fathered Christian. Apparently, their
father, had a long line of half-breeds roaming the continents, as The Order was
coming to find out.
This had been news to
Christian of course, being that his mother never spoke of her time with her
mate. It was unheard of for a female to leave her true mate, but apparently,
Adriel, the rebel that she was, had done just that.
It wasn’t until recently
that certain events led to her divulging some important details of her past.
His father was supposed to have been ‘detained’, yet somehow managed to escape.
There were very few ways to detain an immortal. Apparently, his father had
escaped his confinement over twenty years ago, going by Dane’s age.
Christian still didn’t
have the details of his parents’ courtship. It was not his business. The only
thing Christian knew for sure was that he was denied a father over the entirety
of his life, a choice taken out of his hands while still in his mother’s womb.
His acceptance and resentment wavered decade to decade on the subject. Currently
he was too distracted with his own mate to give the matter much thought.
Dane found his way to
their farm through the Hartzler family, whom he was extraordinarily close to,
sans the one daughter Grace, who apparently would not be in the same room with Dane.
At first they had been a temporary responsibility of the one Hartzler twin. But
they had come to find out that Dane and his young sister, Cybil, were actually,
somehow, linked to their species. Shock did not begin to describe the council’s
reaction to the news.
Cybil, Dane’s sister,
however, was a sad case. She’d suffered an accident and was no longer living in
the mind of a child, but the broken mind of a delusional soul. Christian had
only seen his half-sister on occasion and believed the council only agreed to
let her survive in a cell at the Safe House as an act of mercy toward Dane who
lost his entire family in a matter of years.
The boy had come a long
way. Not really a boy at all anymore. Dane had worked the farm and lived in his
own home for the past two years. He was completely independent and rarely
interfered with the way of things on the farm. He rarely pressed Christian for
some sort of bond one might assume brothers should have and that was for the
better.
Christian preferred his
quiet life. He liked living solitarily, and although sometimes he did get
lonely he was not tempted to join the others for the social events among the
farm. He had Delilah to keep him company now.
Carrying the last bucket
of steaming water up the stairs, Christian found Delilah waiting outside the
washroom. He poured the hot water over the cooler water and placed the bucket
to the side.
Females liked flowery
things. He probably should have arranged for her to have special soaps and the
like. Frowning, he went to the linen closet and retrieved a jar of salts and
shampoo. She was staring at the tub when he returned.
He placed a folded bath
sheet on the table beside the tub and set the salts and soaps on top.
“Bath salts,” she
hissed, stepping back.
He frowned. She was quite
odd at times. Backing out of the room, he stood in the doorway observing her.
Her long, dainty fingers touched the water, testing its temperature.
As she approached the
door his body drew up tight. Her nipples were hard and pebbled against her
shift again and with the sun coming through the window high on the wall above,
he could make out some of her tattoos under the fine material.
She slowly stepped to
the door, her gaze soft and promising. His body stiffened. She wore a look of
intent. He wondered if she planned to kiss him. Thank him for yet another kind
gesture?
Her dainty fingers
curled around the thick edge of the open door. His chest filled with a much
needed breath. She smiled at him sweetly. Then the door slammed in his face.
Right. So she was still
upset about being taken from her old life and granted the gift of immortality
and the honor of finding her mate. He’d explain it to her after she had time to
calm her anger.
Chapter Three
As Delilah washed she
noticed several things that were not quite normal. Her fingernails, which she
always kept clipped short for work because they easily split and cracked, were
strong and peeking past the tips of her fingers. Also, the scar she’d had on
her knee since eighth grade when she fell off a dirt bike was gone. Most
alarming, though, was that her tattoo, the one of a ladybug over her knuckle,
the one she’d gotten before all the others, when she was just a girl, was
fading. When she got back to her shop she’d have to touch it up.
Like a feather, something
tickled at the edge of her mind, irritating, and begging to be investigated.
Like the fear of a small child too scared to peek under the bed, something deep
within Li told her she shouldn’t examine the nagging instincts teasing her
mind. For coping purposes, her gut told her to keep focusing on what she could
handle and ignore the nagging sense that something absolutely terrible was
happening.
From the water pump
situation to the style of clothing, it appeared she was back in time. Never in
her life had she bathed without running water. The tub was comfortable enough,
but not necessarily as large as a girl would prefer.
The water turned oily as
she used a jug to rinse the suds from her hair. Bathing old school was no
picnic. The jug was heavy and her arms were tired by the time she was finished
washing.
The water had grown
cold, but she was reluctant to get out, not wanting to face Christian again.
She was so confused about what he expected of her and she wished he’d come
right out and explain why he took her. She wasn’t staying. It was just a matter
of escaping and getting to a phone.
He baffled her.
Sometimes he was a complete dick, but other times he looked at her as if he
wanted, more than anything in the world, for her to…like him. She
did
like
him, well, maybe lusted for him was the better way to put it. She’d suffered
hardcore lust for the jerk—
a lot
—but the fact that he’d taken her
against her will and drugged her, killed any soft feelings she could’ve had for
him. He was an asshole and now her enemy, but her body kept getting all twitchy
in his presence.
Stupid hormones.
Why couldn’t he have
been a normal guy? He was drop dead gorgeous, so much so that when he was
scowling or acting like a grump he was still sexy as hell. He was a champ in
the sack and hung well enough to make a Clydesdale jealous.
All he had to do was
ask, give her a choice. She still would have replied with a big, fat
hell no
,
but being
asked
rather than kidnapped and forced to join his Amish cult
would have been considerate on some level.
They could’ve gotten to
know each other and maybe then…although the whole Amish thing did throw a
wrench in the mix, they could have discussed it like two individuals. If he’d
acted like a normal person, she might’ve been able to overlook some things.
Then he’d gone and kidnapped her and turned her into a hostage. This was so not
the morning after she imagined.
She sloshed the cool
water over her thighs with pruned fingers. He was probably waiting at the door.
Maybe she could reason with him. Maybe she could explain that if they tried to
start over this could work. It wouldn’t, of course, but she could lie.
Nothing negated the
thing he’d already done. She wasn’t completely unforgiving, but kidnapping and
drugs reeked of boyfriend red flags. Still, part of her hated him for messing
up what could have been a good thing. Sadly, the sexual part of her really
wanted to like him and wished things had gone differently.
At least the drugs had
worn off. She no longer had that annoying buzz thump thing going on in her head
and hadn’t hallucinated in a few hours. Since running away, she was convinced
he was an actual farmer. There was no ignoring the endless fields of crops
surrounding them. But weren’t farmers supposed to be relaxed good ol’ boys? Why
was he so damn uptight? She needed to talk to him.
With a sigh, Li lifted
herself out of the tub. Water rushed from her skin and her feet stepped over
the lip of the tub as she wrapped herself in the towel. Now what?
She went to the door and
turned the knob. It opened. Leaning her damp head into the hall, she looked
left then right. Nada.
Quietly, she tiptoed
back to the room she’d stayed in. He wasn’t there either.
On the bed sat a freshly
laundered white chemise and a pair of pillowcase panties.
Commando it is.
She dressed and found a
heavy, thick-bristled brush sitting next to a fresh pitcher of water. Perching
on the edge of the bed she brushed out her damp hair, wishing she had some
bobby pins with her to twist it into some sort of style. She needed makeup too.
There was a soft knock
at the door and it opened. “Delilah?”
She silently
acknowledged Christian. So pretty, so unfair. He seemed to be having some sort
of trouble forming words.
“Do you think I could
get something other than a nightgown to wear?”
His lips pressed
together. “I am working on getting clothing for you, but I must wait a bit
until I find a female willing to stitch them. I apologize for not having such
things ready. Is there anything else you might need?”
Why was he being so
nice? It was easier when he was a jerk. “I don’t have any of my things.”
“Things?”
“Hair stuff, makeup—”
“You do not need makeup
and I will obtain a bonnet for you. There are straight pins in the box on the
dresser for your hair.”
He stepped toward the
dresser and retrieved the small wooden box. Opening it up, she saw several
shiny, silver pins. “Those are sewing needles.”
“They are straight pins.
They are what the females use to hold their braids.”
Her brow lowered. “Don’t
they end up stabbing themselves in the head?” Maybe that was why they agreed to
live like it was the seventeen hundreds, pinholes in the head.
Christian snapped the
box closed and frowned. “The females reside on this farm and live in such a
manner, because they choose to, Delilah. They do not judge the English females
for their fast paced lifestyles, prideful clothes, or debauched choices, so I
ask you not to judge them.”
Her mouth opened and the
beginning of an unfinished word slipped out as a grumble. How had he known what
she was thinking? She shut her mouth.
His gaze went to the bed
and he hesitated as if he wanted to sit down, but was unsure of his welcome. He
seemed a bit malleable at the moment and she figured it was a good a time as
any to talk to him. “Would you like to sit?” she asked, waving her hand toward
the bed.
He nodded and sat beside
her.
“Christian—”
“Delilah—”
“Sorry,” she said. “You
go.”
He looked at the floor.
“Delilah, I want us to understand one another.”
“That would be good. Can
we start with why you didn’t just ask me to come here with you? If memory
serves, we were having an all right time up until you…”
“I didn’t have much
time. I needed you and I needed you right away. Our kind does not do well with
waiting.”
Was he talking about the
Amish? One would think they’d be incredibly patient, what with having to wait
for things to heat over a flame and not having any electrical amenities to make
life easier. “But you could’ve just asked. I might’ve said yes. I liked you.”
“Liked?”
“Christian, you
kidnapped me. I want to go home. The longer you keep me here the less I’m going
to like you.”
He looked sad for a
moment and then his expression hardened. “You cannot leave. Ever. This is where
you will live. I am sorry if you are unhappy now, but I will do my best to give
you a good life—”
“No,” she interrupted.
“Sorry, I’m not going to just roll over and let you decide my life for me. I’ll
make your life hell before I let you take over mine. You need to let me go
home.”
“That is not an option.”
“How do you intend to
make me stay? You aren’t armed,” she pointed out, hoping she was right. “Will
you fight me if I try to go?”
“You cannot leave,” he
repeated, his gaze darting away.
“Why? Because you’re
afraid I’ll tell someone about what you did? I won’t. I just want to go home. I
have a shop to run and friends that will be worried.”
“You will not survive
out there. Things are different now. You must remain here where I can protect
you.”
She scoffed. “Protect me
from what? Kidnappers?”
He gave her a sidelong
glance. Still not a fan of sarcasm. “Delilah, I need to tell you something and
I do not want you to overreact. You are completely safe and, whether you
realize it or not, this path was chosen for you the moment you were conceived.
It is best you accept it and we move on from here.”
She hated when he talked
weird like that, like he knew some plan about her life that she wasn’t aware
of. He assumed way too much about who she was. They might’ve bumped uglies, but
he knew nothing. “Okay, let’s hear this plan of yours.”
“It is not my plan, but
God’s.”
Wonderful.
“Go on.”
“I am not like you. I
came here from Europe a long time ago when I was just a young boy. We traveled
here by way of a vessel called
The Charming Nancy
. It was a long and
uncomfortable voyage, but necessary to escape the evils that were infesting
society. We decided
this
was the way we were to live. We only wanted our
privacy and to live peacefully, removed from the rest of the world.
“When we arrived here
there were only a handful of us left. Over the years we have established our
own set of laws and families have grown. We are a happy community. Life is safe
here. There is no violence or pressure to continuously adapt with the
ever-changing world. Our values are strong and we have a devout faith in God.
“I understand this is
very different from the life you are used to, but I believe you could be happy
here if you gave it a try. There are many wonderful things I have yet to share
with you and we have an eternity to explore them together. I do not wish to
hold you here against your will, but I will not let you go. Ever. You are meant
to be by my side.”
Okay, where was the
camera hiding? She laughed. It was all she could manage at the moment. The
hopeless emotion welling up inside of her had the dizzying affect of banging
her head into a brick wall she’d never get through. The bite of tears had her
lashes flickering and her throat constricting.
“Okay, look, Christian,
that’s a lovely story. It sounds like you guys came a long way in your little
Amish village since you arrived—what, thirty some years ago? But I will
never
be okay with living this kind of lifestyle—”
“We arrived here in
1737.”
Her thoughts screeched
to a halt. “You mean 1937?” No, that was still too long ago. She either
misunderstood the story or totally misheard the year.
“1737. That was when we
arrived here on
The Charming Nancy
.”
“
We
as in your
ancestors?”
“I was eight years old.”
And crazy shall now be
added to the list of why all good looking men sucked.
She mentally sketched in
the cord “crazy” directly behind gay or married
. No wonder I’m still single.
She sighed. “Riiiiight, okay, well then…I still can’t stay here. See, I’m
not Amish.”
“That makes no
difference.”
Well, he sure had an
answer for everything. She smiled and through clenched teeth said, “I
don’t
want to
live with the Amish.”
“That will change over
time.”
“I’m not staying here!”
she shrilled and pounded
her fists on her thighs.
He caught her hands. “Do
not hit yourself,
pintura.”
“My name is Delilah.”
His eyes looked sad.
Perhaps she was wearing him down. His lips firmed and he stood. Maybe not.
“I am sorry you are so
unhappy at the moment. I’ve told you the way things are going to be and I have
offered to make them as easy as possible on you. I do not know what else to
tell you. You are being stubborn.”
Her mouth and eyes went
wide. “
I’m
being stubborn? Do you hear yourself? You picked me up at a
bar and decided I belonged to you. You’re nuts!”
He remained silent, his
chest slowly rising and falling with each breath as he stared at her,
unflinching.
She went on. “I’m
leaving. You just wait. Sooner or later I’ll get out of here and you can forget
about my whole promise not to tell. I’m going right to the cops. I’m sure your
simple ways will make the meager amenities of a jail easy for you to live with
when you’re
rotting in a cell!
”