Authors: Amanda J. Clay
CHAPTER 22
Rogan walked through the alleyways of vines, running his hands along the sturdy leaves, fingering the delicate, ripening grapes. As a breeze of crisp early fall air swept past, he couldn’t help but mourn the inevitable loss of everything he knew. His mind had been racing since he heard about Alec’s bomb. He wanted to believe that Alec wouldn’t do something so irresponsible—so disastrous—but he knew better. And now he was looking around every corner, expecting armed guards to haul him away like they had Benton after the protest. Frankly, he didn’t know why or how Ben got out, and Ben was staying tight-lipped about it. Rogan doubted Demos simply had a change of heart.
In the close distance, he heard Toro’s barks rupture the silent day—yelps of defense, not from hunting rabbits or wrestling with Alfie. An arrow of intuitive fear shot through him, his neck hairs coming to attention. He turned and sped through the rows of grapes, stopping short when he saw the dark blue military truck creeping up the front drive. His guts instinctively tightened into a hard knot. There was no good reason for a military truck to be on his land. Toro was poised at the edge of the drive, barking wildly at the intruders. Before Rogan could panic he took a moment and collected himself, breathing deeply.
Routine,
he told himself.
Probably looking for answers about the bomb.
He then walked as casually as he could to join Rainer and Tigg by the mechanics’ barn.
The two ranch hands stood nervously—memories of military raids surely still haunted them. Rogan glanced around, hoping to spot Jasper, but he was absent, probably on a delivery in the city. It would be on him to take control. It was how it should be, he reminded himself. He mustered his courage. He was a leader now and this was his land. This was his legacy.
The truck came to a halt a few yards from the barn door. Four uniformed rangers stepped confidently out, two from the cab and two from the bed. Rogan instantly spotted the badge of a ranked officer on the passenger side ranger and his heart sank lower.
Why would an officer bother with routine Valley raids?
“Morning rangers,” Rogan said cordially. “What brings you to Elwood Vineyards?” He stood as tall as he could muster and thrust back his shoulders the way his father had taught him to do in the face of confrontation.
“Morning lad,” the ranked ranger said with a hint of patronizing. “Who might you be?” Rogan extended his hand, staring into the ranger’s dark, menacing eyes.
Those eyes.
“Rogan Elwood, Sir. Proprietor.”
The ranger didn’t accept the extended hand. He gave Rogan a knowing smirk.
“Captain Demos,” he said curtly. Rogan’s breath caught.
Demos.
He stared into those eyes, remembering. It had been a long time.
“Pleasure, Sir,” Rogan forced a friendly tone. “What can I do for you?”
“What business are you carrying out here?” Demos asked looking around at the workers covered in dirt and grease.
“Well, today we’re pruning the canopy, cuttin’ out excess grape clusters,” he said in his best country bumpkin voice. The Captain did not look amused.
“That’s all then? Just a little pruning?” Demos pushed condescendingly.
Rogan could feel his heart sprinting, painful memories forcing their way in with Demos’ vile presence.
“Yeah, that’s all. Just a typical work day around here. Is there something I can help you with?”
The other three rangers came to the Demos’ side to form a wall of uniformed muscle.
“I’m looking for the rebel Alec Montall,” Demos said. Rogan’s stomach kicked again and this time almost brought bile to his throat.
They didn’t have him
.
“Rebel?” Rogan said with feigned surprise.
“I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept,” Demos stated
“You know this Montall?” A ranger with a crooked nose said.
“Sure, I know Alec Montall. He’s a ranch hand at Duck Farm ranch, the chicken place down on O’Farren Road. I’ve known him most of my life, just like every other Valley kid around here. Don’t know nothing about rebel ties, though.” Rogan shrugged.
“Let me remind you, Mr. Elwood, that Alec is wanted for conspiracy against his Majesty the King and the Royal Ministry and aggravated assault on a government official. Both are treasonable offences. It would not behoove you to stand in the way of our locating him.” Demos stared hard into Rogan’s face with his murky eyes. Suddenly, he was eight years old again—trapped in the pantry—his mother crying on the floor as Demos snarled above her and rangers held his father in custody.
He shook off the dark recollections.
“Those are some pretty big charges, Captain. But I promise we’re all friends of the King in this house. I don’t knowingly consort or harbor anyone who would commit such treachery as treason.” It was a line well practiced at every Cause sanction.
“Hmph,” Demos snorted. “You’re a smart kid, Elwood. But, in case you’ve forgotten, I know your family history well. Your father was a no good son-of-a-whore and a poor excuse for a rebel who brought shame to your whole bloodline.” Demos spat a wad of thick black tobacco beside Rogan’s boots.
Rogan dug his nails into his palm to control his bubbling anger.
“True, Theron was a misled soul, Sants rest him. But it was a lesson to us all about loyalty.”
Demos narrowed his eyes at him but shook off the rhetoric.
“Smart boy. Search the place!” He shouted.
The accompanying rangers removed shotguns from their back straps and cocked them ready. Rainer and Tigg fell back nervously.
“On what grounds?” Tigg grumbled. Rogan raised out his arm to the soldiers.
“It’s all right, boys. These men have a job to do and we can certainly oblige them peacefully. We have nothing to hide, after all.” Rogan stepped back as the four rangers shoved past him into the barn.
They rummaged through every corner of the barn, pulling boxes from the shelves, spilling tools and seeds across the floor. Rogan’s blood boiled but he remained calm with a soft look of complacency—of someone with absolutely no secrets. They opened the farm truck and plunged a dagger into the ratted seat cushion, tearing out the filling.
“Is he in that cushion?” Rogan asked, examining his fingernails. The rangers turned and snarled at him.
Demos looked up at Rogan as if to say, “Want to see what else I can do?” but Rogan only smiled and nodded and extended his hand to respond, “Please, continue. My pleasure.”
After the team had thoroughly pillaged the mechanics barn and found nothing of interest, save a jug of private label Old Vine red to which they sloppily helped themselves, Demos motioned that they should search the chicken coop and livestock barn. Rogan could hear the chicken’s squawks and they were kicked aside by heavy boots.
“What’s this all about?” Rainer said quietly as they watched the farm being torn apart by royal rangers. Rogan turned to his men.
“Don’t know. Alec’s done something that’s gotten him in serious trouble, but it’s none of our business.” He stared them both hard in the eyes. “And we know
nothing
.”
Rainer’s eyes were doubtful but he nodded.
The rangers plundered the barns then moved toward the main house, to which Rogan finally protested. Toro started to bark and snarl, his thick black tail whipping back and forth.
“Is that really necessary?” Rogan asked, scrambling toward the house and standing in front of them. The fat ranger glared at him with beady eyes. He ran his tongue over dry lips then spat a wad of thick, tarry tobacco onto Rogan’s boot.
“You have a problem with us doin’ our job?” He snarled.
“Of course not,” Rogan said calmly. “But this is a private home where women and children live. Do you really have to barge in?”
“You afraid we’ll break all yer nice, expensive things?” The other ranger taunted to his companions’ amusement.
“We wouldn’t want to get finger prints on the fine crystal,” the crooked-nosed one smirked. Rogan made a fist and dug his nails into his palms deeper.
“Maybe he’s hiding something a little more valuable than crystal,” Demos said coolly. He sauntered up to Rogan and stared him hard in the eyes. He studied him with a stare of inquisition. “A missing rebel perhaps.”
Toro ran to Rogan’s side and snarled at Demos.
“I’m hiding nothing,” Rogan protested. “But as the owner of this house I’m not giving you permission to enter my private residence. I’m going to ask you to leave now. That’s my right.” He mustered insolence although his better judgment begged him not to.
“Move boy. Don’t stand in my way.” Rogan didn’t back down. Toro barked again. “And shut that damn dog up.”
“I told you to leave, Demos. This is my land and you’re trespassing.”
“What is it about you rebels that makes you love pain so very much?”
When the rifle butt made contact with his ribs, Rogan thought he might pass out. He could feel the tiny splinters of bone rupture as he keeled over and clutched at his side. He gritted his teeth through the pain and raised his eyes to Demos’. Toro ran to his side and licked his face, then turned to offer a vicious, drooling growl to Demos. Demos stared at the dog with contempt for a moment before raising his pistol and firing.
“You son-of-a-bitch!” Rogan screamed out and lunged, despite the searing pain in his ribs. Two of the rangers grabbed him and restrained his arms. “You think you’ll get away with all this, but you won’t. None of you will,” he snarled.
Demos smiled placidly and cracked his knuckle.
“Oh, my boy. We already have.” Demos brought his baton down on the side of Rogan’s head.
CHAPTER 23
Fire and ice warred inside him as he lay trapped in a nightmare. Flames climbed up his arms but he was shivering. With a jolt, he woke in a fit of fever, drowning in sweat and pain. He forced his eyes open but the light wouldn’t come. He saw only shadows, slithering and hissing in the darkness.
“Rogan!” He heard the voice, soft and liquid. “He’s awake.”
Leave me
.
Let me burn and let the ashes blow away.
“Rog,” he felt his shoulder shaking. “Rog, can you hear me?”
Slowly the shadows faded into the light and shapes took their place. He blinked a few times and could finally make out familiar faces.
“What the hell happened?” He groaned, his side screaming as he tried to sit up.
“That prick Demos paid you a visit,” Ben said.
“Don’t move,” Iris said. “You’ve got a couple of busted ribs. And one nasty bash to the head. And you’ve got a fever.”
Rogan reached back and fingered the head wound.
“Bastards,” Rogan muttered, the events replaying. He fell back against the pillow and winced.
“Rainer called me after Demos and his goons left,” Benton said.
“Toro?” Rogan asked, the image of his wide eyes and wagging tail clouding his mind. Ben’s eyes saddened and he shook his head.
“He’s gone, poor pup,” Ben said. Rogan closed his eyes and bit back the burning sensation in his eyes. He found strength and nodded.
Toro was such a good dog.
“Did they do anything else?” Rogan asked. Everyone was quiet and nervous. “What?”
“No one else is hurt,” Ben continued. “But they ransacked the house pretty badly. It’s kind of a disaster.”
Rogan fumed. He forced himself up, cringing from the pain. He looked around his bedroom and he could already see the damage. His dresser had been emptied, his books and desk papers thrown on the floor, the framed photo of his parents shattered.
“I guess I’d better assess the damage,” he sighed. He wobbled to his feet.
“You shouldn’t be up,” Iris said, coming to his side.
“I’m not an invalid,” Rogan snapped back, pretending daggers weren’t protruding from his side.
“Well then, let me help you at least,” she said, taking his arm.
“You know last I checked you had a bullet through your side.” Iris shrugged.
“A flesh wound,” she said with a wink. Iris steadied him and with her arm as a crutch, they walked out to the living room, noting the smashed picture frames littering the hallway. The main room was worse than he had imagined. The windows were smashed in, dishes were broken and the furniture was on its side. Rogan ground his teeth together and cracked his neck.
“Has Jasper been home yet?” Rogan asked, recalling his words:
Promise me you’ll keep it out of the house.
“No, haven’t seen him,” Ben said.
“They can’t get away with this. Who do they think they are?”
“The men in charge,” Ben said dryly. Rogan shook his head.
“Not for long,” Rogan promised.
CHAPTER 24
It had taken Elyra two weeks of pleading to get him to agree to meet with her. He just couldn’t bear the thought of dragging her any further into this mess, but her stubbornness wouldn’t relent. And he couldn’t deny that he was desperate for her kiss. It was the first time she had been to his place—normally an unthinkable risk. But, with the city crawling with rangers sniffing out reformists, he didn’t dare meet her anywhere public. After the ranger raid, Lorena and Jasper had taken Ari to Jasper’s brother’s place thirty miles south with clear instructions that he’d “better clean up whatever mess he had made.” With the vineyard crew off on Sundays, it seemed like the only place in the world where they could be alone—the only place they would be safe.
She pulled the unpretentious black coupe into the dirt driveway then around the back to the barn as he had instructed her, parking between a tractor and a stack of yellow hay bales. He was still peering out the front window impatiently when she stepped into the house, illuminating the room like a roaring flame.
“You came,” he said.
She smiled.
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
He shrugged. She was wearing a pale yellow dress that stopped just before her knees and hugged her tiny waist. He walked to her slowly, willing his arms not to engulf her. With a gentle touch he cupped her chin and kissed her forehead softly.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” he said with a laugh. “It must look a little ridiculous compared to yours.”
“It’s great,” she said sincerely.
Rogan smirked.
“Oh c’mon. Your gardeners probably have bigger houses.”
“I wouldn’t know,” she smiled. Then confusion twisted her expression. “But, um, I do have to ask why you have holes through the walls.”
Rogan looked around the room at the leftovers of Demos’ handy work, scratching his head. He’d managed to replace the front windows, but hadn’t yet gotten around to patching the walls.
“Um…it’s a long story. C’mon.” He took her hand. “It’s too nice a day to be locked in this stuffy place. I know a place we could go.”
He led her out the side door into the sunshine, out into the vineyards a few yards until the house was just slightly hidden by lush vines and flamboyant orange trees. He led her through the maze of foliage until they reached a gazebo with vibrant green vines crawling up the wooden lattice standing in a small clearing with a perfect view of the towering mountains in the distance.
“It’s beautiful,” she gasped, green eyes wide and shimmering like giant emeralds.
“My father built it. A long time ago. It was my mom’s favorite spot on the ranch. She loved the view.” He half smiled at the memory as he scanned the panorama. “Here.” He led her inside the gazebo where he had laid out a soft blanket over the grass floor. “I’ve pulled out one of our better years. It’s not every day we see royalty around here,” he joked, revealing a bottle of pale white wine.
“Well I will try not to disappoint your expectations.” She winked. “You always do know how to perfect the mood.”
“Maybe for once we could just forget everything that’s happening. Just be together. I just don’t want to think about all the crazy things going on for a few hours.”
“I could go for that.” They sat on the blanket and stretched out their legs, letting them bask in the sunlight.
“I can’t believe you grew up here,” she said wistfully, looking around.
“Seriously? This from someone who grew up in an actual castle?” Rogan raised an eyebrow.
Elyra laughed.
“We like to call it a palace. But I am being serious. Sure, my house is unimaginably big with rooms I’ve probably never even been in, but it was never cozy or private. Not even the gardens are peaceful. There are people—and eyes—
everywhere.
This place,” she paused and looked around, breathing in the open country air. “This place is serenity.” She leaned her shoulder closer to him.
Rogan gingerly put an arm around her, waves of panic and electricity still climbing his skin every time he touched her. Not wanting to lose his self-control just yet, he untangled himself and poured a splash of cold wine into two small jars and handed her one.
“The property has been in my family for years,” he said. “And by years I mean generations. My great,
great,
granddad planted the first vine.”
“Mmm. Such a nice thing to have. Let’s see,” she put a finger to her chin and thought. “My house has been in my family for…400 years?”
Rogan rolled his eyes and she giggled.
“Yeah, yeah, show off.”
A cool breeze blew through the vines, cooling the beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he battled both nerves and heat.
Would he ever be able to just be around her without looking over his shoulder?
“I know we said we wouldn’t talk about it, but I’ve been thinking a lot about the last time,” she said in a more serious tone.
Rogan took a long sip of the cold wine, trying to extinguish his internal bonfire.
“Yeah?”
“I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I am absolutely terrified by this. I mean, to-the-bone terrified,” she sighed and paused.
“That’s natural. We’re all scared of what we might face.”
“But, you made me realize something.”
“What’s that?”
“That the council members are either blind or outright liars.”
“Okay,” Rogan laughed.
“Seriously. I mean, some are really in it to serve, like our Minister of Public Works, Brita. She seems to care. But most are in it for the prestige and the power. Whatever kickbacks they may be getting from Pantone. Ugh, he makes my skin crawl.” She shuddered.
“No arguments here, but isn’t that treasonous to say?” Rogan said half-heartedly.
She considered it.
“I’m not sure the Princess Royale can commit treason,” she grinned. “But I realized regardless of whether it’s blind ignorance or apathy, it has to change. If what you say is true, then we are going to be knee deep in civil war before we know it.”
“Thinking about joining up with us?”
“Hardly. But I can’t be a mushroom in the dark either. I’m going to try to do something. I’m going to try to stop this thing. I know they all think I’m just a little girl, but I will make them hear me.” Her eyes lit up with fever. He could hardly keep from grabbing her face and thrusting it to him, but he settled for gently caressing her jawline.
“Do you know how sexy it is to hear you talk like that?” He grinned, painting her cheeks burning pink.
“I mean it. If this is your fight, then it’s my fight too.”
“Come here,” he whispered, gently pulling her closer. She reached her arms around him and squeezed tightly, causing him to wince.
“What is it?” She pulled away startled.
“Nothing,” he said, putting a little distance between them. “Just a little bruise.”
“Let me see.” She reached for his shirt.
“El, no don’t,” he protested, but she ignored him.
She lifted his black tee shirt, revealing deep purple swirls the size of small oranges where Demos’ rifle had kissed his ribs.
“My God, what happened?” She breathed.
Rogan pulled his shirt back down and sighed.
“A little run-in with a ranger’s rifle,” he said.
“A city ranger?” She asked wide-eyed.
“Yep.”
“Whose?” She insisted.
“A little gem by the name of Demos. Know him?”
Elyra scowled.
“The Captain of the City Guard? Yes, I know him. He’s a real creep but…he did this to you? Why would he do that?”
Rogan sighed.
“He and I have a bit of a history, you might say.”
“History how?”
“Long story. It’s not important.”
“Is that what happened inside?”
“Yeah…they got a little carried away, I guess.”
Elyra shook her head.
“But, what did he want?”
“He was just looking for…information.”
“Was anyone else hurt?”
Toro’s playful yelps resonated in his mind. But he wasn’t going to fill her thoughts with that horror. He shook his head.
“Everyone else is fine. Trust me, it’s better if you don’t know the whole story. I don’t want you in the middle of this.” Her face contorted in preparation for argument but he shot her a look. “I mean it, El.”
“Well, my father will hear about it.”
“El, c’mon, think about it. What are you going to tell him? His best captain beat up your secret rebel boyfriend?” Elyra laughed. “I can handle Demos.”
“One way or another he isn’t going to get away with this,” she said, fiercely.
Rogan couldn’t hold back a grin at her unadulterated passion. The pain in his abdomen faded into the fall air.
“Where was I?” He said.
She met his gaze with narrow cat eyes and leaned in. Forcing self-restraint, he touched her chin gently and eased her mouth to his. Searing heat shot through his lips and down his throat into the depths of his belly. Within seconds he felt like his entire body was burning alive—and he liked it.
He pulled her closer—every part of their lips brought them deeper. She was losing herself in the moment as she leaned into him, abandoning her defenses. They fell back onto the blanket and Rogan found himself on top of her—she didn’t resist. The pain in his body melted as she ran her hands over the crest tattoo that danced across his bicep, then along his waistline, dipping under his shirt until her fingers traced the searing skin on his back. Then she lifted it up and pulled it over her head. He didn’t object. His tanned skin—decorated with bruises and scars—pressed against her perfectly smooth alabaster canvas. He ran his hand up her leg, up to the soft skin of her thigh, inching her dress up slowly. She didn’t stop him. With as much control as he could manage, he slowly slid her dress down over her shoulder and brought his lips to the pale skin beneath, desperately wanting to tear the fabric away. She reached down and skimmed her fingers along inner rim of his jeans. Flames clutched his insides, but he didn’t flinch.
A sudden shock shot through him and he pulled himself back. His heart was pounding and his hands were shaking. He leaned away and looked into her bright green eyes—two round gems reflecting the blazing afternoon sun.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She breathed softly and let her swollen lips fall into a placid smile.
“If I keep going, I don’t think I can stop myself,” he whispered.
“I never said you had to,” she said.
He stared down at her, reading her face for truth.
“El—”
“I want to.”
“Are you sure?” He stroked her lips with his fingertip.
When she nodded, every nerve in his body came to attention. He leaned in to press his mouth to hers and mustered every ounce of self-control he had to move slowly.
Rogan’s heart skipped. He wanted to know her—needed to know her. He summoned a deep breath and fought down waves of panic. The breeze stilled to a tranquil tickle. Grapes and damp dirt and sweat danced on the air. With shaky hands and delicate precision, he let his hands carefully unwrap her body. His heart nearly stopped at the sight of her.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered. El’s cheeks flushed and he could see the mix of excitement and nerves in her eyes.
“I’m nervous,” she whispered.
He brushed rogue wisps of cinnamon from her cheeks and smiled.
“I am too.”
As if it was all she needed to hear, El bit her lip and grinned.
He let his lips wander her flawless pale skin until she whimpered with need. She cried out softly as they finally moved together. Her eyes widened in discomfort and he froze.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m okay. Don’t stop.” He breathed deeply and kissed her.
Racked with nerves, he sank into her, letting passion take them.
Afterward they lay on the blanket letting the cool breeze whisk away the beads of sweat on their skin.
“Are you all right?” Rogan asked as he ran his hand over her soft, flushed skin. She rolled over and shot him a lidded look.
“I might be more okay in this moment than any other I can remember,” she smiled.
He leaned over and kissed her shoulder.
“No regrets?”
“No regrets.”
A voice suddenly shattered the moment.
“Rogan! You home? The door was unlocked so I figured you were out back.”
“Dammit, Ben.” Rogan groaned and collapsed against her. He shot up and fumbled with the blanket. Elyra’s eyes were both panicked and laughing. He put his finger to his lips and motioned a
hush
. “Stay here,” he whispered, pulling his shirt back on while she fumbled to pull on her dress. He kissed her sweaty forehead then scrambled up and ducked away toward the voice.
“Rogan?” Benton emerged from around the corner and caught sight of him.
“Ben. What are you doing out here?”