Because You're Mine(77)

The blow to his head still made him feel woozy—or maybe it was all the water he swallowed. It would be so much easier to just let go, quit fighting. Let the current tear the roots from his grasp and take him into oblivion. But he had to get to Alanna again, protect her. In that moment, Jesse realized he couldn’t just give in. He had to fight.

Somewhere he found the strength to reach his right hand up and grasp the tangled mass of tree roots. He put the toe of his shoe into the roots along the wall of the creek and struggled against the current. Inch by inch he managed to climb his way out of the churning water until he lay gasping in the mud like a newborn turtle.

He groaned and rolled onto his back. The rain pelted him, filling his nose and mouth until he felt he was drowning again, but he was too weak to resist. The thud of the rain against the ground filled his ears, and he heard music. Coughing, he rolled to his side, and his head began to clear.

The music in his head continued to play, only this time he heard the words.


Two souls bound which none can sever. This nightsong

is for you. Our love will last through fire and

trouble. This nightsong is for you. Not even death

can break our hearts. This nightsong is for you.



He recognized the tune now. The tune that played on the music box Alanna had played for them. The tune he’d been humming. In a moment it all flooded back. His life, the night of the explosion. He could hear the screaming metal in his head, Jesse’s shout.

He was Liam Connolly, not Jesse Hawthorne.

Struggling to his feet, he knew he had to get to Alanna. Tell her who he was and get her out of that house.

In a loping run, he turned and plunged in the direction of the estate. The current had thrust him closer and he’d come up on the north side of the creek. He should be there within half an hour.

The wind blew the rain sideways, blinding him. He swiped the moisture from his eyes and peered through the darkness. The wind pushed against him, impeding his progress. It might take longer than he anticipated. The wise thing to do would be to take shelter in a closer house, but Alanna needed him. An inner urgency drove him on.

He had to save her.





Thirty-Two


Was he still looking for her? Alanna wished she knew when it would be safe to go inside. Where were her mates and Grady? Once other people were here, she would have nothing to fear. Maybe she had nothing to worry about even now. If Barry was still looking for her, he might be wanting to apologize.

She was overreacting.

She slung the strap to her purse over her shoulder and rose. This was quite wonky. The thing to do was to march in there and tell him she wouldn’t tolerate behavior like that again. He was likely penitent. The incident in the garage wasn’t like Barry. She pushed open the door, then ran for the house.

The rain drenched her again, pouring down her back, cloaking her vision. Her bare feet slipped in the mud, and she went down onto her knees. She struggled to her feet and staggered toward the door again. Running up the steps, she reached the back door. It was still locked, so she fished her key out and unlocked it before practically falling onto the kitchen floor.

The relief of being out of the rain made her inhale thankfully. In the mansion, the sound of the pounding rain was muted, too, and the sudden de-escalation of noise let her pulse resume a normal rhythm. Her present position was vulnerable, so she struggled to her hands and knees, then to her feet.

A towel was lying on the counter. She grabbed it and wiped her streaming face, soaked the water from her hair, and wiped the mud from her feet. She left the ruined towel on the floor by the door and went toward the living room.

There was no noise she could detect except the intensifying storm outside. Where was Barry? She opened her mouth to call for him, then closed it again when she heard him bellow her name. She thought he was up in the ballroom. The rage in his voice sent every nerve tingling. The sensible, gentle, kind Barry was still missing.

Or maybe she was seeing the real man for the first time.

She crept up the main stairs, careful to avoid the third step that squeaked. She didn’t think he could hear her from the third floor, especially with the storm pounding the house, but she didn’t want to risk it. She reached the hall and tiptoed to his bedroom.

The bed was unmade today, and his clothes from yesterday were in a pile on the floor. Very out of character from what she’d seen, but his behavior today had been out of character too. The death of his father must have profoundly affected him. The closet door stood open a crack. For a moment she imagined he was waiting in there and would grab her by the throat the moment she approached. She swallowed hard and told herself not to be a dope.

Aware she was holding her breath, she let it out and moved to the closet door. Her fingers gripped the doorknob. Her pulse was nearly as loud as the thunder crashing overhead. This was quite silly. Just open the door, she told herself.

She forced herself to yank open the door. Her shoulders sagged when she realized there was no one there. She grabbed the keys from the hook and retreated. Barry was still banging around in the ballroom. She had time to get to the locked room.

Her hand crept to her throat, and she jumped when she heard someone at the front door. At last, there were reinforcements. She ran down the steps to the front door and threw it open. The figure who stumbled through the opening wasn’t recognizable at first. Blood poured from his head and his face was swollen with numerous cuts.