open. On the day Zeke and Jacob had argued about sharing her, Zeke had locked Liz inside Jacob’s bedroom, telling his brother not to come anywhere near her. Jacob had countered that it was his fucking space. He had a right to go inside. That argument hadn’t swayed Zeke.
She tried the handle, astounded that it turned, but didn’t take more than one step into the hall.
Jacob was leaning against the wood paneling, his arms crossed over a pile of clothes that he held to his chest.
He actually blushed at her presence. Liz’s face warmed as she recalled the intimacies they’d shared. The taste of his mouth, balls and cock. His strength as he pounded his rigid shaft into her. His satisfied huffs when he climaxed, then held her close, not allowing her to escape…to return to Zeke.
At last, Jacob met her gaze.
His color deepened. From embarrassment or desire, Liz didn’t know. Could be it was a bit of both. He glanced away quickly as though he feared her reading his emotions. His attention snagged on her makeshift outfit. He pressed his lips together as one did when fighting laughter.
She sighed. “It was all I could find. Those for me?”
He seemed to recall that he was holding a pair of jeans, a pale yellow tee, underwear and suede moccasins. Clearly, they were from one of the younger women, just as Liz’s last outfit had been.
“Yeah.” He handed the items over.
Their hands brushed as Liz took the clothing. Longing flooded Jacob’s face. He glanced at her once more, then looked past.
So different from when they’d first met. Then he’d been pure Alpha, trying to outdo Zeke, determined to make her want him the most. Oddly enough, Liz found Jacob more endearing now than she had when he’d been putting on his macho act.
And an act it had been. She sensed this was the real Jacob. Filled with uncertainty. Touchingly sweet. “Thanks.”
He nodded. “When you’re dressed, I’ll take you to the dining room.”
Liz already knew the way, having been there several times before. “Where’s Zeke?”
Jacob hesitated a moment, then shrugged.
Okay. So he knew where his brother was, but wasn’t telling. Rather than confront him on it, Liz backed into the room. “I’ll be out in a sec.”
He didn’t try to follow her inside as he might have yesterday. Like a good boy—or a man who’d lost a battle he hadn’t had a chance of winning—he waited in the hall.
As she pulled on the garments, Liz thought she’d heard him sighing a couple of times. She wanted to talk to him, have a real conversation about his feelings, what was going through his mind, but didn’t dare. He might not be the arrogant Alpha he’d tried to portray, but he was still a man. His insecurity would only intensify if she acknowledged it.
Once she’d dressed, they headed for the communal dining area, walking side by side toward the mouthwatering scents of freshly baked bread, bacon, cinnamon and coffee that had wafted up here. Not liking their uncomfortable silence, Liz asked, “How’s your leg?”
Jacob regarded it. “Good as new.”
“And your jaw?”
His hand flew to the nasty bruising as though he was surprised she’d noticed it. Upon touching the discoloration, he winced.
“Bad, huh?” she asked.
“It’s fine. Hardly hurts anymore.”
Sure. “Want me to heal—”
“No.”
He’d cut her off so quickly, Liz stopped. After a few steps, Jacob also came to a halt and glanced over. Again, their eyes met. In his, she saw concern and a longing so deep it stole her breath.
When Liz had told Zeke she didn’t want him and Jacob fighting over her, Zeke had dismissed her concern, stating that Jacob was just being the younger brother, wanting what his older sibling had. His feelings had everything to do with envy and lust, not love.
At the time, Zeke’s explanation had seemed reasonable. Not now. Liz saw something in Jacob’s expression she’d also seen in Zeke’s whenever he looked at her.
Before Liz could voice her thoughts, Jacob continued down the hall. He kept his distance even after she’d caught up, clearly honoring his brother’s claim.
Because Zeke had saved his life during last night’s battle? Because Kele’s foolish desire for him had caused it? Whatever the reason, it seemed to have touched something deep within Jacob. Changing him, making him grow up to become a man much like his brother. Kind. Honorable.
Those qualities in Jacob called to Liz as they had with Zeke. She longed to take his hand and offer some comfort, perhaps friendship, but didn’t, sensing he’d pull away.
At the landing, he stopped and gestured for her to go first. “They won’t be serving breakfast much longer,” he mumbled. “We better hurry.”
“Are you protecting me from your clan?”
Surprise flooded his handsome face. “No. They’d never do anything to hurt you. They’re not like your people.”
That should have stung, but didn’t. So many misconceptions and bad feelings had flowed between their clans for so long, everyone’s distrust had hardened into stubborn hate. “Not all of my people are bad.”
He pushed his fingers through his hair, pulling it off his shoulder. “No one’s going to bother you here. We voted, remember?”
Liz recalled the ones that had wanted her and her father gone. Isabel in particular.
“Is my father in the dining room?” she asked. “Is he all right?”
Jacob huffed out a sigh. “God, you ask a lot of questions.”
“That’s what Zeke said. You two really are alike, you know that?”
Clearly uneasy, he muttered, “No, we’re not. You love him.”
He regarded her more fully than he had before, defeat in his expression. Without waiting for her response, which he didn’t seem to want to hear, he went down the stairs toward the dining area.
Zeke tried to ignore the personal touches in Bartholomew’s room, knowing they’d resurrect his anguish at losing such a good friend. Despite his struggle, he moved closer to the photographs, somehow pulled by them.
In one, a much younger Bartholomew wore a maroon cap and gown. He clutched his high school diploma in his left hand, his smile broad and relieved. He’d made it through all the academic shit he hated and the state required. In those days, the clan lived outside the stronghold just like normal folk. Carreon’s father had been in charge, and even though he was no pussycat, he’d honored a truce between their people.
In the next photo, taken several years later, Bartholomew had his foot propped on the sparkling grill of a 1957 Chevy that he’d painted in its original colors. Aqua and white. He was heavier than he’d been in the graduation picture, his grin one of pure pleasure. If Carreon hadn’t taken over and renewed the fighting between their people—if Bartholomew hadn’t given his life to save the rest of the clan—he would have made a real success of his auto restoration business.
He might have married and had kids. A future everyone else in this country expected as their God-given right.
Agonizing sorrow gripped Zeke at all the interrupted dreams, the senseless and continuing murders. He understood his clan’s fury, them not wanting Liz and her father here. They’d lost a good man and for what? So their leader could have the woman he desired?
Heartsick, Zeke ran his hand down his face and turned from the photos to the bed.
Dr. Munez lay on the narrow mattress, no longer asleep. He seemed more curious than alarmed that Zeke was in the room. No surprise. Carreon had imprisoned Munez for so long, surely very little shocked the old
