17 comments/ 11710 views/ 20 favorites Caribbean Rising By: BajanBelle Author's Note: This is my first submission to the site. I intend it to be a story of several chapters, so I do I look forward to hearing whether I've managed to capture your attention or not. I'm doing the editing myself on this first chapter and I'm trying very hard to make sure it's readable with a minimum of typos, etc. However, if you spot any, please feel free to point them out to me. All the scenarios come from my imagination and involve characters that are over the age of 18. Their inner thoughts are shown in brackets ( ); while mind speaking is shown in [ ]. Finally, please note that this is an original work to which I reserve all copy and other rights. * Chapter One - Awakening Before... "Find Aston, Gabriel and Dylan!" Declan flung over his right shoulder as he sprinted down the hallway. "It's A....!" Whatever Declan was about to say faded into nothingness at about the same time as Jiordan Montaigne's smooth, long stride, which had already begun to quicken into an anxious run when his senses suddenly went haywire in the study, trembled to an abrupt halt. His knees buckled as the power of his eldest brother's emotions slammed into him with the force of a brick wall. "Oh, dear God in heaven! NOOOOOO!!!" It was his last fully-conscious thought. Wave upon wave of fear-laced pain suddenly shot a lighting fist through his skull, setting ablaze every cell in his body before concentrating its power in his heart. From afar someone yelled his name; his keen hearing registered what sounded like pounding feet, and then there was nothing... ----------- Now... Long thick lashes the colour of honey swept lazily upward as Jiordan Montaigne's eyes drifted open. The startling aquamarine-tinged, emerald orbs that were unveiled swept towards the breathtaking vista below. Lost in his reverie, his keen senses had nevertheless picked up the subtle shift as the pilot slightly adjusted controls of the plane now flying on a course parallel to the West Coast of Barbados, on approach to the airport. Jiordan was already bringing his seat upright as the stewardess removed the intercom to prepare passengers for their arrival and the end of the almost eight-hour flight from London. He gathered his headset and the latest novel from his favourite author which he'd rested on the chocolate brown leather seat beside him, He slipped them into a black leather satchel and returned it to the spot under the seat in front of him. The flight was full, even here in first class, but Jiordan never had to worry about being crowded when flying anywhere, or doing anything else for that matter. Standing at six feet, nine-and-a-half inches he dwarfed most people. Add to that the sleek well-toned physique that fairly screamed leashed power without being overly muscular, along with the piercing gaze that seemed capable of cutting through steel, and it was easy to see why people automatically stepped aside to give him more than enough room to pass by them. Indeed, considering the granite jaw set tight below high cheekbones the same golden toffee hue as the skin now exposed below the rolled-up sleeves of his bright-white shirt, it was doubtful anyone would have chosen to sit next to him, even if Declan hadn't thought to buy the adjoining seat when he'd booked Jiordan's ticket. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have begun our descent into the Grantley Adams International Airport in Barbados. The Captain has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign. In preparation for landing please bring your seats into the upright and locked position, stow away all tray tables and return any items you may have used during the flight to the overhead bins or under the seat in front of you." As she finished her well-rehearsed spiel the stewardess allowed her eyes to rest alluringly on Jiordan, tacking on an enticingly dimpled smile in an unmistakable invitation for him to do with her whatever he wished. He caught the look, but denied her the benefit of eye contact, his gaze lazily cutting away from hers to again embrace the scenery now drawn closer outside the window. (Yes, I can see you looking at me... I can hear your heart beat faster; I know your clit is shivering and your panties are getting damp from the pussy juice flowing from your cunt. I can smell your arousal; I can hear your breath quickening and I can see the tension that is coiling your body so tight that any moment now you will have to excuse yourself and go to the bathroom so you can bring yourself to orgasm before you are driven crazy with need. I know all these things, but I can do nothing. I can do nothing because I can feel nothing. Dead men don't feel...) "Mr. Montaigne?" It was another stewardess standing in the aisle next to his seat, a curious expression on her too perfectly made-up face. Her eyes tried to search his, as though trying to figure out why such a handsome, obviously wealthy young man should seem so... uninterested. "Yes." The smooth, deep timbre of Jiordan's voice sounded strange to his own ears. He couldn't remember speaking to anyone since he said goodbye to Declan back in London. "We've just had a message, sir. Your party will meet you at the bottom of the steps once we have safely arrived at the gate." "Thank you," he nodded. Turning to gather up his jacket from the seat next to him. "Is there anything else we can do for you, sir?" (God, I wish they would all just stop trying...) "No, thanks," he glanced away to the window, hoping she would get the message... By pre-arrangement Jiordan was first out the door of the plane, ducking his head to avoid the low overhang. Muttering a hasty "thanks" to the stewardesses gathered to wish their charges a pleasant stay in Barbados, he descended the steps. It wasn't that he wanted to be rude, Jiordan reasoned with himself for the umpteenth time in what seemed like forever. He just couldn't feel anything. He'd already discovered that having even the most inane conversation when he couldn't even feel enough interest to muster a clear thought was simply too exhausting, so he preferred to say as little as possible. To anyone. The man standing off to the side just past the bottom of the steps was almost as tall as Jiordan, slightly less broad in the chest perhaps, but with an enviably trim waistline. The silver just barely glinting at his temples suggested that he was older, but gave no clue as to his exact age especially since the rest of his mahogany brown locks flowed full and free to his shoulders. The eyes that followed Jiordan's descent from the plane flashed briefly with some deeply felt emotion, before returning to a warm hazel. Jiordan ran his hand over his head, registering the slightly prickly texture of the severe cut. It was a sharp contrast to the feel of the smooth, honey-blond tresses that reached the middle of his back up to two days ago. Coming to a stop before the older man, Jiordan regarded him silently through a full ten beats of his heart, then extended his hand in greeting. "Hello Grandpops." The older man stared into his grandson's eyes. Then, sweeping aside Jiordan's outstretched hand he barrelled into his grandson, folding him into a tight hug. His heart lurched as he felt Jiordan's arms slowly come up to pat him lightly on the back, once. He stepped back, but only enough to again gaze deeply into his grandson's eyes before kissing him on both cheeks, suspicious moisture igniting the burnt amber flashes in his hazel eyes. "Hello Jiordi, my boy. It's so good to see you," he said, pulling his grandson close for another hug. (His eyes are open, but Jiordan sees nothing. It's like he is breathing, his heart is beating, but there's nothing there. Whatever made me think we were going to be the ones to help him through this thing?) "Well, that's enough of that," boomed the older man. "Let's get your luggage and head off home. It's a nice smooth drive since they put the new highway in and you'll get to see the new office tower we're building, the one I've been telling you about. But we have to hurry though or your grandmother will be kicking up a fuss about me keeping you all afternoon and starving you to death. I can hear her now: 'Cecil, why'd you take so long to bring Jiordi from the airport; you know they don't feed you on those flights'." Jiordan half-listened to his grandfather chatter away about all the changes that had taken place on the island in the last ten years since he'd been back. Oh, he'd seen his grandparents in that time of course, when they visited England, but his life had been so busy with friends and parties and clubbing and weekend trips to Europe, he'd hardly taken the time to look at the postcards and photos they'd sent him over the years, let alone pay them any real attention. He followed his grandfather through the arrivals hall, staring straight ahead. He could feel the stares, hear the whispers from the locals who'd no doubt heard the story by now, but he avoided making eye contact with anyone. Cecil Montaigne was well known in the island as much for his generosity to the locals as his wealth which was spread among various industrial and social concerns. The older man had arranged courtesy of the port so passage through immigration was swift and in no time they had collected his luggage and were heading for the arrivals area and the waiting limousine. Jiordan was vaguely conscious of people shaking his hand in welcome at various points, but remained detached, content to let his grandfather do the talking. In this semi-conscious state they were through the exit and the automatic doors had swished close before Jiordan registered the tantalising whiff of hibiscus and citrus mixed with something exotic yet so elusive, he found he could not retain it long enough to identify the scent. Jiordan's eyes scanned the landscape, but he quickly dismissed the shrubs and flowering plants bordering the roadways outside the arrivals hall as the source of the unusual scent that was suddenly causing water to spring in his mouth. The scent was faint, quickly disappearing, and he was aware enough to understand that it had his senses snapping to life in a way they had not been awakened in over a year. Jiordan Montaigne lifted his head, closed his eyes and inhaled. Striding ahead of Jiordan towards the limousine waiting at the edge of the pavement Cecil was just about to shake hands with the airport manager who has accompanied them from the arrivals hall when he sensed the surge in energy from his grandson. So unexpected was the sensation that Cecil almost skidded to a halt, the abrupt movement causing the airport manager to reach out a steadying hand in alarm. "Cecil! Are you alright?" asked the man anxiously. Cecil stood looking at Jiordan, registering the look of alertness on his grandson's face. He sniffed the air unobtrusively, trying to see if he could pick up what had so enthralled Jiordan, but could sense no danger among the mix of scents in the area. Glancing down at the airport manager, Cecil smiled disarmingly, assuring the man that he was just fine. "Just lost my step for a second there, Harold. Nothing to worry about. Maybe I need to get home and rest for a while." The airport manager smiled. "I'm sure Estlan will be happy to hear that. She's always telling my wife that you've earned the right to put up your feet, but she can never get you to slow down enough." "Well, you know what I always say, Harold. I'll sleep when they bury me," Cecil laughing heartily when Harold uttered the well familiar saying right along with him. The jovial banter between the two friends gave Jiordan enough time to collect himself, so he was outwardly composed by the time his grandfather turned back to him. "Come on, Jiordi. Let's get moving." "Great to see you again, Harold. Say hello to Monica. I'm sure Estlan will be in touch with dinner invitations to officially welcome Jiordi back." "We look forward to it as always, Cecil. Our regards to Estlan. Take care Jiordi. We'll see you soon." With a last wave from the airport manager, the limousine slid smoothly away from the curb, heading for the exit. "We'll be heading straight home, Michael," Cecil leaned over to the driver. "Sure thing, sir. Welcome home, Mr. Montaigne. It's good to see you again," the driver said, smiling at Jiordan in the rear view mirror. "Thanks, Michael." Cecil regarded Jiordan closely, trying to discern the reason for the sudden surge of emotions he could feel down their bond. He was startled by the unexpected sensation of longing he detected in his grandson, his frantic worry and his almost feral need to hunt. No one in the family had felt anything from Jiordan in over a year! Flicking the switch that would raise the privacy shield between the passenger compartment and the driver, Cecil leaned forward to his grandson, his worry showing clearly as he grasped his hands to bring Jiordan's eyes to focus. "What is it, Jiordi? What's the matter, son?" Jiordan seemed to pull himself from somewhere far away and it was a while before the dazed look left his eyes, only to be replaced by the bright sheen of tears. If Cecil was unprepared for the sudden appearance of tears in Jiordan's eyes, there was no way to hide his complete shock when his grandson whispered: "Grandpops," Jiordan said, his voice full of wonder. "My mate is here." Caribbean Rising Ch. 02 Making the Connection Aliope Hyghet darted sideways through the narrowing gap of the elevator doors, making it safely into the lift just before they sealed shut and the lift began its ascent to the upper level of the arrivals concourse. "Whew! That was close," she huffed out a breath, grinning broadly at the two men, the only other occupants of the elevator, smiling back at her. "It's a good thing you're in such fine trim, Ali," the shorter, more portly one said, both dimples winking on his cherubic face. "Just think, if you had even another pound on you, back or front, there's no way you would've made it through that gap." "Not like you, eh Bishop," said the other man reaching over to pat his companion gently on his protruding tummy. "You would've been squashed for sure." "Knock it off, Mason," said Bishop, laughing as he shoved his friend's hand away. "You're just jealous that I get all the attention from the ladies. Women like to feel something of substance in their arms, something warm, soft and cuddly, not be poked by all those sharp bones like what you've got, Beanstalk." Aliope laughed out loud, shaking her head at the antics of the two men. She had got to know them fairly well over the last couple of years since her brother, Damien, had taken up the position of Chief Health Officer at the airport. She was always struck by how much they reminded her of the main characters in the old black and white Laurel and Hardy films which she still loved to watch with her grandparents on Sunday afternoons. Their antics and colourful repartee never failed to make her laugh, sometimes until her sides hurt. "You here to pick up Damien for your usual Night of the Gruesome Twosome?" Mason smiled at Aliope, as they got off the elevator and began walking along the corridor. "You guessed it," she replied. "It's the end of the month and his turn to buy so I made sure I got here early. I wouldn't want him to get so engrossed in work that he forgets about our night out on the town." "Knowing Damien, you were very right to do so, Ali," Bishop chimed in. "I've never seen anyone get so totally focused on work that they literally shut everything else out. Last week I went to his office to pick up some reports and he almost knocked me over at the door, rushing out with this pained look on his face. A few minutes later he came back and I asked him what was wrong. The long and short of it is that he'd needed to go to the bathroom, but had kept putting it off while trying to finish up a report. He'd suddenly found himself with a virtually bursting bladder and had to rush to avoid embarrassing himself. Well, you almost had to pick me up off the floor, I was laughing so hard." Aliope and Mason laughed loudly at Bishop's description of the look on her brother's face as he'd recounted how he'd almost smashed a few people out of his way in his mad dash for the men's room. "Believe me," Aliope gasped, holding onto the metal rail that ran along the length of the corridor, "I grew up with Damien and there's no one like my brother for getting so absorbed in everything else that he forgets himself. But I love him to bits and wouldn't change him for the world," she added, still chuckling. "I can see why you wouldn't," agreed Mason, as he pushed open the door marked Airport Health Authority. "Say what you like, he's one of the best people I know." Aliope walked into the reception area behind Mason, smiling and waving at a young woman behind the service counter. Aliope noticed that the woman was attired in a lab coat of the same sky-blue colour that Bishop and Mason wore. She flashed the woman a broad grin and a thumbs up as she passed through the door that led to the network of cubicles and her brother's office. "Elise got her promotion, I see. That's great. She must be really happy." "And not a moment too soon," said Mason, glancing back. "We've been terribly overworked since Gordon moved on last year. It's not that easy finding replacements because not many people are qualified in the botanical and agricultural sciences required to work as a Plant Quarantine Officer. Elise is very good and she has a way with the customers, so she has been a Godsend in many ways." "I'm glad that's working out for you guys," said Aliope." Well, I'm going to go and see if I can get Damien to start packing up. We've got about half-an-hour before we have to leave so if I start now, we might actually make it to the restaurant on time. Thanks for the laughs you guys, as always." "Great to see you, Ali. If you can't get him to move, you can always suggest that he might want to visit the men's room. That should give him a nudge," Bishop said, laughing as he walked away. Mason smiled and waved as she opened the brick red door that led into her brother's inner sanctum. As always happened whenever she entered Damien's office, Aliope was immediately struck by the almost 360 degree view of what she had long dubbed as the back house and front house operations of the airport. Damien's office was constructed in such a way that as she looked to her left she could see into the immigration area and further out, to the airplanes on the tarmac. Looking to her right she could see the passengers as they exited the arrivals hall and converged outside to make their way to their various destinations. It was a colourful, constantly changing vista which she never failed to enjoy. The floor-to-ceiling windows here being of heavy, one-way security glass, she was free to indulge in her favourite pastime of people watching without being seen herself, in cool air-conditioned comfort and insulated from the noise, hustle and bustle of the lower level. "Hi Dami," she called out cheerily as she dashed forward to kiss her brother. He was sitting at his desk, surrounded by piles of paper and tapping away on his computer keyboard. "Hey Ali," he returned the kiss perfunctorily. Damien went on tapping away for another few seconds before finally pausing and looking up as Aliope headed over to the view into the immigration area. "What are you doing here?" Aliope turned around slowly, regarding him with slitted eyes. "Damien. It is the end of the month and your turn to treat. Surely you couldn't have forgotten that already. I just called you last night to remind you," she groaned. Damien regarded her owlishly, long tapered fingers of one hand coming up to cover his mouth. "Was that today? I'm sorry, Ali. I completely forgot!" She was about to harangue him over forgetting something that was almost a tradition for them when she saw the telltale twinkling in his hazel-green eyes, a sure sign that he was laughing behind his hand. "Oh, you!" she huffed out. "You had me going there for a minute, thinking you had forgotten our monthly get-together." "Nope. I got it all right here," he said, holding up a gadget she recognized as one of the latest smart phones on the market. "It has a calendar that reminds me of all my appointments, meetings and dinners with you. I'll never forget a thing again," he added smugly. "Now, if only we can make sure you don't forget where you put the darn thing," Aliope muttered beneath her breath. "Sorry? What was that?" asked Damien. Oh, nothing, nothing," Aliope said, hiding her smirk. As if he were only now seeing her, Damien let his gaze drop to Aliope's feet where three-inch heeled, white strappy sandals brought her height to an even six feet, just five inches shorter than he was in his bare feet. He admired her long, gracefully muscled legs now encased in tight white jeans, following the lines of her body up to her gently rounded hips, tiny waist and halting for a few seconds on the twin globes of flesh that gave form to the midnight blue, shimmering V-necked blouse that offered stark contrast to the white of her jeans. He smiled widely as he noticed the polished silver arrowhead pendant resting just at the top of her cleavage. It was a gift, along with matching earrings, for her birthday last year. He had not got the pendant put on a chain. Instead, knowing that Aliope preferred necklaces make of twisted leather and other natural materials, he had asked the young jeweller she frequented to come up with something suitable to hang it on. The young man had brought together thin strands of butter-soft leather in white, dark blue, forest green and yellow, twisting them into an intricate pattern that provide the perfect mount for the pendant. Following the slightly pointed chin of her exquisite oval-shaped face, Damien was struck again by how much Aliope's skin matched the colour of his favourite café mocha, only a shade lighter than his own skin. As usual, she'd used her make-up so sparingly it was hardly noticeable. She'd touched her full, pouty lips with natural lip gloss so that their own dusky hue offered the perfect frame for the even white teeth that showed whenever she smiled. And that was often, he chuckled to himself. A subtle lining enhanced her almond-shaped, hazel-green eyes, the exact colour of his own. A barely-there dash of silver over her eyelids drew attention to the soft tendrils which framed her hairline before disappearing into the thick mass of mahogany brown dread locks that flowed from a short centre part straight down her back coming to an end just above her pert ass. "You look beautiful, Ali, as always," he said, smiling warmly at her. "Mom would have been so pleased and proud to see what a beautiful person you grew up to be, inside and out." "Oh Damien," said Aliope, walking over to her brother for a hug. "That is one of the nicest things you've ever said to me in a long, long list of very nice things." "Now don't go blubbering and spoiling your make-up," he said gruffly, hugging her to his chest and feeling a little teary himself. Damien drew a deep breath as he savoured the few precious moments with his sister. "Okay," he said, gently stepping back and dropping his arms. "If we're going to get out of here, I've got to get moving. Just let me tidy up my desk, then I'll go wash up and change and we can go, okay?" "Perfect. I'll be over here checking out the stud muffins coming into the island," said Aliope, moving toward the view on her right. "Sure. If you see any, let me know," chuckled Damien, sitting down. Wrapping her slim arms around the chrome handrail that ran along the glass wall, Aliope propped one foot on the low step that kept objects away from the glass and gazed downward at the throng of people moving through the automatic doors as they exited immigration and customs. She watched the ground tour operators in colourful uniforms holding up welcome signs from the various companies they represented. They flitted to and fro, shepherding their charges on board the big coaches lined up to take the tourists to hotels along the south and west coasts. Aliope's eyes drifted back to the exit as the doors once again swished open, this time discharging the airport manager. As a frequent visitor to the airport, she knew Harold Oxley on sight since Damien had introduced them soon after he came to work there. She stood up straight as she saw her boss, Cecil Montaigne, walking out just behind Oxley, both men chatting and smiling. "What's Mr. Montaigne doing here?" Aliope wondered to hereslf. "I don't recall that he was due to travel anywhere anytime soon. Then again, I am on holiday so it's possible something came up in the meantime. Maybe I'll call Jeanine on Monday and..." Aliope's thoughts drifted away as her eyes came to light on the gorgeous hunk of man walking out behind her boss. There's no way she could fail to notice the physical resemblance between the two men; she'd spent too many hours cataloguing Cecil Montaigne's many attributes with the girls at work not to recognize that the younger man behind him had to be some relative. "Hubba, hubba," groaned Aliope, shaking her hand at the wrist as though she'd touched something hot. "Now that is what I call a stud muffin and then some." "Who?" asked Damien coming up beside her and finishing the button on the cuff of his burgundy silk shirt. He had discarded his grey work pants in favour of a cream-coloured pair of corduroy slacks. Burgundy loafers and leather belt completed the ensemble. "That man, walking behind my boss and the airport manager," she said, pointing through the glass. "He looks like a younger version of Mr. Montaigne." "Wow, he is a hunk," said Damien. "I wonder..." "Hands off! I saw him first," said Aliope, playfully poking him in the ribs with her elbow. "Hey! Cut that out. You know I'm ticklish," said Damien, darting away from his sister. I was only going to say I wonder if that is the Montaigne grandson I heard Mr. Oxley telling the security chief about yesterday. Something about arranging courtesy of the port or something like that." "Well, that would certainly explain the family resemblance," said Aliope, still studying the man. "He is absolutely gorgeous. But I can't remember Mr. Montaigne saying anything about a relative coming to Barbados." "Maybe it is an unplanned visit. You've been off on holiday for two weeks, you know Aliope. I know you're Mr. Montaigne's right hand girl and all that, but he's hardly going to call you at home just to tell you his grandson is coming for a visit." "I know that silly," she laughed, aiming for his ribs again. "I wonder which one he is. Mr. Montaigne has a ton of grandsons." "Well, whoever he is, he sure looks sad," said Damien, putting his hands in his pockets and regarding the man intently. "I know," Aliope said almost in a whisper. "He looks like he lost his best friend in the world and could use a good cry and a really big hug." Just then the man raised his head and looked up towards the window. Aliope stepped back suddenly, as for one crazy moment she felt as if the man had heard her and had looked right at her through the thick glass. "Did you see that, Damien? It's as though he heard me." "How could he, Ali Goose," Damien answered, reverting to the pet name he had given her when they were children. "He would have to have the hearing abilities of a wolf to have heard you from where he is and through that cacophony down there. And what are you stepping back for? He can't see you through this glass," he giggled. "I know... It's just that... I felt as though I could feel him touch me with his eyes. Just for one second there, I felt a connection." "Well, if he's related to Mr. Montaigne chances are you'll meet him soon enough. You go back to work next Wednesday, right? I'm sure you'll find out all about him then. I expect that by the end of next week you'll be telling me all about how you solved the mystery of the Brooding Stranger. Now, they're gone and for once, I'm all set and ready to go. Shall we?" Damien held out his hand to her. "Yes sir," grinned Aliope, taking her brother's hand. "I must say I'm very impressed with you for getting yourself that smart phone. As long as you don't forget where you put it, it could prove to be quite the lifesaver." The two of them giggled as they headed out the door. ------------- Cecil Montaigne was stunned. Rocked back into his seat by the overwhelming onslaught of emotions rolling off his grandson, he could only hold still as wave after wave of longing, loneliness, despair and need battered against him like the surf against the rocks at high tide. "Jiordi," he groaned, as tears sprung to his eyes. "Jiordi... Calm down, son. I'm here for you Jiordi." Cecil crawled across the carpeted floor of the limo to sit next to Jiordan, pulling the sobbing man into his arms. "Shhh... It's okay, Jiordi. I've got you, son. Just hold on. We'll get you to the house and get this sorted out. Shhh... Jiordan allowed himself to be held, sobbing against his grandfather's shoulder. It took a while but eventually the whispered words of comfort soothed him as he held onto his grandfather, breathing deeply, trying to pull himself together. He felt like he was being broken into a million pieces. Feelings he had kept buried deep, deep inside suddenly began surging upward like water making its way unrelentingly up through a blow hole. Way, way deep down he could sense as the other part of him-self began to stir quietly. He was suddenly so tired; it was as though he hadn't slept in weeks. All he wanted to do was sleep, and sleep and sleep. It was a few minutes before either man registered the persistent doubled-toned ring that signalled an emergency call to Cecil's cell phone. Easing back from Jiordan's hold and guiding his almost limp form to rest fully against the seat, Cecil pried the object from his pocket. Glancing quickly at the display, he darted a glance at Jiordan noting his closed eyes before pressing the button to engage the call. "Hello, Duncan," he said quietly into the receiver. On hearing his father's name Jiordan sat up and rubbed his fingers over his eyes, trying to remove all traces of his tears. "Dad!" Duncan's frantic reply could be heard clearly in the silence of the passenger compartment. "What's going on? I just felt Jiordan connect through the bond. Dad, where is he? Is he with you? Is he alright?" Cecil closed his eyes as fresh tears welled up. "Yes, Duncan. Jiordi is quite alright... He's right here with me. We're in the car heading to the house. We'll call you back once we get there. He's not in a condition to speak with you just now," he added, watching Jiordan shake his head. "Dad, I felt him." Cecil could hear the joy trying to break through the wonder and worry in Duncan's voice from 4,000 miles away. "I couldn't tell exactly what he was feeling, but I felt when he connected with me. We've been praying and waiting for that connection for 16 months. I'd almost given up hope." "I know, Duncan. I know... However, I'm afraid that it is not just a reconnection with us that we have to be concerned about." "What do you mean, Dad? I thought you said he was alright?" "Oh he is," said Cecil. "That is, he isn't physically hurt or anything." "Then what you mean the reconnection isn't all there is to be concerned about? What's going on?" "Duncan. Son... Jiordan says his mate is here." Cecil struggled to find the words through his own worry. "Since he said that as we were leaving the airport I would say we have a bigger worry right now because I have no idea who she is, or if she is even anywhere on the island. I don't think I need to tell you what will happen if we don't find her and fast." "Oh my God," Duncan whispered as the horror of what Jiordan would experience dawned on him. "His mate...? Oh my God..." From the corner of the seat where he'd retreated Jiordan bolted upright as he registered the conversation between his father and grandfather. His wolf, long held at bay by his human half came fully awake and surged forward at the thought of not being able to find their mate. "I've got to go, Duncan! Jiordi's wolf is awake and ready to take over!" Hanging up before Duncan had finished speaking Cecil turned his full attention to his grandson. Jiordan was struggling to keep from shifting as his wolf fought him for control. However, it was not through little effort that Jiordan was able to keep the animal subdued for so long, and he was eventually able to shove him back down. Taking a deep, cleansing breath Jiordan focused his burning eyes on his grandfather: "We have to find her." Cecil nodded once as his cell phone began to ring, the double-tone signal alerting him to an emergency call.