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assortment of notes that seemed to ease the terrible weight on his chest. The wrought-iron double gate was closed and he sat at the bottom of the hill studying the symbols and the words etched in both Latin and Italian. The seven become one when united .
    The Drakes had a magic that few possessed and when they came together, the things they could accomplish were extraordinary. Jackson found them all extraordinary women. Somehow he had been brought into their circle through Jonas.
    Elle. He leaned his forehead against the steering wheel and breathed away his fear for her. He had been a prisoner of war, without too much hope that anyone would find him. He was moved every few days, and as a sniper with a reputation, his captors had no intention of returning him for even political reasons. The scars from those long weeks of torture were on his skin and ran deep beneath it as well. It wasn’t as if he had much to live for back in those days, and he hadn’t believed in much either. Until a voice began whispering in his head telling him to live, to fight, that he wasn’t alone.
    He had thought he was going insane at first. That voice was soft—feminine—and eventually over time, sensual. He loved the sound of her voice. Elle. His mysterious, elusive Elle Drake. In his pain he had somehow connected with her and she had been able to find him. He didn’t understand their connection, but he knew she belonged to him. She was meant for him. He had followed Jonas to Sea Haven to see her, to know she was real. And once he had, he should have been man enough to walk away but he couldn’t. He sighed. He had baggage, unresolved and far too dangerous, and he had to find a way to resolve those issues before he claimed the woman he knew was meant for him.
    The large padlock on the gate fell to the ground of its own accord and the gates began to swing open. There was intense satisfaction in that. The Drake gate only opened for those who belonged. No one knew how it recognized the family and their men, but the house, capable of protecting those within, welcomed him.
    “See, Elle?” he whispered. “Even your home says it’s time.” Past time. He should have acted a long time ago, started a war, or rather ended one, and then just locked her to his side. If he’d done so, this wouldn’t have happened.
    He drove up the road toward the house, noting how rich and green and beautiful everything always was. The house loomed ahead, old, standing in the wind and salt spray without a crack or chip in the paint, looking as if it had just been built. He drove around to the parking area up above where the yard overlooked the sea. He stood for a long moment staring down at the churning, dark water. Sometimes the ocean looked like glass, but this evening the sea appeared angry, in great turmoil, matching his mood.
    Waves crashed against the rocks, spraying white foam high into the air, the sound like thunder, reverberating in his head. “Elle, baby, where are you?” He whispered into the wind, needing an answer.
    “Jackson.” Jonas Harrington came up behind his friend, knowing enough to say his name in warning and not come up behind him silently.
    Jackson turned slightly and from the look in his eyes, he’d known Jonas was there all along.
    “I should have stopped her,” Jackson said. “I knew she was involved in something dangerous and I should have stopped her.”
    Jonas shook his head. “The Drakes aren’t so easy to stop.” But even as he said it, he knew Jackson would never agree with him. He was a throwback to the warriors of old. Elle was his woman and it was a duty, privilege and right to look after her. He didn’t care about women’s rights, or customs or society. Jackson had a code, an honor system. Elle was his woman and he was supposed to keep her from harm’s way. He hadn’t done it and no reasoning was good enough or ever would be for him.
    “She’s alive, Jonas, you know that, and her cover has to be blown, which means