Midnight's Master

by Donna Grant

  “I’m afraid I can no’ tell you what I doona know.”

  Gwynn licked her lips and scooted to the edge of the chair. “I don’t suppose you could tell me when was the last time you spoke to my father? Did he perhaps contact you when he reached Scotland?”

  Declan smiled and dropped his hands to his lap. “I spoke to him last at the university when I took back my book.”

  “I see.”

  Logan hated to see the defeat in Gwynn’s eyes. He couldn’t exactly tell her right then that Declan was lying, but Logan would tell her as soon as they were out of this mansion.

  If they got out.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Wallace.” Gwynn rose and hung the straps of her purse over her shoulder. “I apologize for taking up your time. We’ll be going now.”

  Logan took that opportunity to wrap his fingers around Gwynn’s arm and guide her to the door.

  They’d gotten three steps away when Declan’s voice stopped them.

  “I’m afraid you’ll be staying, Miss Austin.”

  Gwynn jerked out of Logan’s hold and spun to face Declan. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me,” Declan said as he stood. All traces of the welcoming host were gone. “There’s no need for me to repeat myself.”

  “You can’t hold me against my will.”

  Declan laughed, and a moment later the office doors flew open as men rushed in.

  Logan counted eight men armed with guns, just as he’d thought. They were dressed all in black. Even though Logan was four centuries away from his own time, there was no mistaking the look of a mercenary.

  These men were here to kill.

  And Logan knew their target.

  Declan came around to the front of his desk and leaned back against it casually. “As for Mr. Smith, he will be killed.”

  “No.”

  Logan didn’t know who was more shocked at Gwynn’s outburst—him, or Declan.

  “No one tells me nay,” Declan said in a menacing voice.

  “I just did,” Gwynn said tightly. “I don’t have a problem repeating myself.”

  Logan smiled despite himself.

  There was a surge of power from Gwynn that wrapped around Logan. It was like a cocoon, a shield that prevented Declan’s black magic from touching him.

  Declan threw back his head and laughed. “A Druid? I should have guessed, but your father said you had no magical tendencies.”

  Gwynn couldn’t believe the words coming out of Declan’s mouth. “There is much my father doesn’t know. I take it he’s here then?”

  “Of course. He’s working for me. He hates you, you know. When I told him you were here, he didna even look up from the book.”

  Gwynn didn’t want the words to hurt her, but they did. She had thought she and her father had come a long way in mending their failed relationship. She didn’t know what was truth and what was a lie anymore.

  “Ignore him,” Logan said from behind her.

  Declan straightened from the desk and smiled. “What were the two of you thinking in coming here? Did you think you could just walk in and then waltz out?”

  “I’ve never waltzed,” Gwynn said.

  She wasn’t sure where the sarcasm was coming from, but it felt damned good.

  “Americans,” Declan spat. “Always so bloody sure of yourselves, aren’t you? Well, no’ with me. I’m the monster who will keep you awake at night.”

  “That was my father. I know what you are, Wallace. And your black magic doesn’t frighten me.”

  “It should,” Declan said softly.

  A tremor went through Gwynn. She hadn’t ever used her magic against another Druid. She wasn’t even sure that she could. Her apprehension caused her magic to falter.

  “Doona allow his words to get to you,” Logan whispered. “You can do this, Gwynn.”

  “How?” she said barely moving her lips.

  “Trust your magic.”

  With nothing else she could do, Gwynn did as Logan urged. And to her joy, her magic once more filled her. She could battle Declan.

  She would battle Declan.

  “Take him,” Declan ordered his men.

  Gwynn spun to find Logan dodging and ducking the men aiming to hit him. Logan landed several punches that sent the men falling backward. And they didn’t get up.

  “Kill him,” Declan shouted.

  “No!” Gwynn yelled as the semiautomatic rifles discharged.

  She winced as four bullets slammed into Logan before he dove and rolled. He came up behind one of the men and with a jerk of his hands, broke the mercenary’s neck.

  Logan was on his way to the next one when Declan’s magic slammed into Gwynn. She tried to push back, but he was too strong.

  Her boots slipped on the floor as he pushed her until she hit the wall.

  “Get the X90s,” ordered one of the mercenaries. “We’ve got a Warrior.”

  Gwynn glanced over to see that Logan had released his god and was using his claws to slash through the men.

  “He willna be standing for long,” Declan said.

  And then the first X90 bullet pierced Logan.

  Gwynn’s stomach fell to her feet when she saw him falter, pain etched across his handsome face.

  But it was Declan’s laughter that sent her over the edge.

  Gwynn called up every last shred of magic within her. She felt it fill her hands, waiting for her.

  With a yell she released it, and watched as Declan was lifted off the floor and sailed over his desk to crash into his bookshelves.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Logan’s body spasmed painfully, forcing him to drop to one knee. He didn’t know how, but Declan’s men had managed to put drough blood in the bullets.

  The amount of drough blood in each bullet wasn’t significant, but it took only one drop to bring a Warrior to the brink of death.

  Logan didn’t know how many bullets he had in him. As soon as the first drop of drough blood made contact with his body, he’d been unable to heal from the wounds made by the regular bullets.

  Through the haze of pain clouding his vision, Logan saw Gwynn hurl Declan across his office. Logan wanted to smile, wanted to give a shout of joy for Gwynn.

  But all of that would take away from his concentration on staying on his feet.

  Declan’s mercenaries who still stood were stealthily moving to surround Gwynn. Logan closed his eyes and called to water, any water that was near. To his surprise, Declan had a pool, and the water answered Logan’s call instantly.

  “Gwynn,” Logan shouted.

  She glanced at him, and he waved her to the ground. Gwynn didn’t hesitate in dropping flat on her stomach. A heartbeat later the roar of water sounded as it aimed at the mercenaries and Declan, who had gained his feet once more.

  “Come on,” Gwynn said and put her arm around Logan.

  He hadn’t seen her move toward him, but none of that mattered. They had to get out of the mansion. Fast. The water wouldn’t hold Declan for long.

  Logan rose, and with Gwynn’s help he made it to the office doors. He couldn’t get his legs to move or his muscles to cooperate.

  “Wait,” Gwynn said as she turned.

  The water Logan had called was now slowing down, but it dripped from the walls and ceiling and pooled on the floor, making it difficult for anyone to walk. He kept it contained inside the office, away from them.

  Logan smiled when wind busted through the doors and windows, shattering them as it howled. It swept through the office, knocking men off their feet and into the water.

  Gwynn had Declan pressed against his bookshelves as he bellowed words that couldn’t penetrate the wind. The wind swirled the water, lifting it and using it as a weapon as well.

  Logan wanted to use his power over the water again, but his strength was waning.

  “Let’s go,” Gwynn said, draping his arm over her shoulders while wrapping her arm around his waist.

  He didn’t want to put too much weight on her
, but it was either that or fall on his face. Gwynn hurried them along. Every moment counted, and Logan knew it would be a miracle if they were able to leave the mansion at all.

  “Almost there,” Gwynn said when they reached the front doors.

  The wind had blown them open so they didn’t have to stop. The snow was coming down so heavy and thick that it had already coated the car in a deep layer.

  “The steps,” Logan said thinking of the ice, but he couldn’t get any more words out.

  He bit back a moan as his muscles continued to spasm. The more the drough blood leaked into his system, the faster it would kill him.

  Gwynn stepped down as she asked, “What?” And her foot slipped out from underneath her.

  Logan felt her push him forward as she fell back. He groaned as he landed heavily in the snow, his feet touching the last of the dozen steps leading up to the mansion.

  “Go,” Gwynn yelled from behind him.

  Logan forced his arms to bend. He tried to rise, but his legs were no longer his to command. Inside him, his god, Athleus, was bellowing with rage—and fear.

  Logan knew exactly how Athleus felt. He was supposed to be protecting Gwynn. A fine job he was doing, on his face in the snow.

  But he wasn’t going to give up easily. He knew Gwynn wouldn’t leave without him, so he used his arms to pull himself to the car.

  Inch by agonizing, brutal inch he dragged himself.

  Behind him, he could hear shouts from the men in the mansion. Logan glanced over his shoulder and saw Gwynn at the bottom of the steps as she faced Declan at the top.

  “You willna be leaving,” Declan declared.

  Logan pulled himself faster. He had to get to the car so that when Gwynn came, they could leave. His blood was on fire, scorching his bones and muscles as it moved through his body.

  He didn’t have much longer before the drough blood took him completely. Already he could feel his strength and everything inside him failing. But he wouldn’t stay here and trap Gwynn. He would do whatever he could to get them away.

  Logan reached the car and strained to lift his hand to open the door.

  “You can go to Hell,” he heard Gwynn yell as a blast of air whooshed over him.

  Logan used the car door to lift himself up and into the car. He rested his head against the seat and saw the huge fountain with the top layer of frozen water.

  He pushed aside his pain and called to the water. It took three attempts, but he finally urged the water to break through the ice.

  Taking chunks of the ice with it.

  Declan had stood against Gwynn’s wind, but when it combined with the water and ice, he barely had time to lift an arm to protect his face before it barreled into him.

  In a blink, Gwynn was in the car and the key in the ignition. She started the car and jerked it into reverse. Logan tried to grab the door to close it, but when they sped off down the driveway, it slammed shut on its own.

  “Why aren’t you healing?” Gwynn asked as she looked at him.

  “Drough blood,” he said, forcing the words past his lips. His body was convulsing, blood soaking everything.

  “What?”

  He tried to explain, but it was too late. The drough blood was draining him of his life. He couldn’t even hear the bellows of his god anymore.

  Logan’s eyes slid closed. And then the world went black.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Ian climbed higher and higher into the mountains. The snow had begun two days before, and it hadn’t let up since. Snow filled his boots and iced his eyelashes and hair.

  His lips were cracked and bleeding.

  But none of this stopped the fury of his god.

  All Ian knew was that he had to get away from any town. He wasn’t sure when in time he was, but he knew he was in Scotland. He’d know these mountains anywhere.

  And those mountains would be the only thing that kept people safe from him.

  He hoped. He prayed.

  Ian’s stomach growled. He’d been walking for … he’d lost track of days, partly because he couldn’t remember anything when his god took over, but also because each day had faded into the next.

  But it had been weeks since he’d eaten or even slept. The weaker he became, the easier it would be for his god to take over.

  If he was going to fight him, he had to do it at full strength. As much as Ian hated to admit it, he was going to have to find shelter.

  His hands bled as he pulled himself up the steep mountain, but they healed all too soon. He wanted to bleed, to hurt. Anything to soothe the grief inside him at Duncan’s death.

  As usual, when he thought of his twin, anguish overtook him so that he couldn’t breathe.

  Ian fell to his knees and dropped his head into his hands. Inside, he bellowed his fury and his hatred for the god within him, and for Deirdre, who had dared to kill Duncan.

  Most of all, he raged against the sack of wine that had taken him from his friends.

  Ian squeezed his eyes closed and dropped his chin to his chest as he leaned back on his haunches. When he could feel his god stirring, he climbed to his feet.

  His god was the father of battle. He wanted Ian to fight, blood on Ian’s hands, death around him. Death. Always death. And more death.

  But Ian somehow kept himself from giving in. It was becoming harder and harder, and he knew there would come a day when he didn’t fight his god anymore. He hoped when that day came, one of his brethren from MacLeod Castle would be there to take his head before he could kill innocents.

  More hope. More prayers.

  Ian walked for hours before he looked up and spotted the opening of a cave. He climbed to it and found that once he got past the narrow entrance, it opened to a huge cavern.

  There was no time to build a fire because his god had been denied too long. He wanted control. And Ian was too weak to fight him.

  Ian roared and slashed his claws against the side of the cave as he fought—and lost—the struggle with his god.

  * * *

  Gwynn drove recklessly as she sped down icy roads. It had taken her all of two seconds to realize the only ones who could help Logan were at MacLeod Castle.

  A castle that, as far as she knew, didn’t exist.

  But Logan said it did.

  So she drove, glancing at Logan every so often as she did. He was pale, the life seeming to drain from him right before her eyes.

  His breathing was ragged. And the blood, it continued to seep from his wounds until the smell of it filled the car.

  Gwynn cracked the window and blinked through the tears that gathered in her eyes. “How could I have been so stupid?” she asked herself. “I should have known Dad was working with Declan.”

  It was just like her father to think only of himself. Logan had told her not to believe Declan’s words, but she had no choice. Especially since she’d heard her father say the same hateful things before. He hadn’t known she was listening when he shouted them at her mother, but Gwynn had never forgotten.

  She let out a yelp of surprise when the car skidded across an icy patch of road, making them slide sideways. The car fishtailed into the oncoming lane where a car was heading right for them.

  Gwynn held her breath and took her foot off the accelerator until she could move the car back into her lane. “I hate winter,” she muttered. “Why couldn’t it be summer? I can drive like the wind during a rainstorm, but give me snow and I’m an idiot.”

  She kept talking, hoping Logan would hear her and maybe wake up.

  Towns flew by in a blur. Mountainside scenes she knew she’d love to stop and look at didn’t even make her glance out the window. She had one concern—Logan.

  Thankfully, the weather cooperated. A little. The snow had subsided to nothing but flurries. With the heater going full blast to help keep feeling in her fingers, Gwynn never let up on the gas pedal.

  “How do I find MacLeod Castle?” she asked Logan. “Logan? Please. Tell me. How do I find the castle?”
/>
  Her only response was the rocking of his head as she took a corner on the road that would make a drifter proud.

  “Damn,” she said. “What if I go to the wrong place? What if I miss it?”

  She knew Logan didn’t have long before he was gone for good. It had never entered her mind that drough blood could take out a Warrior more effectively than anything else.

  If she’d known, they would have left as soon as Logan had told her he sensed drough magic. She would have made him leave.

  Gwynn wiped at her face where a tear had fallen. “Don’t you dare die on me, Logan Hamilton. You vowed to protect me. You can’t do that as a ghost. Logan! Do you hear me?”

  She hit the steering wheel with the heel of her hand. Gwynn hated feeling so helpless. It was made worse because Logan was counting on her to get him help. And she was useless.

  Then she had an idea.

  Gwynn rolled down the window until the icy wind filled the car. “I need your help,” she said, praying her magic worked while she drove. She couldn’t take the time to pull over and ask the wind for assistance.

  “Please. Where is MacLeod Castle?”

  She waited, and waited, but the wind didn’t answer.

  “Of course not,” she muttered.

  Gwynn looked at Logan. His lips had begun to turn blue. Terror wrapped its cold fingers around her and squeezed. The tears she’d held at bay blurred her vision, but she refused to shed them.

  When she came to a dead end where she had to turn right or left, she let instinct guide her as Logan had told her to do and turned right. At every turn, every curve, every road she trusted her instinct, hoping beyond hope that it would lead her to MacLeod Castle.

  She saw the sea on her left as she drove, the road taking her closer and closer to the cliffs that rose high above the water.

  “Please, God, let me be in the right place,” she murmured.

  She slowed as she turned left off the paved road onto dirt. Gwynn could barely make out a road before her, but she was sure it was one. Every fiber of her being told her to drive down it.

  When there was nothing ahead of her but land before the cliffs dropped into the sea, Gwynn stopped the car. She was about to turn around when she felt her magic move within her.