Dark Rival

by Brenda Joyce

  Her father hadn’t ever gotten over his wife’s death. Her father was a Fortune 500 entrepreneur, as different from Elizabeth as anyone could be, and maybe that was why he’d loved her so. Unlike his friend Trump, he paid people to keep his name—and her and her stepbrother’s—out of the news. William Monroe hadn’t remarried, although he had many model girlfriends.

  Allie loved her mogul father, but didn’t understand him very well. She had learned long ago not to let her father see her spiritual side, just as Elizabeth had hidden it from him when she was alive. He didn’t have a clue that she was a Healer. He expected her to serve on various boards and marry Brian or someone just like him. Allie didn’t mind being on the Board of Directors of the Elizabeth Foundation, which gave away huge sums of money to philanthropies and charities with her direction. She’d barely made it through high school, and while healing could easily be a full-time job, she didn’t dare do so openly. She was the Monroe heiress, and the media watched her pretty closely. She had to be careful, always.

  She had to pretend to fit in with everybody in his world when she didn’t really fit in at all, except with Sam, Tabby and Brie—and the evil monsters who wanted to murder them all. Allie sighed, staring at the grazing horses. Even in bed with a great guy like Brian, she had to pretend to be something she was not. Allie was certain her father suspected that his wife had been far more than your average socialite; she was determined he’d never guess the truth about his daughter. But hiding out most of the time was hard.

  And then she felt Brian, even before he called her name.

  She shoved her brooding aside. Brian was approaching and she smiled at him, hoping Tabby would put a love spell on him really soon. He was going to be hurt and that went against her very nature. Unfortunately her sex drive was too high for her to avoid men and be celibate.

  “Hey. Are you okay? First you split on me last night and tonight you’ve been quiet. You’re never quiet.”

  Allie hesitated. “I have a headache. Are you still mad about last night?”

  “You cut and ran, Allie,” he said quietly, but not with accusation.

  “I couldn’t sleep so I went out for a drive.” That was, she thought, a part of the truth.

  His gaze was searching. “You’re an amazing woman, Allie.” He hesitated. “It’s not happening, is it?”

  He knows, she thought, saddened but relieved. She touched his arm. “I am awful at relationships, Brian. They never last. It’s not you. It’s me. I’m not like other women. I’ve never been in love.”

  He shook his head. “That makes you even more desirable.”

  It was time to tell him it was over, she thought. But then Allie tensed. A huge power had settled around them, hot and male.

  She was stunned. She had never felt such power in her life. The power wasn’t dark or demonic. It was pure and white—but it was not a healing power, for it was charged with testosterone. It was aggressive.

  Stunned, she tried to see across the pasture, past the horses, into the night. The power was holy. It came from her gods. But hadn’t Tabby said he had faith—that he was blessed? A terrible excitement consumed her.

  And then she saw his aura.

  Orange and crimson burned, powerful and bright, and she saw the man at last. The world around them vanished. Brian was gone, the horses disappeared, it was only her and him and the night. She had found her golden warrior.

  And that was exactly what he was—the golden warrior she’d envisioned earlier, except he wasn’t naked. He wore a pale tunic and boots, his thighs bare, along with two swords and a plaid, which was pinned over one shoulder. He was a Highlander. He could have stepped out of Braveheart.

  His gaze unwavering on her, he started to approach.

  No, he had stepped out of time, she somehow thought. Allie trembled, her heart accelerating so wildly she felt faint. There was so much power emanating from him, and finally he was bathed in moonlight. Allie breathed hard. He was even better than she had dreamed. Big, bronzed, beautiful.

  Their gazes met and locked.

  “That guy’s a loon. Let’s go.” Brian took her arm.

  But the man’s gaze held hers and Allie didn’t even feel Brian’s grasp; instead, she felt desire fist in her gut. His silver gaze widened as if he was startled by her somehow, too.

  Then his face hardened. “Lady Ailios,” he stated, using an old Gaelic version of her name, speaking with a heavy brogue. “Dinna fear. MacNeil has sent me. T’is time.”

  His words washed through her with such warmth she realized he was attempting to enchant her. But she didn’t mind. She smiled at him. “Okay.”

  His gaze narrowed with suspicion.

  “I am not afraid of you,” Allie whispered.

  And she felt the dark coming. She froze—and he half-turned, stiffening. She knew he was sensing them, too.

  A cloud turned the moon bloodred.

  The warrior said firmly, in a tone of command, “Ailios. Go into the house with yer man.” And as he spoke, she saw his aura erupt in a blast of more intense red and gold light. It was savage determination, explosive and hot; it was the battle readiness of a warrior.

  But Allie wasn’t going anywhere. “Are you kidding?” Allie cried. Real concern for Brian began. He’d get hurt if he stayed to fight. She whirled. “Hey.” She smiled and pressed close. “I know this guy from high school. Yes, he’s weird, but he’s harmless.” She could barely believe such a lie. “I know we have to finish our conversation. Let me get his number and I’ll meet you in my room. Bring a bottle of Dom,” she added with another smile.

  Brian’s eyes widened. “I don’t like leaving you with him, Allie. But we do need to talk.”

  Allie wanted him to rush off and she almost hopped up and down. “He’s on his way to a costume party at the Grussmans’ in Bridge Hampton.”

  He stared suspiciously at her.

  “Go to her room an’ take her with ye. Go now,” Mr. To-Die-For said.

  And a terrible chill fell.

  “Allie, let’s go.” Brian took her arm, clearly enchanted.

  Allie tried to pull free but failed, for she was too small to succeed. “I am not going,” she told the golden warrior, their gazes locked. “I will fight, too. I’ll help!”

  His eyes widened incredulously. “Ye think to fight?”

  And black clouds filled the space between them.

  The chill became arctic.

  The warrior seized her, pulling her behind his huge body as if he meant to be her human shield. The demons formed, all blond and perfect. They were the highest level of diabolical power. Allie took a stiletto from her garter as one demon was flung backward by the Scot’s energy blast. Allie was jubilant—he had the kind of power the demons had! She tried to step past him as Brian was thrown to his back by a demon. But more energy was being hurled at them and she was flung back herself, landing hard on the grass. For one moment, pain exploded in her back, and she was stunned. Then she rallied and looked up and saw the golden warrior, sword in hand, behead two demons almost simultaneously. Only one demon remained—somehow, while she’d been flung backward, he’d vanquished the third.

  Allie got up. He was like a frigging superhero, and just what the world needed. She wanted to jump and cheer but she saw Brian, lying facedown in the grass.

  The single remaining demon was almost as tall and muscular as the warrior, but he wore long, dark robes—like a friar or a monk. Allie was certain he’d come from a past era, too. He murmured, “Ruari Dubh, ciamar a tha thu?” He grinned. Black Royce, how are you?

  Allie crept closer, grasping the knife, understanding every word of the Gaelic the demon spoke, although she had only ever translated the prayers bequeathed her by Elizabeth. Brian wasn’t dead, but he was hurt, bleeding internally, and his life was compromised. Rage engulfed her. She was not going to let him die, too.

  The demon looked at her. “Hallo, a Ailios. Latha math dhulbh.”

  “Fuck you,” Allie cried, and she lunged pas
t the warrior, intending to stab the demon in the eye if she could. It would not be the first time she had blinded a demon, at least partially.

  But the golden warrior seized her arm, pulling her back into his embrace where she writhed furiously, wanting a chance to murder the demon. “Stay still,” he roared at her. “Or do ye wish to die?”

  The blond demon laughed at Allie. “Latha math andrasda.” He vanished.

  Allie stopped struggling and began shaking wildly instead. Goodbye for now. What did that mean?

  As sick with fear as she was for Brian, she was shockingly aware of being in the warrior’s thick, impossibly strong arms. His body was huge and hard and powerfully male—and she felt a very large package stirring beneath her. She closed her eyes—she had to heal Brian. It was hard, because her body began screaming at her, delicious sensation rushing across her skin, inflaming every fiber of her being. “Let me go so I can help Brian,” she said hoarsely.

  He released her.

  She met his hot, glittering gaze and that fist slammed her again, hollowing her more acutely than ever before. And he knew. A slight, smug smile tilted the otherwise still line of his mouth.

  He wouldn’t be so smug in another hour, she thought. Because he was going to have the time of his life.

  She turned and ran to Brian and dropped down beside him, reaching for him, flooding him with her white healing light. Even as intensely focused as she was, she was acutely aware of the warrior as she felt him as he came to stand behind her. Instantly she knew he was standing guard over her so she could heal.

  Her heart thundered. When this night was over, she was going to thank all the gods for answering her prayers.

  “Can ye heal him?”

  She swallowed. “I’ll die trying.” But her temples throbbed. It almost hurt to heal Brian. Releasing her white light felt like pulling out her own teeth, one by one.

  He was silent, but not for long. “Are ye hurt?”

  She panted and took a short break. “Last night…I got hurt.” She glanced up at him.

  He did not seem happy to hear that.

  She breathed deeply and turned back to Brian, flooding him with her light. Brian’s life flickered and blazed.

  Allie was swept by an intense wave of dizziness. She felt the land tilt wildly and she was dismayed. The huge warrior knelt, embracing her from behind and holding her steady against his chest.

  She gasped. His scent was overwhelming. Man, sex, power, the clean Highland mist and more sex. His body could have been honed from steel, and the thighs beneath her ass were even better than a soccer player’s. This man rode horses and ran hills.

  Allie opened her eyes and shifted to meet his gaze. The night had changed. It was charged. She was weak but she needed this man—and she wasn’t thinking about a partner to combat crime. Oh, no. In fact, suddenly, strangely, he was all she could think about, and she sensed he was using his powers of enchantment again.

  His eyes hot, he moved away from her, standing. “Who are you?” she whispered, forcing her gaze to his eyes.

  But Brian sat up. “Allie?” He was alarmed. “What happened?”

  Allie jerked with dismay. She’d been so mesmerized by the warrior she’d forgotten about Brian.

  The Highlander stared at Brian. “Go to the house. I’ll bring her soon enough.”

  Brian stood and left without a word.

  Allie met his gray gaze and this time, she knew her eyes were wide. “It’s all true, right? You’re one of them…a warrior who can travel through time…with superpowers…defending mankind.”

  His gaze dropped to her mouth, and it slid lower, to her breasts, which were barely covered by the corset-style, push-up bodice of the evening gown. “I dinna ken,” he said softly. But his silver eyes were hot and an arrogant smile played on that incredible, chiseled face.

  And a shadow fell over the night.

  Allie glanced up in alarm; the moon was gone again, covered by black clouds. She tensed, glancing at the pool, but it remained brightly lit. It didn’t matter. Huge and heavy, blackness swiftly approached them again.

  Incredulous, she looked up at the warrior. She was too weak to fight more demons now! She scrambled to her feet, not as steadily as she’d have liked, as an arctic chill fell.

  Fear and anger warred in her heart. Allie looked at the warrior. He looked at her and she knew something bad—really bad—was about to happen. “I’m okay,” she lied. “Where’s my knife?”

  He shook his head, jaw flexed. “Ye canna fight again,” he said firmly. His grasp tightened. “Ye need to hold me tight.”

  Allie was about to say that was fine by her, when they were flung across the pastures, over the horses, into space. If she could have, Allie would have screamed. Instead she gasped as her body was ripped apart, into shreds of hair, tissue and skin.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Carrick Castle, Morvern, Scotland—September 5, 2007

  HE WOULD NEVER GET used to the pain.

  Leaping through time was like being tortured on the rack, and even though he’d leapt a thousand times, he still fought not to give in to the urge to cry out like a woman would. It was like having the skin flayed from muscle and bone, like having one’s organs ripped outward by a human hand. Fire burned inside him. Landing, there was a final explosion of pain, and then there was a stunning darkness.

  He held her tightly in his arms, briefly left powerless by the leap through time. His ability to sense evil was so well honed, however, that he knew they were not in danger. He focused on recovering his powers, given to him centuries ago by the Ancients, when the old gods despaired for mankind’s Fate and decided to create a race of warriors to defend them. From experience, he knew that in a moment or two he would recoup.

  But the Healer was small, soft, warm and womanly in his arms.

  He’d never leapt with a woman before—much less one like this.

  Although she was unconscious, he could not forget her stunning white light, the purest power he had ever sensed or seen. And to make matters far worse, she was as stunningly beautiful as she was powerful, with a tiny but lush body; that dark, silken hair, and dark eyes that seemed to look into his most secret thoughts. Her buttocks were soft and full, spooned into him, and he rapidly swelled.

  It was usual to want a woman in every possible way after the leap. Every Master had many godlike powers; the greatest power of all was the ability to take life at any time, from anyone and anything, like a god. Taking some of the force of life from her would instantly restore his powers. And taking power was also pleasurable. In fact, there was no rapture like that which came from power.

  He looked at the woman and knew that her white power, swelling his veins, his body, would be like no other.

  But he was a master at self-control. Except in war or when facing mortal death, “taking” was forbidden. The young Masters were always tempted to test the Ancients, to taste power and to experience the sublime rapture of La Puissance. He had been upholding his sacred vows for over eight centuries and he would not touch this one’s healing essence, ever.

  Royce closed his eyes tightly, more aroused than before, but determined to ignore it. And then any internal battle was over. He felt all of his extraordinary strength settle over him, in him, through him, in one vast wave. Breathing naturally again, he could look at her face.

  He stared, his heart lurching anew at the sight of her beauty. She was so beautiful, so pure that he felt the Ancients near her—and she was so terribly brave. She had tried to fight the deamhanain as if a warrior. She would never be a warrior—it was a physical impossibility, for she was so small. Yet she had intended to attack Moffat with a knife!

  Too well, he could recall his horror in that moment.

  And now the question loomed—had Moffat leapt to the future to hunt him, or did he hunt Elasaid’s daughter, a powerful Healer and great prize in her own right?

  Moffat had been an annoyance for centuries. Whenever Royce had an interest at stake, whether in l
and, finance or politics, Moffat took the opposing side. Periodically Moffat’s soldiers attacked his lands, his men, and once, an innocent village. Royce’s retribution was always swift and severe—he’d besieged the Cathedral where Moffat held reign as bishop with bombards and battering rams, and had destroyed three of its four walls. That had been decades ago. The Regent Albany had ordered him to cease before he’d beaten down the Cathedral itself.

  Three months ago, in the darkest winter days of late January, the stakes had increased. Royce had encountered a deamhan in the throes of taking life from an Innocent—Moffat’s new and favorite lover. He’d vanquished Kaz with little effort, but too late to save the Innocent’s life. And ever since, Moffat had been enraged, harassing his people at every turn, bringing death and destruction as he could, without arousing the King’s complete ire. That is, he did not dare openly declare war.

  It was too soon to know Moffat’s intent. The answer would eventually become clear.

  She stirred in his arms. His body remained hot and hard, but he ignored it easily enough. Slowly, he looked around.

  He had leapt forward a single day into the future, to his own home in Scotland. Although she was a powerful Healer, he’d felt her weakness and pain the moment she’d begun to heal her lover. Aware of her being somehow hurt and compromised, he’d made certain to only leap forward slightly, hoping to lessen the torment for her.

  He had never been to the future before, as there had been no need, and a Master wasn’t allowed to leap for his own pleasure or gain. He was in the Great Hall at Carrick Castle, but he barely recognized his home. Everything had changed. There were so many fine furnishings, many of which he did not understand, such as the posts with cloth heads on the small tables. Even the rugs and paintings were different. The room was beautiful—the kind of home his friend Aidan would enjoy. Who was lord of Carrick now? He would not bother to furnish this room so luxuriously. Or would he? For there was a collection of swords on one wall, and he recognized every one. They belonged to him. If there was a new lord and master now, why did that man own his weapons?