Dark Rival

by Brenda Joyce

  Barely able to stand the anticipation, she stared across the large room and out the windows, into the cobbled courtyard outside. As she did, a small, dark sports car appeared from the gatehouse, clearly having just entered the castle walls. Allie stood, her heart turning over hard.

  He was driving a Ferrari; of course he was.

  He probably had a Lamborghini, too.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  The car stopped and the door opened; she saw her warrior get out.

  Desire hollowed her. She felt faint.

  His unmistakable aura blazed, red and gold, with some blue and green, the aura of a powerful warrior blessed by the Ancients. This time, it was bursting with sexual heat.

  He was clad all in black, in a fitted tee and easy trousers. As he closed the car door, he glanced at the window—and Allie knew he was looking into the room and right at her.

  Allie didn’t move. She felt his excitement—or was she feeling hers? Hurry, she thought.

  He started around the car and vanished from her view. A moment later, he appeared on the threshold of the hall and his desire made her feel weak and faint. It was explosive. And there was no doubt. It was him.

  His silver eyes locked with hers, blazing.

  She wet her lips to say hello, but then said nothing at all.

  “My lord, when will you be sitting down to supper with Miss Monroe?”

  Allie couldn’t look away from him. He was as big and hunky as she recalled, maybe six foot three, the featherweight tee clinging to his broad shoulders and sculpted chest and to his hard, tight torso. Beneath the short sleeves, his biceps bulged. His hips were small, but what was encased below was not. Fabric bulged and rippled. Allie swallowed.

  He kept his gaze on her. “Are ye hungry?”

  Allie shook her head.

  His gaze glittering, never looking away, he said to the housekeeper, “Ye may retire for the night.”

  His hot gaze moved over her dress and her legs, lingering on her brightly painted pink toes and the pair of retro platforms she had bought. The shoes added five inches to her diminutive height. Then it lifted. “Hallo a Ailios,” he murmured.

  No tone could be more arousing. She felt her heart trying to push its way out of her chest. She felt heat and liquid slipping down her bare thighs. “Hi…Royce.”

  He strode forward, into the brighter light of the great room.

  She now realized he had the same buzz cut as in the photo. Some confusion began. “I…charged a few things…. I hope you don’t mind.”

  He smiled seductively. “I hope ye charged that dress.”

  She nodded. “You cut your hair.”

  His eyes flickered.

  But now, she looked from the marine-style cut to his eyes—and the lines emanating from them. She tensed. He was the same man who had helped her fight off a demonic attack last night, but he looked older—or had she imagined him looking younger in the dark of the night? And he was modern after all. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Last night, I thought you were a medieval man.”

  He paused before her. “It dinna matter. I’m the lord o’ Carrick, Ailios. And tonight, yer mine.”

  It was hard to think after such a confident statement, not when he stood an inch from her, not when she knew she could shift her body oh so slightly and be in his arms. But he was not, exactly, responding to her question.

  She searched his gaze and he stared back, with a promise that told her she was going to heaven really soon. “You helped me last night in South Hampton, didn’t you?”

  He took her wineglass from her and set it down on the table behind him. “Ye talk too much.”

  She wet her lips. “I almost thought…I’d wake up in an earlier time.”

  He didn’t laugh. Staring into her eyes, he said softly, “Aye. I helped ye, but not last night.” And he clasped both of her shoulders, his hands large, strong and unyielding, like the man she somehow knew he was. Every fiber in her tightened. She could barely stand it.

  “I helped ye…six centuries ago.”

  Allie tried to understand him. How could he mean what he had said? But his grasp had tightened and he pulled her close, so her breasts were crushed by his rock-hard chest. His body was aroused and strained for hers. She began to blank mentally as his massive erection brushed her abdomen. “Oh.”

  “I have waited a long time for this moment,” he said bluntly.

  Her gaze lifted to his.

  “I have waited five hundred an’ seventy-seven years for ye, lass.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  HE COULD NOT BELIEVE she was finally there with him, in his home, in his arms. Her memory had haunted him for the past five centuries, a confirmation that he had been correct to leave her in the future and return to the fifteenth century alone. She was the sexiest woman he’d ever beheld, but there was so much more. Her pure white power brought forth an intense desperation; even now, he felt her shining light warming him when he had been cold inside for so long.

  He moved his hands to her face, held her head steady and finally, after so many years, he kissed her.

  He was already swollen and hot. His body clamored to move inside hers and it needed release. But just then he was stunned. All he could think about was the taste of her lips, the caress of her tongue and the warmth seeping from her to him. His heart beating almost frantically, he drank from her mouth. Ailios. And the deep, wet kiss just wasn’t enough.

  His body shrieked at him, but so did a part of him he never listened to. He wasn’t sure if it was his heart or his soul. In another moment, he was going to take her to the heights of ecstasy, joining her there in orgasmic release after orgasmic release. But he almost wanted more. Her power already seemed to touch him, and it almost felt like a relief….

  It was forbidden, of course. He wasn’t going to touch her power, even if his bones felt old and in need of her healing. Nothing in him was broken. He was old, but powerful and strong. He had never broken the Code. He would not start now.

  Her small hands on his waist, she trembled in his arms, kissing him back as frantically, as deeply, her mouth and teeth tearing at his. He felt how swollen and wet she was.

  Her lust matched his and he was hardly surprised by the enormity of it for them both. He had known it would be this way. He could control her desire, if he wanted to—he’d learned that skill long ago—but he wasn’t feeding her passion now. It belonged to her and her alone. He was savagely pleased.

  Expanding even more, hugely aware of an impending release for them both, he slid his hands down her narrow, slim back and clasped her buttocks, lifting her high. He could feel her pleasure cresting and couldn’t wait. He turned her against the nearest wall and with his thigh, pushed her right leg high.

  She hooked her leg high up on his hip.

  The wool of his trousers ripped.

  He reached and jerked the zipper down, jerked the briefs apart. Her glazed gaze met his. “Ailios, I wish to show ye real pleasure.”

  “Hurry,” she whispered, dazed, her palm on his cheek. Then she slid it under his T-shirt, caressing the slab of one of his large pectoral muscles.

  As he gasped with desire, it crossed his mind that she deserved to be pleasured in bed. But he had her jersey skirt in his hand and he lifted it out of their way, all patience gone. He smiled at the sight of peach lace straining over wet, waxed flesh and he slipped his fingers past the G-string.

  She cried out as he thumbed her soaking, throbbing lips. And he shifted, pushing the huge head of his penis against her, rubbing sensually back and forth. She clawed his back, panting, “Yes. Please!”

  He was throbbing dangerously, on the precipice of release. He could make her come this way. He knew it—he felt it with his body, his mind. But it was too soon—and he controlled the cresting wave of her pleasure with his mind and refused to let it break.

  She started to weep. Eyes wide, a plea formed there. Why?

  He wanted to tell her that they had all night and she would h
ave more pleasure than she’d ever known—so much she’d never think of any other man again. Instead, slowly, he pushed deep. Her pleasure doubled, intensified, roiled over them both. His pleasure surged. One more moment, he thought, and savagely satisfied, moving very deliberately, he controlled the cresting wave in her, allowing it to soar a bit higher, and then higher, bit by agonizing bit.

  She called his name, panting, clawing his chest.

  Sweat poured down his face and chest. And then he gave in.

  “Ailios.”

  She met his gaze, panting and writhing, trying to ride him when he was the one riding her, satisfying her.

  When he had her attention, he poured his power into her. She cried out—stunned—and he let the dam break.

  She sobbed in ecstasy. He closed his eyes and drove hard over and over again, coming with her, encouraging her to come again. She did. He did. She shouted as he roared. He had waited so long…he would pleasure her like this, all night.

  ALLIE LAY LIMP and exhausted in Royce’s bed, acutely aware of her wildly pounding heart and the man who lay on his back beside her. Finally her mind started to work.

  Was it really dawn? For pale gray light was slipping into the bedchamber.

  Her heart refused to slow. She covered it with her hand. They had made love for hours—since early last evening—and for the first time in her life she was sated, oh, yes.

  Royce hadn’t tired, flagged, or even softened, not a single time.

  She was a Healer but she was very human; clearly he was not. Because he’d climaxed as many times as she had, and she wasn’t sure if she’d had dozens of orgasms or one single, endless one.

  And she was pretty certain he’d had some kind of control over her orgasms, too.

  She turned her head. “Tyrant,” she whispered, smiling.

  He lay on his back, too, but his breathing was slow and even, and he was staring at her. Their gazes locked.

  And he smiled at her. It was a surprisingly soft look from such a hard man, and it changed his entire face. He became too beautiful for words. “Are ye pleased?”

  She beamed and turned onto her side, aware of his gaze instantly moving to her breasts and belly and legs, before lifting. She laid her hand on his magnificent chest. She traced a frightening scar. “Very pleased. How can you even ask?”

  Was he relieved? Surely he knew he was supersexed. He simply shrugged, as if indifferent, but his gaze was intense and searching. “Are ye pleased enough to break off with yer man?”

  Allie was confused.

  “Brian,” he said softly.

  Her eyes widened. She felt as if an entire lifetime had passed since the fund-raiser the other night. “He’s not my man.”

  He absorbed that. Then, “Since when? Tonight?”

  She grinned and rubbed his rock-hard pectoral muscle, then scraped her nails over his nipple. “I was going to break it off with him the night of the party.”

  He nodded at that.

  Allie realized, in shock, that his large but flaccid member was stiffening. How was it possible?

  “Yer touching me,” he said softly, as if reading her mind.

  “I want to touch you,” she said, staring and stroking the tight skin over his ribs. “Who are you? What just happened isn’t humanly possible.”

  He sat up against a number of pillows, another beautiful smile playing. “Aye. No man can bed a woman in such a way. Ye should remember that.”

  “As if any woman would ever forget!” Becoming serious, she sat up, too. She wanted to snuggle, but she didn’t—this was too important. “You vanquished three demons the other night as if it were a piece of cake. But you used a sword as well as your energy, not a gun.” Her mind began to really get into the game. “You said you waited five hundred–odd years for me.” But hadn’t Tabby said he was an older man?

  He shrugged casually again. “Well, I’m a patient man.”

  “How old are you?”

  “It doesna matter, Ailios.”

  But she was sorting it out. “Last night, in South Hampton, that was you, but younger, way younger—five hundred and seventy-seven years younger.”

  “Aye.”

  “Wow.” Allie sat back against her pillows, stunned and uncertain as to the significance of having met him a day ago, when he had been almost six hundred years younger—when he had come from the fifteenth century—and their being together now, a day later for her, but five centuries later for him. She’d been apart from him for a day; he’d lived through almost six centuries. She had a million questions. “How many of you are there? Is the sex always like that? Are you immortal? Why do you guys keep such a low profile?”

  His smile flickered brightly again. “Yer so young, so pretty, so passionate.” He reached out and touched her cheek, then let his hand drift across her breast. Then he dropped it. “I am mortal. I will die one day.”

  Allie thought about that. “I worship the Ancients. And when I see your aura, I can feel their presence—they are with you. You are blessed. They favor you.”

  “Aye. Long ago, the gods wanted to save mankind from evil. They feared for their creation. They sent a great warrior goddess to the kings, an’ men like me were born.” He spoke as if it was an everyday occurrence and not a huge deal.

  Allie laughed. “You don’t mean that your mother is a goddess, do you?”

  He gave her a look. “My grandmother is the great warrior goddess, Faola,” he said softly.

  But of course, Allie thought. He looked like a grandson of the gods. And how else could he screw all night like that? How else could he have the kind of energy to throw around that the demons had? “The demons are descended from Satan, aren’t they?”

  “Some, an’ some are fallen Masters.”

  Her mother had told her to trust a golden Master. “Is that what you call yourself? A Master?”

  “We’re the Masters of Time, Ailios. I made my vows before the Brotherhood and God on Iona long ago. We exist to keep mankind safe an’ to serve the Ancients.”

  Allie was intensely interested. “I have always been drawn to Iona. Even today, the ground there is holy. Wow. I felt you—the Masters—every time I was there!”

  “Ye have great powers. They’ll become greater with time.”

  Allie barely heard. She shivered with excitement. “Sworn before God—meaning, sworn before the gods, plural?”

  “Aye. T’is one an’ the same.” He smiled a little at her again, this time sliding his hand down her arm. “Defend God, Keep Faith, Protect Innocence—our vows are simple but strong. A Master serves God and Innocence, first an’ last, always.”

  She snuggled up to his hard chest and lean torso now. “That almost sounds like a warning,” she said, thinking about where she wanted to put her tongue.

  His gaze blazed as if he sensed her intentions. He moved his large hand into her hair and grasped it.

  Her heart went wild at the forceful gesture. But she was still and their gazes locked. “I’m not done,” she said softly. He’d teased—even tortured—her all night. A little payback was in order.

  He almost smiled. “Ye talk too much.”

  “Admit it—you love it.”

  “I’m nay fond of great conversation.”

  She slid herself halfway over his body. “Why are you guys so top-secret?”

  He pulsed against her quad and sighed. “There’s a Code. T’is vast an’ even today, our scholars debate its many rules an’ meanings. But some rules are clear. The Masters are secret, Ailios, the Brotherhood is secret, an’ that is our law.” He slid his hand down her back, cupped her buttock and hiked her into a very appropriate position. She gasped with pleasure; he grinned. “Do ye still wish to talk?”

  It had become really difficult to think, but she whispered, “Did you control my orgasms last night?”

  His eyes widened with innocence. “How can a man do that?” He grasped her waist and gave her a lazy, sensual look.

  “Hmm…someone needs a comeuppance.” />
  He gave in to a chuckle. “It’s up, lass, and ye ken.”

  She sat on his hips and his eyes turned even lighter and brighter. “Why did the Ancients forbid your telling the world about who you are and what you do?”

  He was now annoyed. Instead of answering her, he nuzzled her breasts and caught her nipple with his teeth. He tugged.

  “Be good and I won’t tease,” Allie breathed.

  He sighed. “The Code was written afore St. Columba, lass, an’ I dinna ken the reasons behind it. But in past ages, t’was a grave heresy to consort with the old gods—an’ to have godly powers. In that time, men were outlawed, excommunicated, hanged or burned for such sins. No Master then would walk openly. Today, we dinna walk openly, either.”

  Allie slid off of him, ignoring his surprise. This was too damned important. “We need you guys, desperately!” she cried, startling him anew. “Damn it, Royce, more of you guys need to be here, in the twenty-first century, helping us, helping Healers like me, even helping CDA! Forget the antiquated rules. It is so hard healing when I have to worry about another demonic attack behind my back. It’s so hard watching so many innocent people die.” She added grimly, “I can’t save everyone by myself.”

  He was sitting, too, a magnificent sight. “Evil preys on the Innocent in every age, Ailios. Pleasure crimes have been sung about by the ancient bards an’ there’s a need for Masters in the past, too. There are Masters in every time.” He added softly, his gaze locked with hers, “I’m sorry ye have been alone so long.”

  Allie looked up at him and saw his intense, searching stare and couldn’t decide what it all meant. But there was so much hope. The good guys had superheroes on their side, too. Battles had been lost, but the war wasn’t over, not by a long shot.

  And she wasn’t alone anymore.

  Her heart seemed to be singing a very happy song.

  A seductive smile began. He said softly, “Ye may be holy an’ ye have the gift of white power, but yer Innocent, too.” And he reached for her.

  Allie went into his arms, astride his hips. As he pushed slowly against her buttocks, she felt faint with impending pleasure. “What does that mean, exactly?” she whispered. She shifted and began rubbing herself over his massive length.