Dark Lover

by Brenda Joyce

  “Did she look like ye or yer sister?” Ian asked quietly.

  “She looked like me, except she wore her hair long, and it was champagne-colored, not platinum.”

  He smiled. “Ye dye yer hair—if ye can call those wisps hair.”

  “You like my hair,” she said.

  His smile vanished. He said slowly, “I like yer hair because all I see when I look at ye is yer face and eyes.”

  Sam went still. Her heart exploded with delight. “Wow,” she said.

  And Ian Maclean flushed. He started abruptly across the room.

  “I had such nightmares, too, Ian.”

  He halted at the door, glancing at her.

  “I started dreaming about how she died, when I hadn’t seen it. But I knew. Even though I was only twelve, I knew.” Sam felt a lump solidify in her chest. She told herself it was heartburn. “Life does suck, doesn’t it? It was her time to die, or so my grandma said, but I couldn’t ever accept that.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “And it was my time to start slaying.” Sam shrugged.

  “Are ye crying?” he asked suddenly.

  “No, I’m not crying. I don’t cry.”

  He made a sound. “How long did ye dream of her death?”

  “A long time.” Sam grimaced and walked up to him. “I know my dreams were nothing compared to yours. But I get how awful a nightmare like that can be.”

  He crossed his arms. “Ye don’t have the dreams anymore.”

  “No. The dreams became less frequent in my early twenties,” Sam said truthfully. “I haven’t had the nightmare in years.”

  He absorbed that. “I’m glad.”

  He meant it. She smiled slightly. Then she said, “You’ve been through more than any one person should ever have to go through. The dreams need to stop.”

  He laughed. “No one, not even a god, can control his or her dreams!”

  She waited a beat. “Ian, have you ever thought about getting help?” she asked carefully.

  “Ye mean…a shrink?” He was incredulous.

  “At CDA, there’s a whole department filled with shrinks to help us screwed-up agents out. When Macleod took Tabby back in time last year, Nick forced me into evaluation. I had to talk to a shrink every week for an hour.”

  “I’m not an agent. I don’t need a shrink.”

  She knew what was coming—and she was right.

  “Sharing my bed doesn’t give ye the right to tell me to go to a shrink. Yer a fool if ye think ye should worry about me now, because of some sex.”

  She sighed. “I was waiting for the Maclean comeback. I’m so relieved!”

  He picked up the plaid throw on the foot of the bed and tossed it at her. “If ye get pneumonia, ye’ll be too sick to leap home, and we don’t have antibiotics here.”

  She was glad to be cloaked in the warmth of the plaid. “And you would care because…?”

  “No one deserves to be stuck in this miserable time,” he said harshly. “Ye shouldn’t die because of me.”

  Sam felt her eyes widen. He blamed himself for what had happened to her. “Why don’t you admit it, you like me, a little, and not just for sex. We’re—gasp—friends.”

  And Maclean did not have a comeback. He simply strode from the room.

  Sam found her skirt and pulled it on. She was thoughtful as she stepped into her boots, and very, very pleased. That dialogue felt like a win. She almost felt warm and fuzzy inside. Maclean could actually be normal, and he’d been somewhat honest. She was smiling as she started for the door. She was probably the first real friend he’d ever had. Life felt pretty good—and it was because of her growing relationship with Maclean.

  Sam told herself she’d better start being careful. But she somehow knew that she’d ignore her own advice.

  Tabby and Brie were downstairs, sipping some kind of herbal tea. Neither Aidan nor Macleod were in sight. Neither was Ian.

  Sam grinned cheerfully at them.

  Tabby’s graceful brows lifted. “Someone had a good night.”

  It had been beyond good. But now, Sam recalled their conversation from the day before and all of her denials. She’d just told Ian—no, insisted—that they were friends. “I needed a good night’s sleep,” she said, straight-faced.

  Brie smiled and pushed a steaming mug toward her.

  “Where is everyone?” Sam asked, not bothering to sound casual.

  “Aidan wanted to show Macleod a fortification he’s building on the lake’s northern shores. Awe is so large now that there’s a huge spillover of men and women to the village. He’s added a defensive set of walls there,” Brie said. “But they won’t be long.” Her face fell.

  Sam knew she was thinking about Ian.

  Brie said softly, “Aidan asked Ian last night if he’d join them. He said no.”

  Sam hesitated. “I’m not going to give you platitudes. I don’t know if he’ll ever come around, Brie.”

  “I will never stop praying for him and I will never give up hope. But it’s been twenty-five years. I want Aidan to be whole, Sam.”

  Suddenly Tabby made a startled sound, and she turned white.

  Sam had tensed impossibly. The heavy weight of evil was present—and it was familiar.

  It was the monk.

  He had come to them, and she didn’t think he’d come to negotiate. He was playing offense; the men were gone. It hit her then, how bold he was to dare to enter Castle Awe. And she still didn’t have her weapons! She had one very lethal dagger, which she’d taken from the armory the moment she’d arrived at Awe yesterday.

  Where was Ian?

  “It’s Carlisle,” Sam said tersely, on her feet. She turned in the direction of the weight of his evil, but Tabby was already starting for the staircase there.

  “Aidan,” Brie whispered.

  Sam was on her sister’s heels. She turned, her dagger in hand. Brie was clutching the back of a chair. Brie was an empath. She was afraid for Aidan, then.

  Brie looked at her, shaking her head. “It’s not Aidan, it’s Ian. His fear feels like a butcher knife, going right through the heart.”

  Sam ran. She caught up with Tabby and passed her on the stone stairs. As she did, she heard stone cracking and crashing. She rushed to the threshold of the ramparts, aware that the terrible battle had begun.

  It might be their last one. She paused. A small army of possessed giants was scaling the walls. They were heavily armed, their eyes glowing with inhuman determination. The watch lay dead, hanging from the tower windows. And Ian was alone on the ramparts.

  If he was terrified, one wouldn’t know it. He was blasting the Highland giants as they crested the crenellations, his expression savage. They were an incoming tide, and they just kept coming in waves. Sam did not know how long he could keep up his one-man defense. “Ian!” Sam ran up to him.

  He only glanced at her. “Get back! Get Aidan and Macleod!”

  As if she’d retreat. Sam seized a sword from a dead giant.

  Soft laughter sounded.

  Sam looked up. So did Ian.

  The monk of Carlisle stood on the highest level of the tower, grinning down at them. His dark robes swirled in the breeze. His blond hair gleamed. He slowly lifted his pointy shoe and nudged one of Aidan’s watchmen off the ledge. The man’s body tumbled through the air, landing not far from where she and Ian stood. “Hello, Ian, Sam.”

  Ian had paled but his fierce expression remained. “Bastard.”

  Behind them, Tabby paused and began chanting, casting a spell.

  “Ian!” Brie cried.

  He whirled, hurling his power at another wave of attackers.

  A growl sounded.

  A demon dog crouched on the crenellations. She had no idea how it had gotten up there, but as it snarled, fangs dripping, she didn’t hesitate. That thing meant murder. She hurled her dagger at its heart as it sprang. She was expecting it to attack her. Instead, it leapt at Tabby.

  Her dagger struck its chest, but
the demon dog landed on her sister, growling in rage and driving her to the ground. Sam shouted, rushing it, sword raised. Beneath the beast, Tabby kept chanting. Before Sam could sever the damned dog’s head from it shoulders, Ian’s power blazed. He blasted the beast, then turned to combat the incoming giants, dropping them one by one.

  She didn’t know how long he could keep this up. He was breathing hard and sweat was pouring down his body. They needed reinforcements, badly. The demon dog went still and Sam seized it by the skin at its nape, pulling it from her sister, hurling it aside as the ramparts shuddered from Ian’s white power. Sam seized her dagger, jerking it free of the dog’s chest. As she turned back to her sister, she saw her lashes flutter. She was alive. Sam saw that her mouth moved as if she were still chanting; Tabby was in a deep trance.

  “Sam!” Brie cried in warning.

  A new dread began. Sam realized that it had become shockingly silent on the ramparts. She whirled.

  Ian stood where she’d last seen him, dozens of dead giants littered around him. The monk smiled down at him.

  They were going to go at it.

  Ian needed help.

  He could not do this alone. Sam knew it. Ian flung a bolt of power at Carlisle. Sam grabbed the sword and started for the stairs leading up to where he stood in the tower. But just as she expected, Carlisle raised his hand and sent Ian’s power rushing back at him.

  He was flung with crushing force into the wall.

  She heard flesh and bone smack and crack.

  “Ian!”

  His face enraged, Ian launched himself forward and blazed his power upward at Carlisle again. On the stairs, Sam saw his power invert itself as the monk raised his hand. This time she screamed.

  Ian was hurled back into the same ramparts wall again. This time, the monk followed up with a wave of his hand.

  Black power sizzled across the ramparts, descending from the tower like a lightning bolt. Ian was struck in his chest. He collapsed, eyes closed.

  Sam leapt off the stairs, running to him. He could not be dead.

  “Sam!” Brie shouted again.

  A giant who’d somehow survived seized her from behind. Sam turned, arcing her sword at his neck. As she did so, she saw an enraged Brie launching herself at him, a tiny dagger in her hand. As Brie’s dagger went into his back, Sam felt her blade go through tendon and cartilage. She jerked Brie aside as the giant’s head toppled away.

  “A woman after my own heart, one I will truly enjoy,” the monk murmured in her ear.

  Sam turned, stiffening.

  The monk of Carlisle smiled at her. “My only regret is that you weren’t born a boy.”

  She spat in his face. “I am going to take his pulse,” she told him, trembling. “And if he’s dead, so are you.”

  The monk grinned, delighted.

  She turned her back on him and stumbled over the dead giants, kneeling beside Ian. She didn’t have to take his pulse. She could see that he was breathing.

  “Kennar,” the monk said, and it was an order.

  Sam glanced up. Six giants had scaled the walls, and two approached her and Ian. She slowly stood, raising her blade.

  “I wonder if you’ll ever defend me that way,” the monk asked. “Seize her. Impale him.”

  Sam felt her heart stop in shock—and then she was fighting for her life and for Ian’s. She thrust, Kennar parried and easily. She needed her weapons, not a heavy sword which she wasn’t adept with! Brie had been grabbed, and Tabby was unconscious now. She struck again, was blocked and struck again. From the corner of her eye, she saw a whirl of movement. Brie screamed.

  Sam turned, and her sword was knocked from her hands. “Brie!”

  Brie stood by the stairs, clutching her breast so badly that Sam expected to see blood pouring from her chest, through her hands. She reeled backward, as if she’d been stabbed. But there was no blood…

  Brie was an Empath. It was Aidan, she thought, turning away. Then she saw Ian and cried out.

  He was impaled on a pike.

  It had been driven through his chest and out of the other side of his body by the other giant, who was grinning.

  He was conscious now. He held the pike in his hands and his eyes met hers, stunned. Then they glazed over with pain.

  Brie was feeling his pain, not Aidan’s.

  Sam looked at the monk furiously. “You sonuvabitch. He was unconscious!”

  “And now I believe he’s fairly helpless…don’t you?” Carlisle mocked.

  Sam turned back to Ian, who was as white as a corpse, but trying to get to his feet. Four giants were circling him. “Don’t move,” Sam said harshly. He needed medical attention.

  He shook his head, as pale as death, getting to his knees. The sight was obscene. No sight had ever sickened her as much. His power blazed weakly at the four possessed men. The Highland giants seemed to feel the blow, just a bit, but then they realized how weak he was. They grinned and advanced, confident.

  “Don’t use your power,” Sam gasped, sliding her arm around him. “Save your strength, please!”

  Ian reeled, in spite of her body stabilizing him. Ignoring her, his power sparked weakly. One of the giants leapt toward him, sword raised.

  Sam jumped, attacking the giant with her dagger. Shouting furiously, she cut his throat, but it didn’t matter. The other three giants were on Ian. For one heartrending moment, she thought they were going to hack him to death with their swords while she helplessly watched.

  Instead, they seized him by three of his four limbs. He screamed.

  “Stop,” Sam screamed up at Carlisle. “We’ll do what you want!”

  The monk smiled cruelly and nodded at his giants. They pulled on Ian’s arms and lifted him by the pike. He fainted, hanging between them.

  “What a shame,” the monk said, laughing.

  Sam felt a giant wrestle her backward, shackling her as he did so. She never took her eyes off the monk. She was going to kill him. She couldn’t wait. Maybe she’d impale him first…

  His smile was triumphant now. He came down from the tower and murmured, “And how will you accomplish that, mon amour?”

  “Wait and see,” she hissed.

  “I wonder if he will survive the leap.”

  Sam inhaled. “Don’t. I’ll get you the page. In fact, I’ll give you whatever you want. He needs healing.”

  He caught her by her arm. “Say goodbye, Sam.”

  “No!” Sam shouted, but it was too late. She was flung upward, into the sky, at the sun. And she was speeding so swiftly into another time that she couldn’t even look back.

  SAM FELT a rough surface beneath her cheek, almost like gravel. There were shackles on her wrists, which were bound behind her back. She recalled Ian on that pike and everything that had happened at Awe in 1527. Her body was on fire from the leap, and she felt as if she’d been ripped apart on a rack, but she opened her eyes and somehow pushed herself up to sit, a feat that required the exclusive use of her abdominal muscles. Gray walls greeted her. She blinked, swimming in pain, and saw high, glass-paned windows. Her eyes widened. The windows were industrial and modern. Daylight colored the chamber a pale gray, illuminating it, but there was nothing beneath those windows, against those walls. And then she heard him breathing.

  She jerked around, using her feet and fanny to swivel herself. And she saw Ian, lying in the center of the empty room, about twenty feet from her. The pike remained in his chest, with the spiked metal tip protruding out of his back.

  “Ian,” she cried. On her knees, she hurried toward him.

  He lay on his side. There was so much blood. She was so afraid. “Ian, it’s me, Sam,” she cried, reaching him. Furious now that she was bound, she fought the shackles. But she was never going to be able to break them and free herself.

  He moaned.

  “Ian.” She couldn’t use her hands, obviously. Sam sat down to get better balance and pressed her knee into his hip, so he could feel her presence. “Ian?”

&nbs
p; He moaned again.

  She cursed. What had happened to Tabby’s magic? Where was Aidan, Macleod? And where, exactly, were they? The room was so plain—concrete floors and walls beneath a steel roof. They could be in 1950, for all she knew.

  “Cursing…won’t…help.”

  She met his gaze, which was feverishly gray and blinded with pain. “I’m going to promise you something. I will kill the monk, and if I don’t, Tabby will. But he’s not getting away with this.” To her horror, tears filled her eyes. “And don’t you dare die!”

  His eyes flickered. “He won’t let me…die.”

  Sam wet her lips to tell him that he didn’t know that. But then she recalled that during his years of captivity, they kept him alive. Her stomach churned. Ian could not suffer again, that way. “You’re bleeding,” she said stupidly.

  “I’m almost…immortal. I can lose a little…blood.”

  She decided not to contradict him. He was losing pints of blood.

  “Are ye hurt?” he rasped, meeting her gaze.

  “You’re worried about me?”

  “Why would I…worry? Yer a tough…girl.”

  Sam felt tears roll down her cheek.

  He stared at her. “Yer crying.”

  “Shit,” she said. She couldn’t wipe the tears away. “My eyes are burning,” she lied. “Maybe from whatever chemicals are in the air here.”

  His stare became oddly intense. “Are ye crying…because of me?”

  “You’re a selfish jerk. Why would I cry over you? Besides, I don’t cry. Not ever.”

  He seemed to accept that. His lashes fanned out on his deathly white cheeks as his eyes closed.

  “What are you doing?” Sam cried, alarmed. He was so weak!

  It was a moment before he answered. “I’m not…dying. Be quiet.”

  She watched him and saw the strain on his face increase. She couldn’t stand it. She thought she was starting to feel his pain, but then, her heart was in unbearable anguish. If they weren’t rescued, he was going to die. She did not have to be a genius to know it.

  “Ian,” she whispered, carefully wiggling down so she was lying on her side. She spooned against him. As most of her body made contact with his—she was careful to avoid the head of the pike—she started to cry again.