Dark Embrace

She moaned, long and low, eyes closing.

The sound was familiar. All women instantly succumbed. Suddenly he was even more furious—with her, with himself, with the gods, the deamhanain—with everyone. He pulled her down angrily and moved over her, and she looked up at him, her eyes glazed with the desire he had deliberately instilled in her.

Now she would not pity him or believe in him, or anything else. She would be his sexual slave until he released her from the enchantment.

Moments ago, at her home in the future, she had desired him—and he hadn’t enchanted her. But she had loved him for a long time….

He didn’t want her love, either!

For one moment he stared at her face.

She was everything he was not, everything he had once been.

He cried out, cursing, and leapt to his feet. He breathed hard. “Return to yer senses.” He whirled and strode from the tower, slamming the door so hard behind him that the wood splintered, the panels shearing apart.

His mind spun incoherently as he rushed down the corridor. When he opened his chamber door, Anna Marie sat up in the bed, clad only in a silk chemise.

“Get out,” he roared at her.

Her eyes widened in shock.

He decided he would murder her on the spot if she didn’t leave immediately. She understood and paled, slipping from the bed. Circling him, she fled.

He slammed the chamber door closed and the stone walls reverberated.

Then he leaned against the wall, and for the first time in decades, he succumbed to a moment of utter confusion.

What had just happened to him?

Why hadn’t he taken her, using her for the power he needed and craved, as he did them all?

Deep inside his body, something flickered, and he feared it was his soul.

His answer to the unfamiliar, unwanted feeling was instantaneous. He took a crooked chair and threw it at the wall, breaking it in pieces. A memory came swiftly, one long forgotten. Once, before his son’s murder, his home had been filled with beautiful furnishings and treasures collected from all over the world, from many different times. His brother Malcolm had broken a Louis XIV chair in a fit of rage over the woman who was now his wife, Claire.

Aidan clutched his temples. He did not want to remember having once had a home filled with beauty. After Awe had been burned to the ground in 1458, he had never considered refurbishing it with any luxury.

Very deliberately, he shut his mind down. The past was finished. He would never enjoy such a home again, nor did he care to. As for the woman in the tower, he did not know what had just happened, but it did not matter. He’d lost his soul long ago and that was exactly what he wanted.

The woman, Brianna, had to go back to where she had come from as soon as she was strong enough to withstand another leap. She had brought forth memories he had no wish to entertain, and he did not like the fact that he had hesitated to satisfy his lust for power and life. He was a half deamhan. He decided that if she came close another time, he’d make certain she feared him as much as the rest of Alba. The next time, he would take her. Maybe he’d go so far as to take pleasure in her death.

The idea was disturbing.

BRIE SAT UP IN THE COLD DARKNESS, stunned.

Aidan had just slammed from the room. She couldn’t breathe, but not because every movement caused her ribs to really hurt.

Aidan had just mesmerized her the way the demons did.

There was no doubt. Her body had been on fire a moment ago and she had lost her ability to think. She had been frantic for their union. But he had walked away, and the spell was broken.

She hugged herself, trying not to panic, her teeth chattering from the cold. He hadn’t seduced her against her will, and she tried to reassure herself. But he was the son of a demon—he had told her so. She hadn’t wanted to believe it, but she was starting to now.

How far had the Wolf gone?

How could the son of a demon ever have been a Master?

“He’s turned, Brie. If you can’t feel the black power in this room, he’s brainwashed you.”

Images of the Wolf viciously mauling those boys to death filled her.

But he hadn’t hurt her—yet. He had saved her, even if he’d viciously destroyed the subs, even if he was so angry it was terrifying.

Demons did not save Innocence. They ruthlessly destroyed it. He wasn’t as evil as Nick claimed. He had a conscience. Didn’t he?

She was not reassured. They’d obviously leapt through time, and she had a pretty good idea of where they might be. Her heart hammered uneasily. He’d taken her hostage, or prisoner, or something. She was in over her head.

And where were her eyeglasses?

Her panic was complete. If she’d lost her glasses, she was almost as blind as a bat. If she couldn’t see, how was she going to protect herself? The room was pitch-black and she groped the floor carefully, immediately realizing they’d landed on rough, uneven stone. If she wasn’t in a castle chamber, she didn’t know where she was.

She had to find calm—no easy task when the son of a demon had just abducted her for no apparent reason. She did not know his motives and couldn’t even guess them. Brie tried deep, slow breathing, ignoring the pain in her rib cage. She reminded herself that she was here because of her sudden empathy across time for Aidan. He had rescued her from evil and brought her to the past. There was a reason for it all.

Brie shuddered. He bore little resemblance to the man she’d been infatuated with for the past year. He was frightening in every possible way—his anger, his sexuality, his hatred. His face might be as beautiful as ever, but his eyes were so flat, without light—almost like the eyes of demons, except that their eyes were black and soulless and Aidan’s remained sharply blue.

If he had a conscience, could he be redeemed?

Brie sat up straighter, wincing against the pain. Aidan did not appear to be redeemable. Surely she was not his salvation!

Shocked that she would even think such a thing, Brie managed to get to her feet, holding the aching side of her ribs. She leaned against the cold stone wall, certain he’d gone out of the room. She didn’t know what she was going to do when she found the door and stepped out of it.

She prayed that she would step out into a bright New York City summer day.

She was pretty sure Hudson Street was not outside that door.

She started forward, staying close to the wall, until it turned at a right angle. She followed the wall until her hands slid over a coarse wooden door, with some of the panels splintered off the frame. She fumbled for a doorknob or latch. When she found it, she hesitated. Once she walked through that door, there was no turning back.

Aidan was outside that door, somewhere.

Brie opened it, revealing a shadowy hall. The corridor was a blur, but there was no mistaking the flickering lights on the walls. The hallway was lit with candles in sconces. She was definitely in a castle in the past.

It crossed her mind that, if that historian had his facts right, it was before December 1502, because Aidan clearly hadn’t been hanged yet.

She turned and saw an open embrasure. Outside, the night was blue-black. She inhaled, and the air was scented with pine and the sea. Brie walked over to the loophole. Ebony water gleamed below, and the distant shores were pale with snow.

She’d been transported to the Highlands. The last time she’d smelled such invigorating air had been on a summer vacation spent trekking across the northern half of Scotland. In spite of her trepidation, some excitement began. The Highlands would always be home to a Rose woman.

It was freezing cold out—and inside the castle, too. She shivered, wishing she had a coat.

A door farther down the hall opened. Brie instantly felt Adam’s hot, hard power. It didn’t feel evil—but it didn’t feel white, either. She jerked back against the wall, wishing she could vanish into the stone. Even though she couldn’t see clearly, she knew it was Aidan stepping out from the chamber.

He turned toward her and stared.

Her mouth went unbearably dry. Why had he taken her back in time with him? What did he want? What was her purpose?

He started toward her. She didn’t have to make out his features to know that he was unsmiling. She realized he’d put some kind of wall up. His anger felt distant, not as violent or threatening. His shocking sexual urges were gone, along with the bloodlust. She was only slightly relieved.

As he came closer, she realized he was clad as a medieval Highlander in a belted tunic, a long and short sword, his legs pale and bare over knee-high boots. In fact, he was dressed just like her vision of him in effigy, except she couldn’t see if he wore the fang necklace.

She tensed as he paused before her. It was a moment before he spoke. “I’ll have a chamber readied fer ye.” His tone was carefully neutral.

She was relieved he was exercising self-control over his emotions. “Where am I?”

“Yer at my home, Castle Awe. I’ll have ye sent back to yer time when yer stronger,” he said brusquely.

His gaze was so hard and unwavering, she flushed. Maybe it was better that she couldn’t see his expression, because even blurred, his regard was unnerving. She felt almost as if she’d been trapped in a cage with a wild animal and that she didn’t dare move, for fear of provoking him.

But with the two of them alone in the hall, it was impossible not to recall being in his arms. Even shielded, his power was so male and sexual that her pulse raced. She would always find him terribly, unbearably attractive, she thought.

What she hadn’t felt earlier, though, was his magnetic pull. A force pulsed between them, urging her toward him. She probably hadn’t noticed it before because of her empathy. His turbulent emotions had been an overwhelming distraction, but his magnetism was shockingly strong now.

She would ignore his pull. “Are you okay?” she asked carefully. She couldn’t discern any bandages beneath the tunic.

His gaze narrowed. “Ye ask after my welfare?”

She wet her lips. “You’re the one who got shot.” Because of her, she thought.

His anger roiled, pushing at her. “I’m almost healed.” He was harsh.

So he had an extraordinary recuperative power, she thought. That was not demonic, either. Demons didn’t heal, not even themselves—they destroyed.

“A maid will show ye to yer chamber. Ye can stay there.” He whirled, striding down the corridor.

She had no intention of remaining in the hall, alone in the dark of the night—especially with her impaired vision. He had started down a dark hole that was obviously a spiral staircase. “Wait, please,” she cried, rushing after him.

He began to vanish down the spiraling steps, as if he hadn’t heard her. He was obviously ignoring her.

Brie rushed forward, pain erupting from her ribs. Her depth perception gone, she tripped and went flying down the stairs.

She landed hard. After the agony of their journey through time and her bruised or fractured ribs, it hurt impossibly and she cried out, tears finally filling her eyes. For one moment, as his hands instantly closed on her arms, she felt dizzy and faint. And then she felt only his large hands and the strength coming from them.

His grasp was reassuring, she managed to think. But that was impossible, because of what he had become.

“Will ye nay watch where ye go?” he demanded with heat. “Do ye have two left feet?”

Her ribs throbbed and she looked up into his vivid blue eyes. His mouth was inches from hers. She was almost in his arms, so close she could see him perfectly. What was she going to do with her attraction to him?

His eyes changed, smoldering.

“I can hardly see at all. I need my eyeglasses,” she managed. Had he just looked at her mouth?

“Yer hurt,” he said flatly, his gaze on hers. “The possessed boys hurt ye.”

She nodded, biting her lip, wanting, absurdly, to apologize for being a klutz. Even more absurdly, she wanted to move closer to him. He simply didn’t feel that dangerous now. She felt like putting his hand on her throbbing ribs, as if his touch would soothe them. And she felt like touching his perfect face. The urge to reach out to him was so strong, she began to lift her hand.

He became very still, his face hardening, his eyes brilliant now. Abruptly, he put his arm around her and hefted her to her feet, then pushed her away, against the wall.

His anger spewed, filling her. She began to feel sick, his emotions too much to bear. “Stop,” she begged. “What is wrong?”

“Ye stay far from me,” he warned. “I dinna wish to have ye here. I dinna wish fer ye to have any cares fer me an’ I dinna wish to converse! Do ye ken?”

She gasped. “You brought me here! I wasn’t given a say in the matter.”

His mouth curled unpleasantly. “Yer friend Nick needed a reminder. He canna triumph over me.”

Their gazes were locked, his blue eyes ablaze. “Is that why I’m here?” Brie didn’t believe it.

He stared, his eyes harder now. “Ye summoned me against my will. I dinna care fer any summons, ever. And I dinna like yer man, Nick.”

Brie stared back, perturbed. “I do not have the power to summon anyone. You heard me, and you rescued me,” she said slowly. “For all that anger, you did the right thing. Oh…and Nick is not my man. He’s my boss.”

“I dinna care,” he snarled. His sudden anger shifted, a mask settling over his features. “Claire’s below. She’ll heal yer ribs.” He turned to go.

He knew she was hurt, and somehow, he knew exactly where. “Aidan, wait.”

He faced her. “Will ye ever cease yer talk?”

She took a breath. “You saved me from the subs. I haven’t said thank you. Thank you, Aidan,” she added firmly, and she smiled hesitantly at him.

His eyes widened. Angered all over again, he whirled and started down the stairs.

He was a powder keg, she thought, and it took only a word or a look to set him off. She started after him, but didn’t dare rush. There was more light on the landing below, and she saw his shape far ahead, vanishing into another room. A moment later she paused on the threshold of the great hall.

Although she couldn’t make out details, it was a huge, high-ceilinged room. One wall contained a massive fireplace, where a large fire blazed. Two chairs were before it, and a long table was in the hall’s center, with benches on either side. The room was large, yet the furnishings were so spare.

Aidan sat at the head of the trestle table and was pulling a trencher forward. Brie smelled roasted game and ale.

She hesitated. He wasn’t alone.

A small boy of nine or ten stood beside him. He was dressed like Aidan, in a knee-length tunic and a plaid, and he had dark hair and blue eyes. Brie almost thought she knew him, but that was impossible.

The boy looked at him pleadingly, but Aidan only drank from a heavy cup. Brie sensed the child was really distressed.

Brie tensed. It was one thing to be rude to her; it was another to ignore an unhappy child.

Brie was so upset it took her a moment to speak. Maybe she could help the child, if Aidan would not. “Hello,” she said, smiling brightly even though it was forced. “Do you speak English? Can I help you?” she asked, kneeling so they were eye to eye.

Aidan choked on his wine. His brilliant gaze had widened with shock.

Brie ignored him. The boy was now facing her. He was so familiar, yet she knew she couldn’t have met him. “I’m Brie,” she said softly. “What’s your name?”

The child seemed bewildered.

Brie’s concern escalated. “Are you okay? Where’s your mother?” she asked, realizing he might not speak English.

Aidan shot to his feet with a roar. “What ploy is this?”

Brie leapt back. So much pain went through her that she was blinded by it. The pain came from him, not her ribs.

Aidan seized her arm, shouting at her. “Who do ye speak with?”

Brie fought the pain flooding her. That terrible knife was in her heart again, and with it there was so much despair. Her vision cleared, and she looked at the boy. He started speaking to her. She did not hear a word.

Her heart slammed as a vague memory tried to surface.

Aidan seized her shoulders now, hurting her. “Who do ye see?” he roared at her.

Had she seen this boy on Five? Brie looked at the frightened, expectant child, then at Aidan. “Oh my God. You don’t see him?”

Aidan turned white. “Nay, I see no one!”

CHAPTER FOUR

BRIE GASPED. SHE COULD SEE THIS CHILD as clear as day, as if she had perfect vision. But the boy was invisible to Aidan. She was facing a child’s lost soul. “It’s a little boy,” she whispered, her gaze locked with Aidan’s.

Aidan’s pain struck her so hard that it sent her to her knees.

“Where is he?” he cried in anguish. “Why do ye see him? Do ye see him still? I canna see him!”

On her knees, Brie held her chest, fighting the pain, fighting to breathe. She looked up at Aidan, past the waiting ghost, but couldn’t speak. No one could live with such torment, she thought. She felt tears start to trickle down her face. “He’s…here…beside you!”

Aidan moaned. Then, pulling her to her feet, he demanded, “What does he want?”

“I don’t know…what he wants,” she gasped, his grief hitting her in brutal wave after brutal wave. “I can’t…this hurts too much….please, stop!”

Aidan stared desperately at her, his fingers digging into her arms.

“Stop,” she wept. “I can feel everything you’re feeling…you have to stop!”

The little boy began fading. He was talking swiftly now, but not making a sound.

“Wait! Don’t go!” Brie cried.

It was too late. The little boy had vanished.

“Did he leave?” Aidan asked, ravaged.

Brie nodded. He was clamping down on his pain. It took her another moment before she could speak. She was left with a dull, throbbing heartache. “Who is he?”

Aidan released her. “My son.” His eyes mirroring the terrible torment he was shielding from her, he strode from the room.

Aidan was haunted by his child.

Brie collapsed onto the bench, her head on her arms on the table, overcome by what had just happened. Aidan’s soul was tormented. He was grieving for his dead child. No one should ever have to go through the ordeal of losing a child. Was this how he had lost his faith and his way?

Her grandmother’s ring suddenly began pinching her finger. Brie was certain Grandma Sarah had something she wished to say. But Brie was so upset she couldn’t sense whatever it was.

Aidan hadn’t been able to see his child, but he’d known right away who she’d spoken to. Had Aidan seen his son’s ghost before? Why was she the one who could see his son today?

But then, why was she so shockingly and painfully empathic toward Aidan, even across time?

Somehow it was all connected, she thought, and that included her being in the past at Castle Awe, where his little son’s ghost was.

Suddenly, a wolf’s mournful howl sounded.

Brie sat up, every hair on her body standing on end. The lonely howl was endless, a sound of impossible anguish and deep, dark despair. The grief and hopelessness slowly crept into her, filling her, until she felt as if she was lost in an endless black maze with no possible way out, an eternity of despair ahead.

Just as the howl seemed to have finally faded, it started again, and the long, lonely cry resounded. She stood and walked slowly to the great hall’s threshold. Even if she had considered cutting and running earlier—not that she could simply leave Awe—she would never do so now.

This man needed healing, she thought, trembling. And he also needed a friend.

It might not be the best idea to have so much compassion flooding her now, and offering him friendship might be dangerous, but she couldn’t stop her feelings—nor did she want to.

Grandma Sarah’s ring eased on her finger.

The windows in the corridor outside were small, and she was drawn to the closest one. Through the bars, she looked into an outer ward and at the castle’s soaring curtain walls. A full moon was hanging overhead, burning a fiery orange. A red moon rising was the harbinger of great evil, but this was a glimpse of the moon as she had never before seen it. She did not know what the fiery moon meant.

Footsteps sounded, and Brie started as great, white power touched her. A couple turned the corner. The man was a drop-dead gorgeous Highlander, clad exactly like Aidan except for the color of his plaid. It took her a moment to look at the woman at his side. She was very attractive and very tall, with auburn hair. She wore a long leine, a belted plaid and a shortsword—and then Brie saw blue jeans beneath her tunic.

Brie’s surprise vanished. Allie had gone back in time last year, and she had just time-traveled, too. The odds were that they weren’t the only ones who’d found a way to journey through the ages, and the auburn-haired woman walking toward her was proof.

The strange woman hurried to her. “You’re hurt!”

“I was attacked—in New York City,” she said unsteadily, her eyes glued to the woman’s face. She had an American accent and wore her hair in a very all-American ponytail.

The woman wasn’t surprised by Brie’s statement. “I’m Claire, and this is my husband, Malcolm of Dunroch.” Claire laid her hand directly on Brie’s bruised ribs, which made Brie wince. “Let me heal you.”

Brie nodded, biting her lip as warmth flowed into her from Claire’s hands. She saw that Malcolm stood by one of the barred windows, his expression grim as he gazed out into the night. She didn’t have to be telepathic to know that he was listening for the Wolf, waiting for it to howl again. Its reverberating cries had faded. Brie was certain that there would not be any more anguished howls. “It’s Aidan,” she said softly.

Malcolm turned toward her and their gazes met. “Aye.” He added, “I am Aidan’s half brother.”

Brie was more than surprised, she was relieved and thrilled. Aidan had a family in his corner.

Claire removed her hand. “I’m not a great healer, but that should be better. How do you feel?”

Brie took a breath, and no pain resulted. “Wow. Way better. Thank you. I’m Brie,” she added.

Claire stared intently. “Did Aidan do that to you?”

“No!” Claire was Aidan’s sister-in-law, and even she thought Aidan capable of hurting her. Unnerved, Brie said grimly, “A gang of boys attacked me, not Aidan.”

Malcolm suddenly strode to them. “I’ll take ye back to yer time, lass. ’Tis nay safe fer ye at Awe.”

Brie tensed. In the past moments, it had become very clear that she could not go anywhere—not when Aidan was in such torment. “I don’t think he’ll hurt me,” she said firmly. Their eyes met and held. Malcolm’s gaze was frankly searching. She refused to blush, not wanting him to suspect she had inappropriate feelings for his brother. “If he wanted to hurt me, he had a dozen chances to do so.”

Malcolm and Claire exchanged looks, which did not escape Brie. Malcolm said, “I have chosen to keep faith, but I dinna trust him very well. I dinna think yer safe here. He uses women at will. Why take the risk, Lady Brie?”

Brie lifted her chin, her heart pounding. Malcolm was wrong. Aidan could have used her in the tower, and he hadn’t. “If you’re telling me that Aidan commits crimes of pleasure, I do not believe it.”

Malcolm flushed. “I willna believe it, either,” he said. “But it’s best fer ye to leave Awe.”

He wasn’t certain just how demonic Aidan had become. Her heart hurt her now. “He needs his friends,” she said unsteadily. “He needs me,” she added. And she felt color finally creeping into her cheeks.

Malcolm stared at her, as did his wife. “My brother needs no one, an’ he’ll be the first to tell ye so. He has no friends, nary one. Ye dinna ken him well, lass.”