Dark Embrace (22 page)

“He leaves his lovers alive.”

“Good. I was hoping so.”

Brie clasped her hands. “I need you on our side,” she whispered. “Desperately.”

“You've fallen in love with him.” It wasn't quite an accusation.

Brie closed her eyes and nodded. “I didn't mean to. But that day you brought him to Tabby and Sam's loft, I sort of had an instant crush. And since I came back here, it's sort of escalated.”

Allie stared. “Are you sleeping with him?”

Brie flushed. “Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

Brie became uncomfortable. “I'm okay. I can handle this.”

“You have no experience with men! You are grist for his mill. The one thing I do know is he uses women all the time. I will kill him if he hurts you. You shouldn't sleep with him.”

Brie thought of how wild Allie had been in New York and she started to smile. Allie instantly knew, appearing sheepish. “My sex drive has always been out of control. You're not like that.”

If only she knew, Brie thought. “He hasn't used me…he respects me.”

Allie choked. “Brie, I beg your pardon?”

“So much has happened,” Brie told her. “Since he rescued me from the gang in New York and brought me back here, we have been through hell. He was so angry at first, so dark, so frightening…but he isn't frightening now. Allie, I almost died yesterday. He
healed
me.” Allie cried out in surprise. “I believe in him! He has protected me time and again, instead of hurting me. I am going to redeem him.”

Allie took her hand, and they both sat down. “You and Aidan,” she said. “I would never have thought, not in a million years. I would have paired him with Sam.”

“He's not my soul mate,” Brie said quickly. “He's just my friend.”

“Aidan hasn't protected Innocence since his child was murdered,” Allie said. “But he healed you? Are you sure it wasn't a god?”

Brie blinked. “The power was coming from his hands.”

Allie began to smile. Tears formed and she swatted at them. “He's my friend, too. He was my knight of swords, remember? I love him. Now, what kind of trouble are you in?”

Brie stiffened. “His father has returned from the vanquished and he has more power than I could have dreamed.”

 

T
HE
W
OLF WANTED TO GET OUT OF
his body. Aidan wanted nothing more than to let the Wolf free and hunt his archenemy, but he somehow refused it.

He could not leave Brianna alone. He didn't dare go too far from her, in case Moray came back to start another battle or even to finish the war. He kept one sense on her always. As he did, he was acutely aware of what his father wanted him to do.

But Ian was dead.

Alone, he sank onto a boulder, cradling his head. His grief warred with the Wolf's vicious rage.

Papa?

He didn't know what that plaintive tone had meant. He reminded himself for the hundredth time that it was a cruel trick in a cruel dream. Brianna had made an irrefutable point. If Ian were alive, he'd be a grown man. Besides, he'd never dreamed of Ian, not even once. Clearly Moray had the power to foist this dream on him, just as he'd had the power to trap him and Brianna in it.

And then he felt the white power emerging on the plain below.

Aidan leapt to his feet and walked warily to the edge of the ridge. He stared down the snowy slope, instantly identifying the intruders. He was stunned when he realized it was Black Royce and Lady Allie. But of course they would come—Allie loved Brianna, and Royce would do as his wife wished in the very end. He was torn between dismay, anger and relief.

He crossed his arms, refusing to think about the past. It was impossible.

Did ye summon me to yer bath? Do ye wish fer me to help ye bathe?

He'd stood there at the door to her bedchamber, decades ago, grinning, having heard her thinking his name. She denied it, and he already knew Allie would never do such a thing. She was madly in love with his best friend, Royce. Instead, she had flirted with him, just a little, and he had flirted back and agreed to help her so she could tempt Royce into her bed. He had thought his friend a fool for denying himself such a beautiful woman.

Aidan grimaced. He was not that carefree, lighthearted man now, a man used to laughter and flirtation, a man eager to help a damsel in distress, even if he couldn't have her.

“I can help you, Aidan. Let me help you!” Lady Allie cried.

Ian was dead, lost in the aeons of time. Malcolm had just unearthed him, and Aidan would never forgive his brother for doing so. Lady Allie and Royce, having heard of his son's Fate, had leapt from Carrick to Awe to console him. She was weeping for him. He hated her for her tears.

“Get far from me,” he roared.

She shook her head, and showered him with her powerful, healing light.

For one moment, he was incredulous. He would grieve for Ian forever. She had no right!

His grief and rage erupted as one. He roared and roared and threw his power at her, all of it, wanting her gone, wanting her dead, like his small son, and she was blasted from the bridge. She was small and it was like throwing a ball. She screamed, spinning away across the field toward a stone wall. Royce appeared, catching her. He knelt with his wife in his arms and when he looked up, he was enraged.

Aidan couldn't wait to do battle. He would kill him, too!

“Royce, no,” Lady Allie begged.

Royce blasted him with all of his power.

He was trembling now. Lady Allie was very much like Brianna—kind and good. He should not have tried to hurt her, much less kill her. Regret dared to creep over him.

He hadn't felt regret in years.

Royce had walked to stand at the bottom of the ridge, and he stared up at Aidan. Aidan tensed, staring back down at him. Even from this distance, he felt Royce's hostility and wariness. Royce did not trust him. No one trusted him—except for Brianna.

And maybe, considering what Moray wanted, she should not trust him, either.

“Why do ye taunt him? Why do ye act all of twelve years old? He's yer brother an' the two of ye need to make peace.”

Aidan did not want to remember how important Black Royce had been to him when he had grown up in a foster home. Although he had not lacked for food or shelter, Aidan had been a burden on the Maclaine family and he had been treated very differently from the Maclaine sons and daughters. Royce had been both a father, friend and uncle to him, even without any blood tie. Royce had visited him as much as possible when he was a very small boy, always bringing a gift. He had taught Aidan how to wield his sword, and how to fight hand to hand. And he had never ceased trying to forge a familial and amicable relationship between him and Malcolm, once the truth of Aidan's parentage had become known to them both. In the end Royce had succeeded, and Aidan and his brother had eventually come to good terms—until the day of Ian's murder.

Aidan felt his heart aching oddly. Determined to ignore it, he reached for the restless, hungry Wolf. It clawed through him, determined to get out.

Royce had started up the hill, his strides long and determined.

Aidan told the Wolf to wait and he composed himself. He would not allow himself any regret, not on any matter. Royce would be a good ally in this war, but Aidan knew Royce would never forgive him for his attack on Lady Allie. They would never be true allies—or friends—again. A Highlander did not forgive and he did not forget. He braced for his onslaught.

Royce paused before him, standing aggressively. “Why did ye take an Innocent hostage?”

Aidan curled his mouth. “To amuse myself.”

Royce's gray eyes glittered. “Ye still act like a boy of twelve. 'Tis fortunate that she's nay hurt.”

Aidan felt like striking him. “I'm nay a boy of twelve years an' ye willna berate me like ye were wont to do. She's an Innocent, an' ye can protect her now. I'm done.”

Royce stared closely. “I dinna believe ye've protected her, Aidan. What game is this?”

Aidan fought the sudden fury of the beast seething in him, and it was very hard to do. “Moray has returned. She needs protection from him until he is vanquished. He is usin' her to destroy me.”

Royce went still, his eyes flickering. “I dinna think to ever see the day he'd return,” he said softly, after a long pause. “Does Malcolm ken?”

“Nay.” Aidan smiled savagely. “Oh, afore I forget. He has powers from the Duisean.”

Royce paled.

Aidan shifted. Crouching, he growled long and low at Royce, but Royce did not step back in fear. Annoyed—he'd meant to frighten him, at the least—Aidan searched Royce's mind, which was open. There was no fear, just wariness and anger. His hand, however, had crept to the hilt of his long sword.

He would love it if Royce raised that sword toward him. But he didn't move.

Aidan turned away. It was time to hunt his deamhan father.

“Hunt with care,” Royce called after him.

Aidan leapt.

 

T
HE PACK STAYED BACK IN THE
line of trees, a female whining nervously. The sun was shimmering high in the early morning sky. The wolves would not hunt in the broad light of day.

He did not care. Aidan stood a short distance from the tree line, intently watching Frasier's army breaking camp, still in the Wolf's body. He coursed with power and life; he and the pack had been hunting since dawn.

Frasier's red-and-gold tent was being taken down and bundled up. Aidan's gaze veered past the servants dismantling it, the cart and waiting team of horses. He saw the tall figure preparing to mount a charger and knew it was Frasier, not Moray. Frasier's power was relatively weak compared to that of a deamhan, and it was very human.

Aidan sat down on his haunches, his patience infinite.
Come to me.

There was no reply.

Behind him, the pack settled, lying down.

Come to me, coward.

The morning shifted ever so slightly—a whisper of leaves, a dancing of dust.

He stared at the army below, aware of his pulse pounding slowly and steadily, rising as he prepared for their final battle. Darkness gathered behind him.

His hackles rising, he turned. The wolves stood, growling. They all stared deeper into the forest. The shadows became longer, darker—emerald turning black, dark clouds forming in the woods.

Dead leaves crunched.

Aidan licked his lips, feeling the black power coming, and he snarled.

Moray appeared in his true form, clad in black robes and hose, carrying only a small dagger and a single ax. “You should fear me, my son,” Moray whispered softly.

Aidan growled.
I fear no one.
But he was elated. His father had dared to fight him in his own body, and that meant, possibly, that Aidan could vanquish him at last.

“I trapped you in a dream, and I can trap you anywhere, anytime, as anything.”

Aidan tensed. Did he mean that he would trap him in the Wolf's body? It did not matter. He did not care.
Die today.

Moray threw the ax as he leapt, roaring.

Aidan meant to deflect it, but the ax sliced through his power. He screamed with pain as the ax pierced through muscle and bone. He landed on Moray, sending him to the ground. Moray's demonic energy was a huge force, and he fought to get past it, to sink his teeth into the jugular vein. It was as if the energy were a coat of armor and he only scraped skin as the black power finally threw him backward.

He tumbled wildly through the forest. Instantly Aidan leapt up, seeing Moray's ax flying back into his hand, summoned with impossible power.

A sliver of fear went through him. This time he deflected the hurled ax, which was aimed at his head. It veered, glancing off his chest instead.

Flesh was ripped open. The pain enraged him, and he tackled Moray, shocked when the dagger stabbed up between his ribs. He tore through the wall of energy with claws and fangs, viciously determined to get to Moray's throat.

From behind, the ax sliced through Aidan's flank. Pain blinded him, but, aware that he must not stop now, Aidan fought to maul his way through the shield of energy. And suddenly he tasted fresh blood as his teeth sank into flesh and tendon.

Moray's eyes widened in alarm.

In another second, he would rip Moray's throat apart, Aidan thought in savage satisfaction.