Dark Embrace (7 page)

He did not want her in his arms. He did not want to feel her pain or be aware of her body. He
hated
her hair in his face. And he hated her for what she had done to him.

When he had forsaken the gods, he'd done so by spilling his own blood all over Iona's holiest shrine, where the Brotherhood lived. His defiance was written in blood and death, and not just his own. He'd poured the blood from the Innocent at Elgin all over the shrine, too.

“Ye canna walk away from yer vows.”

Aidan knelt in the blood of his victims, breathing hard. “Get away,” he warned the greatest Master of them all—MacNeil, the Abbot of Iona.

MacNeil came closer. “Yer in grief. I'm sorry, Aidan, sorry fer what was done.”

“What was done?” He leapt to his feet, enraged. “Do ye speak of my son's murder at my own father's hands? Did ye see the murder in yer precious crystal? Did ye ken Moray would come an' steal his life from me?”

Tall, muscular and golden, MacNeil looked at Aidan with compassion. “I canna see all, Aidan. Ye must let Ian go, lad.”

“I will never let him go!” he shouted.

“His death was written,” MacNeil began, clasping his shoulder grimly. “In time, ye'll ken the truth.”

Aidan wrenched away from the man who had chosen him. “Written? Is that why the gods wouldna let me leap to save him? Did they block my powers so my boy would die?”

MacNeil did not answer. It was answer enough.

“Aidan?” Brianna breathed.

He jerked, shocked that such a painful memory would dare to claim him again. He had just served the damned gods, he thought, as if Ian hadn't been taken from him.

“Aidan?”

He turned to stare into a pair of beautiful green eyes, framed with lush, dark lashes. He felt her heart now, beating against his, and he was so aware of her it was almost as if he'd never held a woman before. A vaguely familiar tension began as he stared at her, along with a flutter of anticipation. It had been so long that he could barely recognize the sensation, and he was confused.

Did he desire her
sexually?

His hands were on her waist. Beneath the baggy garments, her waist was small, with no flesh to spare. Their gazes held, hers wide, and he moved his hands up her rib cage, beneath her clothes, until her heavy breasts bumped them.

She gasped.

His manhood surged between them, against her belly. His mouth felt dry. He was tempted to touch her breasts.

His blood coursed even faster now. What was he doing? Although he had been shot three times and the leap was weakening, he had the ability to heal unnaturally and quickly. In a short time, his wounds would be gone. But her power could restore him instantly. Holding her, he could almost taste her power. He could take her now; she deserved such abuse for daring to interfere in his life.

He was indifferent to sexual pleasure, indifferent to a woman's face, her hair, her eyes. He desired no one. He lived with lust; it was entirely different. Power served him so well.

He didn't want to be aware of the feeling of her body against his.

He should never have taken her with him.

If he took her power now, she wouldn't look at him with any faith or hope at all. In fact, she'd be incapable of doing very much of anything for days afterward, until her body had recovered from his rampage. That knowledge served him well, because he hated hearing her thoughts; he hated her wondering about what had happened; he hated her compassion and pity—just as he hated her.

He reached for the snap on her jeans and bent her mind to his.

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.

 

B
RIE 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?”