Dark Lover (37 page)

The monk's eyes were filled with pain and wide with disbelief as he looked at Ian. Ian stared at him as he lay there, dying.

Sam touched him. “Ian?”

He did not take his gaze from the monk. Ignoring her, he watched him bleeding out. The life faded from his eyes. And then the glowing red color there changed, turning blue and sightless.

It was over.

S
AM KNEW
Ian was exhausted in every possible way, especially emotionally. He seemed off balance as he used the keypad outside his door to open the locks, his movements slow and sluggish. He hadn't said a word during the car ride to Manhattan; he'd stared out of the window the entire time. Now he walked into his Park Avenue home ahead of her, not looking at her or even acknowledging her. Sam followed him inside, somber. Clearly he was lost entirely in his thoughts. Sam knew he was thinking about Carlisle and what had just happened, and maybe his past. She wanted to put her arm around him, but she didn't.

He was so grim. The monk was vanquished at his hand. It felt good. There was some justice after all. But she was worried about him.

He looked like a man who'd been through hell, more than once.

The lights were on as they walked into the grand foyer, Brie and Aidan behind them. Nick had stayed in Brooklyn. 2145 Elm Street was now a CDA crime scene, as was the adjoining warehouse. Sam hadn't offered to stay behind to help him out—as far as she was concerned, she was no longer his employee. Tabby and Macleod had gone to her loft. Something was up with her sister, but Sam was too relieved about vanquishing Carlisle and too concerned for Ian to have had a chance to ask Tabby what was bothering her. She'd sensed a terrible urgency in her before they'd
parted in Brooklyn. However, Sam knew Tabby wasn't leaving, not yet.

Because it wasn't entirely over, not if Brie was right about Moray.

Sam shuddered. She hadn't been there when Brie and Aidan had vanquished him in 1502, with Tabby's help, but she had heard all about him—and read hundreds of pages about his near-thousand-year reign of terror in Scotland.

She glanced at Ian as he paused before a console table, rubbing his temples slowly. She did not want to tell him about Brie's vision. She wanted Brie to have made a mistake, when her cousin rarely misinterpreted her visions.

She turned and looked at Brie. Her cousin smiled grimly back, apparently in tune with her.

Ian suddenly leaned on the table, as if he were dizzy. As he did, Gerard hurried into the entry hall. “Sir, what can I get you?” he said, approaching. His tone was calm, but his gaze was sharp and anxious.

“Whiskey,” Ian said harshly.

Aidan walked up to him and laid his hand on his shoulder.

Ian flinched and stared coolly at him. “I don't need to be healed, not by ye.”

“I willna stand down,” Aidan said, placing his other hand on his other shoulder.

Sam saw white light pouring from his hands.

Ian twisted away. “I don't recall inviting you here.”

“Ian,” Sam said harshly. “That's not fair.” She couldn't believe that he would still reject his father.

He turned to look at her with some disbelief. He was so pale.

He was about to collapse, she thought. But he'd been tortured, drugged, beaten up. “Aidan, please heal him.”

Aidan clasped his shoulders tightly. Ian grimaced but this time stood still and let him. Sam knew he was too exhausted to fight Aidan off.

“I'll bring everyone drinks and refreshment,” Gerard said, his tone grimmer now.

Sam walked over to him. “The monk is vanquished.”

“Thank God.” His brows lifted.

“You'd be proud. Ian did it, all by his lonesome.” But she trembled, unable to sound flip. He'd been in Carlisle's captivity for twenty-four hours. She wished she could read Ian's mind, because he should be triumphant, not somber. The one thing she did know was that he was at his limit. He needed to rest and put this crisis behind him.

Sam didn't know how they'd do that if Moray had really returned from the vanquished.

Aidan finally released his son, gazing closely at him. His smile was tenuous. “Ye must feel better now.”

Ian didn't smile back. “I do.”

“Ye won't welcome me, will ye?”

Ian did not respond.

Aidan's expression became even more sorrowful. “Then we'll go.”

“Good,” Ian said brusquely. He shrugged as if he didn't give a damn but Sam saw a flicker in his eyes. Somehow, she just knew he cared. He simply couldn't let go of the past, not even with the monk dead.

Brie walked up to Ian. “We love you, no matter what happens, and no matter what you say or do.”

Ian turned away.

Aidan said to his rigid shoulders, “I'm proud of ye. Ye faced yer worst fears. Ye destroyed yer worst enemy, against all odds. Ye've made a good life here an' ye have a good woman now.” He hesitated. “Ye ken where to find us. Yer always welcome at Awe. 'Twill always be yer home.”

Ian finally looked at his father. “This is my home.”

Sam closed her eyes, wanting to cry in despair.

“If ye ever need me, summon me an' I'll come,” Aidan said. Moisture shimmered on his lashes. He reached out and Brie moved into his arms.

“I never gave up on your father and I'm never giving up on you,” Brie whispered. She smiled sadly, then looked at Sam. “Take care of him. Take care of yourself.”

Sam thought of Moray. “Wait!” she cried, but it was too late. They vanished, the room shifting as they did so.

Okay, Sam thought, wishing they hadn't gone. But they were gone and she was alone with Ian. Sam glanced at Ian, saw a tear slipping from his eyes, and looked away so he wouldn't know she'd seen his emotions. She did not know what that tear could mean. He was already striding down the hall, leaving her alone in the foyer.

Her heart broke. He'd been through hell—first sixty-six years of demonic captivity, and then a life of absolute isolation, one filled with suffering. She stared after him and hugged herself, a rare gesture for her.
She loved him so much.

If only he could let go of his past. He needed his father and Brie; he needed her, Tabby, and the other Highlanders.

In spite of his choices, he wasn't alone. Not anymore. She might not have his love, but she had his back, and she knew that she could count on him now in return.

Because she loved him, she finally hurried after him. She wasn't going to leave him alone, not now, not tonight.

She found him in his walk-in closet, stepping out of the scrubs. He was pulling jeans off a shelf; she touched his hard, scarred back as he stepped into them.

He slowly turned. Anguish and pain shimmered in his eyes.

She heard herself say, “Don't reject me, too.”

His gaze met hers.

Sam walked forward, put her arms around him and
embraced him. She wanted to tell him how worried she'd been, how sick with fear, and how much she cared, but she didn't. She just held him.

He let her. As she held him, he started to tremble. It wasn't about desire. It was extreme exhaustion—at once mental, physical and emotional.

“You got him,” she whispered, his jaw on the top of her head. She stroked her hands down his scarred back. Tears came. “I was terrified for you.”

He made a sound and slipped his arms around her.

“What is it?” she whispered.

It was a moment before he spoke. “There are too many memories,” he said harshly. “That house…”

She held him more tightly. “Have you been having flashbacks?” It would explain his utter silence for the past hour.

He shook his head, then spoke thickly. “I can't stop the memories, Sam.”

She didn't know how to comfort him. “The memories will fade with time.” Or so she prayed. “The past is over, Ian. You did it. You destroyed your captor. The helpless boy is gone. And he'll never be back.”

He exhaled. “I can hardly believe it's over.”

“It
is
over,” she stressed. But then she thought about Moray.

He was quiet for a moment. “There were ghosts, Sam, all the souls of his victims. They helped me.”

She was briefly surprised. “I'm glad,” she said fiercely, clinging now.

He hesitated. “I was so angry…and in the end, not just for myself.”

She started.

“I was angry for all those poor souls he'd destroyed.”

She smiled. “I think that's a genetic thing,” she said softly.

He held her gaze. “Is
a genetic thing
why I enjoyed inflicting pain? Because I was thrilled when I made him suffer.”

Sam went still, dismayed, but then she shook her head. “It was a very human reaction, Ian, to the evil that tortured you for so long and took so much pleasure doing so.”

“If ye say so,” he said, releasing her. He walked over to a shelf but simply stared at the T-shirts folded there.

“You're not like Moray. Your father isn't.”

He made a sound. “Really? I recall my father being evil for about sixty-six years.”

“You don't have an evil bone in your body.”

He turned to stare at her.

“I'm glad you tortured Carlisle.”

His brows lifted. “Ye mean it.”

“I think I'd have twisted the knife, too.”

He stared. Sam stared back, thinking about the sex tape in the vault at Loch Awe. Dread churned in her gut. “I need to ask you something. This might not be the best time, but since we're being so brutally honest with one another, I'll give it a shot.”

His eyebrows lifted.

“I found a DVD in the safe in your bedroom at Loch Awe,” Sam said, her gaze unwavering on him now.

He was poker-faced.

“Not the one Hemmer had,” she added, then realized how unnecessary that statement was.

“And ye think I gave Hemmer the first tape to blackmail ye?” His gray eyes darkened.

“I don't really know what to think, except that you couldn't have been all that surprised to see us making love in the future, because you'd obviously seen the DVD I found there.”

“Yeah, I wasn't surprised.” He turned and started from the walk-in closet.

Shit, Sam thought, becoming angry. “Did you give Hemmer the damned sex tape?” She strode after him.

He whirled, facing her. “I didn't give him the tape,” he said harshly. “But he might have stolen it from me.”

“Why did you have the tape in the first place, for God's sake?” she cried.

“Because I was obsessed,” he shouted back.

She jerked. “What?”

He flushed, but his gray eyes blazed silver. “Ye heard me, Sam,” he said dangerously. “After we met in Oban, I got too hot to think clearly. I leapt to the future. I knew my homes were wired. I knew I'd have ye eventually. I went right to my security tapes and voilà, there we were.”

She reeled. “But you hate leaping.”

“I got drunk first,” he snapped.

It began to sink in. He'd been so attracted to her that he'd gotten drunk and leapt through time, all to find them on video together. She could imagine him sitting in a darkened room, watching them screw each other's brains out—and watching them make love.

He slowly smiled. “Don't worry. I enjoyed the tapes…a lot.”

Desire slammed into her. “I'm glad.”

The anger in his eyes faded, replaced by simmering warmth. Sam closed the step between them, seized the waistband of his jeans. “Not very many women would be happy with you right now,” she murmured.

“I don't care about other women. I never have.”

She jerked him closer and he let her do so. “And you never will.” But he cared about her. She was certain.

He moved his hands down her jeans and cupped her buttocks hard. Then he paused. “Yer the woman who has my back. Ye'll always have my back. Ye told me so.”

“Yes,” she whispered, her heart lurching. He was throbbing so urgently against her that it was hard to think
straight. She wanted to blurt out her real feelings. That was crazy. Instead, she kissed his collarbone. “This is a really good time to celebrate, Ian. You
won
.” She kissed his throat. “Carlisle is
dead
.”

He moaned, heavier against her now. Pleasure began, rippling through her, and she reached down and undid her zipper. He helped her slide the tight denim down. “Why?” he asked roughly. “Tell me why yer so damned loyal?”

She moved closer and heard him even though his mouth didn't move.
Tell me why ye care so much?

She froze, no easy task with her body on fire. “Ian,” she breathed. “I think the time for talking is over.”

“No.” He slid his hand over the back of her head, threading his fingers through the wisps of her hair, and tilted her back over his arm. One hard thigh moved between hers. “Ye love me. Ye said so.” His gray stare held hers.

Damn it, she thought, her heart lurching. For the first time in her life, Sam Rose was afraid—of three words. “I can't remember,” she lied, and instantly knew how pathetic the lie was.