Dark Victory (12 page)

And then he heard the intruder. He jumped from the bed, reaching instinctively for his sword.

It was in the other room.

Simultaneously he felt the intruder’s white warrior power. He jumped into her mind and knew she was the sister and he dismissed her as irrelevant. He did not care about her warrior sister.

He slowly turned to look at her. Tabitha gasped, breathing wildly, clutching the covers high. She had plenty of passion, for him and him alone. He was very pleased. But he’d never had any doubt about the outcome of any sexual encounter with her. He couldn’t ever recall feeling as satisfied. His smile faded.
She was different from the others.

Her eyes turned lucid. “It’s my sister.”

“Aye.” He folded his arms and became thoughtful. He had been very angry to be brought to her time without his permission, as if a hostage or a prisoner of war, but he was no longer angry with her. Yet he was a Highlander; forgiveness was rare. Grudges were usually kept to the death.

He decided that he could forgive her for the terrible trespass of abducting him across time, because she desperately needed his protection. He might have never met her in the flesh otherwise—or had her in his bed, either. No, he did not mind forgiving her.

But one astounding fact remained. She had struck him. It was unbelievable. As unbelievable was the fact that he hadn’t struck her back.

He did not beat women or dogs or any other creatures. But he did not know any man who would let that slap pass without retribution, and he hadn’t had even the slightest urge to hit her back. In fact, he did not like the mere idea of hurting her.

There were very few subjects he brooded upon, and they were usually related to war and the MacDougalls, but he’d thought about her almost constantly since meeting her. He wondered if she’d cast a spell upon him. That would raise his ire as nothing else. Macleod became uneasy.

Tabitha sat up, hugging herself, her eyes wide upon him. “It wasn’t a hallucination, that first time,” she said hoarsely.

He understood. She’d been afraid that the passion he’d stirred in that first brief encounter had been a mistake and would never occur again. “Ye’ll always weep with pleasure in my bed.”

She grimaced. “You look really smug.”

“Do I? Ye look verra well pleased also.”

She flushed. “Not to get into semantics, but that word
always
is bothering me.”

He sighed. God, she thought so much! She was debating what would happen between them, if they would have sex
again. He felt like laughing out loud. Of course they would share his bed. Why would they
not
do so?

“Yer sister wants to speak with ye. She doesna want ye with me,” he said sharply, now noticing the sister’s unhappy thoughts for the first time.

Tabitha began to worry about her sister’s reaction to the devastation in the loft—and to Macleod.

He wrapped the plaid around his waist, deciding to ignore her thoughts. Tabitha had been haunting him for a century and she hadn’t even known it. He had lurked, and he knew she told the truth. He wanted to know what that signified.

She’d meant to bring him to her from Melvaig in 1550, after a great fire. The evil that had attacked them last night had come from that fire, or so she thought. He was concerned. His enemies were at Melvaig now, and undoubtedly they remained there well into the sixteenth century. But he’d felt the evil, too, and its hatred had not been directed at him. Like the possessed boys, it had wanted to harm and destroy Tabitha.

She wasn’t safe in this time, he thought. And that meant that when he left, he’d take her with him. The prospect was rather pleasing. She would probably object. Come the night, he’d end her objections.

He looked at her. She’d left the bed, dragging the covers with her, as if he didn’t know every single inch of her body. “I need clothes,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “I can wash that tunic, but you’re right. We don’t know how long you’ll be here, and we’d better get you in clothes that don’t stick out.” She opened a closet door and began jerking clothes from the rack. She was still nervous and distressed. She couldn’t decide what to do next with him or what to really think about him. She was worried about the kind of woman she was becoming.

He did not mind the words
savage, violent
or
ruthless,
because every warrior should be those things. He was starting to dislike the word
medieval,
and he was becoming tired of being called a
barbarian.

“When will ye get the clothes?”

She faced him. “Is there a rush?”

She knew what he wanted—and he always got what he wanted. He had told her last night, and she was very clever, so he knew she hadn’t forgotten. “I will go to the museum, Tabitha, to see the display ye keep thinking about. An Tùir-Tara.”

Tabitha paled.

H
E WOULD BE
at An Tùir-Tara—in another two-hundred-and-fifty years. Bringing him to the exhibit and showing him a slice of his future was a dangerous idea. It was even more dangerous than the chance of their running into the cops. She didn’t dare do anything that might affect his future.

She had no idea what to do or say next.

She clutched the sheets to her chest, trying to sound composed. “Macleod, it’s a terrible idea to go to the exhibit. Seeing as you keep invading the privacy of my thoughts, you know I think you were there—or rather, that you will be there.” Why was he staring? Had her sheet slipped? “But no one should ever glimpse a part of their future. It might change your Fate.”

“I will go. Ye can show me the way or I’ll find it myself,” he said flatly.

Tabby inhaled. She was butting heads with a medieval brick wall—again. But this time, after last night, she was dismayed. “I won’t let you go alone.” As she spoke, she heard Sam knock on her door. If he intended to go, she wouldn’t be able to stop him. But she could try to keep him safe from the cops—and himself.

He nodded, clearly having expected her answer. “Good. We’ll go together.”

Sam said tersely, “I take it you’re all right—and not alone?”

“We’ll be out in a minute,” Tabby said. She thought her voice sounded hoarse—probably from her screaming. “I’m fine.”

Trying to be nonchalant when she was very modest, even after all they’d done to each other, Tabby put on her velour pants and a T-shirt as quickly as she could. She was pretty certain that Macleod watched. She faced him and said, “Could you
not
go out of the bedroom dressed like that?”

His lashes lowered. “Can ye kindly bring me my leine?”

Tabby nodded and hurried from the bedroom, closing the door, as if she didn’t want her sister seeing Macleod more naked than not. That, of course, was absurd. Sam was in the kitchen—amazingly, making coffee. Sam never made coffee, not even when it was instant. “I guess I missed the party,” she said, turning. Her face was serious.

“It was an extraordinary night,” Tabby said, rushing into the bathroom where he’d left his tunic. She returned to the bedroom and handed it to him through a crack in the door.

He took it, shrugging it on. “Yer sister doesna want ye with me.”

Tabby barred Sam’s view with her body, wondering if she had lost her mind. “Sam just doesn’t understand what happened, because she knows I don’t sleep with strangers.”

He simply looked at her.

Tabby realized she was barring his way, too. She left the door and turned to face her sister, who was staring at them both. She tried to smile at her but Sam scowled back.

Tabby shivered, approaching, as Macleod strolled out of the bedroom, nodding rather dismissively at Sam. Sam seemed to bristle. Tabby didn’t get it. It was as if they disliked each other, but they didn’t even know one another. It was freezing in the rest of the loft. Last night, Macleod had taped garbage bags across the windows, but they didn’t
seem to be helping. Sam began taking mugs down from a high cabinet.

Damn it, Tabby thought. Sam probably thought her a victim of seduction, and that was not the case. “I’ll do that,” Tabby said, joining her in the kitchen and smiling at her.

Sam didn’t smile back and she ignored Macleod. She was probably the only woman in the city who could resist looking at him. “So what happened? I mean, what got in here last night?” Sam still refused to look at Macleod, but she cast a worried look at Tabby now.

Tabby flushed, feeling guilty. Sam had every right to demand what was up, because they were sisters, but clearly she was avoiding the subject. “There was an intruder—an evil force. Macleod helped me banish it. I’m fine,” she said grimly. “I decided to live life, for once.”

“Really? Because you don’t look very happy. You look upset and worried. No, you look scared.”

Tabby felt her smile slip away. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

Sam made a sound. She turned and finally looked at Macleod—scathingly. Tabby saw him tense, as if preparing for battle. She was alarmed as Sam said, “I know who’s gotten into you. You’re frigging head over heels in love.”

Tabby was so surprise she stuttered. “Th-that is not the case!”

“You don’t sleep around, Tabby,” Sam said. “So if you are not in love, you will be soon. And that, my dear, must be Destiny.” She jerked the coffeepot from the coffee machine, but it was still brewing and coffee went all over the counter.

“I’ll do that,” Tabby said, shocked that Sam was so upset. “I’m not hurt,” she whispered. “I’m fine. I…had a good time.” She felt herself blush.

“Well, that proves my point.”

Tabby turned to Macleod. “Can I speak to my sister alone for a moment?”

“She doesna like me and she doesna want ye to like me.” He walked over to one of the patched-up windows, taking a piece of it down to stare outside at the bright morning.

Tabby started. She knew her sister, and she wasn’t that way. In fact, she’d be happy for her, if Tabby was happy, too. She lowered her voice, then realized how ludicrous that was—he was telepathic. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Sam said. Then she said, “He’s not good enough for you!”

“It was one night,” Tabby cried. Sam gave her a look indicating that was simply impossible. “I am not in love,” she tried. “I mean, he is medieval, Sam. I’ve seen him in action. He is very violent and you know I can’t handle that! But I owe him and I let him stay the night. And I slept with him. So what?”

“So you paid him back with your body?” Sam was disbelieving.

“I would never do such a thing!”

“Yeah, no kidding!”

“Why are you upset? It was out of character and I can’t explain it, not really, but I needed last night…I’m sort of confused.”

“You’re in love with Macleod. It’s the only way you could possibly go to bed with him and enjoy it.”

Why was Sam insisting that she was in love, when it was not even on her mind? She became adamant. “He is a million times worse than Randall.” When Sam didn’t speak, appearing doubtful, she cried, “I watched him behead a boy—but you already know that!” She stopped. “How do you know his name?”

“I work at HCU, remember?” Sam said, turning away.

Tabby knew her sister was lying to her. They never lied to
each other and she was shocked. She said carefully, “He’s not a threat, Sam, not to us.”

Sam snorted.

Her sister was more than a Slayer. She had the instincts of both the hunter and the pursued, and she was usually right. “He’s not a threat,” Tabby insisted. She suddenly turned. Macleod watched them, not bothering to pretend not to hear. She faced Sam. “What aren’t you telling me? Why do you dislike him? He saved my life.” Could Macleod represent some kind of danger to them? No, Tabby refused to believe it.

“I know you better than anyone. You’re incredibly romantic. You’ll probably follow him back to medieval times, the way Allie did Royce and Brie did Aidan.”

Tabby was horrified. “That’s a joke, right? I am a modern woman. I couldn’t possibly live in the Middle Ages—not for a New York minute—and not with a man who beheads his enemies without even blinking his eyes!”
Sam was afraid she would leave her and go back in time with Macleod.
“We’re all that’s left of the Rose women. I’d never leave you here to fight evil alone.”

Sam smiled grimly. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

She didn’t believe her.
“Sam.” Tabby hugged her briefly, hard. “I am not going back to 1298. Trust me.”

Sam sighed. “I can’t fight Fate, Tabby. What’s meant to be is meant to be. So what happened here last night?”

Tabby glanced at the destroyed loft. “The same evil that I felt at the Met tried to get in here last night. But we couldn’t see it. It was an energy filled with hatred and malice, like a malevolent ghost. It had enough power to break the windows.”

Sam was silent. “Do you remember the Rampage last week, the one that Kit hasn’t been able to stop thinking about? A demonic spirit was there. It was caught on the video and Nick identified it.”

“What do you mean, a demonic spirit?”

“I mean a demon that was vanquished but did not go to hell,” Sam said sharply.

A chill swept Tabby, from head to toe. “Macleod called it a demonic ghost, too. But demons don’t have ghosts.”

Sam was grim. “According to Forrester, once in a while they do.”

M
ACLEOD DID NOT LOOK
like a modern man—not one single bit.

Tabby had run to the closest shop and bought him Lucky Brand jeans, a black long-sleeve T-shirt and a bomber-style, faux fur-lined leather jacket. Even dressed in contemporary clothes, he looked frightening and dangerous—as if he was a pissed-off, badly damaged returning Special Ops vet or, worse, a ruthless mercenary. The clothes could not hide the savage quality of his nature.

But he looked really good, otherwise.

In fact, every woman they’d passed that morning on their way uptown, from prepubescent girls to blue-haired grandmothers, had looked at him at least twice. Women Tabby’s age had smiled and tried to flirt. To his credit, he’d been oblivious to them all.

They stood three or four people away from the security guard and the metal detector at the Met. Tabby wrung her hands. Being with him was no easy task, not after last night. She was acutely aware of his virility and power, and her own body. She simply could not reconcile the woman she’d turned into with the woman she’d been her entire life.

What did last night mean? Had it been a shameful and amazing one-night stand? She was not capable of a meaningless affair, was she? But, until Macleod, she hadn’t been capable of raw, animal sex, either.

Worse, she had sex on the brain now, like a sixteen-year-old after her first time.

But it
had
been her first time. She discovered passion last night at the age of twenty-nine.

The cops were looking for him, so their outing to the Met was a dangerous one. Tabby knew it, but she was nervous more because of his masculinity than because the cops might recognize him and decide to gun him down. Every time their eyes connected she felt like jumping out of her skin—or into his arms. And it was hard keeping her eyes off him—those jeans fit perfectly. She wished she knew what she should do about him and them, but she didn’t have a clue.

“What’s that?” Macleod asked.

She kept her voice low. “We have to go through a metal-detector machine, and all bags go through an X-ray. No one is allowed to bring weapons into the museum.”

His eyes flickered. His mouth curved ever so slightly.

Tabby became alarmed. He had a weapon? “Macleod?”

“Aye, a wee dagger in my boot.”

Her temperature soared. She was wearing a skirt, a cashmere turtleneck and her boots, but she wished she were in a thin jersey dress. She had her coat over her arm, and she held the turtleneck away from her throat. But it didn’t help. They were probably going to get nailed the moment they reached the security guard and the metal detectors. “We need to leave and get rid of it and then come back,” she whispered.

“Ye even worry like a shrew,” he said calmly. “When will ye trust me?”

Tabby was taken aback as his dark blue gaze held hers, and she realized that she did not want to trust him—not ever. Trust might complicate matters. Except, their relationship really couldn’t be more complicated.

Tabby felt him stiffen.

Alarmed all over again, she followed his glance. A civilian stood beyond the security line, already inside the museum, with a cup of steaming coffee in his hand. He was with a woman—probably his girlfriend—and although she was chatting to him, he wasn’t paying her any attention. His dark eyes were casually scanning the huge lobby. Macleod had him in his sights.

To distract him, Tabby plucked his sleeve. That man looked like a cop or some other kind of government agent.

As she did so, the man looked at them, apparently aware of their stares. Instantly Tabby dropped her eyes, only to realize that Macleod stared back with a cold, ruthless stare that was a challenge and possibly the prelude to violence. She jerked on his arm. Only one person was ahead of them now. “Who is that?” she asked.

“A soldier.”

Tabby went still. “Please don’t tell me he’s a cop?”

“Aye, he’s off duty, but he’s thinkin’ about work tonight. He’s thinkin’ about me.”

Tabby inhaled and said unnecessarily, “Are you sure?”

“Oh, I can hear his evil thoughts verra loudly.”

She tensed. “Is he evil, or are you simply mad?”

He gave her a look. “He may be a soldier, but he’s evil.”

There were good cops and bad cops. It was just their luck to be standing twenty feet from a bad one—who was thinking about the Sword Murderer.

“Hey, you two lovebirds. Move it. You’re holding up the line.”

Although Macleod’s expression never changed, Tabby seized his hand. He probably never allowed anyone to speak to him in such a way. She glanced up at him and he gave her a lazy look. She realized he was in absolute control, and not about to blow up. He was not even worried. Maybe, for him,
this was a walk in the park. Relieved, Tabby stepped forward, and then realized that she was still holding his hand. She released it as if burned and handed the inspector her purse.

Macleod never noticed. He was too busy staring at the inspector. It took Tabby one moment to realize he was using his otherworldly powers of persuasion on him.

The inspector opened her bag but then looked up instead of going through it. He stared at Macleod, perplexed, then riveted.

But enchanting him wouldn’t stop the metal detector from going off. And the bad cop was still hanging around, although he seemed to be checking everybody out. Hopefully, it was just a habit of his nature.

The inspector now handed her bag back to her, not having looked through it. “Go on,” he said, waving them through the metal detector.

Tabby went through first, her heart thundering. When she was on the other side, the metal detector suddenly rocked wildly, as if struck by a huge force. She saw Macleod’s power blazing.

She cringed.

The people in line behind him gasped, moving back from the blazing machine.