Praise for New York Times bestselling author

BRENDA JOYCE

Masters of Time series

“For intense emotions, power-packed writing, alpha males and building sexual tension, Joyce is unrivaled.

In the second installment of the Masters of Time she lures us into the seductive world of good and evil as the brotherhood of the Masters fights demonic powers. She grabs and holds you a willing captive from the opening until the very end.”

—RT Book Reviews on Dark Rival

“Her world of Healers and Masters is rich and the plot well-handled…The supporting characters are excellent, the sex scenes are plentiful…and the plot thick, making this sophomore series entry a fine entertainment, sure to gratify fans of the bestselling kickoff.”

—Publishers Weekly on Dark Rival

“Bestselling author Joyce kicks off her Masters of Time series with a master’s skill, instantly elevating her to the top ranks of the ever-growing list of paranormal romance authors. Steeped in action and sensuality, populated by sexy warriors and strong women, graced with lush details and a captivating story…superlative.”

—Publishers Weekly, starred review, on Dark Seduction

“A powerfully emotional, ingenious novel about a world peopled with characters that completely capture your imagination. The pages sing with excitement, drama and passion. Joyce sets the standard for otherworldly lovers.”

—RT Book Reviews on Dark Seduction

Also by Brenda Joyce

The Masters of Time

DARK RIVAL

DARK SEDUCTION

The de Warenne Dynasty

A DANGEROUS LOVE

THE PERFECT BRIDE

A LADY AT LAST

THE STOLEN BRIDE

THE MASQUERADE

THE PRIZE

Watch for the upcoming Masters of Time novels

DARK VICTORY

DARK LOVER

Dark Embrace
Brenda Joyce

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This one’s for all of you who have supported

my new series, The Masters of Time,

with so much incredible enthusiasm!

Thank you!

Once again I must give my sincere thanks to

Laurel letherby, without whom I’d be lost in every possible

way. I also want to thank my editor Miranda Stecyk for her

phenomenal editing—especially her

line editing, which is the best I’ve ever had.

Please, keep on cutting!

PROLOGUE

Loch Awe, Scotland, 1436

“A HIGHLANDER WITH NO CLAN, no father but Satan’s spawn and ye still war for land? ’Tis not the land ye need, Lismore,” Argyll spat. “Ye need a father and a soul.”

Aidan of Awe trembled with rage, the glen behind him filled with the dead and the dying. His Campbell rival sawed on his steed’s reins and smiled savagely, clearly aware he had delivered the final blow that day, and galloped off toward his departing army.

Aidan breathed hard, blue eyes flashing. His breath was warm in the cold winter air, hanging there like the smoke from the camp’s fires. He could not know ifArgyll had chosen his words with care or not. It was not a secret that he was a bastard, born in rape and shame. Still, when his father was alive, he had been the king’s favorite and the Defender of the Realm. Aidan realized he could turn over Argyll’s meaning a hundred times and never decide if the man knew the entire black truth about the Earl of Moray. But in these dark and bloody times, only the most foolish of men would be oblivious to the war between good and evil that raged across the world, and the Campbell was no fool. Perhaps he knew of the matters secretly spoken of betwixt the Masters and the gods.

He turned now to stare at the last of the warring men, his leine soaking wet and clinging to his muscular body. His men were all Highlanders and they’d fought mostly on foot, with long and broad swords, with daggers and pikes. They were dirty, tired, bloody—and loyal to him. Men had died for him that day. The snow was red with their blood—and that of the Campbells.

Aidan took up his stallion’s reins. His men were returning from the glen, trudging tiredly toward him, their larger weapons heaved over shoulders, the wounded being helped by their comrades. Still, every man smiled and nodded at him as they passed. He spoke or nodded to each in turn, to let each man know he was grateful for their arms and valor.

Tents were raised and cook fires started. Aidan handed his stallion off to a young, hopeful Highland lad, when he felt a frisson of alarm. The emotion came from afar, but the vibration went entirely through him.

In that instant, he knew that the fear he sensed came from his son, who was safely at home.

Or so he had thought.

With his seven senses, he pinpointed Ian. His son remained at Castle Awe, where he had left him.

He did not hesitate. He vanished into time.

It took a very brief moment to be flung through time and space back to Castle Awe. The leap ripped him through the forest, pine branches tearing at him, and then past the rock-strewn, snow-tipped mountaintops, through white stars and bright suns, with such terrible gut-wrenching force and speed that he wanted to scream. The velocity threatened to rip him from limb to limb, and shred him into tiny pieces of hair and skin. But he had been leaping time for years, ever since being chosen, and he had learned how to endure the torment. Now his only thought was that evil was hunting his son, and his determination overshadowed the pain.

He landed in his own north tower, going down to all fours so hard it was as if his wrists and knees had shattered. The chamber was spinning with dizzying speed while he urgently tried to become oriented.

The room had not ceased turning when he felt a huge evil presence approaching, a power so great and so dark that he dreaded looking up.

With the evil, there was Ian’s fear and rage.

He raised his head, in growing horror.

A huge man stood in his chamber doorway, holding Aidan’s young, struggling son.

His father was not dead. Moray had returned.

Aidan leapt to his feet, eyes wide with shock, as the terrible comprehension sank in.

The Earl of Moray smiled at him, very much alive, white teeth flashing. “Hallo a Aidan.”

Aidan’s gaze slammed to his son. Ian did not resemble his mother, who had died in childbirth. He looked exactly like his father: fair in complexion, with vivid blue eyes, perfect and beautiful features and dark hair. It took him one moment to comprehend that Ian wasn’t hurt—yet. Then Aidan looked at the man who had alternately seduced, raped and tortured his mother—the deamhan who had spent a thousand years stalking innocent men, women and children all over the world.

Clad as a courtier, in long velvet robes of crimson and gold, he was blond, blue-eyed and handsome. He did not look a day older than forty years. “I decided it was time to meet my grandson,” Moray murmured in flawless English.

Aidan trembled. Nine years ago, his father had been vanquished at Tor in the Orkney Islands. His half brother, Malcolm, and Malcolm’s wife Claire had beheaded Moray in a great battle, but only with the help of a goddess. Evil could not live without a flesh-and-blood body, although it was rumored that the greatest demonic energy was immortal. Aidan had never really believed his father gone; he had secretly expected him to return one day. He had been right.

“Yes, I am alive,” Moray said softly, their gazes locking. “Did you really think I could be destroyed?”

Aidan breathed hard, preparing for a terrible battle. He would die to save his son from whatever Moray intended. “Release Ian. Whatever ye wish, I’ll do it.”

“But you know what I want, my son. I want you.”

Of course he did; nothing had changed. Moray wished to turn him into his greatest deamhan, a nearly immortal soldier of destruction and death.

“I’ll do as ye wish,” Aidan lied. As he spoke, he blasted Moray with his god-given power.

But his father’s teeth flashed in a delighted smile and he blocked the surge of energy easily. Then silver blazed from Moray’s hands like lightning, and Aidan was flung across the chamber into the far wall. The impact took his breath away, but he remained on his feet.

A dagger appeared in Moray’s hand, and he sliced through Ian’s ear.

Aidan shouted as blood gushed all over his son’s pale leine. “Cease,” Aidan roared. “I’ll do as ye wish!”

Ian choked on pain, holding his head. Moray grinned at him and pushed the piece of ear across the floor with the pointy tip of his shoe. “Do you wish to keep it?”

Aidan trembled in rage.

“Obey me and he will not suffer,” Moray added softly.

“Let me stop the bleeding.” Aidan had healing powers. He started forward for the piece of ear. He would put it back together, make it mend.

Moray held Ian harder, causing the boy to grunt. “Not until you prove yourself to me.”

Aidan halted. “I’ll heal him first.”

“You dare to barter with me?”

In that instant, Aidan knew that unless help arrived in the form of other Masters, they would battle to the death.

“No aid comes,” Moray said with a laugh. “I have blocked your thoughts. No one knows what you suffer now.”

He believed him. “Tell me what I must do to free an’ heal my son.”

“Father, no,” Ian cried, his blue eyes wide.

“Be quiet,” Aidan said firmly, meeting his gaze.

Ian nodded, mouth pursed, near tears.

“The village below Awe. Destroy it.”

Aidan went still.

Moray stared at him, smiling.

Aidan became aware of his heart pounding, slow and sure, sick with dread. He knew every inhabitant of that village. The villagers traded and bartered with the castle, with him, on a daily basis. They depended on him for their livelihoods and their lives. The castle defended the village from all attacks, and Awe was sustained by their services and goods. Most importantly, he was sworn before every god on earth to protect the Innocent.

He could not destroy an entire village of men, women and children.

Moray took the dagger and laid it against Ian’s throat. Blood oozed and Ian cried out, blanching.

Aidan leapt unto time.

He landed in the castle’s great hall moments earlier. The huge room spinning with shocking speed, he saw Ian there, calmly conversing with his steward. On his hands and knees, he tried to fight for his power and choke out words. “Ian. Son!” He would somehow prevent this, undo it. The rules were very clear—no Master could go back in time to change the past. But he would change the past now!

Neither his son nor the steward heard him.

Shocked, Aidan got up. “Ian, come here,” he began, but Ian didn’t hear him this time, either. His son walked from the hall, heading up the stairs.

They couldn’t see him or hear him.

Something had happened to his powers.

He refused to believe it. He ran after Ian, rushing up the narrow, winding stairs. The moment he reached the upper landing, he saw Moray materialize in the upper corridor, surprising his son. Like Ian, Moray could not see him. Aidan tried to blast Moray with power, but nothing came from his hand or his mind. Furious, desperate, as he saw Moray move to seize Ian, Aidan tried to blast him again, but with the same results. “Ian,” he screamed in near panic. “Run!”

But Ian did not hear him, and Moray caught the little boy in his powerful embrace. Ian began struggling, and Aidan almost wept as Moray started toward the north tower, dragging the nine-year-old with him.

Aidan ran after them. He launched himself at Moray, intending to assault him as an ordinary human might—but an invisible wall came between them, sending him reeling backward across the corridor.

Were the gods interfering? He was incredulous.

He cried out in fury and saw himself landing in the tower on his hands and knees. There were other rules. A Master must never encounter himself in either the past or the future. The rule was not explained. Afraid to move, he watched his younger self look up in horror.

“Hallo a Aidan,” his father said to the man he had been a mere moment ago. “I decided it was time to meet my grandson.”

Was this why a Master must never encounter himself in another time? Because he would lose his powers? For he could only stand there and helplessly watch as the drama unfolded—the very drama he had just lived through!

“Yes, I am alive,” Moray said softly. “Did you really think I could be destroyed?”

“Release Ian,” his younger self said. “Whatever ye wish, I’ll do it.”

“But you know what I want, my son. I want you.”

Aidan watched as his other self tried to blast Moray—and as Moray’s own power sent Aidan flying across the tower and into the far wall. He breathed hard, tensing, knowing what was to come. Before Moray lifted his dagger, he launched himself at him again.

Aidan crashed into the invisible wall and bounced off it, choking on rage and anguish. The dagger sliced off the lower lobe of Ian’s ear. Ian choked on a scream, and Aidan heard his other self roar in rage—as he did.

And as the other Aidan tried to barter with his demonic father to heal his son, a huge force began dragging him inexorably toward the trio. Aidan tried to halt, but he simply couldn’t. He was rapidly being swept toward his younger self.

Aidan braced for an impact, uncertain of what to expect when his body came into contact with his younger self.

“The village below Awe. Destroy it.”

But there was no impact. Briefly there was an odd, sickening sensation, and then he was staring at Moray and Moray was staring back at him. He was no longer a spectator to the terrible drama. He had gone back in time to prevent this moment—to change it—but now he was facing Moray. He had come full circle to the precise moment when he had leapt.

He could not destroy an entire village of men, women and children.

Moray took the dagger and laid it against Ian’s throat. Blood oozed, and Ian cried out, blanching.

Aidan’s mind raced and he shielded his thoughts so Moray could not lurk. He did not have the power to change this moment.

He was sick now, sick in his soul. “Release my son and I will destroy the village,” he said tersely.

“Papa, no!” Ian cried.

Aidan didn’t look at him.

Moray grinned. “You will have the boy when you have proven you are my son.”

“Papa,” Ian panted in protest.

Aidan looked at him and wanted to cry. “I willna be long.”

“I’ll die for them!” Ian cried, struggling furiously now.

Moray jerked him, his expression one of anger and disgust. “He will be useless to me,” he spat.

“You won’t need him. You will have me,” Aidan said, meaning it. He left the tower, feeling as if his soul had already left his body. His movements felt mechanical, except for the wild pounding of his heart and the lurching of his stomach. For the first time in his life, he felt raw fear.

He went swiftly downstairs, awaking the five armed men who slept in the hall. They fell silently into step beside him.

Outside, the moon was full, the sky a deathly black, stars glittering obscenely. He roused another two dozen men. As their mounts were saddled, the men gathered torches. One of the men came up to him, his face set and grim. “What passes, Aidan?”

He looked at Angus, refusing to answer. A steed was brought forward and he vaulted into the saddle, signaling his men to follow.

The troops rode through the gatehouse and over the icy bridge that spanned gleaming waters. When they reached the village on the loch’s shores, Aidan pulled up. He did not look at Angus as he spoke. “Burn it. Leave no one—not even a dog—alive.”

He did not have to look at Angus to feel the man’s absolute shock.

He stared ahead at the village, not bothering to repeat himself.

A moment later, his men were galloping through the thatched cottages, torching the straw roofs, which instantly became infernos. Men, women and children fled their burning homes, crying in fright, and his men chased them down, one after one, swiftly ending each life with one thrust of a blade. Screams of terror filled the night. Aidan sat his restless mount, not allowing it to move. He knew his face was wet, but he refused to wipe the tears. He kept Ian’s image close in his mind until the night was silent, except for the hissing of flames and a single woman’s sobs.

Her weeping abruptly ended.

His men filed past him, no one looking at him now.

When he was alone, he choked and slid from the mount. He began vomiting helplessly and uncontrollably in the snow.

When he was done, he stayed there, breathing hard. The screams echoed in his mind. He kept reminding himself that at least he had saved Ian. And he knew he would never forget what he had just witnessed, what he had just done.

He heard a movement behind him.

Aidan slowly got up and turned.

A woman stood by some trees, weeping soundlessly, clutching the hand of a small, terrified child. She was staring at him. His heart lurched in absolute dread. He unsheathed his sword and started toward them.

She didn’t run. She hugged her child and shrank against the huge fir tree, eyes wide. “Why, my lord? Why?”

The hilt of his sword was sticky in his hand. He meant to raise it. He said hoarsely, “Run. Run now.”

She and the child fled into the woods.

He tossed the sword at the ground and leaned his face on his arms, against the tree. Ian…he had to free Ian from Moray.

And then he felt the shocking, evil presence behind him. Tensing, Aidan whirled. Moray stood there, Ian in his grasp. He saw the blade Moray held flash silver.

“Give me my son!”

Ian made an odd, strangled sound.

Horrified, Aidan saw the dagger embedded in Ian’s chest. “No!”

Moray smiled—and Ian’s eyes rolled back in his head lifelessly. Aidan screamed, rushing forward as Ian became limp. But when he reached them, they were gone.

For one instant, Aidan stood in shock and disbelief. Moray had murdered Ian.

Anguish began, and with it, more rage than he had ever felt. He howled, holding his head, and furiously, he leapt back in time. He would not let Ian die.

He returned to that moment at Awe when he had found Ian in the great hall with his steward, but once again he had no power, and no one could see or hear him. He tried to assault Moray, but an invisible wall came between them and the past repeated itself, exactly. This time, he was a sick spectator as his younger self sat on his steed and watched his men destroying an entire innocent village.

And this time, when he saw himself discover the woman and child, he rushed forward. “Do it,” he shouted at his younger self. “You must do it!’

But the man he had been a moment ago did not lift his sword. “Run. Run now!”

The woman and child fled into the forest. He watched as his younger self turned to face Moray, who held Ian tightly to his chest.

And that huge, unnatural force began pulling him inexorably toward the trio. Aidan screamed in warning at Ian, at himself, but no one heard him. He saw the silver dagger flash.

The anguish was even greater now, but so was the rage.

He fell to his knees, howling and maddened, and then he leapt back in time again.

And again.

And again.

And each and every time, it was the same. An entire village destroyed by his command, one small woman and child fleeing and Moray still murdering Ian before his very eyes, only to vanish with his dead child.

And finally he gave up.

He roared and roared, blinded by the grief. He cursed evil; he cursed the gods. He was below Awe’s curtain walls, although he did not recall returning from the village. And then, finally, the tower roof above his head collapsed. The entire wing of the castle started to crumble. He wept, openly and brokenly, as the stone walls rained down upon him. And when he was buried beneath his own castle walls, he became still and silent.

Aidan waited to die.

CHAPTER ONE

The Present September 2008, New York City

THE ROAR OF HUMAN PAIN AWOKE HER.

Brianna Rose sat bolt upright, awoken from a deep sleep, horrified by the sound. It was filled with rage and anguish and disbelief. And then the pain cut through her.

She doubled over in her bed, clutching herself as if someone had actually slid a butcher’s knife through her chest. For one moment, she could not breathe. She had never experienced that kind of anguish in her twenty-six years. Panting hard, she prayed for the pain to end. Then, suddenly, it did.

But as the torment vanished abruptly, a man’s handsome image flared in her mind.

A new, terrible tension began. Carefully, Brie sat upright, shaken and stunned. Her loft was silent, except for the sounds of the cars and cabs driving by outside on the street, and the accompaniment of blaring horns. She trembled, glancing at her bedside clock. It was ten after one in the morning. What had just happened?

All the Rose women were empathic to one degree or another. Their empathy was supposed to be a gift, but too often it was a curse, like now. She had been consumed with another human being’s pain. Something terrible had just happened, and she could not shake the dark, handsome image she’d just seen from her mind.

Brie trembled, tossing aside the covers. Was Aidan in trouble?

She became very still, her mouth dry, her heart thundering. She’d met him exactly a year ago, perhaps for two whole minutes. Her best friend, Allie, had been missing for weeks and she’d returned briefly to New York—from the Middle Ages—with Aidan’s help.

He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Allie had explained about the secret Brotherhood and the men belonging to it, men who called themselves the Masters of Time. All were sworn before God to defend mankind from the evil in the night. Brie hadn’t been surprised—there had been rumors of such warriors for as long as she could remember. In fact, like Allie, she and her cousins, Tabby and Sam, had been thrilled that the whispers were reality.

Brianna had no personal delusions. He was absolutely unforgettable, but she knew a man like that would never look at a woman like her twice—or think about her twice, either. She didn’t blame him. She didn’t even mind.

She was really good at wearing baggy clothes to hide her curves, and she never wore her contacts. Her eyeglasses were downright ugly. She knew that if she had her dark hair cut and styled properly, if she dressed fashionably and wore makeup, she’d probably look exactly like her mother, Anna Rose.

Brie had no desire to resemble her beautiful, passionate and rebellious mother in any way. Anna had been that rare Rose woman who had not been handed down any gifts. She had been destructive, not constructive; her touch and beauty damaged instead of helped others. In the end, she had hurt those she loved the most, and she had destroyed not only her own family, but herself. Brie didn’t want to recall finding her mother dead on the kitchen floor, shot by her jealous boyfriend, with her father weeping over Anna’s body. Being a retiring nerd was way better than following in Anna’s footsteps.

But Brie had other gifts, making her a lot less nerdy than she appeared. She had been gifted with the Sight. It was the greatest gift a Rose woman could have, handed down from grandmother to grandchild. Brie had been terrified of her visions at first, but Grandma Sarah had explained that the Sight was a precious gift, one meant to be cherished. It was a great resource, meant to help people, which the Rose women were destined to do—and had been doing for hundreds of years. Grandma Sarah had taught her almost everything she knew about good, evil and life.

By now Brie was almost accustomed to the wiles of Fate. Life wasn’t easy and it wasn’t fair, and the good died young every single day. She didn’t blame Anna for her uncontrollable passions. She knew Anna hadn’t been able to help herself. She’d resented her sisters for having their gifts and their lives, and her own simple marriage hadn’t been enough for her. She’d been an unhappy woman. She had been selfish, but not cruel—and certainly not evil. She hadn’t deserved an early death.

It was all ancient history. Dad had remarried—the best thing that ever could have happened to him. Anna was dead and buried, but not forgotten. Brie was determined to be as solid, dependable and trustworthy as her mother was not. Her life was helping others, giving selflessly—perhaps to make up for all the hurt Anna had inflicted. She was thrilled to be employed by the Center for Demonic Activity, a secret government agency dedicated to the war on evil. There, she fought dark forces throughout the ages from the basement, at a computer.

Her cousins claimed she was doing her best to hide from men. They were right. The last thing she wanted was for a man to notice her. She would probably die a virgin, and it didn’t matter.

Aidan hadn’t noticed her, she was certain, but she had taken one look at him and had fallen hard. She was hopelessly infatuated. She thought about him every day, dreamed about him at night and had even spent hours on the Web, reading about the medieval Highlands. The Rose women came from the northern Highlands originally, so she’d always been fascinated with Scotland’s history, but now she foolishly hoped to learn more about him. When he’d brought Allie back to the city from 1430, he’d appeared to be about twenty-five years old. Allie had returned to her lover, Black Royce, at Carrick Castle in Morvern. Brie wished she’d asked her friend about Aidan, but their visit had been too brief. So she kept returning to Carrick’s history, yearning for a mention of a man named Aidan, but that was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Still, there were many references to the powerful Earl of Morvern and his fair Lady of Carrick. Brie was thrilled. Even across time, she knew Allie and Royce were fulfilling their destinies together.

She would probably never learn anything about Aidan, and she was sensible enough to realize it, but that didn’t stop her crush. A fantasy was harmless. She hadn’t even tried to talk herself out of it. If she was going to fall head over heels in love and never act on it, why not do so with someone absolutely unattainable? Aidan, a medieval Highlander with the power to time travel and a mandate to protect Innocence, was a really, really safe bet.

Brie was feeling sick now. It was one thing to have visions and empathy, but she had just heard Aidan roaring in anguish, as if he’d been in the same room with her. How close by was he? What had happened to him?

Afraid he was in the city, and hurt, Brie got up. She was clad in a simple pink tank top and briefs. It was Indian summer, and even at night it was warm and humid. She hurried across her large, shadowy loft, hitting lights as she went. She’d half expected Aidan to be present, maybe unconscious in the shadows and sprawled out on her floor, but the loft was empty.

At her front door, which was triple locked and had multiple alarms, she peered through the peephole into the hall. It was lit and empty, too.

Her loft was thoroughly fortified with Tabby’s spells and prayers and Brie wore a Celtic cross that she never took off. A small page from the Book handed down through generations of Rose women was also framed and nailed to her door to keep evil out. But Brie said a silent prayer to the long-ago gods, anyway.

She could feel evil, very close by, drifting about the streets, preying upon anyone foolish enough to defy Bloomberg’s voluntary curfew. But she didn’t want to think about the city’s problems now. She had to somehow find Aidan and make sure he was okay. Maybe Tabby and Sam could make heads or tails out of this. The other person who would probably have a clue was her boss, Nick Forrester, but she was hesitant to call him. She kept a very low profile at CDA. He knew nothing about her gifts—or her cousins and their extracurricular activities.

Brie grabbed the phone as she went to her computer and began logging onto HCU’s immense database. The Historical Crimes Unit was a part of CDA. She spent her days—and even her nights—looking through two centuries of case files, searching for historic coincidences. Her job was to find matches between their current targets and demons operating in the past. It was amazing how many demons terrorizing the country today came from past centuries.

Because searching for coincidences involved comparisons with active cases, she had access to current criminal investigations, including federal, state and local NYPD records. Multitasking, Brie began to search for the most recent reported criminal activities as she dialed her cousins’ number. She pictured Aidan lying hurt on a dark, slick city street, but she knew it was only her imagination responding to her worst fears.

Tabby answered, sounding as if she’d been deeply asleep. She’d divorced well over a year ago. It had taken her a long time to recover from her husband’s infidelity, and she had just begun dating again. But she was very conservative, and Brie had expected her to be alone and asleep.

“I really need your help,” Brie said swiftly.

“Brie, what is it?” Tabby was instantly awake.

“Aidan is in trouble—and I think he’s nearby.”

Tabby paused and Brie felt her trying to recall just who Aidan was. “You don’t mean the Highlander who brought Allie back last year?”

“I do,” Brie whispered.

“Can this wait until morning?” Tabby asked.

It wasn’t safe for anyone to tool around the city after dark. “I don’t think so,” Brie said grimly. “It wasn’t a vision, Tabby. I felt his pain. He’s in trouble—right now.”

Tabby was silent, and Brie heard Sam in the background, asking what was wrong. The sisters shared a loft just a few blocks away. “We’ll be right over,” Tabby said.

Brie hung up, slipped on her jeans and sat down to seriously go over the cases she’d pulled. She was immersed in files when the doorbell rang twenty minutes later. She’d found nothing, and she supposed that was a relief. What she didn’t want to find was a dead victim with Aidan’s description. For all she knew, though, he was immortal. She hoped so.

Maybe the worst was over, she thought as she went to let the girls in. Maybe he’d gone back in time, where he belonged.

Tabby entered first, a willowy blonde in slacks and a silk tank top who always looked as if she were on her way to or from the country club. No one would ever guess from looking at her that Tabby was an earth mother. Sam followed, shockingly gorgeous even with her short-cropped platinum hair—but then, she had a Lara Croft from Tomb Raider body. Brie admired her immensely because she was so fearless and so open about her sexuality. She happened to know that Sam’s messenger bag was loaded with weapons, and she carried a stiletto strapped to her thigh beneath the denim miniskirt she wore. On anybody else it might be corny, but on Sam it was darned serious.

Tabby took one look at Brie and rushed to hug her. “You are so worried!”

Sam closed and locked the door. “Did you find anything?” she asked, nodding at the computer.

“He’s probably gone back to his time,” Brie said. She wet her lips, aware of an absurd disappointment.

“Don’t look so happy about it,” Sam said wryly, striding across the loft to the computer and peering at the screen. “I don’t think a man like that is easily hurt.”

“I think he was tortured. I have never felt so much pain,” Brie said.

Sam didn’t look up from the screen, scrolling through files she had no right to view.

Tabby put her arm around Brie. “You’re so pale. Are you all right?”

“I’ll survive,” Brie said, forcing a smile.

“Are you sure it was Aidan?” Tabby asked, rather unnecessarily, as Sam sat down at the desk. Tabby glanced at the poster from the movie The Highlander, which Brie had framed and hung on her living-room wall, her amber gaze narrowing.

“One hundred percent. I saw him as clear as day. It wasn’t a vision, but it wasn’t my imagination, either. I can’t empathize across time. I certainly can’t hear someone cry out from far away. He was here, close by. He was hurt. Really, really hurt.” Brie trembled, feeling sick again.

“If he’s hurt and in the city, we’ll find him,” Sam said firmly.

Brie felt reassured. Sam always got what she wanted.

“When did you put that poster up?” Tabby asked.

Brie blinked at her. “I don’t remember,” she lied, flushing.

Tabby stared. Then she moved toward the living area. “Well, this looks to be an all-nighter,” she said cheerfully. “It’s almost three in the morning, and I don’t think any of us will make it back to bed.” She began laying out her mother’s crystals on the coffee table.

And the roar of anguish began again, deafening Brie. She gasped, stunned by the bellow of rage. Her hands flew automatically to her ears. His pain sent her down to the floor, where she doubled over, crushed by it, consumed by it…imprisoned by it. This time, the sensation was unbearable.

Oh my God, what’s happening to Aidan? Is he being tortured?

“Brie!” Tabby screamed.

Vaguely, she was aware of Tabby holding her, but it didn’t matter.

Brie knew they were ripping his heart out now. They were ripping her heart out. She wept in Tabby’s arms, her world spinning with shocking force and then going black.

Aidan, she somehow thought. He was dying from the torture, and she was dying, too.

NICK FORRESTER sat at his computer in his night-darkened living room, clad only in his jeans. He’d completely forgotten about the leggy blonde who lay asleep in his bed. In fact, he couldn’t recall her name. He’d picked her up outside the Korean grocery, and maybe he hadn’t ever known the name. It was late, but he didn’t need more than a few hours of sleep—especially not after a long round of sex, which he found energizing. Sex always empowered him.

He was working again. The “witch” burnings in the city were on the rise. His latest intelligence debriefing had indicated that Bloomberg was seriously considering calling in the National Guard, and he thought it was about time. Pleasure crimes still dominated the murder rate, but those random demonic acts were almost unpreventable—like suicide bombers. The “witch” burnings were another matter. He knew in his gut that the gang leader of these medieval crimes was a great demon from the past. His gut was always dead-on.

Now he was immersed in medieval history, looking for any references to such burnings in past times. HCU had software to look for coincidental data, but he didn’t trust the damn programs and he never would. The program wasn’t that sophisticated, only matching words and phrases. A single isolated burning of a heretic, a traitor or a witch didn’t interest him, nor did the burning of a thirteenth-century peasant’s home or a baron’s castle. He was looking for a series of the violent crimes, probably committed by a group of adolescents but run by a single, very clever entity.

His cell buzzed.

Nick picked up at the first ring. A woman he did not know spoke. “Brie Rose needs medical attention, ASAP!”

“Who the hell is this?” he demanded, alert but annoyed at her commanding tone. He was wary, too. She could be a crank or even something else.

“Her cousin Sam Rose, and if you don’t want her going to Emergency, you need to send your people in. Hurry—she may be dying.” The phone went dead.

Nick was already speed-dialing his own medevac people while pulling up Brie Rose’s file on his HCU screen. In thirty seconds, he had sent his medical team to her loft and was pulling on a T-shirt, seizing his Beretta, car keys and shoes. He ignored the sleeping blonde as he left his condo, stepping into his shoes in the elevator. A minute later he was peeling out of the building’s underground garage in his black Expedition; eight minutes later he was leaping out of the vehicle, an ambulance marked Cornell Presbyterian already in front of Brie’s building. The ambulance belonged to CDA, and was deliberately mismarked.

He went up with the paramedics, growing aware of Brie’s struggle. He could feel her fighting for her life, and her fear of dying. Alarmed, he searched the perimeter but did not sense evil nearby. He couldn’t discern what had put her on the brink of death.

A beautiful blonde who looked like a rock star met him at the door. he felt her power and instantly knew she was a vigilante warrior. Glancing past her, he saw Brie, unconscious on the floor, in another beautiful woman’s arms. That one had power, too, but it was not that of a Slayer’s. He didn’t have time to try to identify it.

Although he knew the gossips nailed him as cold and uncaring, it wasn’t true. He’d hand-selected every single employee at HCU and considered them all his personal responsibility, especially mousy Brie. He was even a bit fond of her—and not because she was brilliant. He felt sorry for her. She was a recluse, with no life outside of work. He had sensed her powers before he’d hired her. It had taken him a moment to decide what they were but he could read minds whenever he chose and he was fairly conscienceless about it if it was in the line of duty. He didn’t expect her to come clean. He knew that her unusual perceptions were often used on the cases he sent to her and that worked fine for him.

As the medics went to take her vitals, he said grimly, “What happened?”

The woman holding Brie in her arms looked up at him. He felt his interest quicken. She was elegance and beauty personified. She said hoarsely, “She’s empathic, and someone we know was being tortured. She felt everything they did to him. She’s hurt.”

“No kidding.” He was wary. These women were outsiders. How much did they know? And vigilantes always messed up his investigations. He looked at his watch. It was 3:24 a.m. “When did it start?”

“Eight minutes ago,” the blonde with the body said. From her voice, he knew she was Sam Rose.

“Frank?” he asked.

“Her pulse is weak and her blood pressure is low,” the medic said, administering oxygen.

Brie’s eyes fluttered. Nick knelt beside her, smiling. “Hey, kiddo. We’ll take care of you. Tell me about your friend.”

She gasped weakly, “I think they’re slowly killing him, Nick.” Tears fell. “Please help him. He’s one of us.”

He stared at her, lurking. His eyes widened; Brie had met one of the Highland warriors? He was her friend? His agents had been hoping to bring in a Master for a long, long time.

“She had an episode earlier,” Sam said tersely. “That was when she called us.”

Nick absorbed that. “What do you know about the Highlander?”

Sam Rose was good, he had to hand it to her. Her eyes didn’t even widen, not a drop. “I’m worried,” she said. “If this person is being tortured, Brie might go through this again when they start in on him.”

“She won’t make it,” the other blonde cried. “I’ve never seen her like this.”

“Take her to Five,” Nick said. Because the agency was covert, CDA had its own medical facilities known simply a Five. But as Brie was loaded onto a stretcher, he pulled Frank aside. “Can an extreme empathic reaction kill her?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it a safer bet to keep her sedated until we can remove the source of the empathic reaction?” When Frank nodded, Nick said, “Do it.”

The Town & Country blonde said, “I’m staying with her.”

Nick seized her shoulder, staring as coldly as he could. It wasn’t hard to do; he was getting pissed. How much did these women know?

“Lady, you are not cleared to stay with her. You and your friend are coming with me, now, to my office.”

She stared at him, close to tears. “After we tell you what we know, I beg you to let me stay with her.”

“I’ll think about it.” He looked at the warrior, Sam; and because he didn’t like the look in her eyes, he read her mind. “You’re coming with me, but I’ll put all my agents in the field. If your friend is in the city, we’ll find him.”

Sam stared at him, clearly unhappy with his decision. He was aware she wanted to hunt. “Yeah, well, I hope you find him alive,” she mocked.

BRIE STRUGGLED TO SWIM THROUGH the thick, heavy darkness. She heard voices, but they seemed impossibly far away; still, she wanted to reach them. Some of the darkness shifted…lifted. Her mind flickered. She needed to think. There was something happening, something she had to do. She didn’t know where she was, but she sensed Tabby and Sam were nearby, and there was relief in the comprehension.

“Brie? It’s me, Tabby. Can you hear me?”

Tabby sounded closer now. Why was she so heavy, so groggy? Brie fought to swim to her cousin. Light began shining against her closed lids, and she somehow opened her eyes. Instantly, she blinked against the sterile white light of an office or a hospital room.

Tabby held her hand. “Welcome back.”

Brie met her concerned amber eyes. Without her glasses, she couldn’t see farther than her hand, but she didn’t have to see Tabby clearly to know it was her. Her mind remained sluggish, but she knew there was something urgent she had to remember. And suddenly she gripped Tabby’s hand hard in return. “Aidan!” There was total recall now. “Did you find him?” As she spoke, she saw the blur that was Sam, standing next to Tabby. Dear God, her boss was behind them. He was entirely out of focus, but it didn’t matter, she still felt his hard, unwavering stare.

“No, we didn’t.” Tabby slipped her eyeglasses on for her. “Is that better?”

So much fear for him began. Without a doubt, Brie knew that he was being tortured by great evil. He could still be alive and in torment—or he could be dead.

“How do you feel?” Nick asked.

Brie was almost afraid to look at him now that she could see. He was a macho-looking man of about thirty—muscular, tall and really good-looking; women were always trying to pick him up. Nick was a cool player, but he was all work and no play when it came to HCU.

“Am I drugged?” She finally looked at him, and sure enough, he had that steely, take-no-prisoners look in his eyes.

“Pretty heavily, but we’re taking you down so we can chat.” Nick smiled, as if encouraging her to be candid, but that smile never reached his blue eyes.

“It’s been twenty-four hours, Brie,” Tabby said softly, squeezing her hand. Her gaze was filled with worry.

Brie stared at her, almost reading her mind. Now she remembered fighting the pain, in this very room. “He’s still being tortured,” she gasped.

“Every other time we brought you down, within an hour or so you started having extreme empathic reactions to your friend,” Nick said flatly.

Brie blinked at him. He’d stressed the word “friend.” How much had she said? Nick was pissed; she could feel it, even as messed up as she was.

“Maybe you can tell Nick something to help his people find Aidan,” Tabby murmured.

“It’s hard to think,” she whispered. Had Tabby told Nick about the Masters of Time? As groggy as she was, she was certain Nick wouldn’t be surprised that the rumors floating around the agency about a race of evil-fighting warriors were true. Sometimes Nick seemed to know everything.

Nick said to the physician, “Take her down a bit more.”

As the sedation was further decreased, Brie recognized that she was ill with exhaustion. She felt nauseous, and she began to realize how utterly sore her body was. Every muscle throbbed, as if she was the one who’d been mercilessly tortured. But her mind leapt to life as the sedation was reduced. What had they done to him? Was he alive? “How can I help?” she asked Nick, trembling.

He dismissed the doctor and turned to Tabby and Sam. “Goodbye, ladies.”

Tabby was alarmed. “I can’t leave her.”

Nick gestured toward the door. “You can, and you will. It will only be for a few moments.”

Brie didn’t want to be alone with him and she knew Tabby knew it. Sam gave Nick a cool glance. “Don’t bully her,” she said.

When they were gone, he said, “I need you to come clean, kid. If you want to help your friend, you need to clarify exactly who we’re looking for.”

Brie wished she could think more clearly. “His name is Aidan—and he’s not from our century.” She stopped. “He’s from the past, Nick.”

He leaned close, his face expressionless. “When did you meet the Highlander, Brie?”

He was really mad. “I met him a year ago,” Brie breathed, hoping she was doing the right thing by telling Nick the truth. Their eyes locked. “You’re not surprised.”

Nick folded his muscular arms across his chest. “Tell me more about him.”

Brie tried to think clearly. The Brotherhood was secret—Allie had stressed that—but so was CDA and every unit within. “When I met him, he’d come from 1430, from Carrick Castle,” she said. “He has powers, Nick—special powers, just like the demons do.”

Nick searched her gaze and Brie had the uncanny feeling he was searching her mind. He said softly, “Does the name Aidan of Awe ring any bells?”

Oddly, the name resonated with her.

“Take her up,” Nick snapped.

Brie felt the last bit of fogginess dissipate. Nick became completely clear, his eyes blue steel. He knew all about the Masters, she realized.

“Yeah,” he said, “and I’ve wanted to bring one in for a long, long time.”

But he hadn’t even finished when she heard Aidan.

His roar of pain was filled with despair and protest.

This time, it was the roar of grief.

Brie went still.

He’s lost everything. Before she could assimilate that, a huge weight fell on her, crushing her. She cried out in alarm and fear as more stones fell, rapidly burying her in darkness.

Brie wanted to panic and scream; she wanted to fight the rocks, try to push up against them. But instead she lay very still, absolutely calm, aware that she was entombed.

“Brie, what is it?” she heard Tabby cry from far away.

Brie’s eyes widened. She was looking up at black stone; it was as if she was buried alive. She tried to move her arms, her legs, but stone pressed in on her from all sides.

Aidan had been buried alive.

And he was utterly calm, utterly resigned, a man without hope.

She reached out to him.

She felt him start.

She tried to focus entirely upon him. He was physically trapped, unmoving. Like her, he had no difficulty breathing. He was staring at the blackness. She felt him more acutely now. The stones were painful, their weight crushing, but he didn’t care. They weren’t crushing him to death. It was the heartache that was killing him.

And she felt his acceptance of death.

He was waiting to die.

“Brie, honey, it’s okay. You’re here with us, on Five.”

Aidan, Brie tried. You can’t die!

If she had reached him, he was now gone. He had slipped so far away that she couldn’t feel anything at all.

“Can you hear me?” Nick asked, sounding far away.

She could, but she couldn’t answer Nick now. Aidan had powers. He could break free of the rocks and stone if he wanted to. If she had reached him a moment ago, surely she could find him again. She was almost certain he had felt her, or heard her. She strained for him, calling his name. Aidan, break free of the stone. She waited for him to respond. A long time seemed to elapse, and he never moved, never answered.

She couldn’t stand this. Don’t die!

Nick was speaking to her again.

“Brie, it’s Nick. We’ve given you Ativan. It’s an antianxiety med, and you should be feeling pretty good right now. You’re at CDA on Five and we’re taking care of you. You’re having an empathic reaction again. Look at me.”

Brie felt her body soften. She looked at Nick. His handsome face and sexy body formed before her, coming gradually into focus. Someone had put her eyeglasses on, she recalled inanely, and she smiled.

“Good. To find the Highlander, we need you. Where is he?”

She could see Aidan so clearly now, in his grave beneath the rubble, a red castle soaring above a loch. Brie said, “There’s a castle on a lake. He’s in Scotland…and he’s in the past.” She was so surprised by her response that she faltered, but she knew she’d sensed the truth.

“Are you certain?” Nick asked. “Are you certain he’s not in the city?”

“Yes.” Brie had never been more certain of anything. She had been wrong earlier. He hadn’t been close by. She’d try to figure that out later, she thought. “We can’t let him die.”

Nick turned away and said, “Her Encounter last year should have been reported. Now that I know what you two ladies are up to, any Encounters or Sightings come right to me. Failure to do so is against the law.”

“I’m not aware of any such laws,” Sam said bluntly.

“It’s against Nick’s law,” Nick said swiftly. “And you really don’t want to break Nick’s law.”

Brie was floating, feeling really wonderful now, as if she’d had three or four glasses of champagne. Sam sat down and smiled at her. “Your boss is such a jerk.”

“Yeah, he is,” Brie agreed, aware that Nick had walked out. No, he’d stalked out, like a hunting tiger.

Sam leaned close and whispered, “I’m calling in every favor I have. If he’s here, someone’s seen him. You just rest.”

“He isn’t here. He’s far away.” Her happiness was gone. “I don’t want him to die. I love him, Sam.”

Sam’s blue eyes went wide. “Brie, I know you’re high right now, but if it’s Fate, you know we can’t change it.”

“It can’t be his time,” Brie whispered. She wasn’t sure what happened next, but Sam was gone, and it was only her and Tabby, who sat by her bed, holding her hand. Then Brie blinked curiously. A little boy was standing at the foot of her bed, clad in a white hospital gown that was oddly belted. He started speaking urgently to her. His blue eyes were so familiar, as if she knew him, but she didn’t think she did. Brie realized she was too high to hear a word. He seemed frightened. She knew he wanted to tell her something important, and she turned to Tabby. “What is he saying?”

Tabby was surprised. “Who are you talking about?”

Brie looked at the foot of her bed, but the little boy was gone. “I guess it doesn’t matter,” she said.

She must have been dreaming.

CHAPTER TWO

Castle Awe, Scotland—November 1502

SEX NO LONGER MATTERED TO HIM.

Like the best wine drunk far too often, it could not be appreciated. Pleasure escaped him now.

But he moved harder, faster, into the woman, not seeking release, even though a release was inevitable. Instead, he used her for his own ends, taking power, euphoric, until she lay unmoving and silent beneath him.

Aidan held himself over the woman, breathing hard. He had experienced the powerful ecstasy of La Puissance thousands of times, a climax that combined raging power with sexual release. When he had first begun to hunt Moray after Ian’s murder, he’d taken power to assure himself of victory over the deamhan he was now sworn to kill. But Moray had vanished in time, fleeing him. And Aidan had needed more power to chase him.

Power was addictive. He lusted for it now. Unfortunately, the lust for power was terribly arousing. Otherwise he would not even bother with the sexual act.

Still consumed with a sense of invincibility, he moved away from the woman. He stood and leaned against the wall, arching back, savagely relishing the power coursing through his muscles. It even throbbed in his bones.

No one could defeat him now—not man, not beast, not deamhan and not even a god. Not even his demonic father. His father had returned to murder Ian, when a beheading would destroy most deamhanain. There were Masters who believed Moray immortal. Others said he had returned with otherworldly help. Aidan had dared to demand answers upon Iona. MacNeil had told him Moray’s return was written, but that no deamhan was immortal, no matter how it might appear.

Ian’s image seared his mind, as hot as a firebrand. He welcomed the pain.

“Is she alive?” The other woman gasped, kneeling half-naked beside the Innocent.

He barely glanced at the lush redhead, who was flushed with her own pleasure. He’d left the Innocent alive, although barely. “Aye. Tend her.”

Anna Marie took the limp woman in her arms, but she was staring at him with glittering eyes. Most women feared his desire. Having lurked in her mind on several occasions, he knew that she both feared and desired his passion—all of it. Now, she said, “Do you want me again?”

He’d found her in Paris in the mid-eighteenth century. She was the courtesan of a prince. She enjoyed hours in his bed and understood his need to take far more than pleasure from her and others, even simultaneously. Her presence was convenient, especially because he never slept and there was one certain way for him to pass the long, dark hours of the night.

He hadn’t slept in sixty-six years.

Sleeping only brought nightmares.

He bared his teeth at her. What she did not understand was that he looked at her with absolute indifference, and felt nothing when their bodies were joined except for the lust for power and revenge. He would avenge Ian, even if it took an eternity to do so.

“Nay.” Naked, his body still hard and huge, he stalked from the chamber, and as he did so, he heard her moan.

He didn’t care. He didn’t need her or the other one now. He had enough power to destroy his father—if he could find him. For Moray had vanished into time sixty-six years ago, and Aidan had been hunting him ever since.

It was time to hunt now.

A pair of chambermaids was hurrying down the hall. A glance at the single, barred window at the hall’s east end showed him that the sun was high. He’d been with the women since the previous day at dusk. The maids looked at him and froze in their tracks, terrified and mesmerized at once. Ignoring them, he was about to enter the east tower room when he felt a huge power approaching, fierce and determined and white.

He roiled with anger, instantly aware of the intruder’s identity. He turned to face his half brother, Malcolm, the man who had unearthed him from Awe’s rubble instead of allowing him to die.

He would never forgive him for it.

Malcolm of Dunroch came up the stairs at the hall’s far end, a large, powerful man in a leine and dark-green-and-black plaid, wearing both long and short swords, his muddy boots indicating a long, hard ride. Dirt flecked his bare thighs. His face was flushed with anger. “Ye canna march on Inverness with the rebels,” he said harshly, striding up the hall. He gave Aidan’s naked body a quick, dismissive glance.

“Do ye nay march on Inverness with Donald Dubh an’Lachlan Maclean, yer cousin?” he mocked, knowing Malcolm was too busy saving Innocence to bother with political intrigues. Politics didn’t interest him, either, but feeding and horsing his four thousand men did.

And destroying the Campbell was something he could still do for his son.

Malcolm’s face hardened. “Ye’ll hang with the traitors when they’re defeated,” he said tersely, legs braced as if to bar his way.

“Good,” Aidan said softly, meaning it. He wasn’t afraid of death. He looked forward to it—as long as Ian was avenged first.

Malcolm seized his arm. “’Twas not yer fault. Ye have yer destiny to return to, Aidan.”

“Yer nay welcome here. Get out,” Aidan roared, shrugging him off. He whirled, entering the tower room and slamming the door closed behind him.

His damned brother was wrong. He had failed to keep his son safe. He had saved hundreds of Innocents, but not his own son; he would never forgive himself for it. He steeled himself against the anguish, but too late.

From the door’s other side, he heard Malcolm’s every silent thought. I willna let ye die an’I willna give up on ye. Nor will I be leavin’ Awe soon.

Furious with his brother, hating him for refusing to lose faith, Aidan threw the bolt down on the door. Inside it was dark and cold. No fire burned in the stone hearth and every small arrow slit had long since been nailed closed with shutters, so the darkness was complete.

Eventually Malcolm would leave. He always did, as there was always a deamhan to vanquish, an Innocent to save. Malcolm served the gods as if his vows were his life, with his wife at his side. But Malcolm was not a deamhan’s son. He was the son of the great Master, Brogan Mor, and a Master himself—as well as the laird of the Macleans of south Mull and Coll. They had nothing in common.

Malcolm had been raised at Dunroch by his father and then, after Brogan Mor’s death in battle, by his uncle, Black Royce, to be chief of Clan Gillean. Aidan had been sent as an infant into a nobleman’s foster care, for his mother had retired to an abbey to spend the rest of her life there. Malcolm had often gone to visit Lady Margaret at the abbey, ever the dutiful son. His calls had been welcome. Aidan had met his mother but once, when he was a Master, and she had not been able to look at him. He had quickly left her to her prayers and repentance.

He had grown up an outsider; his brother had been the next great laird, a Master whose vows were his life.

Aidan had forsaken his vows the day of Ian’s murder.

If Moray’s return was fated, the gods, apparently, had written his son’s death, as well. He hated the gods passionately and he cursed them now—as he did every single day of his life.

He felt Malcolm leaving the hall, going below, and his mind began to ease. His senses intensified impossibly. Tonight, he thought, he would find and destroy Moray.

Tonight, he would tear Moray’s throat out with his teeth. Then he would feed his heart to the wolves.

And he gave into the wolf, a savage and ruthless beast he could barely control, an animal intent on mayhem and death. He lifted his face toward the moon and howled. Outside, he felt the pack gathering and begin to howl in return, lusting for blood and death. He quieted, leaving the wolves to their eerie, savage chorus. He was ready now.

He walked to the center of the circular room and sank to the floor, where he sat cross-legged on the cold, hard stone.

More than six decades had passed since his son’s murder. His demonic father could be in any time, in any place. Moray clearly thought himself the victor in their privy war, but he was wrong. Their war would never end, not until one or both of them was vanquished. He didn’t care which it was—as long as Moray went to the fires of hell with him.

He began sifting through the sands of time, in the future and the past, through deserts and mountains, villages and cities, searching for Moray’s evil power.

Hours passed. He strained through time, evil everywhere, a long, painstaking process. The moon rose. He did not need to see it to know. The hairs on his nape prickled, like hackles rising. But the blackest power he was hunting eluded him.

He could not give up. He growled in frustration.

And through the hours of the day and then the night, Innocence wept for salvation. He heard every single cry for aid, for his senses were not just attuned to evil but to its helpless prey. Men, women and children begged him to rescue them from destruction and death.

He would not recall the last time he had protected Innocence. It was before his son had died.

He ignored their cries now.

He did not care who died.

TABBY UNLOCKED THE DOOR FOR HER, giving her a smile. “Isn’t it great to be home?” she asked.

Brie didn’t smile back. She stepped into her loft, wearing the clothes Tabby had brought her—an oversized sweatshirt embroidered with a blue-and-gold dragon and her comfy loose-fit jeans. She was more worried than ever about Aidan. She’d spent another full day at Five, under close observation, and she was champing at the bit. She had been taken off all sedation and the antianxiety medication, so once again she could think clearly. Aidan was no longer being tortured, and he was no longer crushed by stone. She couldn’t feel anything from him at all.

God, was he even alive?

She was adept at blocking out human emotion, for it was a necessity in order to get through each and every day. But she hadn’t been able to block his torment at all. His emotions had consumed her as no one’s ever had before, even across centuries. What, exactly, did the fact that she felt him so powerfully across time mean?

Everything was meant to be, and every Rose woman knew it.

Brie shivered as Tabby’s cell phone rang. Brie shut and locked the door, going to her work station on the far side of the loft. She sat down at her PC, which remained in sleep mode. He could not be dead.

Tabby came over. “That was Sam. She’s talked to every contact and snitch she knows. It looks like you’re right. He’s not here.”

Brie whirled her chair to face her. “How could I empathize across time?”

Tabby clasped her shoulder, their gazes locking. “You must really love him, Brie. It’s the only explanation I can think of.”

Her heart lurched. Her crush had been so safe and silly, until now. Loving him was terrifying, because he would never love her back—even if their paths crossed. “It’s just a crush,” Brie whispered, turning back to her PC. She was praying that there was another reason for her amazing empathy.

But now she stared at her computer’s wallpaper, the ruins of a castle on Loch Awe. Nick had asked her if the name Aidan of Awe was familiar. Her heart thundered. It felt so right. She’d put up the wallpaper after meeting Aidan…and there was no such thing as coincidence.

This past year she had been tempted to go through HCU’s immense historical database, looking for a mention of him, but it was against the rules to use the system for personal projects and she hadn’t done so. She hit a button and CDA’s site filled her screen. She began to log on, a process that required three passwords. She had something to go on now. And what did Nick know about Aidan, exactly?

If HCU had anything on him, by now, Nick was on it.

Brie was still amazed that she hadn’t been fired.

“What are you going to do?” Tabby asked. “He’s not here, Brie, and we can’t time-travel.”

Brie bit her lip and punched in a search for Aidan of Awe. As the search began, she shifted restlessly, and then she cried out, getting a hit.

Tabby peered over her shoulder.

The message on her screen was glaring. Aidan of Awe—Level Four—Access Denied.

“There’s a file on him?” Tabby exclaimed.

“I’m only Level Three,” Brie cried in frustration.

“Maybe that’s not our Aidan,” Tabby tried.

Brie stared at the flashing message. “It’s him. I know it. Damn Nick,” she cried.

Tabby started. “Brie, you’re exhausted. You absorbed so much pain, you need to rest. Leave the search to Forrester. He’s certainly on this.”

“I can’t,” Brie said. She was afraid to ask Nick what was in that file—he was so intimidating—but she had to try.

“Can I make you something to eat?” Tabby asked.

Brie didn’t care, even though Tabby was a great cook. As Tabby went into her kitchen, separated from the loft only by the kitchen counter, she went to her favorite online research library. She had part of his name to go on now. As she went to her medieval-Scotland virtual bookshelf, she dialed Nick. It went right to voicemail.

Brie pulled the first of two hundred and thirteen volumes, and as she typed in the words Aidan of Awe in the search box, she said, “Nick, it’s Brie. Please call me at home. Thanks.”

Her search yielded zero results, and she pulled the next volume and repeated the search. On her fourth search, a sudden nausea began, and Brie cried out. The floor tilted wildly, accompanied by a terrible feeling of dread.

And the vision began.

She gripped the arms of the desk chair tightly, no longer aware of her surroundings, entirely focused on what she was meant to see. Aidan was lying on his back. He was bare-legged, wearing high boots and clad in a leine and black cloak, the latter pinned to one shoulder and belted. His hands were folded atop the belt, which held two huge swords. The image sharpened. He was asleep, his eyes closed, his face relaxed, at peace. The necklace he wore became apparent, as if her mind’s eye had zoomed in on it. A fang, capped with gold, lay against the hollow of his collarbone.

He turned into stone, becoming an effigy atop a tomb.

She sprang to her feet, crying out.

Tabby was hovering over her. “What did you see?”

Brie hardly heard her. She could not have seen what she had! Her premonitions were never wrong. She looked at Tabby, aghast. “I saw him in stone effigy, atop a medieval tomb.”

Tabby took her hand. “Brie, he’s from the fifteenth century,” she said carefully.

“So what? Allie is still alive, isn’t she? And he was alive the other day!” she cried. And her grandmother’s ring began pinching her.

Brie had been wearing Sarah’s garnet ring since she was thirteen. Sarah had always claimed it would protect her and enhance her gifts. She twisted it nervously, aware of desperation surging. Tabby said, “Honey, he is alive, somewhere, farther in the past. But we can’t time-travel like they do.”

Brie stared at her. She wanted him to be alive right then and there. “My visions are a tool. They’re meant to help others. Why did I have that vision?” she cried.

“I don’t know. Brie, would you please rest? And eat?” Tabby returned to the kitchen, then set a sizzling plate before her. Brie had been hungry earlier; now, she had no appetite.

“I’m going to go,” Tabby said. “I haven’t been home in three days. The neighbor’s been taking care of the cats and the plants. And I really need a shower.”

Brie stood to hug her. Tabby looked as if she was on her way to take tea at Buckingham Palace. “I’m fine. Thank you for everything.”

When Tabby was gone, Brie—almost desperate—went on to her next search, and the words Aidan of Awe produced a result. She froze in sheer disbelief. Then, her heart leaping painfully in her chest, she hit the enter key. She quickly skimmed down the first page and began to read.

In December 1436, Aidan, the Wolf of Awe, a Highlander with no clan, sacked the stronghold of the Earl of Moray at Elgin, leaving no one alive.

She breathed hard and read the rest of the page.

However, Moray escaped the Wolf’s wrath intact, to take up his position at court as Defender of the Realm for King James, the same position he had enjoyed ten years earlier. But when James was murdered at Perth the following February, Moray, who was known to be at court, vanished, never to be heard from again. Quite possibly, Moray was slain with his king. The Wolf of Awe proceeded to spend the next nineteen years ruthlessly destroying the families and holdings of Moray’s three powerful sons, the earls of Feith, Balkirk and Dunveld. Retribution came from Argyll, and in 1458 Castle Awe was burned to the ground. Although the Wolf spent twenty years rebuilding his stronghold, he for-feited his other holdings, his title and earldom (Lismore) to King James II. He remained universally distrusted and feared until his demise. In 1502, after his mercenary role in the MacDonald uprising, he was accused of treason by the Royal Lieutenant of the North, the powerful Frasier chief. Badly wounded from an escape attempt, he was publicly hanged at Urquhart.

Brie couldn’t see the page, for her vision suddenly blurred. The terrible Wolf of Awe could not be her Aidan. Her Aidan was a Master of Time, sworn to protect Innocence through the ages, a mighty hero defending mankind from evil, upholding God. And Aidan could not hang. He would simply vanish into the future or the past.

Except he had been badly hurt.

She started to cry, but wiped the tears away. She read the next sentences.

His tomb had been carefully restored at the ruins of Castle Awe on Loch Awe. To this day, it remains a popular tourist attraction.

She was so upset she was shaking. She looked at the plate Tabby had set down before her and wanted to wretch. Picking the plate up, she carried it to the kitchen, set it down and leaned hard on the counter. What did all of this mean?

If she went to Loch Awe now, would she find the tomb and effigy she’d seen in her vision?

The Wolf of Awe had been hanged. He was cruel, mercenary. Surely he was not the same man.

But in her vision of him, she had seen her Aidan before he’d turned into stone. He’d worn a wolf’s fang.

Good humans were possessed every single day and then they committed unspeakably evil acts.

Brie moaned. Had Aidan become the Wolf of Awe? Was it somehow possible?

Her head exploded with pain. Brie stepped behind the counter into her kitchen, opening the refrigerator to chug a glass of wine. She was shaking like a leaf. What had happened to him?

Brie slammed the refrigerator door closed. She had to know what was in that Level Four file. She grabbed her purse and keys and stormed from the loft. If Nick wasn’t at his office, she’d wait.

HE FELT THE MOON SETTING for the third time.

Aidan slowly came back to the tower room, a dark despair clawing at him. This hunt had lasted three days and he had not found anything.

He blinked and adjusted his eyes to the dark, shuttered room. As the swirling black evil and the cries of innocence faded, he became aware of his body and his power. All sense of euphoric invincibility was gone. Most of what he had taken three nights ago was gone. The power in his body was hardly ordinary; it was that of the son of one of the greatest deamhanain ever known to Alba. He was arrogant enough to think he might, even without the extra life coursing through him, be capable of defeating a lesser god.

Still he was tired. His body and his mind begged him for rest, but it was time to think of other, worldly matters. He commanded an army of four thousand men—some soulless humans, others fierce Highlanders. He usually sold his army’s services to the highest bidders, and had done so for the past sixty-six years. He didn’t care about the land, the mortal power—although he needed the gold to maintain his army, but he took vast pleasure in every single battle. If he could not engage Moray, he would go to war and relish destroying his other enemies, one by one.

The MacDonalds were marching on Inverness, a royal garrison, and he was joining the rebels, as Malcolm had said. He had personally helped Donald Dubh, their imprisoned leader, escape from Innischonnail, where the Campbell had imprisoned him. Argyll had been infuriated. Had Ian lived, he would have been pleased and proud.

A cry of alarm filled the tower.

Aidan was on his feet, bewildered, unbelieving.

He had met her once in the future, perhaps seventy years ago, and had not thought of her since then. Now he recalled a small woman with white powers, dressed in shapeless garments and ugly spectacles.

Why had he just heard Brianna Rose cry out in alarm? How had he just seen her frightened face so clearly? He had ceased hunting evil through time.

No other cries resounded, but he could feel darkness now, encircling her.

Tension riddled his body. He did not protect Innocence; he used it ruthlessly for his own means, for the attainment of power. He did not want to know what was happening to her. He simply did not care about other people’s problems.

She screamed.

It was a scream of fear and pain; he knew she’d been wounded.

He did not think. He leapt.

STILL DEVASTATED BY THE IDEA that Aidan had become the Wolf of Awe, Brie hurried down the block. Dusk was approaching and she knew she had better not be caught outside. The city wasn’t safe after dark and although the mayor’s curfew was voluntary, very few of the city’s denizens disobeyed it. Every shop on the street had already closed, except for the grocery store on the corner, and they were pulling their blinds.

She started to run. She couldn’t recall ever being this upset, not even when Allie had vanished into time last year. But she had known that Allie’s journey to the past was her Fate, she’d even seen the golden Highlander coming for her. This was entirely different.

The Book, handed down from generation to generation of Rose women, was very clear on the matter of Fate. It could never be defied by a mortal. Only the gods could rewrite it—and they never entirely did.

But sometimes events happened that were not in The Game Plan and the Gods corrected things when they went awry. Eventually, what was meant to be would happen.

Brie prayed that the historian she’d read had gotten all his facts wrong, or that her vision was wrong. She began to think that maybe she’d better go to Scotland and check out the tomb there, but she was really afraid of what she’d find. And why was her grandmother’s ring bothering her? It had always fit perfectly, but now it was pinching her.

Brie stared at the ring. “This is meant to happen, isn’t it?” she murmured.

Her grandmother had passed away a decade ago, at the ripe old age of 102. She’d been in full possession of her faculties right up until she’d taken her last breath. When she passed away in her sleep, Brie had somehow known her time had come and spent the night at her grandmother’s Bedford, NewYork, house. Sarah Rose had died smiling, and Brie often felt her presence.

She felt her now. “I mean, I could have felt all that pain and anguish last year or the year before—but I felt it now, for a reason. He needs me. I’m supposed to help him.” She thought about her crush. Had she become infatuated with him so she could help him? “Why else would I feel him so strongly?”

She felt her grandmother’s benevolence. If Sarah approved, Brie was on the right path, she thought. That only made her more determined to get into that Level Four file.

A shadow fell across the pavement directly in front of her.

Her heart seemed to stop with alarm. In a moment the sun would be vanishing beneath the horizon and the city would be lost in the gloom of the night. She’d never make it all the way to CDA.

A teenage boy stood in front of her, smiling maliciously.

He was pale, pimply and wore a long black cloak, marking him as a member of gangs who reputedly burned “witches” at the stake.

Brie breathed. “Get lost!” she cried, even though she was terrified. “It’s light out!”

“Not for much longer.” He snickered.

She tensed as three more teenage boys barred her way, all of them ghostly white, their lips nearly purple, wearing the same long black cloaks, as if they’d come from the Dark Ages.

She knew all about the ongoing investigation into these gang members at CDA. The “sub-demons,” or subs, as they were often called, were human, with normal DNA and very real identities. They were missing boys and girls, belonging to distraught family members, but, robbed of their souls, they were pure evil.

Brie whirled to run, and faced two more leering teens in black hoods and cloaks. She was in big trouble. She prayed that Tabby and Sam would sense it and come to her rescue. And simultaneously, she thought about Aidan. It was instinct. If he was near, he had the power to save her.

“She’s fat and ugly,” one boy said. “Let’s find someone else.”

Brie didn’t want to die, but she didn’t want anyone else to die, either. She glanced back over her shoulder at the setting sun and cried out. The sky was mauve now, the sun out of sight. In another moment or so, dusk would become night and she would be killed.

Brie tried to run.

They let her. She ran as hard and fast as she could, across the empty street, aware of them laughing with malicious glee. Hope began when she didn’t hear their footsteps behind her. She was going to make it. She didn’t know why they’d let her go and she didn’t care.

Suddenly three different boys appeared in front of her and barred her way, grinning. She tripped, crashing into them, but was seized from behind and pulled ruthlessly up against a lean and young male body. They had only let her go to torture her.

She fought wildly, writhing, her mind exploding into shards of terror. Her captor jerked on her so hard that something inside her snapped. Brie screamed in pain and fear.

The boy holding her laughed. The pimply-faced blond boy held a knife and he hooked it into her jeans, jamming it through the denim. She felt blinded by her terror. The steel met the sensitive flesh of her belly. He said, “Witch. You’re a real one, ain’t you? You reek of witchcraft!”

“No!” Brie begged. But she didn’t dare struggle now.

The boy glanced past her. His face paled and his eyes widened with alarm.

A low, long, very menacing growl sounded.

It was otherworldly.

Shaking, Brie looked behind her.

A huge wolf with blazing blue eyes crouched behind her and the boy, his hackles raised. Wolves did not exist in New York City. This one was oversized, demonic. Brie felt his huge black power.

And in that split second of utter comprehension, before it leapt, she met eyes that were human.

The Wolf of Awe had heard her.

The wolf snarled and leapt—at her.

She screamed, glimpsing enraged blue eyes, expecting the beast to land on her, dragging her down and mauling her to death. As her heart burst in terror, the beast somehow twisted and landed only on her captor, and she spun aside.

The wolf ripped the sub’s throat out and then, with a bestial roar, turned to one of the other boys.

They had guns and they started firing at the wolf as it drove another teen to the ground, savagely ripping him apart the way dogs shred stuffed toys. Brie was frozen in horror, but only for a single breath. She turned to run.

But as she did, the wolf raised his head, bleeding from its shoulder and its chest. It looked right at Brie with its eerily human eyes. Brie backed up, terrified. It leapt at one of the other boys and she did not think twice. As the sub-demon screamed, she fled.

She ran up the block as hard and as fast as she could, acutely aware of the snarling wolf behind her on the city street, making sounds she wished she could not hear. She somehow unlocked the front door of her building and ran inside. She didn’t even think to lock that door or use the elevator. She ran up the three flights of stairs to her loft and somehow unlocked her door, her hand shaking as if with Parkinson’s disease. Slamming the door closed, she speed-dialed Nick. Tears blinding her, she spoke before he could even answer.

“I think he’s here. He’s shot. He needs medical help, Nick!” She wept into the phone.

“Don’t fucking move,” Nick said, and the line went dead.

She dropped the phone, images of the vicious wolf as it destroyed the boys filling her mind. Subs or not, they were human. Sometimes, souls could be reclaimed when evil was exorcized.

Instead of calling Tabby and Sam, she silently begged them to hurry to her. And then she went still, paralyzed.

A huge power filled her loft behind her.

Brie began to shake uncontrollably. Slowly, she turned.

Aidan of Awe stood there.

CHAPTER THREE

HE WAS A MAN, NOT A WOLF, and he was bleeding from his gunshot wounds. His blue eyes blazed with rage and fury.

Brie cried out, pressing her back into her door. This man bore no resemblance to the Master she’d met last year and she couldn’t breathe, choking on fear. She looked from his beautiful, furious and ravaged face to his bloody body, utterly naked, and then at the gold chain he wore, the fang hanging on it. She inhaled. He was all hard, rippling muscle and his entire body throbbed with tension.

She tore her gaze upward. “You’re alive,” she gasped. “You’re hurt!”

His blue eyes were livid. “Never summon me again.”

His anger enveloped her. It was terrifying, for there was so much hatred in it. Brie shuddered. The power of his hatred made her begin to feel sick. She tried to shake her head. She hadn’t summoned him!

He was the Wolf of Awe.

What had happened to him?

The Wolf wanted blood and death. Brie felt the bloodlust. And she had seen the evil.

Her mind was reeling. “You’ve been shot.” She realized she was whispering. “Let me help you…Aidan.”

He snarled at her. “Come closer an’ see how ye can really help me, Brianna.”

He remembered her.

His mouth curled unpleasantly.

She exhaled harshly. She didn’t move, not convinced that he wouldn’t turn into that wolf and rip her to death. But he had saved her from the gang. If he was going to hurt her, wouldn’t he have done so already?

Her temples pounded with the pain of having taken in so much of his rage and hatred. Feeling faint, perhaps from uncertainty, she met his glittering blue gaze. His hard stare was cold, menacing. How could a man change so much in a single year?

She was terrified of him, but she was supposed to help him, wasn’t she? “You’re bleeding,” she whispered. “You could bleed to death.”

He barked at her, a dark, bitter laugh. “I willna die. Not yet.”

She tried to feel past the hatred and anger, the lust for more blood, but if he was weakened or in pain, it eluded her. He was probably too full of adrenaline just then.

She pushed the fear aside. She would not risk him bleeding to death. She turned and opened the linen closet, not far from the kitchen. She took several towels out and faced him. His gaze moved from the towels in her hands to her face.

The distance of a small kitchenette separated them. She started forward slowly, in case he tried to seize her, or worse, turned into the Wolf and leapt at her.

“Dinna!”

She faltered by the kitchen counter. “Here.” She held out the largest towel.

He looked even angrier.

Brie tossed it at him.

She thought he meant to catch it. Instead, he batted it away with one hand. Her gaze dropped of its own accord and she knew she flushed. “You need clothes—and medical attention,” she whispered, dragging her eyes upward. Their gazes locked.

“I need power,” he said dangerously.

Demons lusted for power. All evil did. Brie felt tears of fear and despair well. She somehow shook her head. “No.” That Wolf had been evil. That Wolf had destroyed those teenagers. How could this be her Aidan?

He suddenly turned and picked up the towel, his every movement filled with raw fury. He wrapped it around his waist. When he looked at her with his blazing eyes, he said, “They were lost.”

She trembled. He had just read her thoughts. “You don’t know that their souls couldn’t be reclaimed.”

He snarled at her.

“Are they all dead?”

“Every last one,” he said savagely, as if triumphant.

She wiped at her tears.

“Ye cry for the deamhan boys?”

She was crying for him. “No. I’m sorry. You saved me, and I’m judging you.”

It was a moment before he spoke. “I hardly saved ye, Brianna,” he said, so softly that her heart skipped.

Brie found her gaze fixed on his. Her tension changed. Desire charged through her body in response to his blatantly seductive tone.

He knew. He smiled. “Ye ran. I hunted ye here,” he said as softly.

He spoke as if he meant to take her to bed, not maul her to pieces. She became still, her body tight now, quivering, while fear surged. She began shaking her head. She wouldn’t believe it. She would never believe him capable of hurting her.

She prayed that he had not fallen so far into black evil that he could do such a thing.

But, dear God, she was standing face-to-face with the man she had just spent the past year dreaming of.

Brie wet her lips and backed up.

His lust escalated dangerously, changing. It overshadowed the anger, the hatred. The need to draw blood vanished. She began to feel dizzy, hollow and faint. Her heart was pounding so hard, it hurt. His gaze was on her face now, and the tension that throbbed between them seemed so charged, Brie thought the air might blaze.

Brie closed her eyes. So much emotion and tension were swirling in the room, she was becoming confused. She had to keep a grip on her mind. She couldn’t desire him now! He was simply too dangerous.

She fought for control, and when she opened her eyes, he looked oddly satisfied, as if he sensed her internal struggles. “Aidan, please sit down.” She swallowed, knowing she’d sounded like Tabby with her first-graders. “I can stop the bleeding until the medics get here.” Keeping up the pretense, she nodded toward the sofa.

He laughed at her. “Dinna speak as if I’m a small boy. Three bullets can’t kill the son of a deamhan.”

She went rigid. He could not be the son of a demon. Was this a bad, bad joke?

“Aye,” he said, growling. “The greatest deamhan to ever walk Alba spawned me.”

More tears rose. How could this be happening? “You’re a Master!”

“Damn the gods,” he roared.

She cringed, shocked. “They’ll hear you!”

“I dinna care!”

Brie did not move, searching his furious gaze. He hated the gods. She trembled, afraid for him.

His blue eyes changed, becoming brilliant now, blinding. “Ah, Brianna,” he murmured. “Ye care so much.”

His lust for power and sex made her reel. Her body fired on every possible cylinder, but she was also sickened in her heart. The rage and hatred, the lust, the frenzy of it all was too much for her to bear. “What happened to you?”

“Come here,” he said softly.

She tensed, instantly aware of what he intended.

“Ye want to come to me, Brianna.”

She did. She wanted nothing more, and suddenly she wasn’t sure why she was hesitating.

He started.

Brie thought his surprise was a response to her hesitation until her front door blew open and Nick stood there with his gun drawn.

Brie came out of her trance. Before she could scream at Nick, Aidan seized her, his strength shocking, fury blazing through him into her. Brie gasped as he pulled her up against his rigid body, her back to his chest.

Instead of feeling terror, a shocking sense of familiarity struck her.

When he spoke to Nick, his breath feathered the side of her neck and ear, leaving her breathless. “Do ye really wish to see if ye can murder me…afore I murder her?” Aidan taunted.

Brie clung to his strong forearm, which was locked beneath her breasts. His arm hurt her ribs terribly, reminding her that the sub might have bruised or fractured one of them. It was a welcome distraction from her conflicted senses, because she was acutely aware of his heart pounding slow and thick against her shoulder blades. Worse, he was only wearing her towel. There was no mistaking what was pulsing against her hip.

But, blended with the sexual desire she felt from him, there was murderous intention.

He seemed to hate Nick.

“Brie, don’t move,” Nick ordered calmly, his blue eyes the coldest she had ever seen.

“Nick, he saved me. Don’t kill him!” she cried, terrified for them both.

Aidan jerked on her, clearly wanting her silent. “Ye seem fond o’ yer little woman,” he said to Nick mockingly. “Mayhap she should have summoned ye to her side, instead o’ me.”

“Let her go. She’s an Innocent. You and I, we need to talk, calmly and reasonably, Aidan.”

Aidan’s answer was immediate. Brie cried out as Nick was blasted with blazing, visibly silver energy. Nick was pushed back against the wall as if by a huge gale.

She felt Aidan’s focus shift entirely to Nick. “Well, well,” he said softly, with great relish.

She was surprised. Demons could hurl their power so strongly that they’d send ordinary humans across entire football fields. HadAidan withheld his power with Nick?

She knew what he meant to do before he hurled another kinetic blast at her boss. “Don’t,” she began, but it was too late.

The silver lightning blazed into Nick. To Brie’s shock, Nick seemed to absorb the impact this time, reeling but remaining upright. He pointed the .45 at them and said dangerously, “I’m trying really hard not to blow your brains out. Oh, and I’m a dead shot.”

Brie gasped, “Aidan, we’re all on the same side. Please, don’t do this.”

Aidan nuzzled her cheek, which made her body explode with urgency. “I’m enjoyin’ myself too much to cease now,” he murmured.

Brie felt her body scream for his in spite of the terrible crisis. She somehow looked at Nick. “He is good, not evil, Nick. Don’t shoot.”

“He’s turned, Brie. He turned a long time ago. If you can’t feel the black power in this room, it’s because you’ve been brainwashed.”

Brie shook her head desperately. “No.”

Nick said, “Let her go, Aidan, and I’ll let you go.”

Brie knew it was a lie. So did Aidan, because he laughed. “Ye forget, Nick, I can leap away whenever I choose. Ye canna stop me. I stay here to war with ye because it pleasures me.” More silver energy blazed.

Nick grunted, going down to his knees, but he somehow kept the gun in his hand.

And Tabby and Sam appeared on the threshold of the loft, both of them breathless. As they halted, Sam’s favorite weapon appeared in her hand, a steel Frisbee with a dozen knifelike teeth. She could sever a man’s head from his body with it—a great way to bring even the purest demons down. But she said, in disbelief, “Aidan?”

“Sam, he saved me. Don’t hurt him,” Brie cried.

Aidan jerked her closer to his hard body. “Be quiet.”

Nick was back on his feet now. “How good are you with that thing?” he asked Sam.

“Good, but I won’t risk hurting Brie, too,” Sam said, never taking her gaze from Brie and Aidan.

Tabby, who was amazing in crises, now sank to her knees and started chanting a spell. The Book of Roses had been translated long ago from Gaelic to English, but her spells were always spoken in the language of their foremothers, which gave her magic all the power the Ancients would allow.

Aidan’s body filled with a new tension. Brie glanced up, and for the first time saw wariness reflected in his eyes.

He didn’t fear Nick or Sam and their weapons, but he feared Tabby’s magic. Brie instantly guessed her cousin’s intentions. Aidan could not be restrained with ropes, shackles or steel bars. Tabby intended to bind him with a spell, making him an impotent, virtual prisoner.

Aidan snarled and his grasp on her tightened.

“Don’t,” Nick snapped.

It was too late. Brie gasped as the force began. They whirled through the room, through the loft’s walls, through the building, across the city skyline. And then, as they were hurled with the speed of light through the atmosphere, past suns and stars, she screamed, the velocity ripping her body to shreds.

He did not make a sound.

HE HELD HER TIGHTLY, his senses furiously ablaze as never before. He was acutely aware of the woman in his arms—the Innocent he had leapt through time to rescue. As they landed, he instinctively shifted his body to break her fall. He did not know why he did so. He shouldn’t care if she was hurt.

She screamed from the impact anyway.

He welcomed the pain of landing on the stone floor.

He had leapt time, against his own will, to protect her from evil. He had just served the gods.

His rage increased.

They had landed in the tower room, which remained in absolute darkness. She wept in his arms now, sobbing from the torment of the leap through so many centuries, her body atop his. He was acutely aware of her torment.

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.

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.”

Brie shook her head, upset. “No one can live alone. Everyone needs friends.”

“Aidan lost his soul decades ago,” Claire said softly. “He has become a dark and dangerous man. He is not the stuff of romantic dreams. I hope you can see that. I hope you aren’t interested in him.”

“I’m a Rose,” Brie said, hoping to hide her feelings, which were clearly somewhat obvious. “Rose women are gifted, and we’re meant to use our gifts to help those in need. I have the Sight and I’m a strong empath. I met Aidan a year ago, briefly, and never expected to see him again. But recently I have been consumed with his pain and torment, and it’s unlike any empathy I’ve ever had before. I’ve been brought here for a reason, Claire.”

“An’what reason do ye think yer here for?” Malcolm asked bluntly.

Brie hesitated. “He saved me,” she told them. “The subs would have murdered me and he saved me. Maybe it’s my turn to help him.”

Claire gasped, “He hasn’t rescued an Innocent since his son was murdered.”

Brie breathed hard, anguished for Aidan and his child all over again. “Was it a demon?”

“It was his father,” Claire said.

“Oh, God,” Brie whispered, aghast. “What he has suffered! No wonder he has become so dark!”

Claire grasped her arm. “Brie, you are too involved!”

“How can I not be involved? He needs me—he needs us,” she added quickly, flushing. “We have to help him.”

“Help him how?” Claire cried. “Help him find himself? He is ruthless, Brie.”

Brie hugged herself. “If he was as ruthless as you say, I wouldn’t be standing here.”

Claire was pale. “Are you really thinking of befriending him? To what end? To guide him back to his vows? He isn’t the same man, and I don’t think he’ll ever be that man again. He’ll destroy you.”

Malcolm took her elbow. “She cares fer him, Claire.”

“Obviously!” Claire cried.

Brie realized there was no point in trying to hide her feelings. “I can’t walk away from him—not when he is in such torment. I can’t walk away from his son’s ghost, either.”

“If there is a ghost,” Claire said.

Brie jerked. “Why would you say that?”

“Because Aidan is the only one who has seen Ian.”

Brie was stunned. “I can see him.”

Claire’s eyes widened and she exchanged a sharp look with Malcolm.

“The gods have a reason fer all they do—when they bother with us,” he finally said.

“Maybe you are right, and there’s a reason you are here,” Claire said to Brie. She shook her head. “Aren’t you afraid of him? We fear him. Everyone fears him. He should be feared.”

Brie did fear him. He made her uncomfortable, and he was so unpredictable. She was terrified of the Wolf. But she didn’t think he would hurt her. She’d meant what she’d said earlier. He’d had many chances to do so. “He still has a conscience.”

Malcolm started. “Ye have faith. I am pleased.”

Claire spoke grimly. “Befriend him—save him if you can—but do not trust him,” she warned.

Brie knew it was really good advice. And the truth was, she didn’t quite trust him, so Claire’s advice would be easy to follow.

Malcolm spoke. “I still fear fer ye, lass. In good conscience, I canna leave an’Innocent in this place with my brother. Would ye care to come to Dunroch with us? Ye can save him in bits an’pieces, from a safe distance.”

Brie wasn’t going anywhere. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ll stay here.” She couldn’t befriend Aidan if she was at Dunroch. She stared at the handsome couple. “Do you guys know Black Royce and the lady of Carrick?”

Malcolm smiled. “Royce is my uncle, lass, and we ken them well.”

Brie felt so much relief. She desperately needed backup, and Allie was the best backup there was. “Are they far from here?”

“By horse, Carrick is a two-or three-day ride, depending on the time of year,” Claire said, grinning. “I should have known you and Allie were friends. I’ll let her know that you’re at Awe.”

“Thank you,” Brie said. She wasn’t as alone as she’d been an hour ago, and now, understanding more of what had happened to Aidan, her purpose was becoming clearer. “I have one more question. What is today’s date?”

“’Tis November 18th,” Malcolm said. “November the 18th, in the year 1502.”

Brie froze in horror.

HE LAY IN THE COLD, WET EARTH, panting hard, uncontrollably, his head on his paws. Overhead, the moon was huge and bright. Brianna could see his son.

He’d howled his anguish until he could not howl anymore. Why could she see Ian when no one else could, except for him?

The pack of wolves that had gathered, heeding his despair, ringed him in the glade where he lay unmoving, overcome with torment. The females wanted him; the males would die for him, and they would remain there until he changed forms, protecting him. He made no move to do so. In that moment, he did not ever want to go back to Castle Awe.

Why had Ian gone to her today, instead of to him?

And why could she see him so clearly, for long moments, when he was cursed with a brief glimpse?

A wolf could not weep. A wolf could not moan. He rose up on his haunches, and this time when he howled, the sound reverberated through the forests and to the mountain peaks. The pack took up his cries.

His son had been haunting him since the day he had been murdered. It did not matter whether he was at Awe, at Dunroch, at court or in battle, whether in the future or the past—the moment came unfailingly every single day. He might be turning the corner of a corridor, leaving the great hall or exiting a stairwell. He could be hunting a stag, or in the bow of a galley. But from the corner of his eye, suddenly and with no warning, he would glimpse his small son.

And for one heart-stopping instant he would come face-to-face with Ian, who would stand there looking at him, so very frightened, and then vanish.

There had been 14,093 such moments in the past sixty-six years.

But today, Ian had gone to Brianna.

What did it mean?

No one had ever glimpsed the small ghost except for Aidan. He knew that his servants thought him mad, as did Malcolm and most of Alba. And now she

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