Kitabı oku: «Dark Embrace»

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?”