Dark Lover

by Brenda Joyce

  What was wrong with her?

  Images flashed, of the monk on that tower laughing down at them, of Ian impaled against the wall.

  More images came, of her mother. As clearly as if it were happening in the moment, she saw her being raped. When she began to strike the demon with a stick of wood, he had thrown her aside, getting up and laughing at her before walking away.

  She had seen her mother raped. She was stunned, paralyzed.

  Ian cried out.

  She returned to the present. “What is it? Am I hurting you?” Had she pushed on him too hard by mistake? Even brushing that pike would cause acute pain.

  Breathing hard, he said, “Try the cuffs.”

  She understood. Sam moved her arms and the cuffs fell free. Instantly she knelt over him, removing her T-shirt and ripping it in two. The wound at his back wasn’t bleeding, and she pressed half of her shirt to his chest.

  He gasped and said, “Remove the pike.”

  Now was not a good time for a debate, but she said, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  “My father is a Master. I heal quickly. Remove it.”

  Sam hesitated, whipped off her belt and said, “The moment I do, do not move. I’m going to use my belt to keep pressure on both wounds.”

  “Give me the belt,” he said.

  And she knew why he wanted it. She pressed the tip to his lips and he bit down hard on the leather. Sam repositioned herself behind him and pulled.

  Because she was exceptionally strong, she tore the pike free in one motion. Two horrible seconds felt like a hundred. Ian choked on the leather but didn’t scream.

  She threw the pike aside, wadded up each piece of her shirt against both wounds, and wrapped her belt around his chest to keep the pads in place. “You need to lie on your back so I can put more pressure on your chest,” she said harshly.

  He instantly did so, eyes closed. He wasn’t white now. He was green.

  “This would be a good time to pass out,” she said, using both her hands to press down on the compress.

  He didn’t answer her. She hadn’t expected him to.

  Sam looked down at his beautiful face, now etched in pain and strain. More tears came. No one deserved the kind of life he’d been destined for, and no one deserved what he was going through now. The pain, the torment, it had to stop. Ian needed—deserved—peace. Not death, but a life with happiness. “You deserve a break, damn it,” she whispered. “I will always have your back, Ian.”

  His lashes fluttered.

  She blinked rapidly as the tears dripped. She couldn’t lose him. It was too soon. They were just getting to know each other. God, this wasn’t fair. She loved him.

  She went still, shocked.

  Then she looked at him and he was looking up at her intently.

  She prayed this wasn’t one of those few times when he could read minds. She looked at her T-shirt, which had been light blue, and was relieved to see that it wasn’t soaked with his blood. “I think the bleeding is slowing. Don’t move. I’m going to keep the pressure on.”

  His mouth curved. “That’s a nice bra…I like what’s inside it…even better.”

  “A Maclean comeback. You must be on the mend.” She looked at him carefully. Was his color better? He certainly wasn’t green now. She looked at the T-shirt between her hands. The bleeding had stopped, she was almost certain, but she kept the pressure on.

  “Where are we?”

  Sam glanced around. “I don’t know. But we’re not in medieval times. I’d say we were in the twentieth century, or even our time.” Then she looked down at him. “Rather, my time.”

  “I guess ye won’t let me off…that hook.”

  “Why should I?”

  His smile was odd. “Yer mascara’s run all over yer face.”

  She made a sound. “So much for waterproof. I told you, the chemicals in here are problematic.”

  “Let me up.” He started to sit.

  “Like hell!” She was actually alarmed.

  “I can sit. I can also get us out of here, if the door has locks.”

  Sam went still. “Yeah, I guess you can.” She would never let him leap in his condition.

  Sam released the pressure on his chest and he sat up. To her relief, he grunted but did not pale. They both looked at his chest and the wadded T-shirt there, under her belt. There was blood, but half her shirt remained blue. Sam went behind him. The exit point was even better.

  She started to stand. He seized her hand, pulling her back down to her knees. They were eye to eye, mouth to mouth. His gaze was steady and unwavering. “Thank ye.”

  She wet her lips. She wanted to throw her arms around him and hold him, hard. Of course, she’d never do such a thing. “For what?”

  His gaze became searching. A moment passed. In the silence, Sam became aware of the sound of cars outside. She thought she heard a horn, distantly. She thought she could barely hear a subway rumbling, too. “For having my back.”

  She searched his eyes. “It’s no big deal,” she lied.

  “Yer the bravest human being I have ever met,” he said.

  She became still. This wasn’t the time for jokes. He was being serious. He’d commented on her courage before, and she wasn’t sure where he wanted to go with this now. “There isn’t really another choice.” But, she recalled her sudden memory of her mother’s rape and murder.

  “There’s always another choice,” he said. His hand suddenly cupped her jaw. “And yer so beautiful, so hot. I want ye, Sam.”

  “Now?” She was disbelieving.

  He grunted in pain but he smiled. “I wanted ye in Oban. I decided that day to find ye, have ye. I still want ye, like it was that day.” He hesitated.

  “What?”

  He shook his head, not answering.

  She smiled, trying not to think about the shocking revelation she’d just had about her own past. “Well, it’s mutual.”

  His face changed. “I’m a coward,” he said, as he stood up.

  Sam stood up, as well. “That is unfair.”

  “It’s the truth. I look at a demon, any demon, and I get sick with fear.” He shrugged, avoiding her eyes now. “The monk terrifies me.”

  “You may be frightened when you face evil, but you fight it anyway—and that makes you as brave as me, or even braver.”

  “Don’t turn me into yer hero,” he said softly.

  And Sam had a terrible feeling that he’d heard her silent declaration of love. “Jet-setting playboys who become dirty rich by stealing from their even wealthier friends can’t be heroes, not even on their best day, and not even with white power in their back pockets.”

  He smiled. “So we cleared that up.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she said.

  He was staring. Her heart did a funny flip-flop. He was so intense, so thoughtful. His gaze moved to her mouth.

  He’d kissed her last night like there would not be a tomorrow. Hell, maybe he’d seen the future—their future. She was shaken. Did they have a future? He was Ian Maclean, a rich, selfish playboy, and even if he saw the light and joined the good guys, he belonged in the sixteenth century! “Let’s blow this joint.”

  He had a funny look on his face. He reached for her chin and winced. But he pushed it up with two forefingers. Sam’s heart exploded in excitement.

  As if he knew, he smiled and it was arrogant, satisfied. Then the expression vanished. He leaned close; his mouth brushed hers. She trembled.

  She needed to be with him again. This time, it would be different. Because her heart was bursting with love.

  He plied her mouth gently, pulled back, and their gazes met.

  “Are you two ready to barter?” the monk of Carlisle said.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  IAN’S EXPRESSION HARDENED and his eyes blazed.

  Sam stepped closer to him. Three huge thugs stood behind Carlisle, all in polo shirts with poorly fitting, garishly pinstriped jackets. Their soulless eyes told Sam they were subs, bu
t they looked like overweight and oversize Mafia bodyguards. They were even carrying. Based on their fashions, she wondered if they were in the seventies.

  “Are you feeling better, Ian?” the monk asked, his smile cruel. “I am so relieved. But I didn’t think you’d die that easily.” He chuckled. “I know you too well.”

  Ian exhaled. Sam glanced at him and touched his hand in warning. Now was not the time to engage. But he was so angry, she could feel his rage. It was explosive.

  “Ye always were a coward,” Ian said softly. “I was too young to realize it before.”

  Carlisle’s face turned ugly. “I am not the one who is afraid. I’m not the one who became a willing and obedient slave.”

  Ian shook. “I was a nine-year-old boy left in the hands of a full-blood demon!”

  Sam took his hand. “Ian, don’t.”

  He jerked away from her. “Ye used to pretend to be my best friend. Ye used to pretend to be a father figure. But every night was the same—and then there was your New Year’s Eve game. Now, yer even more of a coward. Ye stabbed me with the pike, while I was unconscious,” he spat, trembling. “How brave ye truly are!”

  Sam cringed, sickened again by what he’d endured as a boy. “Ian, don’t bother,” she tried. “You won’t win this debate!”

  “But it amused me.” The monk grinned. “Just as it amused me to be your friend when you were a child. Just as it amused me to play games with you. You were so easy to manipulate, to enslave, Ian. I’d hoped for more of a challenge now.”

  Sam looked from Ian’s harsh expression to Carlisle’s amused one. She knew Ian wanted to destroy the monk. She was afraid he’d try to do so. He’d failed earlier, before being hurt. He couldn’t possibly succeed now. And she hated the fact that he was a prisoner again, pretty much helpless. “He’s playing games now. He’s messing with you.”

  “It’s all the truth,” Ian said. “I’m sick of games.”

  Carlisle laughed. “But more games await. I live for pleasure and pain, and you are my prisoner again!”

  Ian breathed hard. “If ye think I’ll ever give ye satisfaction now, you’re wrong. I’ll kill myself first.”

  Sam knew he meant it. Somehow, they had to escape. But Carlisle’s power was frightening.

  “Really? Little Ian grew up to be a virile man,” Carlisle said softly. “I’ve seen the tape.”

  As Ian lunged, Sam grabbed him from behind. And he knew better, because he twisted free of her but did not lunge at Carlisle again.

  “This is quaint,” Carlisle murmured. “You’ve become fond of her. Maybe the way to really hurt you is through her?”

  “Leave Sam out of this. This is between ye and me,” Ian said tersely.

  “If hurting her hurts you, than she is very definitely a part of this,” he returned thoughtfully. “You went out of your way to find her at the Cathedral.”

  Sam’s mind tumbled over what he was doing. “Ian, he’s baiting you. We have something he wants!” Ian was too weak. If push came to shove, she knew he could be terribly hurt this time. She looked at the monk. “Ian is right, you’re a frigging coward,” Sam said. She moved to stand beside Ian. “Let me guess. You want the page.”

  “How clever you are, Sam.”

  “I’ll die before I give ye more power!” Ian exclaimed harshly.

  Sam cast a sharp look at him. He meant it. And she realized the blue shirt was redder than it had been. He was bleeding again.

  The monk’s blond brows had lifted. “But I won’t let you die…ever. Surely you know that?”

  Ian trembled.

  “I’m too pleased to have you back. You’ll live out the centuries in my new maze,” he added. “But I will let her die.”

  As Ian shook in fury, Sam fought her own anger. Carlisle was enjoying these head games. He was a sadist. “Carlisle, he will die if the bleeding continues. Surely you know that.”

  “Sam, rest assured, I will not allow him to die. He can spend the rest of his life trying to hide from me in my new maze, after he watches you die. Unless you cooperate?”

  Sam realized he meant it. “Don’t you know that your days are numbered? Even if I die, even if Ian dies, I guarantee Nick will hunt you down. But you won’t kill us, because you want the power of virtual control and we have it. You need us.”

  “Yes, you have the power that I want. And I will do whatever it takes to get it.”

  Ian touched her hand and she looked at him. Their gazes locked.

  I won’t let him have the power.

  She ignored that. She was willing to do anything to save Ian, even give up the page. Are you all right? You’re bleeding again.

  I’m fine. I want ye out of this.

  His gaze was unwavering on hers now.

  Sam decided not to answer. That page was his ticket to freedom, and maybe, to peace and happiness. Then she looked at Carlisle, who grinned. “Yes, I heard him. I heard you, too. You do realize your cooperation spares you a terrible ordeal and your eventual death?” Carlisle turned to the thugs. He nodded.

  The three possessed men started toward them.

  Sam knew that they were going to do something to Ian. “Stop!” she cried, panicking. “Whatever you intend, stop, because I said we would bring you the page!”

  Ian knew they were coming for him, too, because he raised his hand in warning. Sam wondered how much power he could muster.

  “If you try to use your power, I will use mine and we both know who will win,” Carlisle said calmly. “Seize him.”

  Sam and Ian exchanged glances as two of the three men took Ian’s arms. He paled as his arms were twisted behind his back. And then she saw the needle.

  “Absolutely not,” Sam cried. “That is not necessary! Carlisle, let Ian go. He has the page and he can bring it to you. You can keep me hostage until he does.”

  “An interesting proposal,” Carlisle said. He nodded at the balding man who held the needle.

  Sam cried out. Ian tried to twist away and dodge the needle, but he was held still by the other two. The third guard jammed the needle into his arm.

  “What is that?” Sam demanded furiously. She was frightened, because Ian suddenly collapsed in the two thugs’ arms.

  Carlisle watched as they laid him down on the hard floor. “A sedative, of course. A powerful one—after all, he’s Aidan of Awe’s son. The drug would kill a mortal, but he should survive it.”

  “He’s lost a ton of blood!” Sam cried. “He needs a doctor or a Healer. He’s still bleeding, damn it!”

  Carlisle laughed at her. “Bring me the page of illusion, Sam, and I will let him live.” He paused before her and touched her cheek. Sam flinched. “I might even restrain my own libido and my need to inflict pain for a while—if you hurry back.”

  She couldn’t stand the notion of Ian being this demon’s prisoner for another second. “If you touch him while I’m gone, I won’t hand over the page.”

  “I don’t take orders from anyone, not anymore. When the drug starts to wear off, he’ll need some encouragement to remain weakened and powerless, won’t he?”

  He’d start torturing him even while he was on sedatives. The pain would be dulled, but not eradicated. “You sick, sadistic sonuvabitch,” she said.

  “I’m a demon.” He was amused. “Pain excites me. Pain empowers me.” His gaze locked with hers. “And I like boys better than I do girls.”

  Sam was thankful Ian was unconscious and couldn’t hear what the monk had said. “All right. I’ll bring you the page. Release me so I can get it. And we’ll arrange a transfer. The page for Maclean.” She swallowed. “I’ll have a medical team with me. I want him alive—and untouched.”

  Carlisle remained amused. “You can’t dictate any terms to me. You love him. Don’t you know that is why you mortals will always lose to us? Your emotions get in the way of war. You’ll give me the page, even if I return him to you as he’s dying. Won’t you, Sam?”

  For one moment, she looked at him in utter and helples
s rage, speechless. He was right. If she returned and found Ian at death’s door, she’d still hand over the page.

  On the floor, by their feet, Ian stirred. Sam instantly knelt. “I’m coming back for you, Ian.”

  His lashes fluttered but his eyes did not open.

  She laid her hand on his cheek. To her horror, he felt feverish. An infection was setting in from the pike wound. She looked up. “He needs a doctor, damn it. He needs antibiotics!”

  “Then I guess you should hurry, shouldn’t you?”

  Sam looked down and as she did, his eyes opened. Don’t give him more power.

  “I have to,” she said. “I can’t leave you here.”

  His glazed eyes flickered. Ye can leave me, Sam. Ye can walk out the door an’ walk away an’ never look back…

  Did he want to be tortured? Did he want to die?

  The monk grabbed her arm, dragging her to her feet. Sam shook him off violently. “If you don’t bring me the page, he will wish he were dead all over again.”

  “I said I’d bring it.”

  “Don’t ever mistake my intentions. He won’t die, Sam. He will suffer.”

  She looked down at Ian, who was watching her, fighting the drug to keep his eyes open. “I am not walking away. I am coming back to you.”

  His gaze suddenly locked with hers.

  “It’s true,” she heard herself say. “How I feel. It’s all true.”

  And in spite of the drugs, his eyes widened.

  As Sam was escorted out, she heard Carlisle laughing at them.

  She was sick. And she was scared of what he’d do to Ian now.

  SAM STARED at the imposing front gates barring the drive leading up to Ian’s Loch Awe mansion. From this perspective, the stone manor seemed to float upon the purple lake, although it was set back from the loch’s shores. Sam didn’t move. A few stars were beginning to emerge in the dusky sky. Gerard reached for the passenger door. He was seated beside her. “I’ll use the code, Ms. Rose.”

  She nodded, not even glancing at him. Instead, she thought about the time she’d showed up there last year in her sexy red dress, hoping to bargain with Ian—the second time they’d ever met.