Dark Embrace. Brenda Joyce
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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