Dark Rival. Brenda Joyce
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struggling, but Aidan wouldn’t release her. Panicking, she flung white light at Royce, but Aidan was interfering with her powers—and Royce was leaving rapidly now.
Aidan, take her away, protect her.
“No!”
Royce smiled at her—and the white-gold light swirled upward, into the ceiling—his gray eyes becoming sightless.
Allie screamed. “Nooo!” And she fought to go to him, the white-gold light hovering above them, but Aidan pulled her away.
ALLIE WEPT AND WEPT.
The paramedics had Royce’s body on the stretcher, covered with a cloth, and were wheeling him from the room. Two local police cars were parked inside the courtyard, the officers in the hall with Aidan and Mrs. Farlane. The housekeeper, who was crying, clearly knew about her employer’s secrets. The dead demons, of course, were gone. Their bodies had started disintegrating immediately, and unless there was a crime scene investigation, no traces of them would be found. But from the murmur of voices, and the snippets of conversation she’d heard, Allie knew the police knew the truth. One officer was already talking about the Highland gangs run amok these past few years, a favorite cover-up for these kinds of battles. The other had already called Scotland Yard. The British government probably had their version of CDA, too.
How could he be gone?
Allie doubled over from the sheer pain of her grief. Too late, she understood Tabby’s reading. Then she heard footsteps.
She looked up. Aidan stood there, his face ravaged, a single tear tracking down his cheek. She didn’t hesitate. She jumped up and ran at him, fists balled. He caught her arm as she swung; she lifted her knee, wanting to emasculate him, but he twisted and easily avoided that assault, then caught her in a viselike embrace.
She fought him, wanting to rip his handsome face apart. She wanted blood. He had prevented her from healing Royce—she could have saved him. “I hate you!” she screamed. “Let me go! I will never forgive you—you bastard!”
He released her and she pounded his chest, hurting her fists because he was a wall of muscle. He caught her wrists. “Lass, cease. I love him, too.” His voice broke.
Allie collapsed against the solid wall of his body, weeping again. This could not be happening. Royce was a great man, a great hero, a Master. He deserved to live! Aidan held her loosely now and she needed the comfort he could offer, when there was no real comfort to be had.
Let me go.
Why had he wanted to die?
How old are you?
It doesna matter, Ailios.
So much grief and pain, such a beautiful man…
I have waited a long time for this night.
Allie trembled, but stopped crying. He had waited five hundred and seventy-seven years for her.
Aidan released her and walked away.
Allie wiped her eyes, her heart slamming, turning to gaze after him. He was pouring two huge glasses of whiskey. He drained most of his, then started toward her with the other tall glass. “You’re a Master, too.”
He faltered before offering her the glass.
Allie shook her head. “You can travel through time, don’t even try to deny it. You said you followed Royce here from 1430.”
His eyes were wary now. “Does it matter?”
“Oh, yes, it does.”
He stared, then murmured, “MacNeil asked me to follow Royce. When he left ye here, I should have gone home to Awe, to the time where I belong, but I went to Rome. I need to go back to my time.”
She stared, her mind scrambling.
Sympathy had filled his blue eyes. “Lass, I will take ye home. I just need to think a moment because ye need a Master to aid ye now, here, in yer time.”
She didn’t know what he was talking about. “Take me back in time!” she cried, trembling wildly. “I am not going home! I need to go back in time, to earlier today or even to last night. I’ll tell him what will happen—we’ll stop it this time! I’ll go back in time to stop his murder!” This was the answer; of course it was. To go back in time—and prevent his death.
Aidan paled. “Ye canna go back in time an’ change the future…t’is forbidden.”
“Who cares?” she cried. “I must stop Royce from being murdered! You must help me!”
“I canna break such a rule.”
“What?” She was shocked. And then she was furious. “You hate rules. They’re a cage for your soul!” He would refuse her now? What was wrong with him?
“Lass, the rules I break are the petty ones. MacNeil will take my head if I take ye back so ye can change this day.” He was dark and grim now. “Besides, Royce wished to leave this life. I have heard him say, many times, that he’s tired o’ the fight. Ye’ll nay change his mind, not in a single day.”
Allie stared at him, incredulous, disbelieving. Her mind spun and raced. He wasn’t going to take her back to earlier that day or yesterday; she could see it in his eyes. Royce had wanted to die. She had to accept that, even if she couldn’t understand it. And he wasn’t going to change in a single day.
She breathed hard. Her senses told her that Aidan knew Royce well and he was telling her the truth. Instantly Allie changed her plans. To undo his death she needed time with him—time to convince him he had a future worth fighting for.
And she wanted time with him—a lifetime—even if it was in the primitive past.
He must have sensed what she intended, because his eyes went wide. “Nay.”
“I haven’t asked you yet!”
He shook his head and then drained half of her drink.
“Take me back with you.” A wild determination hardened.
He stared back. “To 1430? Royce will have my head.”
“No, you don’t understand. When we met the other night, he came to me from the fifteenth century. He left me here—but waited for me for almost six hundred years. Don’t you get it? There’s a reason we met that way. He loves me. I love him. You’re going back—take me to him. Take me to him in your time!” she begged fiercely.
He inhaled. “Lass, lust an’ love are hardly the same.”
She seized his hand. “I am going with you!”
And Aidan hesitated.
Allie knew an opening when she saw one. “Please. I will do anything, anything, to go back with you to Royce.’
“Ye offer me yer bed?” He was incredulous.
“Anything…but that!”
He shook his head, still ready to refuse. “Ye willna like my time. Ye willna like Royce very well in my time, either.”
“You can’t deny me. Please.” Her grip tightened. Panic began. He had to do this for her.
He looked into her eyes. “Are ye certain, Lady Allie? Are ye truly certain? What if yer wrong? What if Royce doesna love ye as ye love him?”
“I am certain!” she cried, clinging now to his large hand with both of hers.
He drained the drink, murmured, “Royce left ye here fer a reason. I dinna ken,” and pulled her into his embrace. Allie held on tight. And they were flung across the room, through the walls and into the universe—back to 1430.
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