Dark Lover (21 page)

The circle was closing in on her, she thought, unafraid. First Allie, then Brie and Tabby. Now, a demon from medieval times was confronting her—and Ian might be medieval, too.

“Nice to meet you,” she quipped. “So what time are you from?”

He chuckled. “I'm from 1527.”

Ian had been released from his captivity in 1502. “Hey, you must know Maclean.”

His brows lifted. “I am very fond of Ian.”

She tensed. She got every innuendo in his soft tone. “You motherfucking son of a bitch,” she spat.

“Have I hit a nerve?”

Sam told herself not to get sick. She wanted to kill him. He held up his hand, laughing.

“Kill me and you'll never have the answers you crave.”

He could read minds. Her control was gone, her temper consuming. “So tell me what I want to know.”

“Yes, I knew him when he was the great Moray's prisoner.”

She shook with rage. “I thought so. Hey, you're in for a surprise. He's not a kid anymore, he's not helpless—and he's not alone.”

“Really? And who is on his side? You?” He shook his head, amused. “In case you haven't noticed, you're my prisoner and not capable of helping anyone right now.”

“Shows how much you know.”

“You're so different from Lady Tabitha.”

Sam breathed in.
Tabby was in 1527 now
. “So you know Tabby. What is she, a best bud, too?”

“I prefer to keep my distance from her, actually. I could vanquish both her and Macleod, but I don't see the point in engagement.” He smiled. “His temper is worse than yours.”

Ha, Sam thought, furious now. Of course he kept his distance. In the early sixteenth century, Tabby was an extremely powerful witch. Not to mention that her hubby was a superpowerful Master.

This had started with Maclean. Now, she didn't know if it was only about him or her, Tabby or all of them. “What do you want?” Sam demanded. “I'm tired of word games. Not really my style—if a medieval son of Satan like you can get my drift.”

“You know what I want, Sam, as does Ian. In fact, he knows exactly what I want.”

The page of illusion
. She didn't think he was working with Hemmer—she didn't think he'd like to share, or vice versa. But Hemmer had locked her in—and now the monk was there, so one never knew. She wanted to murder him on the spot. She was livid, the second time she'd lost control of her temper in just a few moments. She was never angry when in the field. Angry slayers became dead slayers and no one had to tell her that.

But it was too late. She was completely pissed off. Maclean needed justice. So did she.

“You know what I think? I think you need a lesson in humility and boundaries.”

He smiled with relish. “When we're done, you will know your boundaries,
if
you're still alive.”

“Hmm. A threat. I really don't like threats…” She smiled and flung the disk at his throat.

He held up his hand. In the blink of an eyelash, Sam knew what he intended. She didn't know if he could do it but she wasn't going to stand there and find out. She ducked.

The black power rushing from his hand turned the disk and sent it whizzing back at her, so swiftly it hissed.

It sliced the air above her hair and embedded itself in a painting.

“Ouch,” Sam said, glancing over her shoulder. “Isn't that a John Singer Sargent? Hemmer will be pissed.” But she was stunned. The monk had a lot of black power, ranking him right up there with the likes of the legendary Moray.

Some demons were nearly invincible and lived thousands of years to prove it, as Moray had. She refused to believe them immortal, though, and this one wasn't going to live a thousand damned years.

“Samantha, you want to go back and see your sister. If you cooperate, I am sure I can arrange a meeting.”

He could take her back to Tabby
.

“I can and will take you back. Once you give me the page.”

She came to her senses. “Moron!” Sam sent her dagger across the vault.

She had dead aim. It should have struck him in his black, bloodless heart. But he flicked his fingers as her throw began, and the blade turned 180 degrees again. This time, the weapon impaled the floor at her feet, instead.

Okay, she thought, I am in deep shit.

She came at him anyway, a razor between her fingers.

His black power blazed.

As if struck by a cyclone, she was lifted from the ground and carried across the vault, where she smashed into the opposite wall with terrific force. She heard her bones crack. For one moment, she lay on the floor, stunned.

Then a blinding pain went though her right shoulder and collarbone.

“Get up,” he taunted. “I won't kill you. I have a message for Maclean.”

This was a moment for all the Rose women. In the past, when she'd come across this kind of evil, Allie would be there to heal, Brie would have seen it all coming, and Tabby would work her magic. Good would win the day. But Samantha was entirely alone.

“Tell Ian I have a new maze, just for him,” the monk said softly.

Gripping the very lethal razor, Sam shifted to get up and cried out, incapacitated by the pain searing through her.

The demon monk laughed and approached her.

Sam tensed, ready for his onslaught, ready to fight back.

“Laugh at me,” Ian said.

T
HE MONK WAS STILL STANDING
over her. Sam looked up and saw Ian in the doorway. He looked like hell. But as ravaged as he seemed, he was furious. His hand trembled as he lifted it. Sam wondered what had happened to him and if he had the strength to save the day. But he sent a blazing streak of white energy into the vault.

As it raced toward the demon like a tidal wave, the monk vanished. Sam covered her head with her arms as his power struck the wall behind her. Plaster cracked. Paintings fell. A chunk of the ceiling crashed by her. When the vault quieted, she took a deep breath.

Ian knelt beside her. “How badly are ye hurt?” he demanded.

Sam looked up. She'd dislocated her right shoulder, she was certain, but it was the acute throbbing in her collarbone which worried her. The pain was blinding. She was determined not to pass out. “I'll be fine,” she said. She started to sit up and instantly became faint.

He knelt and put his arm around her waist. “Can ye admit to being hurt?”

“Okay, damn it. I'm hurt. It hurts.” She gritted, fighting waves of dizziness. Was he worried? “Who was that?”

His gray gaze was averted and he seemed to hesitate. “I didn't see his face.” She heard him breathe harshly. “He had his back to me.”

Something was wrong, Sam thought. The waves of gray
became waves of black. “He came from 1527,” she managed hoarsely. “He knows you—he's from your past.”

Ian's expression tightened as their gazes met. “Lie back down,” he told her.

“Are you sure you didn't recognize him?” But she sank down and found herself in his arms, and the dizzy feeling instantly receded. His arms were strong and so damned familiar. He was almost reassuring.

Disconcerted, she started to sit up, pushing away from him. “We have to get out of here. Hemmer might come back. The monk might come back. No, amend that—he
will
come back. I can get medical attention on Five.”

He ignored her, his face hard and set. “Stop wiggling,” he said, clasping her shoulder.

Sam choked, refusing to cry out as he touched her. She gritted, “What are you doing? Trying to kill me?”

“Shut up,” he snapped.

Sam twisted to look up at him. He refused to meet her gaze, his face set in lines of fierce concentration. She collapsed against him, aware of the breadth and hardness of his chest. It was hard to think. Shit. She was going to pass out…

Suddenly Sam felt soothing warmth creeping through her shoulder and collarbone. The warmth eased the coursing pain. The moment she did, she realized what he was doing. “You can heal?” she gasped. And she saw the white rain coming from his hands.

His mouth tightened. Clearly he would not answer.

Aidan had healed Brie once, even before his redemption
. Sam leaned against him, closing her eyes, gasping in relief, his healing power flowing into her. As the pain in her collarbone receded, the haze in her mind eased, too.
Maclean could heal
.

She looked up, lying against his hard thighs now, and studied his determined face. He hated doing this, she thought. Did he hate being a good guy?

“Why did you come back for me?”

He finally looked at her, with annoyance. “So we can go back to my bed.”

“Liar,” she said. Didn't this make him a good guy? She wasn't supposed to care, but she felt an odd elation—damn it. “I think you care just a little,” she said. “About the war on evil, not me. The indifference, it's a part of the phony facade.”

“Can ye be quiet?” His tone was harsh.

She looked at him closely. “I'm starting to get you, Maclean. Why does that bother you?”

“Really?” He dropped his hands. “Think what ye want. That's the best I can do.”

She sat up. They were almost eye to eye because Maclean still knelt. “Thanks for the healing.”

He shrugged. “Ye should go to an E.R. and get that shoulder set.”

“You really do care. I'm touched.” Their gazes met. When he didn't speak, Sam slid her fingers into the neckline of his shirt and tightened her grasp. “I wasn't sure you'd come back for me.”

“I had to think about it.”

Sam didn't know whether to believe him or not.

He grasped her shoulders. “I'm everything ye think I am…an arrogant, selfish bastard…a complete user. But I want ye. Come back with me to my place. I want to use ye tonight.”

He was hiding behind the bad-boy facade again. “I'll think about that.”

“Really?” And Ian snapped her shoulder back into the joint.

Sam gasped, reeling from the pain, but it was already gone. “Thanks for the warning,” she said.

He had stood up and he just stared down at her. She slowly stood up, too. Everything seemed to be in working
order. She took a moment to breathe deeply. Then she looked at him. It was time to get down to business. “The monk knows you, Ian.”

He shrugged, but his long lashes had drifted down, hiding his eyes. “What did he want?”

Was there a tremor in his tone? “He didn't really say. He said you know what he wants.”

Ian turned abruptly and strode away from her.

His shoulders were absolutely rigid. She followed, recalling the horrible innuendoes in the monk's taunting words. “He's probably in cahoots with Hemmer, although I can't imagine how that partnership would work. The monk threatened me, by the way.” Ian was at the vault's door. He paused to stare at her. “And Hemmer threatened you. I just remembered—the monk gave me a message for you.” Sam hesitated. She didn't know what the monk's message meant, but she sensed it would distress Ian greatly.

Ian glanced sharply at her. “What did he say?”

“He said something about a maze—one he has just for you.”

Ian paled.

He was afraid
. “We're being double teamed. The monk has too much power and Hemmer's no small fry. It's time to come clean. Who is he?” Sam demanded. “What does that mean? Why 1527?”

He breathed hard. When he shoved his hands into the pockets of the blazer he wore, Sam saw that they were trembling. “I belong in 1527,” he said grimly. “You heard Nick mention that I'm out of my time.”

“Yeah,” Sam said slowly, wanting the truth, “I heard.”

“I was released in 1502—twenty-five years ago.”

“So Nick was right,” Sam said slowly. “You're not modern, not at all. Never mind the jeans, the art, the cars, the fine homes. You should be living in medieval times.”

“Like hell,” he snarled at her.

His days in the modern world were numbered. No one could defy the gods and Fate. He was not supposed to be living in New York City. She was dismayed. She had no right to that feeling, either.

When this was over, they'd go their separate ways. More than ideals and morals would separate them—centuries would separate them.

“Let's go,” Ian said suddenly, striding out of the vault.

Sam rushed after him, aware that he did not want to be locked up again. Neither did she, but there was more to discuss. “You know who the monk is, don't you?”

He never paused. “Yeah, I do.”

“Why won't you tell me what we're up against? Why do you fear him?”

“Fine,” he erupted, facing her. “He was my captor those last ten years! Are ye happy now?”

Sam studied him. “How dangerous is he?”

He started forward. “He's evil—a deamhan.”

“If he was your captor for a decade, you must know him well.”

He didn't answer. Revulsion was etched onto his face.

She hurried to keep up. “Maclean, I'm sorry for what you went through,” she began.

“Like hell!” he turned and shouted at her. “Ye know nothing of my past! You know nothing of me!”

She wanted to touch him but she kept her hands to herself. “I know evil. I've fought evil for most of my life, in its every form and shape. And I'll fight this evil with you, Ian.”

“Why? Because ye pity me?”

She shook her head. “Because I never run and I like payback. He did just challenge me.”

But he saw through her. “Fearless Sam, as brave as always.” He was mocking.

“You make it sound like a bad thing.”

He shook his head, the tension still etched in every tight line of his face and body. “No. I admire yer courage. I always have.”

She was shocked. “Did you just say something nice to me?”

For one moment, his gaze held hers. There was so much reluctance in his eyes. Then he shrugged. “It's the truth. But ye have the death wish now. Sometimes it's better to be a coward and run. You should run from the monk.”

“Is that what you plan on doing?”

He started forward. “I didn't say that.”

“Good, then it's a plan. We take on the sonuvabitch together.”

He laughed at her, slowing. “That might be yer plan, Sam, but it's not mine. My only plan is to enjoy your body tonight and proceed with my auction on Friday.”

“You know what? I'm not buying the coldhearted sex-is-everything act. You're shaken up, and frankly, so am I. So we need to start working together.”

His gaze was sharp. “Are ye being serious? Yer never shaken.”

“You weren't there in that vault a moment ago. He took my power and used it against me. I almost lost my head, courtesy of my own weapons. He has more power than I've ever seen, except of course for your buddies, the Masters. But you know what? Even the mighty fall.”

Sam couldn't decipher the look he gave her. What was he thinking? How upset was he? “Have you ever come face-to-face with one of your captors before?” She thought of what he'd done to John.

His mouth curled. “No.”

She decided not to make a quip about there being a first time for everything. “I owe you, Maclean. No doubt about it.”

“Ye owe me nothing.” He leaned close and said tersely, “I have the page of illusion. I am still planning to sell it and walk away with the millions. To hell with the monk and Hemmer. I am not a Slayer.” He strode past the media room.

Sam breathed hard, watching him go. He was really good at cover-ups, she decided, and this was another one. He was on edge, no doubt about it, and she didn't blame him. She didn't care what he said, she was not letting him go up against one of his captors alone. So when it came to the page, they were rivals, but when it came to the monk and Hemmer, they were allies. If he didn't think so, it was tough luck. And if he intended to sell the page and walk away, that was okay, too. She'd take down the bad guys by herself.

He was almost at the elevators. She glanced at the media room. She couldn't leave that video in Hemmer's hands. She didn't want him using it against Ian, not in any way.

She didn't want Ian to know about it, either.

He suddenly halted and faced her. “I'm not leaving you here. Let's go,” he ordered.

To hide her concern, she mocked, “But you don't care about my welfare.”

His eyes blazed. “Let's go, Sam.”

She somehow smiled. “I have some unfinished work to do. I'll catch up with you in a few hours. Maybe I'll even jump into the sack with you…lucky guy.”

His gaze narrowed.

She blocked her thoughts, even though she was beginning to think he wasn't all that good at mind reading. “I work at night, remember?”

His gaze veered behind her, at the media room. “What are ye up to?”

She wet her lips. “Hemmer has a collection of sex tapes. He's got the one you saw and he might have others, featuring yours truly.”

Ian's eyes widened. She felt his interest change.

“Like hell,” she said softly. “Take a hike. This is my business, and I'll catch up with you later. Promise.”

Instead of going out the door, he approached. “You're lying. I can feel it. While ye might be mad that Hemmer has seen ye with yer other lovers, ye wouldn't stay here, in jeopardy, to get the tapes. What's in the room?”

A terribly graphic image of the swinging cage assailed her before she could stop the recollection. It was followed by that male hand with the gold signet ring, reaching for the padlocked door.

Clearly, the image was so powerful that Ian saw it, too. He blanched another time. Briefly, he was speechless. He choked, “Ye saw a boy in a cage?”

“No, I didn't see any cage! What are you talking about?”

He seized her. “What did ye see?”

“It was Hemmer,” she cried. “I'm sorry! It was just an old, grainy video, maybe from the sixties or seventies. It was just a cage, swinging in the night. Ian, it's okay!”

He was almost green as he released her.