Dark Lover (31 page)

He slowly said, “I shouldn't have come here, not even to ask fer their help.”

“That is what family is for,” Sam said, laying her hand on his shoulder. His skin was warm and smooth. Her skin was turning hot, everywhere.

He glanced at her, his eyes beginning to lose some of their anger, taking on the light of sexual interest instead. “That's what yer family is for.”

Sam didn't quite smile. It had been an insane day, but they'd survived.

The night was only just beginning now.

“Did ye enjoy seeing yer sister and Brianna?” he asked softly.

Sam slid her hand down his bulging bicep, his muscular forearm. The muscles tightened beneath her caress. “Yeah. It was great. So you were worried about me, huh?”

His gaze was unwavering. “Ye can take care of yerself.”

“That's why you leapt through time to save me. Brie said you were beside yourself,” she prompted, teasing now. But she was breathless.

He gave her an incredulous look. “Brie imagined it…an' ye escaped.”

“With a little out of the ordinary help.” She couldn't look away. “I saw you. When they had me in that surgical chamber, I saw you.”

His eyes hardened. “Did they touch ye at all?”

“No.” She almost smiled. “You do have great timing, Ian.”

His mouth curved. “An' ye want to test it again.”

“I sure do. Maybe my memory doesn't serve me correctly. Maybe your
timing
isn't what I think it is.”

The curve of his lips increased. So did the gleam in his eyes. “Ye know ye recall correctly.”

“And then there's that debt I owe you. The one you have yet to collect,” she whispered, smiling. Her heart was thundering.

Why even try to resist? Sam laid a finger on the waistband just above his fly, pressing down. “Come and get it, Maclean,” she whispered.

His smile vanished. He leaned toward her, his eyes blazing.

It crossed her mind that they still hadn't kissed, not since that first time at Hemmer's party, in spite of all the sex.

He looked at her mouth.

Sam almost forgot about the throbbing heat beneath the pad of her finger. She stared at his mouth.

It shifted, curved. Then he slid his hand into her short hair, on the back of her head. Their eyes met. His smile faded.

It felt like an eternity was passing, as she stood there, her heart slamming, waiting for the feeling of his mouth.

He leaned closer and touched his mouth to hers. Sam's heart erupted as their lips finally made contact. It was a bare, tentative, virginal brushing.

He froze, their lips still touching, as if surprised or uncertain.

Oddly, she was as uncertain, as surprised. “It's okay,” she whispered, curling her hands around his shoulders.

He trembled. His other arm went around her. Then his mouth brushed hers, this time more firmly.

Sam opened.

And Ian finally kissed her. Hot and hard, with shocking hunger, a kiss worth waiting for. Sam kissed him back, stunned by the turbulence in her chest. There was so much joy and so much excitement…

His tongue went deep. She hit the wall, their lips locked.
No one had ever kissed her this way before.

She'd never wanted to kiss anyone back this way, either.

She threaded her fingers through his hair. He grunted, turning her to the bed. Somehow she went down on it, on her back. He pushed between her spread thighs, the scrap of miniskirt lifting out of the way. Their lips still locked—she didn't think she ever wanted to break the kiss—she reached for his zipper. He tore at her mouth, now frenzied.

Their tongues twisted, tasted, entwined.

His teeth grated.

Sam thought she tasted blood.

He tore his mouth from hers, panting hard. Their gazes clashed, locked. Staring at her, his eyes blinding, he reached down between them. She heard the zipper as he jerked it down.

“Can ye wait?” he demanded.

In answer, she wrapped her calves around his waist and pushed against his massive arousal, already wet and slick. He smiled, bent, licked her lips again and again, throbbing against her. Sam gave up. She caught his hips, anchored him and impaled herself.

He cried out.

It was the best damn orgasm—or series of them—ever.

 

S
EVERAL HOURS LATER
, he launched himself off her, panting harshly and rolling onto his back. Still swimming in a sea of ecstasy, Sam just lay there and let the pleasure flow.

It was a while before the waves finally subsided. When she was somewhat coherent, she touched her mouth, which was swollen and bruised. No one had ever kissed her as Ian had that night. It was as if it were the last kiss he'd ever have—or it was as if it were the first kiss for him, a kiss he couldn't get enough of.

She realized he was watching her closely.

Sam turned slightly so their gazes met. His face wasn't
mocking; it was carefully neutral. His gaze was lazy, but watchful.

She wet her lips. “Hey.”

“Did I hurt ye?”

She was amused. “No, Ian. I'm a big, bad girl and I can handle the rough stuff.”

He didn't smile back. He lay fully on his back and stared up at the timbered ceiling.

Sam felt her smile fade. A moment ago he hadn't been able to get enough of her—and it had been mutual. Now, two inches separated their bodies and shockingly, she wanted to close that gap. She actually wanted to lie in his arms and maybe rub her mouth on his chest.

She flushed. If she made the attempt, he might think her involved. He might push her away, reject her.

She'd never worried about rejection before. She'd never cared whether a guy wanted more or not. And she'd never wanted to
cuddle
before, either.

She was not going to turn into a mushy female. She ran her nails down his arm. “You okay, dark lover?”

He turned to stare at her. “Are ye?”

She stopped the phony smile. “That was amazing, actually.”

His expression finally softened. “Yeah.” His gaze moved to her mouth. “I was too rough.”

“It's called passion, baby,” she said lightly, hoping to hide how stunned and oddly happy she was feeling. She laid her hand on one large pectoral muscle and stroked it casually, because she had to touch him.

His eyes widened in surprise. She felt the muscle beneath her hand tense. She expected him to pull away and she was sorry she'd reached out, even casually.

But he lay very still, closing his eyes instead.

He was going to let her caress him.
Opportunist that she was, she stroked his chest, going from large circles to
smaller ones, closing in on his nipple. She wouldn't mind spending hours touching him, she thought. What was happening to her?

He was such a mess and she was worried about him.

But now he sighed in pleasure and enjoyment. Her body tightened, warmed. Then she sighed and let her hand drop between them. Her palm lay flat against his hard hipbone.

And he didn't call her out on the gesture of affection. “Do ye want to sleep?”

Sam blinked at what had risen between them. She hid a smile. To answer…or just act? She moved against him, kissed his navel. He grunted in satisfaction, and grunted again when she touched the steel ring.

 

A
T FIRST
, she thought she was dreaming, as she heard the harsh, heavy, frightened breathing behind her. No, beside her. Someone was chasing her, she thought groggily, but it was a dream, wasn't it? She was aware of the comfortable mattress beneath her body and the warm man beside her in the bed. No, not any man, she thought, starting to smile. She was in bed with Maclean and they'd had a fantastic night.

He screamed.

The sound was bloodcurdling. It was a sound of pain and fear. Sam shot upright. It took her one instant to realize that Ian lay beside her, tossing and turning, in the throes of a nightmare. Moonlight spilled over his twisted face, his bare torso. The covers were tangled around his hips and he was covered in sweat. He screamed again.

She seized his shoulders. “Ian, wake up!”

His hands went around her throat and he started to strangle her, his expression now a mask of murderous fury. His eyes opened and their gazes met. Sam grabbed his wrists, choking.

Lucidity returned. He released her, leaping from the bed.

Sam inhaled, sucking down air.

Ian staggered across the chamber, then straightened. Slowly, he turned. “Are ye all right?” he demanded.

Sam sat back against the headboard, nodding. “I'm fine.” She had not a doubt he was dreaming about the past. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he said swiftly, but he was still shaking, his words clearly false. He picked up his jeans, which had been on the floor, and stepped into them. Sam thought she saw his hands shaking.

She watched him walk over to the table and pour a cup of wine. “That was quite a dream,” she tried.

He drank, not answering.

She was certain that wasn't his first nightmare. Just like she was certain he had flashbacks from time to time. “What did they do to you?” she finally asked.

He turned and stared at her.

Sam didn't think he would answer, and he didn't have to. She knew.

But he did answer. “Everything.”

S
AM STARED
at him, shocked. He turned away, reaching for his T-shirt. He shrugged it on.

Her brain buzzed. He was actually discussing the past. “I hate what happened to you. I want the monk to pay, too.”

He didn't answer. He turned back to the window. Outside, the sun was rising and the morning was pale gray.

She'd probably used up all of her spare luck, but she said, “Do you dream about it a lot?”

He gave her a dark, are-you-kidding look.

She'd thought so. Sam slid from the bed. She shivered, but decided not to bother with a blanket—she wanted a bit of female power. Naked, she might hold his interest a bit longer. He might answer a question or two. She walked up to him. “Are the dreams always that bad?”

“What is this, an interrogation?”

“No, Ian, it's not an interrogation. It's a friend being concerned.” She'd been right not to put on her clothes. He watched her now.

Sam poured herself a glass of water, and took a sip as his gaze moved down her body. “Yer freezing.”

She smiled and put the cup down, then laid her hand on his shoulder. “It's a bit chilly in here.”

He didn't pull away. “Get dressed. Not that I mind the show.”

She was offering comfort in the tiniest, most discreet way possible, and he was allowing it. She was exultant.
“Aren't you going to deny it, Ian? Aren't you going to laugh at me, mock me, for calling myself a friend?”

His stare became impossible to read. His mouth curled, but Sam didn't know if it was with scorn and derision or simple amusement. It didn't matter. This was all his big cover-up. He shrugged. “If ye want to call yerself my friend, why would I stop ye? Ye can call yerself whatever ye like.”

“Thanks,” she said.

He looked from her eyes to her mouth to her breasts, then lower. He slowly looked up. “Ye can't play me, Sam. Ye can't work me the way ye work other men.”

Sam slid her hand to his nape. She felt him tense and knew he was going to pull away.

Sam glanced around, saw her thong and T-shirt, and picked them up. She slid the clothes on and said, “When my mother was murdered, I was twelve. I didn't see the demon do it. But I saw him get up and leave her there, dead and drained of her life and power.”

Ian started. “I didn't know.”

“My mother was like Tabby. She was a powerful witch with a heart of gold. No one was kinder.” To her surprise, Sam felt herself becoming upset. Her gaze felt moist. What the hell was that about?

“Did she look like ye or yer sister?” Ian asked quietly.

“She looked like me, except she wore her hair long, and it was champagne-colored, not platinum.”

He smiled. “Ye dye yer hair—if ye can call those wisps hair.”

“You like my hair,” she said.

His smile vanished. He said slowly, “I like yer hair because all I see when I look at ye is yer face and eyes.”

Sam went still. Her heart exploded with delight. “Wow,” she said.

And Ian Maclean flushed. He started abruptly across the room.

“I had such nightmares, too, Ian.”

He halted at the door, glancing at her.

“I started dreaming about how she died, when I hadn't seen it. But I knew. Even though I was only twelve, I knew.” Sam felt a lump solidify in her chest. She told herself it was heartburn. “Life does suck, doesn't it? It was her time to die, or so my grandma said, but I couldn't ever accept that.”

“I'm sorry,” he said.

“And it was my time to start slaying.” Sam shrugged.

“Are ye crying?” he asked suddenly.

“No, I'm not crying. I don't cry.”

He made a sound. “How long did ye dream of her death?”

“A long time.” Sam grimaced and walked up to him. “I know my dreams were nothing compared to yours. But I get how awful a nightmare like that can be.”

He crossed his arms. “Ye don't have the dreams anymore.”

“No. The dreams became less frequent in my early twenties,” Sam said truthfully. “I haven't had the nightmare in years.”

He absorbed that. “I'm glad.”

He meant it. She smiled slightly. Then she said, “You've been through more than any one person should ever have to go through. The dreams need to stop.”

He laughed. “No one, not even a god, can control his or her dreams!”

She waited a beat. “Ian, have you ever thought about getting help?” she asked carefully.

“Ye mean…a shrink?” He was incredulous.

“At CDA, there's a whole department filled with shrinks to help us screwed-up agents out. When Macleod took Tabby back in time last year, Nick forced me into evaluation. I had to talk to a shrink every week for an hour.”

“I'm not an agent. I don't need a shrink.”

She knew what was coming—and she was right.

“Sharing my bed doesn't give ye the right to tell me to go to a shrink. Yer a fool if ye think ye should worry about me now, because of some sex.”

She sighed. “I was waiting for the Maclean comeback. I'm so relieved!”

He picked up the plaid throw on the foot of the bed and tossed it at her. “If ye get pneumonia, ye'll be too sick to leap home, and we don't have antibiotics here.”

She was glad to be cloaked in the warmth of the plaid. “And you would care because…?”

“No one deserves to be stuck in this miserable time,” he said harshly. “Ye shouldn't die because of me.”

Sam felt her eyes widen. He blamed himself for what had happened to her. “Why don't you admit it, you like me, a little, and not just for sex. We're—gasp—friends.”

And Maclean did not have a comeback. He simply strode from the room.

Sam found her skirt and pulled it on. She was thoughtful as she stepped into her boots, and very, very pleased. That dialogue felt like a win. She almost felt warm and fuzzy inside. Maclean could actually be normal, and he'd been somewhat honest. She was smiling as she started for the door. She was probably the first real friend he'd ever had. Life felt pretty good—and it was because of her growing relationship with Maclean.

Sam told herself she'd better start being careful. But she somehow knew that she'd ignore her own advice.

Tabby and Brie were downstairs, sipping some kind of herbal tea. Neither Aidan nor Macleod were in sight. Neither was Ian.

Sam grinned cheerfully at them.

Tabby's graceful brows lifted. “Someone had a good night.”

It had been beyond good. But now, Sam recalled their conversation from the day before and all of her denials. She'd just told Ian—no,
insisted
—that they were friends. “I needed a good night's sleep,” she said, straight-faced.

Brie smiled and pushed a steaming mug toward her.

“Where is everyone?” Sam asked, not bothering to sound casual.

“Aidan wanted to show Macleod a fortification he's building on the lake's northern shores. Awe is so large now that there's a huge spillover of men and women to the village. He's added a defensive set of walls there,” Brie said. “But they won't be long.” Her face fell.

Sam knew she was thinking about Ian.

Brie said softly, “Aidan asked Ian last night if he'd join them. He said no.”

Sam hesitated. “I'm not going to give you platitudes. I don't know if he'll ever come around, Brie.”

“I will never stop praying for him and I will never give up hope. But it's been twenty-five years. I want Aidan to be whole, Sam.”

Suddenly Tabby made a startled sound, and she turned white.

Sam had tensed impossibly. The heavy weight of evil was present—and it was familiar.

It was the monk.

He had come to
them,
and she didn't think he'd come to negotiate. He was playing offense; the men were gone. It hit her then, how bold he was to dare to enter Castle Awe. And she still didn't have her weapons! She had one very lethal dagger, which she'd taken from the armory the moment she'd arrived at Awe yesterday.

Where was Ian?

“It's Carlisle,” Sam said tersely, on her feet. She turned in the direction of the weight of his evil, but Tabby was already starting for the staircase there.

“Aidan,” Brie whispered.

Sam was on her sister's heels. She turned, her dagger in hand. Brie was clutching the back of a chair. Brie was an empath. She was afraid for Aidan, then.

Brie looked at her, shaking her head. “It's not Aidan, it's Ian. His fear feels like a butcher knife, going right through the heart.”

Sam ran. She caught up with Tabby and passed her on the stone stairs. As she did, she heard stone cracking and crashing. She rushed to the threshold of the ramparts, aware that the terrible battle had begun.

It might be their last one. She paused. A small army of possessed giants was scaling the walls. They were heavily armed, their eyes glowing with inhuman determination. The watch lay dead, hanging from the tower windows. And Ian was alone on the ramparts.

If he was terrified, one wouldn't know it. He was blasting the Highland giants as they crested the crenellations, his expression savage. They were an incoming tide, and they just kept coming in waves. Sam did not know how long he could keep up his one-man defense. “Ian!” Sam ran up to him.

He only glanced at her. “Get back! Get Aidan and Macleod!”

As if she'd retreat. Sam seized a sword from a dead giant.

Soft laughter sounded.

Sam looked up. So did Ian.

The monk of Carlisle stood on the highest level of the tower, grinning down at them. His dark robes swirled in the breeze. His blond hair gleamed. He slowly lifted his pointy shoe and nudged one of Aidan's watchmen off the ledge. The man's body tumbled through the air, landing not far from where she and Ian stood. “Hello, Ian, Sam.”

Ian had paled but his fierce expression remained. “Bastard.”

Behind them, Tabby paused and began chanting, casting a spell.

“Ian!” Brie cried.

He whirled, hurling his power at another wave of attackers.

A growl sounded.

A demon dog crouched on the crenellations. She had no idea how it had gotten up there, but as it snarled, fangs dripping, she didn't hesitate. That thing meant murder. She hurled her dagger at its heart as it sprang. She was expecting it to attack her. Instead, it leapt at Tabby.

Her dagger struck its chest, but the demon dog landed on her sister, growling in rage and driving her to the ground. Sam shouted, rushing it, sword raised. Beneath the beast, Tabby kept chanting. Before Sam could sever the damned dog's head from it shoulders, Ian's power blazed. He blasted the beast, then turned to combat the incoming giants, dropping them one by one.

She didn't know how long he could keep this up. He was breathing hard and sweat was pouring down his body. They needed reinforcements, badly. The demon dog went still and Sam seized it by the skin at its nape, pulling it from her sister, hurling it aside as the ramparts shuddered from Ian's white power. Sam seized her dagger, jerking it free of the dog's chest. As she turned back to her sister, she saw her lashes flutter. She was alive. Sam saw that her mouth moved as if she were still chanting; Tabby was in a deep trance.

“Sam!” Brie cried in warning.

A new dread began. Sam realized that it had become shockingly silent on the ramparts. She whirled.

Ian stood where she'd last seen him, dozens of dead giants littered around him. The monk smiled down at him.

They were going to go at it.

Ian needed help.

He could not do this alone. Sam knew it. Ian flung a bolt of power at Carlisle. Sam grabbed the sword and started for the stairs leading up to where he stood in the tower. But just as she expected, Carlisle raised his hand and sent Ian's power rushing back at him.

He was flung with crushing force into the wall.

She heard flesh and bone smack and crack.

“Ian!”

His face enraged, Ian launched himself forward and blazed his power upward at Carlisle again. On the stairs, Sam saw his power invert itself as the monk raised his hand. This time she screamed.

Ian was hurled back into the same ramparts wall again. This time, the monk followed up with a wave of his hand.

Black power sizzled across the ramparts, descending from the tower like a lightning bolt. Ian was struck in his chest. He collapsed, eyes closed.

Sam leapt off the stairs, running to him.
He could not be dead.

“Sam!” Brie shouted again.

A giant who'd somehow survived seized her from behind. Sam turned, arcing her sword at his neck. As she did so, she saw an enraged Brie launching herself at him, a tiny dagger in her hand. As Brie's dagger went into his back, Sam felt her blade go through tendon and cartilage. She jerked Brie aside as the giant's head toppled away.