this night was over, she was going to thank all the gods for answering her prayers.
“Can ye heal him?”
She swallowed. “I’ll die trying.” But her temples throbbed. It almost hurt to heal Brian. Releasing her white light felt like pulling out her own teeth, one by one.
He was silent, but not for long. “Are ye hurt?”
She panted and took a short break. “Last night…I got hurt.” She glanced up at him.
He did not seem happy to hear that.
She breathed deeply and turned back to Brian, flooding him with her light. Brian’s life flickered and blazed.
Allie was swept by an intense wave of dizziness. She felt the land tilt wildly and she was dismayed. The huge warrior knelt, embracing her from behind and holding her steady against his chest.
She gasped. His scent was overwhelming. Man, sex, power, the clean Highland mist and more sex. His body could have been honed from steel, and the thighs beneath her ass were even better than a soccer player’s. This man rode horses and ran hills.
Allie opened her eyes and shifted to meet his gaze. The night had changed. It was charged. She was weak but she needed this man—and she wasn’t thinking about a partner to combat crime. Oh, no. In fact, suddenly, strangely, he was all she could think about, and she sensed he was using his powers of enchantment again.
His eyes hot, he moved away from her, standing. “Who are you?” she whispered, forcing her gaze to his eyes.
But Brian sat up. “Allie?” He was alarmed. “What happened?”
Allie jerked with dismay. She’d been so mesmerized by the warrior she’d forgotten about Brian.
The Highlander stared at Brian. “Go to the house. I’ll bring her soon enough.”
Brian stood and left without a word.
Allie met his gray gaze and this time, she knew her eyes were wide. “It’s all true, right? You’re one of them…a warrior who can travel through time…with superpowers…defending mankind.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and it slid lower, to her breasts, which were barely covered by the corset-style, pushup bodice of the evening gown. “I dinna ken,” he said softly. But his silver eyes were hot and an arrogant smile played on that incredible, chiseled face.
And a shadow fell over the night.
Allie glanced up in alarm; the moon was gone again, covered by black clouds. She tensed, glancing at the pool, but it remained brightly lit. It didn’t matter. Huge and heavy, blackness swiftly approached them again.
Incredulous, she looked up at the warrior. She was too weak to fight more demons now! She scrambled to her feet, not as steadily as she’d have liked, as an arctic chill fell.
Fear and anger warred in her heart. Allie looked at the warrior. He looked at her and she knew something bad—really bad—was about to happen. “I’m okay,” she lied. “Where’s my knife?”
He shook his head, jaw flexed. “Ye canna fight again,” he said firmly. His grasp tightened. “Ye need to hold me tight.”
Allie was about to say that was fine by her, when they were flung across the pastures, over the horses, into space. If she could have, Allie would have screamed. Instead she gasped as her body was ripped apart, into shreds of hair, tissue and skin.
CHAPTER TWO
Carrick Castle, Morvern, Scotland—September 5, 2007
HE WOULD NEVER GET used to the pain.
Leaping through time was like being tortured on the rack, and even though he’d leapt a thousand times, he still fought not to give in to the urge to cry out like a woman would. It was like having the skin flayed from muscle and bone, like having one’s organs ripped outward by a human hand. Fire burned inside him. Landing, there was a final explosion of pain, and then there was a stunning darkness.
He held her tightly in his arms, briefly left powerless by the leap through time. His ability to sense evil was so well honed, however, that he knew they were not in danger. He focused on recovering his powers, given to him centuries ago by the Ancients, when the old gods despaired for mankind’s Fate and decided to create a race of warriors to defend them. From experience, he knew that in a moment or two he would recoup.
But the Healer was small, soft, warm and womanly in his arms.
He’d never leapt with a woman before—much less one like this.
Although she was unconscious, he could not forget her stunning white light, the purest power he had ever sensed or seen. And to make matters far worse, she was as stunningly beautiful as she was powerful, with a tiny but lush body; that dark, silken hair, and dark eyes that seemed to look into his most secret thoughts. Her buttocks were soft and full, spooned into him, and he rapidly swelled.
It was usual to want a woman in every possible way after the leap. Every Master had many godlike powers; the greatest power of all was the ability to take life at any time, from anyone and anything, like a god. Taking some of the force of life from her would instantly restore his powers. And taking power was also pleasurable. In fact, there was no rapture like that which came from power.
He looked at the woman and knew that her white power, swelling his veins, his body, would be like no other.
But he was a master at self-control. Except in war or when facing mortal death, “taking” was forbidden. The young Masters were always tempted to test the Ancients, to taste power and to experience the sublime rapture of La Puissance. He had been upholding his sacred vows for over eight centuries and he would not touch this one’s healing essence, ever.
Royce closed his eyes tightly, more aroused than before, but determined to ignore it. And then any internal battle was over. He felt all of his extraordinary strength settle over him, in him, through him, in one vast wave. Breathing naturally again, he could look at her face.
He stared, his heart lurching anew at the sight of her beauty. She was so beautiful, so pure that he felt the Ancients near her—and she was so terribly brave. She had tried to fight the deamhanain as if a warrior. She would never be a warrior—it was a physical impossibility, for she was so small. Yet she had intended to attack Moffat with a knife!
Too well, he could recall his horror in that moment.
And now the question loomed—had Moffat leapt to the future to hunt him, or did he hunt Elasaid’s daughter, a powerful Healer and great prize in her own right?
Moffat had been an annoyance for centuries. Whenever Royce had an interest at stake, whether in land, finance or politics, Moffat took the opposing side. Periodically Moffat’s soldiers attacked his lands, his men, and once, an innocent village. Royce’s retribution was always swift and severe—he’d besieged the Cathedral where Moffat held reign as bishop with bombards and battering rams, and had destroyed three of its four walls. That had been decades ago. The Regent Albany had ordered him to cease before he’d beaten down the Cathedral itself.
Three months ago, in the darkest winter
