Brenda Joyce - Dark Embrace

Outside, the moon was full, the sky a deathly black, stars glittering obscenely. He roused another two dozen men. As their mounts were saddled, the men gathered torches. One of the men came up to him, his face set and grim. “What passes, Aidan?”

He looked at Angus, refusing to answer. A steed was brought forward and he vaulted into the saddle, signaling his men to follow.

The troops rode through the gatehouse and over the icy bridge that spanned gleaming waters. When they reached the village on the loch’s shores, Aidan pulled up. He did not look at Angus as he spoke. “Burn it. Leave no one—not even a dog—alive.”

He did not have to look at Angus to feel the man’s absolute shock.

He stared ahead at the village, not bothering to repeat himself.

A moment later, his men were galloping through the thatched cottages, torching the straw roofs, which instantly became infernos. Men, women and children fled their burning homes, crying in fright, and his men chased them down, one after one, swiftly ending each life with one thrust of a blade. Screams of terror filled the night. Aidan sat his restless mount, not allowing it to move. He knew his face was wet, but he refused to wipe the tears. He kept Ian’s image close in his mind until the night was silent, except for the hissing of flames and a single woman’s sobs.

Her weeping abruptly ended.

His men filed past him, no one looking at him now.

When he was alone, he choked and slid from the mount. He began vomiting helplessly and uncontrollably in the snow.

When he was done, he stayed there, breathing hard. The screams echoed in his mind. He kept reminding himself that at least he had saved Ian. And he knew he would never forget what he had just witnessed, what he had just done.

He heard a movement behind him.

Aidan slowly got up and turned.

A woman stood by some trees, weeping soundlessly, clutching the hand of a small, terrified child. She was staring at him. His heart lurched in absolute dread. He unsheathed his sword and started toward them.

She didn’t run. She hugged her child and shrank against the huge fir tree, eyes wide. “Why, my lord? Why?”

The hilt of his sword was sticky in his hand. He meant to raise it. He said hoarsely, “Run. Run now.”

She and the child fled into the woods.

He tossed the sword at the ground and leaned his face on his arms, against the tree. Ian…he had to free Ian from Moray .

And then he felt the shocking, evil presence behind him. Tensing, Aidan whirled. Moray stood there, Ian in his grasp. He saw the blade Moray held flash silver.

“Give me my son!”

Ian made an odd, strangled sound.

Horrified, Aidan saw the dagger embedded in Ian’s chest. “No!”

Moray smiled—and Ian’s eyes rolled back in his head lifelessly. Aidan screamed, rushing forward as Ian became limp. But when he reached them, they were gone.

For one instant, Aidan stood in shock and disbelief. Moray had murdered Ian .

Anguish began, and with it, more rage than he had ever felt. He howled, holding his head, and furiously, he leapt back in time. He would not let Ian die .

He returned to that moment at Awe when he had found Ian in the great hall with his steward, but once again he had no power, and no one could see or hear him. He tried to assault Moray, but an invisible wall came between them and the past repeated itself, exactly. This time, he was a sick spectator as his younger self sat on his steed and watched his men destroying an entire innocent village.

And this time, when he saw himself discover the woman and child, he rushed forward. “Do it,” he shouted at his younger self. “You must do it!’

But the man he had been a moment ago did not lift his sword. “Run. Run now!”

The woman and child fled into the forest. He watched as his younger self turned to face Moray, who held Ian tightly to his chest.

And that huge, unnatural force began pulling him inexorably toward the trio. Aidan screamed in warning at Ian, at himself, but no one heard him. He saw the silver dagger flash.

The anguish was even greater now, but so was the rage.

He fell to his knees, howling and maddened, and then he leapt back in time again.

And again.

And again.

And each and every time, it was the same. An entire village destroyed by his command, one small woman and child fleeing and Moray still murdering Ian before his very eyes, only to vanish with his dead child.

And finally he gave up.

He roared and roared, blinded by the grief. He cursed evil; he cursed the gods. He was below Awe’s curtain walls, although he did not recall returning from the village. And then, finally, the tower roof above his head collapsed. The entire wing of the castle started to crumble. He wept, openly and brokenly, as the stone walls rained down upon him. And when he was buried beneath his own castle walls, he became still and silent.

Aidan waited to die.

The Present September 2008, New York City

THE ROAR OF HUMAN PAIN AWOKE HER.

Brianna Rose sat bolt upright, awoken from a deep sleep, horrified by the sound. It was filled with rage and anguish and disbelief. And then the pain cut through her.

She doubled over in her bed, clutching herself as if someone had actually slid a butcher’s knife through her chest. For one moment, she could not breathe. She had never experienced that kind of anguish in her twenty-six years. Panting hard, she prayed for the pain to end. Then, suddenly, it did.

But as the torment vanished abruptly, a man’s handsome image flared in her mind.

A new, terrible tension began. Carefully, Brie sat upright, shaken and stunned. Her loft was silent, except for the sounds of the cars and cabs driving by outside on the street, and the accompaniment of blaring horns. She trembled, glancing at her bedside clock. It was ten after one in the morning. What had just happened?

All the Rose women were empathic to one degree or another. Their empathy was supposed to be a gift, but too often it was a curse, like now. She had been consumed with another human being’s pain. Something terrible had just happened, and she could not shake the dark, handsome image she’d just seen from her mind.

Brie trembled, tossing aside the covers. Was Aidan in trouble?

She became very still, her mouth dry, her heart thundering. She’d met him exactly a year ago, perhaps for two whole minutes. Her best friend, Allie, had been missing for weeks and she’d returned briefly to New York—from the Middle Ages—with Aidan’s help.

He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Allie had explained about the secret Brotherhood and the men belonging to it, men who called themselves the Masters of Time. All were sworn before God to defend mankind from the evil in the night. Brie hadn’t been surprised—there had been rumors of such warriors for as long as she could remember. In fact, like Allie, she and her cousins, Tabby and Sam, had been thrilled that the whispers were reality.

Brianna had no personal delusions. He was absolutely unforgettable, but she knew a man like that would never look at a woman like her twice—or think about her twice, either. She didn’t blame him. She didn’t even mind.

She was really good at wearing baggy clothes to hide her curves, and she never wore her contacts. Her eyeglasses were downright ugly. She knew that if she had her dark hair cut and styled properly, if she dressed fashionably and wore makeup, she’d probably look exactly like her mother, Anna Rose.

Brie had no desire to resemble her beautiful, passionate and rebellious mother in any way. Anna had been that rare Rose woman who had not been handed down any gifts. She had been destructive, not constructive; her touch and beauty damaged instead of helped others. In the end, she had hurt those she loved the most, and she had destroyed not only her own family, but herself. Brie didn’t want to recall finding her mother dead on the kitchen floor, shot by her jealous boyfriend, with her father weeping over Anna’s body. Being a retiring nerd was way better than following in Anna’s footsteps.