Page 28 of Dark Embrace

Claire breathed, aware that the wrong decision could mean Brie’s death. “Let’s give her a few days,” she said. “Let’s give Aidan a few days.”

BRIE WASN’T SURE WHAT AWOKE HER, but suddenly she was staring at a night-darkened ceiling, aware that she was not alone.

Claire had shown her to a small chamber on an upper floor. She and Claire had begun a conversation about the Brotherhood, and Claire had started to tell her about three holy books and a shrine, but Brie had been too tired—and too upset about the date of her arrival in the past—to listen. Then she had seen the bed and stumbled toward it, falling into it without even removing her Sketchers. Brie knew she’d passed out the moment her head had hit the pillow.

Now Brie slowly sat up, trying to adjust her rotten vision to the darkness. A small fire remained, dancing in the hearth. She blinked, tension arising. There was a shadow at the foot of her bed.

She felt so much male power, neither black nor white.

She breathed nervously. “Aidan?”

The shadow did not move or speak.

Brie knew it was Aidan, but he emanated no emotion at all, just heat. She tried to stay calm, but it was impossible. “Is everything all right?”

Suddenly he walked to the fireplace and began throwing more wood into it. The fire blazed, illuminating him as he turned back to her. “Dinna fear me,” he said harshly. Across the small chamber, their gazes locked. “I willna hurt ye.”

Brie did not move. There was only his presence and his power and her acute senses and gifts. In the vacuum of the night, she knew he meant his every word.

She stared toward his blurry shape and he stared back. She thought about the fact that it was November 1502, and he would hang by the end of the year—if history was right. She thought about the fact that a long time ago—she did not know how long—his own father had murdered his child. She thought about the fact that he had once been a man who smiled easily and defended Innocence. He was grieving now, furious, and he was being haunted by his own dead child.

He hadn’t answered her. She didn’t know why he had come to her room, but she knew she wasn’t in any jeopardy. Compassion swelled. He had spent the night mourning his son. She would never forget the sound of the Wolf howling at the orange moon.

“Are you all right?” she asked again softly.

He remained facing her, too far away for her to see his features or expression. “Aye.”

She needed to see his face. She wanted to know what he was feeling and thinking, without having to experience it as an empath. On the other hand, she hesitated, because it was the middle of the night, and they were alone in her bedchamber. She pulled the covers up higher. “Aidan, I met Malcolm and Claire.”

His answer was to take the room’s single chair and move it closer to the bed. He didn’t sit down. “I wish to speak with ye, Brianna.”

She wasn’t surprised. His emotions were blocked, so they might have a normal conversation. She was almost thrilled. “I guess it must be pretty urgent.”

“’Twill be dawn shortly. Please come an’ sit.”

Brie realized the sky was softening with gray and violet light; dawn was creeping across the Highland horizon. She hesitated, hoping he wanted to talk about his son. Then she slid from the bed, fully dressed. She pushed her heavy hair behind her ears as she went to the chair. His hands were on the chair’s back. Her body seemed to hum as she sat. She hadn’t mistaken his magnetism. This close, his power seemed to vibrate toward her, and vice versa.

He released the chair, and she felt his hands brush against her hair as he did so.

She reminded herself that now was not the best time to feel any attraction. She closed her eyes. She had to stay neutral and ignore his heat and pull, his masculinity and looks. She wanted to save him. She wanted them to be friends. That took precedence over everything else.

Besides, anything else wasn’t an option.

When she opened her eyes he was staring, only steps away. She could see him so clearly. His vivid gaze was on hers, serious and searching. But the moment she looked into his eyes, his lashes lowered. He had no intention of allowing her to see into his eyes—or his soul.

But he seemed almost himself now. He could have been that long-ago Master, a man dedicated to the gods and sworn to defend mankind. Yet she knew he had taken a long, dark journey away from that man.

She wasn’t sure what had happened after he’d ceased howling tragically. It might be better that she didn’t know. “I heard the Wolf earlier. Why do you do it?”

His mouth curved mirthlessly. “Because I can.”

“Do you do it often?”

To her surprise, his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Often enough,” he finally said.

She hugged herself, becoming uneasy. Had he just looked at her with sexual interest? Had he done so earlier that night? “I don’t like the Wolf.”

He shrugged.