Page 3 of Dark Embrace

Were the gods interfering? He was incredulous.

He cried out in fury and saw himself landing in the tower on his hands and knees. There were other rules. A Master must never encounter himself in either the past or the future. The rule was not explained. Afraid to move, he watched his younger self look up in horror.

“Hallo a Aidan,” his father said to the man he had been a mere moment ago. “I decided it was time to meet my grandson.”

Was this why a Master must never encounter himself in another time? Because he would lose his powers? For he could only stand there and helplessly watch as the drama unfolded—the very drama he had just lived through!

“Yes, I am alive,” Moray said softly. “Did you really think I could be destroyed?”

“Release Ian,” his younger self said. “Whatever ye wish, I’ll do it.”

“But you know what I want, my son. I want you.”

Aidan watched as his other self tried to blast Moray—and as Moray’s own power sent Aidan flying across the tower and into the far wall. He breathed hard, tensing, knowing what was to come. Before Moray lifted his dagger, he launched himself at him again.

Aidan crashed into the invisible wall and bounced off it, choking on rage and anguish. The dagger sliced off the lower lobe of Ian’s ear. Ian choked on a scream, and Aidan heard his other self roar in rage—as he did.

And as the other Aidan tried to barter with his demonic father to heal his son, a huge force began dragging him inexorably toward the trio. Aidan tried to halt, but he simply couldn’t. He was rapidly being swept toward his younger self.

Aidan braced for an impact, uncertain of what to expect when his body came into contact with his younger self.

“The village below Awe. Destroy it.”

But there was no impact. Briefly there was an odd, sickening sensation, and then he was staring at Moray and Moray was staring back at him. He was no longer a spectator to the terrible drama. He had gone back in time to prevent this moment—to change it—but now he was facing Moray. He had come full circle to the precise moment when he had leapt.

He could not destroy an entire village of men, women and children.

Moray took the dagger and laid it against Ian’s throat. Blood oozed, and Ian cried out, blanching.

Aidan’s mind raced and he shielded his thoughts so Moray could not lurk. He did not have the power to change this moment.

He was sick now, sick in his soul. “Release my son and I will destroy the village,” he said tersely.

“Papa, no!” Ian cried.

Aidan didn’t look at him.

Moray grinned. “You will have the boy when you have proven you are my son.”

“Papa,” Ian panted in protest.

Aidan looked at him and wanted to cry. “I willna be long.”

“I’ll die for them!” Ian cried, struggling furiously now.

Moray jerked him, his expression one of anger and disgust. “He will be useless to me,” he spat.

“You won’t need him. You will have me,” Aidan said, meaning it. He left the tower, feeling as if his soul had already left his body. His movements felt mechanical, except for the wild pounding of his heart and the lurching of his stomach. For the first time in his life, he felt raw fear.

He went swiftly downstairs, awaking the five armed men who slept in the hall. They fell silently into step beside him.

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.