Page 131 of Dark Seduction

Amy gasped, eyes wide. “Not Malcolm?”

Claire had to smile. “As superheroic as it gets.” She blushed. And as superendowed, she thought. “They have great powers, Aim. Inhuman strength, telepathy, kinetic force.”

Amy just shook her head, teary-eyed. “I am so happy for you! But John won’t believe this. I mean, we both sort of wondered if you’d told the cops the truth. But he won’t believe that there are Masters out there, fighting evil with extraordinary powers. But thank God! Claire, he’ll want to talk to you.”

“I can’t stay here another moment.” Claire meant it. “Amy, coming back was a mistake. Malcolm is at Dunroch right now, in the twenty-first century. A month ago, he was unwed. Now, he’s wed—to me.”

Amy started.

“I know you don’t get it. But I wasn’t supposed to come back. I was supposed to stay with him and live through six centuries with him. The proof of that is the fact that right now, we’re alive and well and really old, living in the Highlands together as husband and wife. If I don’t go back, I’m going to blow our fate.”

Amy began shaking her head. “Claire, you can’t live six hundred years.”

“I forgot to tell you. My father is a Master, and I have that godly DNA going on.”

Amy gaped. “Damn it, girl! You had better go back before you rewrite your history with your man. But God, I will miss you!”

“I’ll miss you, too,” Claire said and they hugged.

WITH AMY GONE, Claire sat down with her duffel, holding it tightly. She wasn’t a Master but she was the daughter of one, and she intended to will herself back in time, the way Malcolm had done. If that didn’t work, she’d try to summon Malcolm to come help her get back. He’d said he would come if she needed him. She wasn’t worried—she could probably talk John into sending her back, although he’d balk at using his top-secret fed technology to do so. One way or another, she was going back to become Malcolm’s wife and live a helluva long time with him.

She was beyond excitement.

As she sat there, Faola’s image came to mind and Claire was certain it was a sign. Did the goddess want to help? Claire was under her protection. Maybe, after destroying Moray, Faola had become fond of her.

Claire smiled and hugged her knees to her chest. “If you can help, I will be eternally obligated to you.” She closed her eyes and willed herself back into the past. Then she waited.

Nothing happened.

Claire opened her eyes and looked at the clock in her office. Fifteen minutes had passed. She grimaced. Maybe she didn’t have the power to leap. She closed her eyes again and strained to put herself back in the fifteenth-century medieval world at Dunroch. She concentrated so hard she became dizzy. And she waited and waited.

Claire opened her eyes. She was sweating and the room was spinning. Clearly, leaping wasn’t one of her powers. Maybe Faola hadn’t been listening after all or didn’t care to help her. Maybe she wasn’t even that powerful anymore. After all, she’d been forsaken by most of Alba along with her godly kin.

And a huge force swept Claire through the hall, the walls, through time, through space.

CLAIRE LANDED so hard she wondered if she’d survive this leap. She looked up at a very familiar raftered ceiling. Still fighting the waves of torment, she began to rejoice. She had landed flat on her back in Dunroch’s great hall!

Gasps sounded.

Claire clutched the duffel bag to her chest. The pain was receding and a dozen male faces stared down at her. Claire met Malcolm’s wide gray eyes and her joy knew no bounds. Love ballooned in her breast. It was hard to speak and she couldn’t move yet. “I am so…happy…to see you!”

His eyes gleamed as he knelt beside her. “Ah, lass, I be very pleased t’ see ye, too.” He reached to help her sit up.

His touch had its usual, immediate warming effect, but Claire was confused. He slid his arm around her as if she were a trophy he’d just won or a notch he was adding to his belt. His gaze was filled with heat, primitive and carnal, but not joy, and certainly not love.

Something was wrong.

He smiled seductively at her, murmuring. “’Tis not every day a beautiful woman appears in my hall. Ye have powerful magic, lass.”

His arm was around her. But now Claire saw that he looked terribly young—and he didn’t have a scar over his left eyebrow. Claire could not believe this was happening. “Do you know who I am?” she cried in disbelief.

His grasp tightened. “Nay, but I will. After this night, I will ken ye very well, lass.”

Claire’s disbelief escalated. What had Faola done? Did the goddess think this amusing?

He turned and barked orders in Gaelic and the hall cleared. He added softly, “I dinna fear witches, either, lass. After we have pleasured one another, I’ll make certain ye can travel safely to yer home.”

She inhaled, trembling. “What year is this?”