Page 101 of Dark Victory

“Better.” Tabby smiled. Being with Allie again was great. She hadn’t changed—she remained unflappable and fearless.

“I wonder what you did in the sixteenth century to piss the witch off, other than kill it?”

Tabby froze. “Is that what you think?”

“Tabby, you just said it’s haunting you.”

“Allie, I’ve been seeing into the window of time.”

Allie’s eyes widened. “From that serious expression, I’m almost afraid to ask.”

Tabby wet her lips. “It all began at the Met. There was this exhibit about a great fire in 1550 at An Tùir-Tara. I felt the ghost’s evil and saw Macleod. He was bloody and burned. He’d been at the fire and it all felt like déjà vu.”

“What do you mean?”

“I felt that I knew Macleod, and I knew that witch. I felt that I’d been at the fire. In fact, when I first came to Blayde, it was familiar, too! But MacNeil said I’ve never been here before.”

“Maybe you’re having a flash forward.”

“What on earth is a flash forward?” Tabby cried.

“It’s that moment when your soul recognizes its Fate.”

Tabby stared, stunned.

“It’s actually that simple—a flashback in reverse. Your soul can recognize what will happen, as if it has already happened, and it feels familiar and right. Some say it happens because a soul feels itself across time, in another moment. Does it matter? Soul recognition is soul recognition. We’ve all had flash forwards at some point. I’ve had them with Royce—and it always ends with the feeling that it’s familiar and right.”

Tabby breathed hard. Was it possible that her soul had recognized Blayde, Macleod, their love—and whatever would happen at An Tùir-Tara? “Do you know anything about An Tùir-Tara, Allie?”

Allie shrugged. “I haven’t lived that long yet. You know it’s awfully risky business to zip around time—one slip and Fate is all messed up. Royce and I try really hard to mind our own business—except, of course, for protecting and healing Innocents.”

“You never mind your own business!” Tabby smiled and then she sobered. “I die at An Tùir-Tara.”

Allie paled. “Like hell you do! Royce died in my arms, do you remember? But I never gave up on him or us, and I went back and changed it! Macleod will not let you die!”

“I hope you’re right.” Tabby didn’t state the obvious. Allie knew the rules as well as she did. She knew all about Fate.

Tabby looked at the door again. “Okay, I’m getting worried. He was flipping out when I was hurt. Why isn’t he here?”

Allie hesitated. “He can be really difficult. As far as he’s come, he will still be a challenge for you for a long time.”

Dread began. “Where did he go, Allie?”

“I know you said he swore off vengeance, but he walked out of here like a man bent on revenge.”

Tabby felt her heart stop. In that moment, she suddenly knew what he intended—she knew it as if she was in his mind. “Oh, my God. He’s going after Criosaidh to kill her!”

THE FRONT GATES TO THE baron of Awe’s home were closed. Sam stared at the closed iron gates, set between two stone pillars, from the front seat of her rental car. She saw the intercom but ignored it. The gates began to open, a simple enough task to accomplish.

She was filled with tension, so much so that her grip on the steering wheel of the Jag was white-knuckled and her entire body was vibrating. She took a breath as the gates swung wide enough to admit the car. What was wrong with her? Not only was she unusually tense, she had a damned headache. But of course, she expected a hellish confrontation with Ian Maclean. She would never let him best her. The truth was, she had hoped to never set eyes on him again.

She hit the gas and the tires screeched, kicking up gravel. She’d met him in Oban last September, just a few months ago, when she and Brie were trying to figure out Aidan’s Fate. They’d exchanged a dozen words and he’d taken Brie back in time to find his father, leaving her standing on the corner alone. She’d disliked him immensely, instantly. And why not? He was drop-dead gorgeous, reeking of virility, power and wealth—and he knew it. He knew he was handsome, rich and mega-powerful, one of the world’s elite. His arrogance had been obvious and so had his disdain. He didn’t like women—he simply liked sex. Sam had felt it. He was an oversexed, overpowered user. It had been obvious that he expected women to fawn over him, chase him. It was as obvious that he didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything.

And why should he? He could buy whatever he wanted, destroy whatever he wanted, fuck whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted. And he expected it to be that way.

He was a bastard and it was that simple. He’d looked at her, clearly thinking about all of the things he’d like to do to her in his bedroom. Ha-ha, Sam thought. If push came to shove and she took him to bed to get what she wanted, it would be exactly that—her taking him to bed. However, she hated the idea. She was not going to be one of a thousand forgettable women, not ever. She needed to go back in time, but she had a bargaining chip or two. She knew he’d never help her just because they were both good guys on the same side of the battlefield. But he could surely use her connections at HCU.

He’d never do anything for nothing.