Page 124 of Dark Lover

“Let’s summon the page to us, Sam.”

“Can you even do that?”

“I think so.” Tabby smiled at her. “But Brie and I do our best work when Allie and Claire are with us.”

Sam started. “I would love to see Allie again. Who’s Claire?”

“She’s one of us, Sam. She’s not a Rose, but she has a few tricks up her sleeve and her husband is Malcolm of Dunroch, a truly great Master. You’ll like her. She’s a warrior. And they’re downstairs, waiting.”

THEY’D CHOSEN the ground floor library to cast Tabby’s magic. The five women sat in a circle on the floor in a darkened room lit by candles, the draperies drawn. Tabby was in a deep trance, softly murmuring her incantation in Gaelic, which Sam did not understand. It didn’t matter. If the circumstances weren’t so horrifying, being together again this way would be a dream come true.

Sam looked around at the circle of women. Sam had been thrilled to be reunited with Allie again, and pleased to see her intrepid friend in high spirits—and clad in designer jeans, a cute T-shirt and high-heeled boots. But then, Allie Monroe would never run around medieval Scotland in medieval clothes. Because she was so petite, she claimed high heels were a must. She reeked of her white healing power now; clearly, she was far more powerful than she’d been.

Sam had also liked Claire on sight. The woman was tall, buff, fairly serious and deadly earnest. It was the determination she probably felt instantly and liked the most. There was no question that Claire could fight: she was well armed and she carried herself the way a warrior would. She also wore jeans beneath her long linen gown, which amused Sam.

And she had a ton of her own white power. It almost felt like a Master’s, but feminized.

She’d also had the briefest chance to meet Malcolm and Royce, two of the sexiest, most mouthwatering men she’d ever come across. She might have fallen for Ian but she wasn’t blind, and she’d been unable to resist taking a few prolonged looks at both men, especially because they were bare legged.

Now, everyone was focused entirely on the page of illusion and the old gods. Tabby apparently expected some help from them. But Sam could not concentrate. She kept seeing Ian, drugged and in pain on the concrete floor of that warehouse, or as he’d been just before their capture, impaled on the ramparts. Then she’d think about the damned sex tape, which was in his possession. There was no end to her dismay.

She wanted there to be a reasonable explanation, one that she could accept—one that wouldn’t make her walk away from their beginning.

Except, she was probably a fool to think that anything was beginning for them! And if she didn’t focus on the page and finding it, or at least feeling its power, there wouldn’t be a beginning, just a terrible ending.

Sam realized that Tabby had fallen silent. She opened her eyes and saw her sister staring grimly at her. Sam flushed.

“I could barely focus, with your thoughts raging as they were!” Tabby released Claire’s and Allie’s hands and stood.

Sam got up, as did Brie. “I’m sorry.”

Tabby sighed as someone hit the lights. “We’ll never locate it this way. You have to stay focused, Sam.”

She was right. But even as Allie reached for the door, it burst open and Gerard stood there, holding a yellowing parchment page in his hand.

Its power trickled into the room.

“I was going downstairs when this came up the stairs,” he exclaimed. “It was floating.”

Tabby’s spell had worked, Sam thought, amazed, as her sister took the page carefully from Gerard. “There’s so much power here,” Tabby said softly. Then she turned to Sam. “If the monk can unleash the power, it won’t be good.”

Sam stared at her. “I don’t have a choice.”

Tabby glanced at the other women. Allie said, “Do it, Sam. I’d do it for Royce. We’d all do it for our men.”

Sam reached for the page when something crashed downstairs. It almost sounded as if the door had been broken down. A second crash followed which sounded like a man being hurled at the wall. She didn’t feel evil—to the contrary. Ian’s Loch Awe home had been filled with white power ever since the women had arrived with their husbands. Malcolm and Royce had gone to Brooklyn with Aidan to help him look for Ian, but Macleod remained downstairs, just in case someone nasty decided to pay the women a visit.

Sam had a sudden inkling. She took the page from her sister and said, “Get Macleod, Tabby, please, and have him take me to Maclean’s Park Avenue house.” Carlisle had said he’d reach her there when she had the page.

Tabby hurried for the door. But as she did, Sam looked past her and saw Macleod coming up the stairs. Nick was on his heels.

She cursed.

“Yer sister’s friend barged in,” Macleod said, clearly annoyed. “He is lookin’ fer Sam. I decided not to take his head, but tell me otherwise an’ I’ll change my mind—gladly.” His smile was cold.

Nick stepped past Macleod. “Hello, Sammie. I was really glad to see you when you showed up at Maclean’s fancy town house in one piece, but you’ve gone renegade on me, haven’t you?”

Nick had Ian’s house on tape and she and Gerard had obviously been recorded. “No. No way. I know what you want and the answer is no! The monk has Ian, Nick. He’s hurt. Badly. I’m making a trade.”