Page 69 of Dark Lover

But she was thinking about him. Worse, she wanted to know even more. And she was definitely feeling sorry for him. There was no way to avoid her feelings now.

Sam cursed.

If he wasn’t a total jerk, if a heart beat in that hard, sexy chest, so what? The day the page wound up in the right hands was the day they were done. He’d go his way and she’d go hers, never mind that sex tape from the future. Something was wrong with that tape. She wasn’t capable of smiling at a lover that way, and Maclean wasn’t capable of making love.

She told herself to forget it. She would be thrilled when they were done. Her life could go back to normal: Sam the Slayer, alone against the evil in the world.

And she thought about her sister and Brie, then Allie. She sighed and sat down on the floor. She didn’t even know what was normal anymore, she thought.

She was facing the locked vault door. She needed to think about that. There was only one way in and out of the vault, obviously. At some point soon, Ian would recover from the leap. Maybe he’d return and free her. She was fairly certain he wouldn’t leave her in the vault to rot. On the other hand, she was not into relying on others or counting on miracles. She needed to prepare herself for a battle. If Hemmer came back, she’d have to take him out in order to free herself.

She lusted to destroy Hemmer now. The bastard had threatened Ian. He deserved a really good, slow, old-fashioned hanging.

Sam got back up to adjust her weapons. And that was when comprehension suddenly clicked.

Hemmer surely knew that Ian could leap if he had to, because that was how Ian had stolen the van Gogh for him. And that meant that Hemmer hadn’t cared about capturing Ian. She’d been the target.

As she realized that, she felt the huge and heavy weight of evil gathering outside the vault. She tensed. Hemmer did not carry such darkness with him. Too much black power was out there.

The locks clicked.

Sam slid her disk into her hand.

The vault door was pushed open, revealing a man in dark robes.

It took her one moment to realize that the evil being wasn’t a modern-day monk. His robes were from an earlier time, the wool was coarsely woven, and he wore pointy shoes. He even had a leather and cord girdle, from which hung big, awkward keys. He was medieval.

Her brain buzzed. You’re out of your time. Nick had accused Ian of that. And she was standing face-to-face with a medieval man now.

“’Allo, Samantha Rose,” the cleric said, smiling. He had a heavy French accent. He lifted his hood and cowl, revealing the perfect features, the blue eyes and blond hair of the purest demon. The monk would give Brad Pitt a run for Angelina Jolie’s heart.

The circle was closing in on her, she thought, unafraid. First Allie, then Brie and Tabby. Now, a demon from medieval times was confronting her—and Ian might be medieval, too.

“Nice to meet you,” she quipped. “So what time are you from?”

He chuckled. “I’m from 1527.”

Ian had been released from his captivity in 1502. “Hey, you must know Maclean.”

His brows lifted. “I am very fond of Ian.”

She tensed. She got every innuendo in his soft tone. “You motherfucking son of a bitch,” she spat.

“Have I hit a nerve?”

Sam told herself not to get sick. She wanted to kill him. He held up his hand, laughing.

“Kill me and you’ll never have the answers you crave.”

He could read minds. Her control was gone, her temper consuming. “So tell me what I want to know.”

“Yes, I knew him when he was the great Moray’s prisoner.”

She shook with rage. “I thought so. Hey, you’re in for a surprise. He’s not a kid anymore, he’s not helpless—and he’s not alone.”

“Really? And who is on his side? You?” He shook his head, amused. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re my prisoner and not capable of helping anyone right now.”

“Shows how much you know.”