Page 71 of Dark Lover

The demon monk laughed and approached her.

Sam tensed, ready for his onslaught, ready to fight back.

“Laugh at me,” Ian said.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE MONK WAS STILL STANDING over her. Sam looked up and saw Ian in the doorway. He looked like hell. But as ravaged as he seemed, he was furious. His hand trembled as he lifted it. Sam wondered what had happened to him and if he had the strength to save the day. But he sent a blazing streak of white energy into the vault.

As it raced toward the demon like a tidal wave, the monk vanished. Sam covered her head with her arms as his power struck the wall behind her. Plaster cracked. Paintings fell. A chunk of the ceiling crashed by her. When the vault quieted, she took a deep breath.

Ian knelt beside her. “How badly are ye hurt?” he demanded.

Sam looked up. She’d dislocated her right shoulder, she was certain, but it was the acute throbbing in her collarbone which worried her. The pain was blinding. She was determined not to pass out. “I’ll be fine,” she said. She started to sit up and instantly became faint.

He knelt and put his arm around her waist. “Can ye admit to being hurt?”

“Okay, damn it. I’m hurt. It hurts.” She gritted, fighting waves of dizziness. Was he worried? “Who was that?”

His gray gaze was averted and he seemed to hesitate. “I didn’t see his face.” She heard him breathe harshly. “He had his back to me.”

Something was wrong, Sam thought. The waves of gray became waves of black. “He came from 1527,” she managed hoarsely. “He knows you—he’s from your past.”

Ian’s expression tightened as their gazes met. “Lie back down,” he told her.

“Are you sure you didn’t recognize him?” But she sank down and found herself in his arms, and the dizzy feeling instantly receded. His arms were strong and so damned familiar. He was almost reassuring.

Disconcerted, she started to sit up, pushing away from him. “We have to get out of here. Hemmer might come back. The monk might come back. No, amend that—he will come back. I can get medical attention on Five.”

He ignored her, his face hard and set. “Stop wiggling,” he said, clasping her shoulder.

Sam choked, refusing to cry out as he touched her. She gritted, “What are you doing? Trying to kill me?”

“Shut up,” he snapped.

Sam twisted to look up at him. He refused to meet her gaze, his face set in lines of fierce concentration. She collapsed against him, aware of the breadth and hardness of his chest. It was hard to think. Shit. She was going to pass out…

Suddenly Sam felt soothing warmth creeping through her shoulder and collarbone. The warmth eased the coursing pain. The moment she did, she realized what he was doing. “You can heal?” she gasped. And she saw the white rain coming from his hands.

His mouth tightened. Clearly he would not answer.

Aidan had healed Brie once, even before his redemption. Sam leaned against him, closing her eyes, gasping in relief, his healing power flowing into her. As the pain in her collarbone receded, the haze in her mind eased, too. Maclean could heal.

She looked up, lying against his hard thighs now, and studied his determined face. He hated doing this, she thought. Did he hate being a good guy?

“Why did you come back for me?”

He finally looked at her, with annoyance. “So we can go back to my bed.”

“Liar,” she said. Didn’t this make him a good guy? She wasn’t supposed to care, but she felt an odd elation—damn it. “I think you care just a little,” she said. “About the war on evil, not me. The indifference, it’s a part of the phony facade.”

“Can ye be quiet?” His tone was harsh.

She looked at him closely. “I’m starting to get you, Maclean. Why does that bother you?”

“Really?” He dropped his hands. “Think what ye want. That’s the best I can do.”

She sat up. They were almost eye to eye because Maclean still knelt. “Thanks for the healing.”