Page 82 of Dark Lover

“Maybe you can be.”

“Sam, I’m an old woman now. And it’s not my place to interfere. It’s forbidden. This is your time.”

“Yippee,” Sam murmured, but she was thinking of Ian now.

“I’m almost afraid to ask, but how is Ian?”

“He’s got the page of illusion. He’s planning on selling it to the highest bidder, instead of turning it over to us. He’s basically a not-quite-mortal train wreck.”

Brie was silent for a moment. “No one should have had to endure what he did, Sam. I hope you can go easy on him.”

Sam hesitated. “Don’t faint. Not only am I giving him a break, I’m backing him up.”

Sam felt how pleased Brie was.

“Thank you,” she finally said, softly. “He has a good heart.”

“Is that wishful thinking? Because I can’t decide if he’s heartless or not. His mood swings are amazing.”

“I know he’s good. Don’t turn away from him, Sam. He needs you. He needs all the help and kindness he can get—almost exactly the way his father did, so long ago.”

Brie had always been kind, she’d just been so shy and retiring, it hadn’t been obvious. But Ian was her stepson, so of course she’d believe in him. Sam thought about Tabby. Her sister would also encourage her to be kind and supportive of Maclean. But Brie hadn’t said a word about Tabby. Dread churned in her. “I have to ask. Is Tabby around?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Brie cried. “Tabby is alive and well. They live in a beautiful home they built about two hundred years ago, not far from Blayde’s ruins. And they’re constantly surrounded by generations of Macleod men and Rose women.”

Sam started. There’d be more Rose women to carry on the fight. She was so thrilled. “Then why hasn’t she called me, Brie?”

“Every Rose woman has a destiny, Sam. She’s living hers. We’re waiting for you to live yours—so you can join us.”

SAM SLOWED as she approached Ian’s bedroom suite. She was thoughtful now.

The conversation with Brie had warmed her, but it had dismayed her, too. She’d suspected that Brie and Tabby might be around, but she’d tried not to think about it. Well, there was no avoiding thinking about the facts now. Her sister and cousin were old and happy women, who’d lived long and full lives. Sam still missed them as she’d last seen them, with Brie being twenty-six, and Tabby two years her senior. It crossed her mind that in two more days, on her birthday, they could all be together. But her sister and her cousin were old ladies now. What kind of reunion would it be? Would she be downing Bellini martinis while they sipped tea? She’d tell stories about sex and the street, while they showed her photograph albums? God, it didn’t feel right—or fair.

Sam knew there was no going back to the days when they all fought evil together, when they were a young, reckless and fearless trio of powerful females and their R & R was a wild night in the Hamptons, not babysitting the grandkids. Damn it, it made her sad. She shouldn’t be whining. She was happy for them, she truly was. Brie and Tabby were fulfilled, and at the end of their lives. Hers was only just beginning—unless the monk of Carlisle was too hot for her to handle.

But now, she wanted to go back in time more than ever—and not just to find the Duisean or what was left of it.

Sam halted outside of Ian’s suite. If she went back, she’d find her sister as she’d last seen her. Even if it was only for a moment, it would be such a wonderful reunion. Didn’t they deserve one final time together, the way it had been? Tabby had left so suddenly.

Damn it, she suddenly felt lonely.

She looked around Ian’s high-end home. How could she be lonely? She was on assignment. She was always on assignment! But this time, it was somehow different. She knew Fate had cast its net for her. Brie had alluded to as much. That was all about Maclean and the tragedy that was his life.

Ian had been hurt while trying to heal Gerard. He was, just possibly, in over his head.

She could never abandon him now, not when she knew the score.

And Nick knew what she had to openly admit to herself now. She’d been really scared when he’d passed out. He’d seemed more dead than alive. She’d been terrified when she’d found the medics shocking his heart back to life.

She thought of what the monk had done to Ian and the extent of her anger surprised her. She had to nail the bastard. There had to be justice, this one time. She knew firsthand how elusive justice could be but she boiled with the need to bring him down. She realized she wanted to avenge Ian.

And she did not want to admit what that might mean.

Sam cursed. The sensation of being lonely was gone. She was too busy to be lonely, too involved.

She refused to consider that. Instead, her priority was recovering the page for Nick and CDA. And now she had the excuse of going back to the sixteenth century to find the other lost pages. Come hell or high water, she was going back, and not just to hunt the lost powers of the Duisean.

But their current dilemma came first. Ian had apparently regained consciousness and had been moved upstairs to his own bed. His vital signs were normal, or so she understood, and he was recovering as only a near-immortal could. According to the medics, he’d simply overdone it when healing Gerard. Healers who weren’t proficient could actually destroy themselves by transferring too much of their white power to the injured. It was one more thing to worry about. The good news was, Ian didn’t like healing. She didn’t think he’d be so swift to offer up that magic again.