Page 88 of Dark Embrace

Deamhanain did not care about anything other than power, destruction and death. They did not care about anyone except themselves and they did not heal. They did not have friends or lovers; they had objects and victims, whom they used and destroyed. They did not know the meaning of joy. They only knew the meaning of pain, cruelty and death.

He turned and stared down the ridge at his black tent as the gray sky shifted, but didn’t lighten. The first snowflakes fell.

There had been so much joy.

In that moment, he knew he had made a colossal mistake, one that threatened his entire existence and his very life.

He breathed hard.

He hated the gods for taking Ian, and he would never forgive them. He would never return to Iona and the Brotherhood. He was the son of a deamhan. He didn’t want or need her love or her friendship. She could touch him a thousand times—no, a million—and they could fuck again, but he was filled with evil. He needed power, not pleasure, not love and not joy.

He only wanted revenge for Ian.

He must never forget that.

His temples pounded in pain. His heart hurt him.

He had spent sixty-six years in a self-imposed exile. Taking whores and courtesans to bed did not count, as he had not allowed them their humanity. Passing his servants in the hall did not count, as they lived in terror of him. His mercenaries and the villagers also feared him and avoided him. He had lived alone for a reason—it was his vengeance against the gods—and it had kept him inhuman and ruthless.

Yet somehow, in the past few very short days, after long, endless decades of isolation, he had rescued her, healed her and taken her to bed as if he had come to have a concern for her, as if they were lovers, as if they were friends.

But that concern was now over. He would never touch her again, much less bed her. There would be no more long looks and smiles. Last night had been an exception, and it would never happen again. She was his bridge to Ian. That was all.

He roared into the night. He roared again, in frustration and rage and, maybe, in grief. The wolves began coming from the nearby forest. They did not join him; they sat waiting, by the trees.

When his throat was sore, he quieted, but he was not soothed. He was in the midst of a great war, and Moray already knew she was his weakness. Moray might even know she was a vital link to his son. She had almost died because of his war. He had no doubt that Moray would use her again, if he could. And that was all the more reason to take power, as a deamhan should.

Then he would hunt.

The vicious determination arose. The murderous fury crept over him. It was time to end this war, one way or another, and he must do so today. As he moved his mind into the perfect focus of a hunter, the wolves knew, standing one by one. They began to howl.

Their long, lustful cries filled the night.

THE WOLVES AWOKE HER.

For one moment, Brie didn’t move, buried under too many covers to count. As her mind awoke, she realized she was deliciously naked—and that Aidan had just spent hours making love to her.

Her heart leapt. She peered through the darkness at his side of the bed, but it was empty.

Slowly she sat up. Tears began, but they were tears of happiness. Her heart was explosive, so much so that she had to cover it with her hand. She had loved him before; she loved him madly now.

Brie prayed that their lovemaking had finally healed him.

The wolves had quieted. Surely Aidan wasn’t with them.

She groped the bed, but all of her clothes were on the floor. He had left a single taper burning, so she slipped to the ground, shivering, and found her black plaid, which she wrapped around herself like a blanket. She was hopeful, but she reined herself in. He was a complicated man who had lived with a terrible tragedy for decades. One night might not miraculously redeem him.

But his every touch had been drenched in emotion.

Brianna stepped into her fur-lined boots, went to the tent flap and lifted it. Outside, it had begun to snow heavily. Traveling would be hell. Maybe he’d turn the rest of his men away from Inverness and order them to go home. That would be a huge relief and one problem solved, for now.

Then she saw him approaching, his strides long and hard.

It was a shadowy, gray dawn, and Brie couldn’t see his face until he reached her. He wasn’t smiling. He glanced from her eyes to her plaid-cocooned body, and she was pretty sure he looked right through the wool. “Aidan?”

“Ye’ll freeze,” he said brusquely.

She smiled uncertainly and hopefully at him. Couldn’t he smile back at her? “Good morning,” she whispered.