CHAPTER FOUR #3
Brie realized the sky was softening with gray and violet light; dawn was creeping across the Highland horizon.
She hesitated, hoping he wanted to talk about his son.
Then she slid from the bed, fully dressed.
She pushed her heavy hair behind her ears as she went to the chair.
His hands were on the chair’s back. Her body seemed to hum as she sat.
She hadn’t mistaken his magnetism. This close, his power seemed to vibrate toward her, and vice versa.
He released the chair, and she felt his hands brush against her hair as he did so.
She reminded herself that now was not the best time to feel any attraction. She closed her eyes. She had to stay neutral and ignore his heat and pull, his masculinity and looks. She wanted to save him. She wanted them to be friends. That took precedence over everything else.
Besides, anything else wasn’t an option.
When she opened her eyes he was staring, only steps away. She could see him so clearly. His vivid gaze was on hers, serious and searching. But the moment she looked into his eyes, his lashes lowered. He had no intention of allowing her to see into his eyes—or his soul.
But he seemed almost himself now. He could have been that long-ago Master, a man dedicated to the gods and sworn to defend mankind. Yet she knew he had taken a long, dark journey away from that man.
She wasn’t sure what had happened after he’d ceased howling tragically. It might be better that she didn’t know. “I heard the Wolf earlier. Why do you do it?”
His mouth curved mirthlessly. “Because I can.”
“Do you do it often?”
To her surprise, his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Often enough,” he finally said.
She hugged herself, becoming uneasy. Had he just looked at her with sexual interest? Had he done so earlier that night? “I don’t like the Wolf.”
He shrugged.
“Beasts are prey or predator,” Brie said carefully. “We both know the Wolf is a predator.” He looked at her. “And animals do not have a conscience.”
“Yer meaning?” he asked, rather coolly.
“How convenient that Wolf is for you.”
His face tightened. “Aye, the Wolf serves me well.”
“But the Wolf has a conscience, after all, just as you do. I saw it.”
His shoulders lifted, stiffened. “Dinna challenge me.”
Brie hadn’t meant to provoke him. “I’m not! I was thinking aloud, trying to understand you. I’m sorry.”
“Ye dinna need to comprehend me, Brianna. Dinna even try.” His eyes flashed with anger.
She had raised a sore subject. She did not want to make him mad. “I am sorry about your son,” she said, meaning it with all of her heart. “I am so sorry. What happened is so terrible—tragic and unfair.”
He was so still he could have been carved from stone. Then she saw his chest rising and falling beneath the vee neckline of the leine. She could see the fang necklace he wore.
He folded his bulging arms across his chest. “Ye saw Ian,” he said bluntly, “when no one has ever seen him, except fer me.”
So Aidan could see Ian, too, although apparently not all of the time. She nodded, trying to search his gaze, but he wouldn’t let her. “Malcolm and Claire told me what happened. How long has he been haunting you?”
His face tightened. “He was murdered sixty-six years ago next month.”
Brie was shocked. Aidan had been haunted for a human lifetime!
“What did he wish o’ ye?”
“I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “He was trying to speak, but I couldn’t hear him.” She stopped. The little boy had been afraid and desperate, and telling Aidan that would only cause more anguish.
Aidan flushed with anger. “I can hear yer every thought,” he warned. “He was afraid.”
Oh, God, he was telepathic. “Yes, he seemed very afraid.” And suddenly a wave of grief hit her, very much the way an ocean wave might.
“Why did he come to ye, instead of me?” he cried. “He’s been tryin’ to speak to me fer all these years! What does he want to say?’
His desperation added to the flood tide of anguish. It was hard to speak. “I don’t…know.”
Suddenly the anguish and desperation vanished, tamped down in his soul.
Brie breathed, shaking like a leaf. She had to monitor her thoughts, so as not to hurt him.
“The other day, I felt your suffering, across time. There was so much pain and anguish, I thought you were being tortured. There was rage, and then, at the end, there was grief, and it was the worst emotion of all—like now. You weren’t being tortured, were you? It was about Ian.”
“Moray took my son from me.” He breathed hard. “I stood there, helpless, while he was murdered! I tried to stop Ian’s murder by going back in time. I tried again an’ again…. I failed.”
Aidan had witnessed his son’s death many times, and she had felt his pain as he relived the murder.
Her head ached now. “Did the demon bury you alive?” she asked carefully.
Aidan turned away. “I brought my own walls down.”
Brie wanted to reach out but didn’t dare. “So you were buried alive and you waited to die.”
He faced her. “’Twas sixty-six years ago. Now I live for my revenge.”
His savage, ruthless bloodlust overwhelmed her, frightening her. But she didn’t blame him—she couldn’t. She couldn’t help thinking about how his poor son’s soul was suffering, caught between this world and the next one. Ian did not deserve his fate, just as his father did not.
Aidan had heard her silent thoughts. He met her gaze, his mask briefly cracking apart. She saw a man near tears—she felt that oceanic wave of grief again.
Brie stood and grasped his arms, shocked by the steel-hard muscles there. “We’ll figure this out together.”
His rage erupted. He pulled away. “There is no we, Brianna. Ye dinna blame me fer wantin’ revenge. I’ll tell ye who to blame. Blame the gods! Damn every single one o’ them!”
His anger sent her backward across the room. “You don’t mean that!”
“Oh, aye, I mean it,” he snarled at her. “My son was innocent, more innocent than anyone. I took vows to serve Innocence, yet my son was taken from me. It was written?” he roared. “Well, I have written the fate o’ the gods, but they’re cowards, because they willna come to earth to fight me.”
He was challenging the gods. No mortal could win and neither could a demon, nor the son of one. “Please take back your words,” she whispered, terrified for him. “Before they hear you—before they accept!”
“I hope they can hear me!” He paused at the fireplace, leaning against the stone, his back to her, trembling.
She wanted to comfort him; she didn’t dare.
She wanted to beg him to take back his words; he would refuse again or start another tirade.
She wanted to run from the rage, which was making her sick; she couldn’t leave him now.
So she simply stood there, looking at the most beautiful man in the world—and the most tortured one.
A long moment passed as he fought his rage. Then he looked at her. “Ye’ll be stayin’ close to me now.”
Brie tensed, uncertain of his meaning and wary of his intentions.
He turned and strode to the door, where he paused. “Tomorrow we leave Awe.”
“Where are we going?” she asked nervously.
A cool smile formed. “We go to war.”