CHAPTER TEN #4
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.”
“You’re so different from Lady Tabitha.”
Sam breathed in. Tabby was in 1527 now. “So you know Tabby. What is she, a best bud, too?”
“I prefer to keep my distance from her, actually. I could vanquish both her and Macleod, but I don’t see the point in engagement.” He smiled. “His temper is worse than yours.”
Ha, Sam thought, furious now. Of course he kept his distance. In the early sixteenth century, Tabby was an extremely powerful witch. Not to mention that her hubby was a superpowerful Master.
This had started with Maclean. Now, she didn’t know if it was only about him or her, Tabby or all of them. “What do you want?” Sam demanded. “I’m tired of word games. Not really my style—if a medieval son of Satan like you can get my drift.”
“You know what I want, Sam, as does Ian. In fact, he knows exactly what I want.”
The page of illusion. She didn’t think he was working with Hemmer—she didn’t think he’d like to share, or vice versa.
But Hemmer had locked her in—and now the monk was there, so one never knew.
She wanted to murder him on the spot. She was livid, the second time she’d lost control of her temper in just a few moments.
She was never angry when in the field. Angry slayers became dead slayers and no one had to tell her that.
But it was too late. She was completely pissed off. Maclean needed justice. So did she.
“You know what I think? I think you need a lesson in humility and boundaries.”
He smiled with relish. “When we’re done, you will know your boundaries, if you’re still alive.”
“Hmm. A threat. I really don’t like threats…” She smiled and flung the disk at his throat.
He held up his hand. In the blink of an eyelash, Sam knew what he intended. She didn’t know if he could do it but she wasn’t going to stand there and find out. She ducked.
The black power rushing from his hand turned the disk and sent it whizzing back at her, so swiftly it hissed.
It sliced the air above her hair and embedded itself in a painting.
“Ouch,” Sam said, glancing over her shoulder. “Isn’t that a John Singer Sargent? Hemmer will be pissed.” But she was stunned. The monk had a lot of black power, ranking him right up there with the likes of the legendary Moray.
Some demons were nearly invincible and lived thousands of years to prove it, as Moray had. She refused to believe them immortal, though, and this one wasn’t going to live a thousand damned years.
“Samantha, you want to go back and see your sister. If you cooperate, I am sure I can arrange a meeting.”
He could take her back to Tabby.
“I can and will take you back. Once you give me the page.”
She came to her senses. “Moron!” Sam sent her dagger across the vault.
She had dead aim. It should have struck him in his black, bloodless heart. But he flicked his fingers as her throw began, and the blade turned 180 degrees again. This time, the weapon impaled the floor at her feet, instead.
Okay, she thought, I am in deep shit.
She came at him anyway, a razor between her fingers.
His black power blazed.
As if struck by a cyclone, she was lifted from the ground and carried across the vault, where she smashed into the opposite wall with terrific force. She heard her bones crack. For one moment, she lay on the floor, stunned.
Then a blinding pain went though her right shoulder and collarbone.
“Get up,” he taunted. “I won’t kill you. I have a message for Maclean.”
This was a moment for all the Rose women. In the past, when she’d come across this kind of evil, Allie would be there to heal, Brie would have seen it all coming, and Tabby would work her magic. Good would win the day. But Samantha was entirely alone.
“Tell Ian I have a new maze, just for him,” the monk said softly.
Gripping the very lethal razor, Sam shifted to get up and cried out, incapacitated by the pain searing through her.
The demon monk laughed and approached her.
Sam tensed, ready for his onslaught, ready to fight back.
“Laugh at me,” Ian said.