CHAPTER SEVENTEEN #2
Allie’s eyes widened. “From that serious expression, I’m almost afraid to ask.”
Tabby wet her lips. “It all began at the Met. There was this exhibit about a great fire in 1550 at An Tùir-Tara. I felt the ghost’s evil and saw Macleod. He was bloody and burned. He’d been at the fire and it all felt like déjà vu.”
“What do you mean?”
“I felt that I knew Macleod, and I knew that witch. I felt that I’d been at the fire. In fact, when I first came to Blayde, it was familiar, too! But MacNeil said I’ve never been here before.”
“Maybe you’re having a flash forward.”
“What on earth is a flash forward?” Tabby cried.
“It’s that moment when your soul recognizes its Fate.”
Tabby stared, stunned.
“It’s actually that simple—a flashback in reverse.
Your soul can recognize what will happen, as if it has already happened, and it feels familiar and right.
Some say it happens because a soul feels itself across time, in another moment.
Does it matter? Soul recognition is soul recognition.
We’ve all had flash forwards at some point.
I’ve had them with Royce—and it always ends with the feeling that it’s familiar and right. ”
Tabby breathed hard. Was it possible that her soul had recognized Blayde, Macleod, their love—and whatever would happen at An Tùir-Tara? “Do you know anything about An Tùir-Tara, Allie?”
Allie shrugged. “I haven’t lived that long yet. You know it’s awfully risky business to zip around time—one slip and Fate is all messed up. Royce and I try really hard to mind our own business—except, of course, for protecting and healing Innocents.”
“You never mind your own business!” Tabby smiled and then she sobered. “I die at An Tùir-Tara.”
Allie paled. “Like hell you do! Royce died in my arms, do you remember? But I never gave up on him or us, and I went back and changed it! Macleod will not let you die!”
“I hope you’re right.” Tabby didn’t state the obvious. Allie knew the rules as well as she did. She knew all about Fate.
Tabby looked at the door again. “Okay, I’m getting worried. He was flipping out when I was hurt. Why isn’t he here?”
Allie hesitated. “He can be really difficult. As far as he’s come, he will still be a challenge for you for a long time.”
Dread began. “Where did he go, Allie?”
“I know you said he swore off vengeance, but he walked out of here like a man bent on revenge.”
Tabby felt her heart stop. In that moment, she suddenly knew what he intended—she knew it as if she was in his mind. “Oh, my God. He’s going after Criosaidh to kill her!”
THE FRONT GATES TO THE baron of Awe’s home were closed. Sam stared at the closed iron gates, set between two stone pillars, from the front seat of her rental car. She saw the intercom but ignored it. The gates began to open, a simple enough task to accomplish.
She was filled with tension, so much so that her grip on the steering wheel of the Jag was white-knuckled and her entire body was vibrating.
She took a breath as the gates swung wide enough to admit the car.
What was wrong with her? Not only was she unusually tense, she had a damned headache.
But of course, she expected a hellish confrontation with Ian Maclean.
She would never let him best her. The truth was, she had hoped to never set eyes on him again.
She hit the gas and the tires screeched, kicking up gravel.
She’d met him in Oban last September, just a few months ago, when she and Brie were trying to figure out Aidan’s Fate.
They’d exchanged a dozen words and he’d taken Brie back in time to find his father, leaving her standing on the corner alone.
She’d disliked him immensely, instantly.
And why not? He was drop-dead gorgeous, reeking of virility, power and wealth—and he knew it.
He knew he was handsome, rich and mega-powerful, one of the world’s elite.
His arrogance had been obvious and so had his disdain.
He didn’t like women—he simply liked sex.
Sam had felt it. He was an oversexed, overpowered user.
It had been obvious that he expected women to fawn over him, chase him.
It was as obvious that he didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything.
And why should he? He could buy whatever he wanted, destroy whatever he wanted, fuck whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted. And he expected it to be that way.
He was a bastard and it was that simple.
He’d looked at her, clearly thinking about all of the things he’d like to do to her in his bedroom.
Ha-ha, Sam thought. If push came to shove and she took him to bed to get what she wanted, it would be exactly that—her taking him to bed.
However, she hated the idea. She was not going to be one of a thousand forgettable women, not ever.
She needed to go back in time, but she had a bargaining chip or two.
She knew he’d never help her just because they were both good guys on the same side of the battlefield.
But he could surely use her connections at HCU.
He’d never do anything for nothing.
Sam braked in front of a huge, centuries-old ancestral home.
She got out of the car, a short skimpy dress beneath her wool coat.
She was wearing stilettos and she had to navigate the stone path leading up to the front door.
She felt his power coming from within the house in huge hot waves, and she felt the power of two more men, as well.
A butler greeted her at the front door, his eyes wide with surprise. “I’m afraid I did not realize his lordship was expecting another guest.”
He had a butler. It was so absurdly classic that it was funny. Sam stepped past the man, handing him her coat. “He’s not. I opened the gates with my superpowers. So where’s his lordship?”
The butler paled. “Your name, madam?”
“Madam Butterfly.” Sam smiled. “I’ll find his lordship myself.” She started across the entry hall, acutely aware of the coat of arms on one wall and the multimillion-dollar masterpieces on the other walls. She heard voices and the tinkle of glasses. Great, a party. She loved parties.
“Please wait, madam,” the butler cried, chasing her.
Sam strode to the threshold of a living room, instantly dismissing the two other men and three beautiful women in the elegant, old-world room.
Ian stood in front of a massive stone hearth, clad in an impeccably tailored tuxedo, a flute of champagne in one hand.
A solid gold watch was exposed, as were sapphire cuff links.
His eyes were on her as she paused. He’d felt her, too, and was expecting her.
“It’s all right, Gerard,” he drawled in a heavy Scot brogue. “The more, the merrier.” He tipped his flute at her, his blue gaze gleaming with male interest.
Sam breathed hard. Well, she hadn’t imagined the lust—or how frigging hot he was. He was looking at her long, strong, bare legs, undoubtedly speculating about how it would feel to have them wrapped around his waist. Dream on, she thought silently.
He started.
Great, he thought to read her mind. Two could play this game. “Your lordship, I hope I am not imposing,” Sam mocked. She thought about curtsying but decided that would be overdoing it.
His eyes gleamed even more brightly. “I was wonderin’ how long it would take ye to find me.”
She smiled coldly at him. “In your dreams,” she murmured.
“I’m very fond o’ dreams.”
“I’ll bet.”
A beautiful woman in a long, slinky red dress stood, moving to stand possessively beside him.
She had a Playboy center-fold body, a perfect face and endless legs—but so did Sam.
She did not have lethal blades concealed in her high heels or a laser-edged DVD in her purse that could sever a man’s head from his body.
“I didn’t realize you’d invited another guest to Lord Ross’s. ”
Ian didn’t look at her. He sauntered forward and Sam tried not to inhale.
His stride was sensual and suggestive, the gait of a man in slow pursuit, a man absolutely certain of the evening’s outcome.
“Hello, Rose.” He paused by a dry bar and poured champagne into an untouched flute.
He handed it to her. “Welcome to my lair.”
“But your father was the wolf.” Sam batted her lashes at him.
“Like father, like son,” he murmured, his gaze dipping to her cleavage.
The champagne was Cristal, of course. Sam took the flute and knew he meant for their fingers to brush. Her body was very hot and very tight, but it didn’t matter. She was never giving in to him—unless it was on her terms. “In the mood for a proposition?”
His mouth curved. “I’ve been in the mood since Oban.”
“I’m so flattered.” Sam nodded toward a pair of closed doors. Ian took her arm and looked at his guests and obviously expendable date. “We have some unfinished business to conclude. We’ll only be a moment.”
Sam glanced at his guests. The two women were affronted, but the two men seemed amused. She glanced at him carefully. His eyes were almost silver now, and directed at the woman in red. He was mesmerizing her to his will.
She turned and sat down with the other women, an obedient little slave. She even smiled at them.
Ian opened the pair of doors, gesturing, as if a gentleman. Sam slithered past him, very deliberately, brushing her hip against him as she did. She entered a dark room. She heard him close the door; the lights came on. He smiled with relish at her. “I expected more of a hunt, Samantha.”
“No one hunts me. And no one calls me Samantha.”
Ian’s mouth curved. “Ye’ve never had a real man.”
Sam laughed with disdain at him. What a jerk!
She sat down, crossing her legs, making sure her short black dress rode up precariously high.
He looked. She leaned forward to set her flute down, aware of his focus on her full, mostly exposed breasts.
She straightened, pleased. “I like toys,” she said. “Oops, I mean boys.”
“No wonder ye’re so hot an’ bothered around me.” He smiled, hardly perturbed.