Page 124 of Dark Rival

Moffat materialized before her, smiling.

She tried to duck, too late.

He seized her—and as they were hurled through mud and wattle, past stars, she screamed for Royce.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

HE DID NOT KNOW WHERE Ailios was going with Blackwood’s knights. It was not his affair, and he reminded himself that he did not care—that he would never care again. Aidan had remained behind, and of course, he knew why. Still, Aidan should not have let her go.

The urge came to leave his prison and find her and protect her. Then it vanished.

Aidan could protect her now.

Aidan could have her now.

He felt sick at the thought. He had spent the entire night raging at Ailios for her treachery, at himself for his folly and at the gods for their capricious ways. He had torn a dozen stone blocks from the walls, smashing them into shards in sheer frustration, haunted by her smile, her laughter, the light of joy that was so often on her face and in her eyes.

How could she have betrayed him?

He had admitted that he cared!

The chamber was destroyed. The round room was littered with broken blocks of stone and gravel, filled with dust. Two of the walls were in ruins. He was ill in his heart, in his soul.

He saw Ailios healing the boy as they pulled him from the rockslide; he saw her healing old Coinneach; he saw her as she lay beneath him, gasping with pleasure and weeping with rapture.

And he saw Aidan with her in his bed, the two of them in the throes of the same damned rapture.

He roared and wrenched another stone block from the wall in more frustration, more fury, not caring that his hands were raw. He would kill Aidan if he took her to bed.

He leaned against the broken wall, heard himself choke on a single sob. He hadn’t shed a tear since he was a boy of four or five. But his chest pained him terribly, and it was unlike anything he’d ever experienced in his life. He had never felt this kind of anguish before. What was happening to him?

She had reduced him to this pathetic moment, where he wept over the personal loss of a woman. Royce trembled. He was a Master, committed to his vows and the Code until he died. She was unimportant! He had a duty to her, as every Master did. He must forget their brief, forbidden love affair.

But how would he forget her laughter and her joy, her kindness and her grace?

He sank to the pitted stone floor amidst boulders and rocks. There, he rubbed his face, his eyes. He must think like a soldier, not a fool. This was for the best. He had known all along that she threatened his vows. The wrenching conflict in his mind and heart continued to prove how dangerous she was. His heart shrieked at him in protest. If he heeded it, he might listen to what she had to say.

She had betrayed him.

He could never forgive such disloyalty and he would never trust her again.

The pain in his heart, his entire being, increased. He felt crushed by its weight. Worse, the sun that had begun to shine in his life was gone. It would never shine again. He was going to spend the next six hundred years in thick fog and black clouds, lost and alone.

She was all that was good in this world.

She would forgive him if their roles were reversed.

Shaken, he strode to the broken window opening and stared out, but she was gone and out of sight now. He was relieved; he was disappointed. He should go downstairs and ask Aidan where she had gone and why. That much he could do.

He fought the urge. He would pretend he didn’t know she had left Blackwood; it was not his affair, not ever again.

Royce!

Her scream of terror pierced through the tower room as if she stood beside him. He jerked, alert and alarmed.

She screamed again.

And he shoved all emotion aside. He focused his every sense upon her—and knew Moffat had captured her at last.