Page 116 of Dark Victory

Fuck, he thought, blasting her again, but he was on his knees. Against his own will, he grabbed at the virtual cord.

“Nick!” Jan screamed. Drawing her Beretta, she began firing point-blank and repeatedly into Lafarge.

But the bullets bounced off her, deflecting everywhere.

However, the cord loosened and he stood, energy blazing. Kristin screamed, collapsing onto her back, as chunks of burning stone began falling from the tower above them.

Nick reached her, flipped her, straddled her. “Don’t you fuckin’ die,” he said, yanking her wrists as hard as he could behind her back. He heard her bones break. “Payback for my little Sammie,” he said.

Jan stood over him. “We need info, Nick,” she warned. “Besides, I want the honor of dispatching her.”

Nick leaned his entire body on top of her, the position dominant and sexual. She hissed in fury and he said against her ear, “Who’s giving you orders, bitch? Why did you go to the Carlisle Hotel? A big, motherfucking demon there?”

She turned her face to his and spit.

They both felt the falling boulder at the same time. Nick looked up. For one moment, he thought it a small meteor. He jumped up, seizing Jan, and they dived away as it crashed to the ground, Nick making sure to land on top of Jan to protect her with his body.

And he knew.

He turned his head. The stone had buried Kristin. No one, not even a witch with an ounce or two of demonic blood, could survive that.

He cursed.

Blayde, Scotland

June 1, 1550

ALARM CAUSED him to awaken.

Guy Macleod sat bolt upright in his bed.

Tabitha.

In that instant he knew that she was in danger. But she was in Edinburgh with her sister, Sam, a warrior whom he trusted. And he was confused, for he thought he felt her there, in a quiet and happy moment.

Instead, his senses veered south and he felt her determination, her anger—and her fear. He also felt doubt.

His confusion escalated. Something was terribly wrong! Tabitha had great magic and she never doubted her powers. And then he felt Criosaidh.

He instantly understood that she was at Melvaig. It was oddly familiar—as if he had already been in this moment.

But of course he had. Every moment in time existed infinitely in parallel dimensions—he was old enough and wise enough to understand that now. A part of him would always recognize the most fateful events of their lives.

As he rose from the bed, his gaze veered to a south-facing chamber window. The night sky was still and blue-black, glittering with a billion stars. His senses sharpened. For one moment, he thought the night sky there on fire. But that was impossible.

Or was it?

Guy Macleod leaped. He landed a scant instant later in Melvaig’s central courtyard. And the sky above was on fire….

Incredulous, he saw huge balls of fire falling into the bailey, where men, women and children were running for the castle’s front gates, screaming in terror and trying to escape the inferno. But the sky wasn’t on fire—the tower above him was on fire—and it was an inferno.

Even though stone could not burn, chunks of the gray slabs were falling from the tower, the rock ablaze, sizzling as it slammed down, only to burn holes into the bailey ground.

Above him, Tabitha screamed, the sound bloodcurdling.

Criosaidh roared in answering rage.

They were at war.