Page 111 of Dark Lover

“And it was my time to start slaying.” Sam shrugged.

“Are ye crying?” he asked suddenly.

“No, I’m not crying. I don’t cry.”

He made a sound. “How long did ye dream of her death?”

“A long time.” Sam grimaced and walked up to him. “I know my dreams were nothing compared to yours. But I get how awful a nightmare like that can be.”

He crossed his arms. “Ye don’t have the dreams anymore.”

“No. The dreams became less frequent in my early twenties,” Sam said truthfully. “I haven’t had the nightmare in years.”

He absorbed that. “I’m glad.”

He meant it. She smiled slightly. Then she said, “You’ve been through more than any one person should ever have to go through. The dreams need to stop.”

He laughed. “No one, not even a god, can control his or her dreams!”

She waited a beat. “Ian, have you ever thought about getting help?” she asked carefully.

“Ye mean…a shrink?” He was incredulous.

“At CDA, there’s a whole department filled with shrinks to help us screwed-up agents out. When Macleod took Tabby back in time last year, Nick forced me into evaluation. I had to talk to a shrink every week for an hour.”

“I’m not an agent. I don’t need a shrink.”

She knew what was coming—and she was right.

“Sharing my bed doesn’t give ye the right to tell me to go to a shrink. Yer a fool if ye think ye should worry about me now, because of some sex.”

She sighed. “I was waiting for the Maclean comeback. I’m so relieved!”

He picked up the plaid throw on the foot of the bed and tossed it at her. “If ye get pneumonia, ye’ll be too sick to leap home, and we don’t have antibiotics here.”

She was glad to be cloaked in the warmth of the plaid. “And you would care because…?”

“No one deserves to be stuck in this miserable time,” he said harshly. “Ye shouldn’t die because of me.”

Sam felt her eyes widen. He blamed himself for what had happened to her. “Why don’t you admit it, you like me, a little, and not just for sex. We’re—gasp—friends.”

And Maclean did not have a comeback. He simply strode from the room.

Sam found her skirt and pulled it on. She was thoughtful as she stepped into her boots, and very, very pleased. That dialogue felt like a win. She almost felt warm and fuzzy inside. Maclean could actually be normal, and he’d been somewhat honest. She was smiling as she started for the door. She was probably the first real friend he’d ever had. Life felt pretty good—and it was because of her growing relationship with Maclean.

Sam told herself she’d better start being careful. But she somehow knew that she’d ignore her own advice.

Tabby and Brie were downstairs, sipping some kind of herbal tea. Neither Aidan nor Macleod were in sight. Neither was Ian.

Sam grinned cheerfully at them.

Tabby’s graceful brows lifted. “Someone had a good night.”

It had been beyond good. But now, Sam recalled their conversation from the day before and all of her denials. She’d just told Ian—no, insisted—that they were friends. “I needed a good night’s sleep,” she said, straight-faced.

Brie smiled and pushed a steaming mug toward her.

“Where is everyone?” Sam asked, not bothering to sound casual.