Page 139 of Dark Lover

Tabby walked across the loft to the kitchen counter. “It’s Ian, isn’t it?”

Sam shrugged. “It was never the real deal. Hey, Slayers don’t have time for love or romance.”

“Who are you trying to convince?”

Sam chugged on the beer. “You know, nothing’s changed. He’s a selfish jerk.”

Tabby rolled her eyes. “He loves you and you love him. And I don’t think he’s selfish where you are concerned.”

Sam trembled in sudden anger. “I beg to differ with you, sis.”

“Don’t give up on him!” Tabby cried, reaching across the counter to grab her hand. “Fight for your love!”

“I am not in love,” Sam said. Then she crumbled and gave it up. She knew it was a damned lie. She loved the bastard. She’d gone through hell for him. She’d stood by his side against his worst enemies. And he’d walked out on her.

“I know you don’t believe that,” Tabby said flatly. “Because I know you.”

Sam looked at her darkly. “I am not chasing him, Tabby.”

“Why not? What could you possibly lose? Your pride?”

Sam finished the beer. Then she crossed her arms. “Yeah, I’ll lose my pride. He’ll laugh at me.”

“Ian won’t laugh at you. He needs you more than he needs air. It’s really obvious.”

Sam started, her tension unbearable. Tabby was right on that last point—Maclean needed her. The monk was gone, but he was still a mess. But if she went after him now, like some pathetic bimbo, he’d laugh at her. Wouldn’t he?

But so what if he did?

She wet her lips. “So what’s the scoop on our worst nightmare come true?”

Tabby raised her pale brows. “You don’t mean Hemmer and the power of virtual control.”

“That’s a sobering thought, but not as scary as Moray.”

“If Brie is right and Moray is back, he hasn’t shown himself.”

Sam inhaled. “Then let’s find him and set the world right.”

HE HADN’T TOLD ANYONE where he was going, not even Gerard. Ian closed the front door of his Loch Awe home, doing his best to ignore the painful throbbing in his heart.

He felt jet-lagged. He hit the lights as he went through the large entry hall, and that was when he realized he wasn’t alone.

The fine hairs at his nape tingled. As they did, the hallway darkened, and a chill descended upon the room. With it came a horribly familiar weight and black power.

Moray? His grandfather was dead. But that black evil was unmistakable.

With the confusion, panic arose.

He chased it away. He had to be mistaken.

But the hairs continued to tickle his nape. He slowly turned, facing the unlit interior of the grand salon. A shadowy form arose from the sofa.

Dread immobilized him. There was no mistaking the evil arising from his sofa.

The lights came on.

Rupert Hemmer faced him, but he only saw his grandfather, Moray.