Page 76 of Dark Lover

“What will revisiting your past accomplish? Two very evil and powerful beings are out there, and we’ve both been threatened. Sitting here and wallowing in what they did to you won’t help us fight back. We need to prepare, and we need to call in backup.”

He seized her wrist, so brutally Sam was shocked. For one moment, she thought he’d snap her bones.

But he didn’t. “Get out,” he said fiercely. “Get out now. There is no ‘we,’ Sam. There is no ‘us.’ So just get out and leave me alone.”

Sam breathed hard, almost blinded by the pain of his grasp—or was it the pain she suddenly saw in his eyes? She nodded. He released her. She didn’t hesitate. She handed him the remote.

“You’re right. There is no ‘us.’ I’ve been feeling sorry for you, and I’ve lost sight of the fact that you’re a selfish jerk. Because even though you came back to Hemmer’s to help me out today, none of this would be happening if you weren’t one greedy bastard. If you gave Nick the page, it would be over. The demon monk and Hemmer would have to attack CDA and the entire United States government to get it, and we’d be out of the picture.”

He pressed Play.

“So go ahead, self-flagellate.”

He ignored her.

She almost stayed to watch him, as he watched himself being tortured in the past. But what would that accomplish? She wasn’t Tabby. And he didn’t want comfort anyway. He seemed to want to suffer. He was a wounded tiger in a cage, and right now, he was dangerous. Her wrist still hurt from the way he’d manhandled her. She didn’t know whether he was going to implode or explode, but a cataclysm felt imminent.

She hurried from the room as the clawing sounds began. In the hallway she halted, so tense she was ill. She hated what he was doing to himself now.

Hemmer might be human, but he was evil, and he had to go. That probably wouldn’t be a problem. The monk, on the other hand, was worrisome.

She heard the frightened breathing now. Sam turned. It crossed her mind that she might not be able to comfort him, but she could distract him…maybe. But before she could go back in and begin a seduction, she heard him roar. The sound was one of rage and anguish. Then she heard the media center come crashing down.

Sam ran back to the room. Ian stood amidst the ruins of the home theatre, which he’d clearly destroyed with his powers. He held his head with both hands, shoulders heaving. She bit her lip and backed out.

He was crying.

Damn it, where was Gerard?

Sam rushed downstairs, heading into the back of the house, where the kitchens would be. Maclean would not want her to see him shedding tears, especially not a second time. The lights were on, illuminating a very contemporary kitchen, mostly black and stainless steel.

The moment she saw the refrigerator door wide open, with no one in sight, she knew something was terribly wrong.

She ran past the granite center island.

Gerard lay motionless on the floor, face up, eyes closed, his face waxen, covered in blood. She’d seen enough victims of violence to know that he’d been stabbed many times and that the blood was his own.

“Maclean!” Sam screamed. Even as she did, she knew there was no way he could hear her from the second floor. She knelt, seeking a pulse. But there was no beat in his artery, and there was so much blood…

Maclean appeared in the kitchen.

Sam looked up. “I can’t find a pulse.”

He saw Gerard and froze. His eyes widened, and then he choked on horror.

Sam still held Gerard’s wrist. As she did, his arm jerked. “Shit, Maclean, I think he’s alive!”

Ian knelt, breathing hard. As Sam reached for her cell phone, it crossed her mind that he cared about his servant a lot. “Do not melt down,” Sam said, reaching for him. She gripped his arm and he looked at her, his eyes filled with panic. “Can you heal him, Ian?”

Lucidity returned. He inhaled. “I’ve never healed anyone until a few minutes ago.”

She’d analyze that astounding fact later. “Maybe you had better try,” she said, speed-dialing the paramedics on Five.

Ian laid his hands directly on Gerard’s mangled, bloody chest. As Sam spoke to the dispatch, she saw Ian’s color returning, which meant he was getting a grip on himself. Then she saw the wave of white rain coming from his hands, mingling with the blood. “Tell them to hurry,” she said, ending the call.

Ian closed his eyes tightly, focused now. His face changed, lines of strain becoming etched there. White rain poured from his hands and began dripping off his shoulders, his neck, and his chest. Sam sat back, watching, stunned. While she could feel his desperation, she also felt his resolve. The one person he cared about was Gerard. He was terrified Gerard would die.

So Sam prayed.