Page 66 of Dark Embrace

Only one of you will prevail.

And now Aidan had healed the Rose witch.

Moray had always intended to finish the hunt and finish the turning, but he had been very preoccupied these past sixty-six years, all of them spent in New York City, London and Edinburgh—the triangle of his growing empire. In those cities, death and destruction were on the rise. In fact, anarchy was on the rise in every major city in the world, and he knew his cohorts well. Last night he had leapt to New York in 2008. Mayor Bloomberg had finally called in the National Guard, which had pleased Moray to no end. He had a plan for the Guard—oh, yes.

Nothing would stop him now. He would be the victor in this trial with his half-demon son. The little witch had power—as did her friends—but he wasn’t concerned. He had returned after almost seven decades because he finally had all the power he needed.

And it did not come from the dead on his tent floor.

AIDAN SAT CROSS-LEGGED ON THE ground. The moon was rising above the mountains against a purple sky. A few stars had joined it. He stared up at the flame-colored moon, desperately wishing he were with the pack. The urge to lift his face and howl was bone-deep.

I don’t like the Wolf.

Of course she didn’t.

The urge intensified. The Wolf had been his salvation ever since the fall. He stared toward the forest, where pairs of glowing eyes met his. The pack continued to wait for him. He could hear them panting softly in the night.

His heart surged. He felt his hackles rise. He felt saliva gather. He was hungry…. When had he last eaten fresh meat?

But he glanced down the rise toward his tent, feeling for Brianna, who was drifting to sleep. He could not go with the pack; he had to stay and guard her from the evil in the night. She had almost died that day because of his war with his father.

But he had healed her.

He hated thinking. The Wolf was thoughtless. He glanced back at the forest and met the steady, intent gazes of the wolves. If he left Brianna now, he had little doubt he would return to find her hurt or dead.

Tired of waiting for him, the wolves turned away one by one, and faded into the forest. Aidan stared after their slinking forms, violently wishing he could go with them.

His head pounded with confusion. Once, long ago, he had been wary of the creature and frightened of it. Then, he had welcomed the Wolf as his best friend. But tonight his heart warred with his body. He could not trust the Wolf to stay sentinel over Brianna that night.

He growled in frustration.

The pack was gone, having sped off into the forest. He stood and started slowly down the ridge. He pushed open the flap and glanced into the night-darkened tent.

One candle burned. The light flickered over Brianna as she slept, curled up on her side, facing him. Her dark hair was loose, a thick mane of waves framing her small, pale face. She was breathing deeply and evenly, and in sleep she looked like a tiny angel of compassion and grace.

She thought herself plain; he thought her beautiful.

A fist seemed to go through his chest. It was the fist of desire, and it chased away the ravenous bloodlust.

Why don’t you take me?

He tensed. There had been many virgins, he had no respect for Innocence. But he didn’t want to taint her. She deserved far more than a night of passion in his bed.

Why are you so afraid to go to bed with me?

He wasn’t afraid. She would not heal him by giving him her lush little body. Sharing a bed wasn’t going to miraculously change him into the man he had once been. And even if it could, he would not allow it, just as he wouldn’t allow their “friendship” to heal him, either. He would never consider them friends. For the moment, in this war, they were allies. Even if he wished for them to be friends—or lovers—Moray’s return had made that impossible.

He had been terrified when she’d lain dying in his arms.

He had not had much time to brood upon the events of the day. He reeled inwardly now to know he still had his great white power. How was it even possible?

Had his devout mother been a Healer? If so, he had never been told of it.

So he was not as heartless as a half deamhan should be. He did not regret healing her and giving her back her life. But she was stubbornly fighting for his soul, when he did not care at all about it. She must not be the one to pay the price for his war with Moray. The war with his father had already cost him Ian.

He stared at her pale face, her cheeks slightly flushed from the winter sun, her lashes thick and dark on her cheeks, and his heart turned over, hard.

He must not have feelings for her. He knew that. And he didn’t—other than a strange admiration for her tenacity and courage. As for the desire, apparently a part of him had not died along with Ian. But he would ignore his human side, no matter what, until she was gone.