Dark Embrace

“I’m only Level Three,” Brie cried in frustration.

“Maybe that’s not our Aidan,” Tabby tried.

Brie stared at the flashing message. “It’s him. I know it. Damn Nick,” she cried.

Tabby started. “Brie, you’re exhausted. You absorbed so much pain, you need to rest. Leave the search to Forrester. He’s certainly on this.”

“I can’t,” Brie said. She was afraid to ask Nick what was in that file—he was so intimidating—but she had to try.

“Can I make you something to eat?” Tabby asked.

Brie didn’t care, even though Tabby was a great cook. As Tabby went into her kitchen, separated from the loft only by the kitchen counter, she went to her favorite online research library. She had part of his name to go on now. As she went to her medieval-Scotland virtual bookshelf, she dialed Nick. It went right to voicemail.

Brie pulled the first of two hundred and thirteen volumes, and as she typed in the words Aidan of Awe in the search box, she said, “Nick, it’s Brie. Please call me at home. Thanks.”

Her search yielded zero results, and she pulled the next volume and repeated the search. On her fourth search, a sudden nausea began, and Brie cried out. The floor tilted wildly, accompanied by a terrible feeling of dread.

And the vision began.

She gripped the arms of the desk chair tightly, no longer aware of her surroundings, entirely focused on what she was meant to see. Aidan was lying on his back. He was bare-legged, wearing high boots and clad in a leine and black cloak, the latter pinned to one shoulder and belted. His hands were folded atop the belt, which held two huge swords. The image sharpened. He was asleep, his eyes closed, his face relaxed, at peace. The necklace he wore became apparent, as if her mind’s eye had zoomed in on it. A fang, capped with gold, lay against the hollow of his collarbone.

He turned into stone, becoming an effigy atop a tomb.

She sprang to her feet, crying out.

Tabby was hovering over her. “What did you see?”

Brie hardly heard her. She could not have seen what she had! Her premonitions were never wrong. She looked at Tabby, aghast. “I saw him in stone effigy, atop a medieval tomb.”

Tabby took her hand. “Brie, he’s from the fifteenth century,” she said carefully.

“So what? Allie is still alive, isn’t she? And he was alive the other day!” she cried. And her grandmother’s ring began pinching her.

Brie had been wearing Sarah’s garnet ring since she was thirteen. Sarah had always claimed it would protect her and enhance her gifts. She twisted it nervously, aware of desperation surging. Tabby said, “Honey, he is alive, somewhere, farther in the past. But we can’t time-travel like they do.”

Brie stared at her. She wanted him to be alive right then and there. “My visions are a tool. They’re meant to help others. Why did I have that vision?” she cried.

“I don’t know. Brie, would you please rest? And eat?” Tabby returned to the kitchen, then set a sizzling plate before her. Brie had been hungry earlier; now, she had no appetite.

“I’m going to go,” Tabby said. “I haven’t been home in three days. The neighbor’s been taking care of the cats and the plants. And I really need a shower.”

Brie stood to hug her. Tabby looked as if she was on her way to take tea at Buckingham Palace. “I’m fine. Thank you for everything.”

When Tabby was gone, Brie—almost desperate—went on to her next search, and the words Aidan of Awe produced a result. She froze in sheer disbelief. Then, her heart leaping painfully in her chest, she hit the enter key. She quickly skimmed down the first page and began to read.

In December 1436, Aidan, the Wolf of Awe, a Highlander with no clan, sacked the stronghold of the Earl of Moray at Elgin, leaving no one alive.

She breathed hard and read the rest of the page.

However, Moray escaped the Wolf’s wrath intact, to take up his position at court as Defender of the Realm for King James, the same position he had enjoyed ten years earlier. But when James was murdered at Perth the following February, Moray, who was known to be at court, vanished, never to be heard from again. Quite possibly, Moray was slain with his king. The Wolf of Awe proceeded to spend the next nineteen years ruthlessly destroying the families and holdings of Moray’s three powerful sons, the earls of Feith, Balkirk and Dunveld. Retribution came from Argyll, and in 1458 Castle Awe was burned to the ground. Although the Wolf spent twenty years rebuilding his stronghold, he for-feited his other holdings, his title and earldom (Lismore) to King James II. He remained universally distrusted and feared until his demise. In 1502, after his mercenary role in the MacDonald uprising, he was accused of treason by the Royal Lieutenant of the North, the powerful Frasier chief. Badly wounded from an escape attempt, he was publicly hanged at Urquhart.

Brie couldn’t see the page, for her vision suddenly blurred. The terrible Wolf of Awe could not be her Aidan. Her Aidan was a Master of Time, sworn to protect Innocence through the ages, a mighty hero defending mankind from evil, upholding God. And Aidan could not hang. He would simply vanish into the future or the past.

Except he had been badly hurt.

She started to cry, but wiped the tears away. She read the next sentences.

His tomb had been carefully restored at the ruins of Castle Awe on Loch Awe. To this day, it remains a popular tourist attraction.

She was so upset she was shaking. She looked at the plate Tabby had set down before her and wanted to wretch. Picking the plate up, she carried it to the kitchen, set it down and leaned hard on the counter. What did all of this mean?

If she went to Loch Awe now, would she find the tomb and effigy she’d seen in her vision?

The Wolf of Awe had been hanged. He was cruel, mercenary. Surely he was not the same man.

But in her vision of him, she had seen her Aidan before he’d turned into stone. He’d worn a wolf’s fang.

Good humans were possessed every single day and then they committed unspeakably evil acts.

Brie moaned. Had Aidan become the Wolf of Awe? Was it somehow possible?

Her head exploded with pain. Brie stepped behind the counter into her kitchen, opening the refrigerator to chug a glass of wine. She was shaking like a leaf. What had happened to him?

Brie slammed the refrigerator door closed. She had to know what was in that Level Four file. She grabbed her purse and keys and stormed from the loft. If Nick wasn’t at his office, she’d wait.

HE FELT THE MOON SETTING for the third time.

Aidan slowly came back to the tower room, a dark despair clawing at him. This hunt had lasted three days and he had not found anything.

He blinked and adjusted his eyes to the dark, shuttered room. As the swirling black evil and the cries of innocence faded, he became aware of his body and his power. All sense of euphoric invincibility was gone. Most of what he had taken three nights ago was gone. The power in his body was hardly ordinary; it was that of the son of one of the greatest deamhanain ever known to Alba. He was arrogant enough to think he might, even without the extra life coursing through him, be capable of defeating a lesser god.

Still he was tired. His body and his mind begged him for rest, but it was time to think of other, worldly matters. He commanded an army of four thousand men—some soulless humans, others fierce Highlanders. He usually sold his army’s services to the highest bidders, and had done so for the past sixty-six years. He didn’t care about the land, the mortal power—although he needed the gold to maintain his army, but he took vast pleasure in every single battle. If he could not engage Moray, he would go to war and relish destroying his other enemies, one by one.

The MacDonalds were marching on Inverness, a royal garrison, and he was joining the rebels, as Malcolm had said. He had personally helped Donald Dubh, their imprisoned leader, escape from Innischonnail, where the Campbell had imprisoned him. Argyll had been infuriated. Had Ian lived, he would have been pleased and proud.

A cry of alarm filled the tower.

Aidan was on his feet, bewildered, unbelieving.

He had met her once in the future, perhaps seventy years ago, and had not thought of her since then. Now he recalled a small woman with white powers, dressed in shapeless garments and ugly spectacles.

Why had he just heard Brianna Rose cry out in alarm? How had he just seen her frightened face so clearly? He had ceased hunting evil through time.

No other cries resounded, but he could feel darkness now, encircling her.

Tension riddled his body. He did not protect Innocence; he used it ruthlessly for his own means, for the attainment of power. He did not want to know what was happening to her. He simply did not care about other people’s problems.

She screamed.