Drustan inhaled sharply. He could see a man being devoured by such a thing.
"My thought patterns change. They become primitive. Naught matters but what I want."
"But you've controlled it this long." How? Drustan marveled. How did a man survive with such a thing in him? " 'Tis more difficult here. 'Tis why I left in the first place. What did Da tell you to do, Drustan?"
"He told me to save you. And we will." He deliberately omitted the last line of their father's letter. And if you cannot save him, you must kill him. Now he knew why.
Dageus searched his gaze intently, as if not convinced that was the entirety of what Silvan had said. Drustan knew he was about to push, so he launched an offensive of his own.
"What of the lass you brought? How much does she know?" Though he was amazed that Dageus could still feel anything at all with that inside him, he'd not missed the possessiveness in Dageus's gaze, or the reluctance with which he'd left her in Gwen's care.
"Chloe knows me as naught more than a man."
"She doesn't feel it in you?" Lucky lass, Drustan thought.
"She senses something. She watches me strangely at times, as if perplexed."
"And how long do you think you'll be able to maintain the pretense?"
"Christ, Drustan, give a man a moment to catch his breath, will you?"
"Do you plan to tell her?"
"How?" Dageus asked flatly. "Och, lass, I'm a Druid from the sixteenth century and I broke an oath and now I'm possessed by the souls of four-thousand-year-old evil Druids and if I doona find a way to get rid of them I will turn into a scourge upon the earth and the only thing that keeps me sane is tooping?"
"What?" Drustan blinked. "What was that about tooping?"
"It makes the darkness ease. When I begin to feel cold and detached, for some reason bedding a wench makes me feel human again. Naught else seems to work."
"Ah, that's why you brought her."
Dageus gave him a dark look. "She resists."
Drustan choked on a swallow of whisky. Dageus needed tooping to keep that heinous beast at bay, yet he'd brought a woman with him who refused his bed? "Why haven't you seduced her?" he exclaimed.
"I'm working on it," Dageus snarled.
Drustan gaped at him. Dageus could seduce any woman. If not gently, then with a rough, wild wooing that never failed. He'd not missed the way the wee lass had looked at his brother. She needed no more than a firm nudge. So why the bletherin' hell hadn't Dageus nudged? A sudden thought occurred to him. "By Amergin, she's the one, isn't she?" he breathed.
"What one?" Dageus stalked to a tall window, pushed the drapes aside and stared out at the night. He slid the window up and breathed deeply, greedily, of sweet, chilly Highland air.
"The moment I saw Gwen, a part of me simply said 'mine.' And from that moment, though I didn't understand it, I knew that I would do aught ever it took to keep her. 'Tis as if the Druid in us recognizes our mate instantly, the one we could exchange the binding vows with. Is Chloe that one?"
Dageus's head whipped around and the unguarded, startled look on his face was answer enough for Drustan. His brother had heard the same voice. Drustan suddenly felt a surge of hope, despite what he'd felt inside his brother. He knew from personal experience that oft love could accomplish miracles when all else seemed destined to fail. Dageus may be dark, but by some miracle, he wasn't lost to it yet.
And when one was dealing with evil, Drustan suspected love might be the most potent weapon of all.
When Gwen joined them in the library a short time later, without Chloe, Dageus tensed. He'd yet to speak to Drustan about the attempt on Chloe's life, and about the Draghar—whoever they were.
Is she the one? Drustan had asked.
Och, aye, she was the one for him. Now that Drustan had remarked upon it, Dageus understood it was what he'd sensed from the very first—the kind a man kept, indeed. 'Twas no wonder he'd refused to use a memory spell on her, and send her on her way. He was incapable of letting her go. 'Twas also no wonder he'd not been satisfied with merely trying to bed her.
In this, his darkest hour, fate had gifted him with his mate. The irony of it was rich. How was a man to woo a woman under such conditions? He knew naught of wooing. He knew only of seduction, of conquering. Tenderness of the heart, soft words and pledges, had been burned out of him long ago. The youngest son of no noble consequence, pagan to boot, he'd caught too many of his youthful follies attempting to seduce his own brother.
One too many of them had coyly suggested a three-way bout of love-play—and no' with another woman. Nay, always with his own twin.
Four times he'd watched Drustan try to secure a wife—and fail.