He’d been so heavily tattooed that his skin had appeared rotted in places. He’d moved with sickening reptilian stealth. His eyes, if they could be called that, had been fiery crimson slits. His tongue had flickered blackly as he’d spoken.
But far worse than his grotesque appearance had been the chill and suffocating sense of pure evil that had emanated from him, even from so far across the lawn.
Not so far that she hadn’t been able to clearly hear every word he’d said.
She’d tried to stay in the castle as Cian had ordered.
But when they’d gone toe to toe, when she’d seen her man facing off with that twisted . . . thing . . . out there on the lawn, she’d burst from the castle, unable to stop herself.
Her every instinct had demanded she do something—anything—to help Cian, though she’d known there was nothing she could hope to do. Not against something like Trevayne. At that moment, she’d understood much of Cian’s conviction. It wasn’t just horrific evil that rolled off the ancient sorcerer, it was horrific power too. Not nearly as great as Cian’s, but now that she’d seen him with her own eyes, she had to concede the possibility that once Trevayne had the aid of the Dark Book, he might genuinely be unstoppable.
I think I’d agree to anything at all to pass that tithe through the Dark Glass at midnight on Samhain, the sorcerer had said.
Jessi wasn’t stupid.
She knew he’d been baiting her.
Problem was, he had the right stuff on his hook.
Cian’s life.
She buried her face in her hands, massaging her temples. The instant he’d said it, some terrible, weak-willed part of her had wondered how she could possibly contact him, if she wanted to.
The answer had come swiftly: E-mail. Of course.
[email protected]. She’d had the means to contact him all along.
After a moment, she raised her head and returned her gaze to the display.
Her laptop battery was dead and she had no adaptor, so she’d waited until she was certain the castle was asleep before leaving her makeshift bed on the landing, winding down the echoing stone corridors, and booting up one of the three computers in the Keltar library.
She had over a hundred new E-mails.
Forty-two of them were from Lucan Trevayne. He’d been trying at periodic intervals to reach her again since that night in the hotel. His earlier efforts had no subject line. The more recent E-mails were captioned with blatant taunts: Do you love him, Jessica? Are you ready to watch your Highlander die? You can save him. Would he let you die? Would he give up on your life? Buy time, Jessica, live to fight another day.
Such a juvenile ploy. And so damned effective.
All she had to do was open an E-mail to open communications. She had no doubt that back at his residence in London—or perhaps no more than a few miles down the road, somewhere between the castle and Inverness—Lucan was monitoring a computer, waiting for the moment she did so.
Waiting for a mere “yes” to keep Cian alive.
At what cost?
Her stomach felt sick.
You can see him as he is, can’t you, lass? Cian had asked, as he’d steered her back into the castle.
She’d nodded, tears threatening, for she’d known exactly where he was going.
I am the only one who can stop him, Jessica.
Yup, right where she’d thought he was going.
I am all that stands between that monster and that monster gaining unlimited power.
I don’t need a crash course in ethics, Cian, she’d snapped. She’d instantly regretted her tone and words.
They had so little time left. She’d sworn to herself that she would not make a moment of it ugly, that she would not vent her rage and frustration and grief on him. That she would save her ugliness for later, when she’d already lost all she had to lose.
That now, she would give her strong, determined, noble Highlander the only gift she had to give him: perfect days and perfect nights.
A small perfect lifetime in no time at all.
I’m sorry, she’d said softly.
Nay, lass, ’tis I who am sorry, he’d replied, drawing her into his arms. ’Twas I who should have told you from the—
Don’t! She’d pressed her finger to his lips. No regrets. Don’t you dare. I have none.
A lie. They were eating her alive. Regret that she’d not slept with him that first night in the hotel room, knowing what she now knew. Regret that she’d not stayed that first night in Professor Keene’s office and summoned him out then, and gotten to have more time with him.
Regret that she was such a coward.
That she couldn’t say “Screw the world! Let them fend for themselves against Lucan. Let somebody else save everybody’s ass. Not my man. What about me?”