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steadily as she'd have liked, as an arctic chill fell. Fear and anger warred in her heart. Allie looked at the warrior. He looked at her and she knew something bad— really bad—was about to happen. “I’m okay,” she lied. “Where’s my knife.”
    He shook his head, jaw flexed. “Ye canna fight again,” he said firmly. His grasp tightened. “Ye need to hold me tight.”
    Allie was about to say that was fine by her, when they were f lying across the pastures, over the horses, into space. If she could have, Allie would have screamed. Instead she gasped as her body was ripped apart, into shreds of pain tissue and skin.
     
     
    CHAPTER TWO
     
    Carrick
Castle
, Morvern, Scotland—
September 5, 2007
     
    HE WOULD NEVER GET used to the pain. Leaping through time was like being tortured on the rack, and even though he’d leapt a thousand times, he still fought not to give in to the urge to cry out like a woman would. It was like having the ski a flayed from muscle and bone, like having one's organs lipped outward by a human hand. Fire burned inside him. Landing, there was a final explosion of pain, and then there was a stunning darkness.
    He held her tightly in his arms, briefly left powerless by the leap through time. His ability to sense evil was so well honed, however, that he knew they were not in danger. He focused on recovering his powers, given to him centuries ago by the Ancients, when the old gods despaired for mankind's Fate and decided to create a race of warriors to defend them. From experience, he knew that in a moment or two he would recoup.
    But the Healer was small soft, warm and womanly in his arms.
    He'd never leapt with a woman before—much less one like this.
    Although she was unconscious, he could not forget her stunning white light, the purest power he had ever sensed or seen. And to make matters far worse, she was as stunningly beautiful as she was powerful with a tiny but lush body, that dark, silken hair, and dark eyes that seemed to look into his most secret thoughts. Her buttocks were soft and full, spooned into him, and he rapidly swelled.
    It was usual to want a woman in every possible way after the leap. Every Master had many godlike powers: the greatest power of all was the ability to take life at any time, from anyone and anything, like a god. Taking some of the force of life from her would instantly restore his powers. And taking power was also pleasurable. In fact, there was no rapture like that which came from power.
    He looked at the woman and knew that her white power, swelling his veins, his body, would be like no other.
    But he was a master at self-control. Except in war, or when facing mortal death, “taking” was forbidden. The young Masters were always tempted to test the Ancients, to taste power and to experience the sublime rapture of La Puissance. He had been upholding his sacred vows for over eight centuries and he would not touch this one's healing essence, ever.
    Royce closed his eyes tightly, more aroused than before, but determined to ignore it. And then any internal battle was over. He felt all of his extraordinary strength settle over him, in him, through him, in one vast wave. Breathing naturally again, he could look at her face.
    He stared, his heart lurching anew at the sight of her beauty. She was so beautiful, so pure that he felt the Ancients near her—and she was so terribly brave. She had tried to fight the deamhanain as if a warrior. She would never be a warrior—it was a physical impossibility, for she was so small. Yet she had intended to attack Moffat with a knife!
    Too well, he could recall his horror in that moment.
    And now the question loomed—had Moffat leapt to the future to hunt him, or did he limit Elasaid’s daughter; a powerful Healer and great prize in her own right?
    M off at had been an annoyance for centuries. Whenever Royce had an interest at stake, whether in land, finance or politics, Moffat took the opposing side. Periodically