Page 72 of Dark Rival

She glanced at Royce. At least they were in this together. As invincible as he seemed, his death in the future had proven his mortality. If anything happened to him, she’d be close by to heal him—no matter what.

Allie hoped Royce didn’t want to die in the fifteenth century, too.

His gaze slid to her and locked with hers. “I won’t be dyin’ today.”

Allie took his hand. His gray eyes flickered with surprise but he didn’t pull away. “No, you won’t. Claire has some healing power, too, doesn’t she?”

“Some. I saw her heal Malcolm with my own eyes when he was fatally wounded by Moray. She dinna heal him completely, Ailios, but she saved his life by stoppin’ his bleeding.”

“It’s better than nothing. She can help.”

“Ailios, her powers are nothin’ like yours. An’ Claire’s a warrior. She fights with Malcolm, although I dinna ken how he fights with his woman at his side.”

Allie was impressed. But Claire looked really strong—as if she could seriously kick some ass.

Allie turned to stare to the north; Royce gently tugged his hand free. She let him. If the circumstances weren’t so dire, she’d be thrilled that he’d held her hand, even if for a minute.

The isle of Mull was really charming, Allie thought. Other areas were majestic—like Carrick. Facing her, gentle, forested hills rolled into a vivid blue sky dotted with cotton-puff clouds. As she stared, the black cloud so close now that her gut roiled and the hairs on her nape stood up, she saw a herd of deer emerge from the closest ridge, three does and a buck taking flight across the rocky road leading to the barbican.

“They’re here,” Royce said flatly.

For one more moment, Allie did not move.

From that tree line, the demon army emerged.

A line of giant men, clad in armor and mail, helmets glistening in the sun, their bows on their backs, marched down the ridge toward Dunroch’s walls. The foremost men carried large crimson and black pennants.

Allie fought for composure.

More men, pack horses, equipment and machines followed—battering rams with iron heads, catapults like those in the courtyard below, and oddly, plank wood fencing, and carts carrying tall ladders.

“T’is nay fencing,” Royce said grimly. “T’is shields fer their archers an’ the men who will try to scale the walls.” Royce glanced around them. “No deamhanain are inside Dunroch yet.”

“Why don’t they leap inside whenever they want to?” Allie asked, her mouth so dry that swallowing hurt.

Royce turned a brilliant gaze upon her. “Alba is in chaos now, but it isn’t anarchy—yet. We all answer to the King an’ Queen. Moffat is a great lord an’ bishop, Ailios, an’ he canna declare war as he wishes on the King’s men. He canna attack Malcolm or me as he pleases. In a way, there’s a truce between us. There’d be anarchy if a deamhan dared to invade a Master’s home at will, for the Master would have revenge. This,” he said harshly, “is the beginning of anarchy in Alba.”

Allie shivered. “Yeah, and it’s because of me.”

He took her elbow. “Ye serve good, Innocence an’ the Brotherhood. Any Master would defend ye with his life. Let us go down.”

Allie stared as the first horsemen appeared behind the army of giants and equipment.

All the demons were mounted.

So much death wafted from the horsemen.

And the aura of the entire army burned in red.

And suddenly, Allie’s gaze went to one of the horsemen on the far right, mounted on a dark beast. The rider was far away, but Allie knew he didn’t wear armor because he did not gleam in the sun. For one moment, she couldn’t look away, and she felt the demon’s terrible, hypnotic pull.

Hallo a Ailios.

She felt his smile.

Come to me, Ailios.

Allie’s heart slammed—but she couldn’t look away.