LITMIR.BIZ

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leapt to his feet, eyes wide with shock, as the terrible comprehension sank in.

      The Earl of Moray smiled at him, very much alive, white teeth flashing. “Hallo a Aidan.”

      Aidan’s gaze slammed to his son. Ian did not resemble his mother, who had died in childbirth. He looked exactly like his father: fair in complexion, with vivid blue eyes, perfect and beautiful features and dark hair. It took him one moment to comprehend that Ian wasn’t hurt—yet. Then Aidan looked at the man who had alternately seduced, raped and tortured his mother—the deamhan who had spent a thousand years stalking innocent men, women and children all over the world.

      Clad as a courtier, in long velvet robes of crimson and gold, he was blond, blue-eyed and handsome. He did not look a day older than forty years. “I decided it was time to meet my grandson,” Moray murmured in flawless English.

      Aidan trembled. Nine years ago, his father had been vanquished at Tor in the Orkney Islands. His half brother, Malcolm, and Malcolm’s wife Claire had beheaded Moray in a great battle, but only with the help of a goddess. Evil could not live without a flesh-and-blood body, although it was rumored that the greatest demonic energy was immortal. Aidan had never really believed his father gone; he had secretly expected him to return one day. He had been right.

      “Yes, I am alive,” Moray said softly, their gazes locking. “Did you really think I could be destroyed?”

      Aidan breathed hard, preparing for a terrible battle. He would die to save his son from whatever Moray intended. “Release Ian. Whatever ye wish, I’ll do it.”

      “But you know what I want, my son. I want you.”

      Of course he did; nothing had changed. Moray wished to turn him into his greatest deamhan, a nearly immortal soldier of destruction and death.

      “I’ll do as ye wish,” Aidan lied. As he spoke, he blasted Moray with his god-given power.

      But his father’s teeth flashed in a delighted smile and he blocked the surge of energy easily. Then silver blazed from Moray’s hands like lightning, and Aidan was flung across the chamber into the far wall. The impact took his breath away, but he remained on his feet.

      A dagger appeared in Moray’s hand, and he sliced through Ian’s ear.

      Aidan shouted as blood gushed all over his son’s pale leine. “Cease,” Aidan roared. “I’ll do as ye wish!”

      Ian choked on pain, holding his head. Moray grinned at him and pushed the piece of ear across the floor with the pointy tip of his shoe. “Do you wish to keep it?”

      Aidan trembled in rage.

      “Obey me and he will not suffer,” Moray added softly.

      “Let me stop the bleeding.” Aidan had healing powers. He started forward for the piece of ear. He would put it back together, make it mend.

      Moray held Ian harder, causing the boy to grunt. “Not until you prove yourself to me.”

      Aidan halted. “I’ll heal him first.”

      “You dare to barter with me?”

      In that instant, Aidan knew that unless help arrived in the form of other Masters, they would battle to the death.

      “No aid comes,” Moray said with a laugh. “I have blocked your thoughts. No one knows what you suffer now.”

      He believed him. “Tell me what I must do to free an’ heal my son.”

      “Father, no,” Ian cried, his blue eyes wide.

      “Be quiet,” Aidan said firmly, meeting his gaze.

      Ian nodded, mouth pursed, near tears.

      “The village below Awe. Destroy it.”

      Aidan went still.

      Moray stared at him, smiling.

      Aidan became aware of his heart pounding, slow and sure, sick with dread. He knew every inhabitant of that village. The villagers traded and bartered with the castle, with him, on a daily basis. They depended on him for their livelihoods and their lives. The castle defended the village from all attacks, and Awe was sustained by their services and goods. Most importantly, he was sworn before every god on earth to protect the Innocent.

      He could not destroy an entire village of men, women and children.

      Moray took the dagger and laid it against Ian’s throat. Blood oozed and Ian cried out, blanching.

      Aidan leapt unto time.

      He landed in the castle’s great hall moments earlier. The huge room spinning with shocking speed, he saw Ian there, calmly conversing with his steward. On his hands and knees, he tried to fight for his power and choke out words. “Ian. Son!” He would somehow prevent this, undo it. The rules were very clear—no Master could go back in time to change the past. But he would change the past now!

      Neither his son nor the steward heard him.

      Shocked, Aidan got up. “Ian, come here,” he began, but Ian didn’t hear him this time, either. His son walked from the hall, heading up the stairs.

      They couldn’t see him or hear him.

      Something had happened to his powers.

      He refused to believe it. He ran after Ian, rushing up the narrow, winding stairs. The moment he reached the upper landing, he saw Moray materialize in the upper corridor, surprising his son. Like Ian, Moray could not see him. Aidan tried to blast Moray with power, but nothing came from his hand or his mind. Furious, desperate, as he saw Moray move to seize Ian, Aidan tried to blast him again, but with the same results. “Ian,” he screamed in near panic. “Run!”

      But Ian did not hear him, and Moray caught the little boy in his powerful embrace. Ian began struggling, and Aidan almost wept as Moray started toward the north tower, dragging the nine-year-old with him.

      Aidan ran after them. He launched himself at Moray, intending to assault him as an ordinary human might—but an invisible wall came between them, sending him reeling backward across the corridor.

      Were the gods interfering? He was incredulous.

      He cried out in fury and saw himself landing in the tower on his hands and knees. There were other rules. A Master must never encounter himself in either the past or the future. The rule was not explained. Afraid to move, he watched his younger self look up in horror.

      “Hallo a Aidan,” his father said to the man he had been a mere moment ago. “I decided it was time to meet my grandson.”

      Was this why a Master must never encounter himself in another time? Because he would lose his powers? For he could only stand there and helplessly watch as the drama unfolded—the very drama he had just lived through!

      “Yes, I am alive,” Moray said softly. “Did you really think I could be destroyed?”

      “Release Ian,” his younger self said. “Whatever ye wish, I’ll do it.”

      “But you know what I want, my son. I want you.”

      Aidan watched as his other self tried to blast Moray—and as Moray’s own power sent Aidan flying across the tower and into the far wall. He breathed hard, tensing, knowing what was to come. Before Moray lifted his dagger, he launched himself at him again.

      Aidan crashed into the invisible wall and bounced off it, choking on rage and anguish. The dagger sliced off the lower lobe of Ian’s ear. Ian choked on a scream, and Aidan heard his other self roar in rage—as he did.

      And as the other Aidan tried to barter with his demonic father to heal his son, a huge force began dragging him inexorably toward the trio. Aidan tried to halt, but he simply couldn’t. He was rapidly being swept toward his younger self.

      Aidan braced for an impact, uncertain of what to expect when his body came into contact with his

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