Free Dark Lover by Brenda Joyce Page A

nearly demonic activity that spanned decades. She knew. She’d handed the file over to Brie herself.
    Ian had been presumed dead for decades…which meant he’d been a demon’s prisoner for all that time.
    A chill went through her.
    Demons thrived on torture, abuse, rape and murder. It was a miracle he was still alive. But the emerging facts were beginning to explain a lot. No wonder he was such a hard-ass. He’d been so unlikable, so cold and unfeeling—until he’d had the breakdown.
    What had they done to him?
    She was never going to forget the sight of him on his hands and knees, trembling violently, tears streaming.
    Her heart seemed to stir within her chest. Sam jerked in shock, and she looked at her reflection in the mirror. For one instant, she saw herself standing there, naked and cut, and her blue eyes seemed unusually soft and worried.
    Her eyes looked like Tabby’s, except for their color.
    Her sister was the kindest woman she’d ever known. Tabby worried about everyone. Tabby’s compassion knew no bounds. Tabby often had that look in her eyes.
    Damn it . She, Sam, was never concerned. She took life in stride. She fought for the Innocent, was prepared to die for them, but she never had and would never shed a single tear over an Innocent’s murder. She hadn’t even cried when she’d realized her mother was dead. She’d gone hunting, instead.
    Her composure did not slip now. The image of her mother’s murder was engraved on her mind, and she wanted it that way. She’d been twelve years old, walking home from school alone, because she’d cut her Spanish class so she could play street hockey with the boys. But they’d pissed her off and she’d gotten into a fistfight and gone home instead. When she’d walked into her front yard, she’d seen the man getting up, her mother lying prone and lifeless on the ground.
    Sam had run to her mother, and had quickly realized Laura was dead. Tears had burned her eyes, but the grief had been dull because there was so much rage. She welcomed the fury, the need to strike back, the burning revenge. She leapt up and set chase. The demon had been halfway down the block. But instead of confronting her, he’d vanished, leaping into time.
    She’d meant to murder him with her bare hands, even though just a skinny kid.
    â€œCoward!” she had screamed.
    She’d spent a year hunting him but he’d never come back.
    Now, sixteen years later, she knew she’d never find him. He might even be vanquished by someone else’s hand. But every time she brought a demon down, there was a deep, internal satisfaction. Laura would be proud.
    Being cold-hearted was far more than a means of survival. It was the only way to win. She was a Slayer. And that made her a soldier. No soldier could succumb to compassion, much less sorrow. There was no room in her life for regrets. She took the mouthwash and poured it over her rib cage. It stung. Compassion was not a part of her MO. And it was an especially bad idea where Maclean was concerned.
    If he thought her sympathetic toward him, he’d use it to his advantage.
    Grim now, she doused the wound with the rest of her scotch. It was a good thing she still thought him a complete bastard. There was no sympathy to be had. He wasn’t that kid in captivity anymore. He’d survived—people survived the bad, the evil and the ugly, all the time. She took an emerald-green towel from the rack and wrapped it around herself, staring at her set face in the mirror. And she made a pact with herself.
    No matter what they’d done to him, it wasn’t her business; she had a war to wage.
    Sam picked up her cell and dialed Kit, who was back at the office. “How was the rest of the party?”
    â€œBoring. Good caviar, though.”
    â€œAs if you’d know. Did Hemmer take you on the VIP tour?”
    â€œNo, but he asked a lot of questions about