hadnât been surprisedâthere had been rumors of such warriors for as long as she could remember. In fact, like Allie, she and her cousins, Tabby and Sam, had been thrilled that the whispers were reality.
Brianna had no personal delusions. He was absolutely unforgettable, but she knew a man like that would never look at a woman like her twiceâor think about her twice, either. She didnât blame him. She didnât even mind.
She was really good at wearing baggy clothes to hide her curves, and she never wore her contacts. Her eyeglasses were downright ugly. She knew that if she had her dark hair cut and styled properly, if she dressed fashionably and wore makeup, sheâd probably look exactly like her mother, Anna Rose.
Brie had no desire to resemble her beautiful, passionate and rebellious mother in any way. Anna had been that rare Rose woman who had not been handed down any gifts. She had been destructive, not constructive; her touch and beauty damaged instead of helped others. In the end, she had hurt those she loved the most, and she had destroyed not only her own family, but herself. Brie didnât want to recall finding her mother dead on the kitchen floor, shot by her jealous boyfriend, with her father weeping over Annaâs body. Being a retiring nerd was way better than following in Annaâs footsteps.
But Brie had other gifts, making her a lot less nerdy than she appeared. She had been gifted with the Sight. It was the greatest gift a Rose woman could have, handed down from grandmother to grandchild. Brie had been terrified of her visions at first, but Grandma Sarah had explained that the Sight was a precious gift, one meant to be cherished. It was a great resource, meant to help people, which the Rose women were destined to doâand had been doing for hundreds of years. Grandma Sarah had taught her almost everything she knew about good, evil and life.
By now Brie was almost accustomed to the wiles of Fate. Life wasnât easy and it wasnât fair, and the good died young every single day. She didnât blame Anna for her uncontrollable passions. She knew Anna hadnât been able to help herself. Sheâd resented her sisters for having their gifts and their lives, and her own simple marriage hadnât been enough for her. Sheâd been an unhappy woman. She had been selfish, but not cruelâand certainly not evil. She hadnât deserved an early death.
It was all ancient history. Dad had remarriedâthe best thing that ever could have happened to him. Anna was dead and buried, but not forgotten. Brie was determined to be as solid, dependable and trustworthy as her mother was not. Her life was helping others, giving selflesslyâperhaps to make up for all the hurt Anna had inflicted. She was thrilled to be employed by the Center for Demonic Activity, a secret government agency dedicated to the war on evil. There, she fought dark forces throughout the ages from the basement, at a computer.
Her cousins claimed she was doing her best to hide from men. They were right. The last thing she wanted was for a man to notice her. She would probably die a virgin, and it didnât matter.
Aidan hadnât noticed her, she was certain, but she had taken one look at him and had fallen hard. She was hopelessly infatuated. She thought about him every day, dreamed about him at night and had even spent hours on the Web, reading about the medieval Highlands. The Rose women came from the northern Highlands originally, so sheâd always been fascinated with Scotlandâs history, but now she foolishly hoped to learn more about him. When heâd brought Allie back to the city from 1430, heâd appeared to be about twenty-five years old. Allie had returned to her lover, Black Royce, at Carrick Castle in Morvern. Brie wished sheâd asked her friend about Aidan, but their visit had been too brief. So she kept returning to Carrickâs history, yearning for a
Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins