Awaken the Highland Warrior (12 page)

“We?”

“You think I’m going to sit around on my backside and do nothing, with demons and halflings running around my yard?”

That’s exactly what he thought she was going to do.

“The bleeding stopped.” She glanced toward the window as she covered the wound with fresh gauze. “Do you think they’ll come back tonight?”

“I doubt it. Grog will be afraid to tell Druan what happened. That could give us some time.”

“I still think we should get those swords from the chapel. I’d like that big one with the curved blade.”

He was beginning to understand why she wasn’t married. “That big bag you carry could do damage enough.”

She tore off a piece of tape and secured one edge of the thick bandage. “For what it’s worth, you threw that dagger like a pro.”

He felt a rush of pride until he remembered she had thrown it like a bloody warrior herself. “You’ve got dirt on your face.” And everywhere else. He wiped a smudge from her chin.

“I fell into a grave.”

“A grave? Damnation. I forgot to cover it.”

“That’s cute,” she said with a lopsided, dirt-smudged smile.

“What?”

“The way you say damnation all the time.”

He’d had a lot of compliments in his lifetime, on how he handled a horse, a sword, a pistol, and his fists, and a few compliments on other things from a pretty lass or two, but no one had ever complimented him on cursing. He grinned. Only Bree.

She added another piece of tape to the bandage, her warm fingers brushing his skin. “There, that’s the best I can do. You’re going to have another scar, and this shirt’s history.” They both reached for the ruined shirt, fingers touching. She dropped her hand and turned to gather the first-aid supplies.

Faelan threw the shirt in the trash and stood. “You sure you don’t want me to look at your shoulder?” He was doing a lousy job of protecting her, though to be honest, she fell a lot on her own. Her feet had a mind of their own, and they seemed partial to holes. The scrape on her cheek had healed quickly, but her shoulder was cut, and the knees of the trousers she slept in were torn. Who knew what other scratches he’d find under there? That started him thinking about her naked again.

“No. It’s fine.”

Probably for the best. He might end up doing more than bandage her. “Whose shirt is that?”

“Russell’s.” She pressed her lips together and put away the first-aid kit.

“Why would you wear his shirt? He made you cry.”

“I grabbed the first thing I saw.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“Mostly my dishes and walls.”

She wasn’t telling him everything. “How often does he call?”

“Every day. I’ve tried changing my phone number, moving. But he always finds me. He’s the reason I’m off men.”

“Off men?” Surely she wasn’t one of
those
women, not after what she’d done with him in the bathroom. In his day, there weren’t many gays, as they called them now. Whoever came up with that name was one wheel short of a wagon. A man with a man, there was nothing happy about that.

“I’m avoiding men for a while.” She glanced at the big tub. Her cheeks turned pink, and she looked away. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes. I need to figure out what I want in a man before I let another one in my life.”

What about him?
He was in her life. She hadn’t avoided him in the bathroom. Would she brush him off, brush off what they’d done like it was dirt? What did it matter? Nothing could come of it anyway.

She covered a yawn.

“We need to rest.” Maybe a good night’s sleep would help him remember he was a warrior, not a wronged lover. “I should sleep close by, in case they come back.”

She nodded but still avoided looking at him. “We can sleep in my room. There’s glass on your floor. I’m going to take a shower.”

Just what he didn’t need, another image of her naked. “I’ll block the broken window and then shower in the hall bathroom.” This would be his fourth cleaning today, more than he usually had in a fortnight or more. In the wilds he wouldn’t have bothered, but he couldn’t sleep in the same room with her when he was sweaty from battling demons. He shouldn’t stay in the same room with her anyway, but in truth he wasn’t confident more demons wouldn’t show up tonight.

He cleaned up the broken glass and shoved the dresser and mirror in front of the broken window. It wouldn’t stop a demon, but it might slow him down or give warning. He checked the floorboard. Only the necklace was missing.

After a quick, tormented shower, thinking about her doing the same, he took a blanket and pillow to her bedroom. The bathroom door was closed. He heard the water shut off, and he cleared his mind, focusing on making a bed on the floor. The door opened. Bree stood there wrapped in a towel, eyes wide, skin damp. “I… need my gown.”

Faelan tried not to stare at her long legs, dainty feet, and the swell of breasts he’d take a beating to kiss. He could see all of her but the bits under the towel, and his brain immediately started imagining the rest. He stepped closer, knowing it was a mistake. Her mouth parted, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

He followed the damp trail with his thumb. “What you said earlier, what did you mean?”

“What… what did I say?” she asked, taking a step back, staring at his mouth.

He moved closer. “You mentioned my getting this,” he brushed the front of his body against hers, “out of my system. With a woman.”

“I was curious if it would help or make it worse.” She took another step backwards, looking like a trussed rabbit.

Faelan followed, bringing their bodies close again. “Were you offering?” A stupid question after her declaration that she was avoiding men, but his brain wasn’t in charge now.

“I… I don’t know.” Her eyes said she did.

“I need to know,” he whispered. “Badly.”

Knowing how close he’d come to losing her, the torture of sitting next to that tub while she hovered over him and her soft skin covered by only a towel was too much. One kiss, then he’d focus on Druan. Faelan lowered his head. A wisp of a sigh escaped lips already opening for him, and all thoughts of demons and battles fled. Nothing mattered but her. Her lips, her body pressed against his, her stomach soft against his groin. She moaned and sank into him. He pushed against her, aching, as her tongue touched his. He put his arms around her shoulders to draw her closer, and she winced.

Faelan tore his mouth away, disgusted he’d let lust make him forget her injury. And his mission. How could he protect anyone when all he thought about was getting Bree to the nearest bed? Those halflings weren’t the last Druan would send or the worst. “I can’t do this to you.” Faelan looked at Bree’s lips, still open and moist from his kiss. “It’s not fair. And it’s late. We both need rest. Tomorrow we’ll have to find a place to stay. Would your brother let us stay with him a day or two?” He didn’t want to endanger anyone else, but he wanted Bree away from this. He was surprised Biff hadn’t stopped by already.

“I don’t have a brother.”

“What?”

“I lied.”

“You lied?”

“I didn’t want you to think I was alone,” Bree said. “But I am, except for Peter and Jared. Jared’s out of town, and I didn’t think you’d want to stay with a cop. He already suspects you’re involved. So there’s nowhere for me to go.”

It was smart reasoning on her part, but a lie was a lie. Of course, he’d done nothing but lie since he’d met her, but he’d had no other choice. “You feel safe with me now?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then turn around and let me see your shoulder.”

“It’s fine.”

“It wasn’t fine when I touched it. Let me see for myself.”

She sighed and turned.

He brushed her hair aside. Three claw marks ran down the top of her shoulder. “What the… I thought you said it was a rock.”

“I knew you’d make a big deal, like when I saw your talisman light.”

He leaned forward and sniffed. Sulfur. The smell was faint. A human wouldn’t even notice it. “You’ve been marked by a demon.”

She whirled around to face him, clutching her towel. “What does that mean?”

“They like marking their prey. Their claws are like poison.”

“Poison?”

“Not deadly, but it can make you sick.” So sick she’d wish it had been deadly.

“I’m sure you’ve had them before, and you’re fine.”

“I’m a warrior.” His body had been built to withstand things that would kill an ordinary person. “Does it burn?”

“Only when you touch it.”

It should be stinging.

“I didn’t expect we’d spend the night bandaging each other’s wounds,” Bree said, when he was done.

“If you’d left, like I asked…”

“If you’d told me why you wanted to leave, I would have.” She glanced at the blanket and pillow on the floor. “You take the bed.”

“No.” He’d never sleep, anyway, knowing she was so near.

Her chin lifted. “We’ll both take the bed. It’s big. And we both need sleep.” Her words held more conviction than her eyes. She opened a drawer and pulled out something white. “Choose a side of the bed while I put on a gown.” She went back into the bathroom, closing the door.

He grabbed his pillow, sighed, and lay down, awkwardly waiting for her to join him. No good wishing this was something it could never be. Clan law had to be followed. They were too tired to do more than sleep anyway, and if he needed a distraction from his lust, he’d think about what other lies she might have told, like pictures on mantels and keys and books that shouldn’t be.

***

“Are you asleep?”

Faelan rolled over. The mattress shifted under his weight. “No.” His throbbing arm didn’t help, but mostly he was dying from the warm scent drifting across the bed.

Bree lay on her side facing him, her hand curled under her chin. “I can’t sleep, either.”

“Does your shoulder hurt?” It should be on fire by now.

“Not really, but I’m too tense to relax.”

He had a solution, but it wouldn’t be wise. “Sometimes I have trouble sleeping after a battle.” Especially if a warrior died.

“I’ve been thinking about all this. I think Isabel’s visitor, McGowan, was searching for you. I told you about the riddle on the map, but there was also a name at the bottom.
F VAULT
. That’s one of the reasons I thought the treasure was inside the vault.” She gave him a saucy smile. “Until I opened it and a screaming man popped out, swinging a dagger.”

“I don’t scream. It’s a known fact.” Tavis had considered it a personal challenge.

“Pardon me. Your manly roar scared ten years off my life.”

That cooled his loins. She was lucky she’d only gotten a fright. He rarely missed with his dirk. Never at close range.

“He could’ve been hiding the time vault,” Faelan said. “Demons can’t go into graveyards. Druan would’ve had a minion or halfling do it for him.”

“Isabel said McGowan acted peculiar. Would Druan kill his minion or halfling?”

“Druan kills as easily as you and I breathe.”

“Another possibility is that McGowan was looking for the book.”

“Or hiding it. McGowan could’ve stolen it for Druan. There was some concern over its safety before I left Scotland.” Druan might have planned to steal it, which would explain why Michael had warned Faelan, and not the Keeper, that the book was in danger. That meant the responsibility for the
Book of Battles
being stolen lay squarely at his feet, along with Druan’s disease and the war.

“And Druan would get rid of any witnesses.”

“For a human, you understand the demon mind very well.”

“Thank Russell. He introduced me to the dark side.”

She didn’t say more, so they lay in silence as Faelan wondered exactly what Russell had done to her. When this was over, he’d see how brave Russell was against a man.

She moved her arm, baring the creamy slope of her breasts, adorned by the necklace. Had she written the letter he’d found with it? Tomorrow he’d ask her. If someone had hurt her, he would track him down after he finished with Druan and Russell.

“What do you think Grog meant about his master being upset if I was hurt?” Bree asked. “Why would a demon care if a human got hurt?”

He wouldn’t, unless the human was his minion or he wanted her for breeding. Had Druan seen Bree and become infatuated with her? She was beautiful, and Druan was obsessed with beauty. “Some demons take humans to breed halflings.”

“Take?”

“Kidnap. Then they kill the mothers.”

“Okay, I could’ve done without hearing that.”

“Demons need halflings to help hide their evil plots. Demons live a long time.”

“How old is Druan?”

“Around eight hundred years.”

“Good grief! Do they all live that long?”

“It depends on the order. The first order is the created demons. They’re eternal. They operate on a spiritual plane.” Warriors didn’t battle them. Michael handled that part. “The second order is born, like humans, but both parents are full demons. They live anywhere from a few hundred years to a millennium. The older ones can become very powerful, like Druan. We call them the demons of old or the ancient ones. They’re the strongest demons a human will encounter. There’s only a handful left.” Faelan had destroyed one in his seventh year as a warrior. It was the first time since the seventeenth century that one of the ancient demons had been assigned.

“What about halflings?”

“The third order, the lowest. They’re earthbound, live a couple hundred years or so. Demons like using halflings to do their bidding because they’re more loyal than minions, and halflings don’t live long enough to become a threat, which sometimes happens with lesser demons. They’ve been known to steal from each other, though it’s against their rules.”

“They have rules?”

“Of a sort.”

“So Druan’s got another couple hundred years to wreak havoc on earth?”

“Unless he’s gained years. They can extend their lifespan if they serve their master well, even become eternal, like the first order.”

“Their master? Like in Satan?”

“They call him the Dark One, but he goes by many names. Satan, Lucifer, the Devil. If it stinks, he’s behind it. Each demon has a purpose. Addiction, cruelty, deception, greed.”

Bree shuddered. “I’m tired of demons. Tell me about your family. Faelan sounds Irish.”

His family. He relaxed his mind, and the memories rushed in, smiles and laughter, battle cries and swords. A tiny casket being lowered into the ground. He pushed that one away. He couldn’t deal with it now.

“My mother was Irish. She named me after her grandfather.”

“What did you do when you weren’t hunting demons?”

“We raised horses. Clydesdales, some Highland ponies, a few Arabian mixes, like Nandor.”

“Nandor?”

“My horse. He was more like a friend than a horse. Sounds daft, aye? But there were times when he was the only living thing I saw for weeks. You grow fond of an animal when he’s the only one around to listen to you talk.”

“Do you miss him?”

He sighed. “Aye, I do. In my day a warrior valued his horse as much as his sword. I reckon Nandor must have thought I left him. My father would have taken care of him. Now there’s a man who loved horses, almost as much as he loved fighting demons, and Alana spent most of her time riding or in the stable when she wasn’t painting. She was the youngest. My parents didn’t expect another bairn.” Not after the first tragedy. “We all coddled her. She should have been a wee devil, but she had a heart as big as the Highlands. My brothers and me, we spent most of our time training, or with the horses. Until it was time to hunt.”

“You don’t use many Scottish words for a man in a kilt,” Bree said, her voice growing thicker.

“I’m a Highlander,” he said, thumping his knuckles over his chest, “always will be, but I’ve spent so much time in different parts of the world, surrounded by other warriors who’ve done the same, it messes with the speech.” Part of the reason warriors were sent so far from home and dressed and talked as natives in the lands where they fought was to keep demons from identifying the clan.

“Have you been to America before?”

“When I was seven, a demon came after my father, after our family… we came to Philadelphia, stayed until I was eight, then moved back to Scotland. My brothers didn’t like it here.”

“Your brothers, were you close?”

He saw the wee casket again and his mother’s grief-stricken face and felt guilty for brushing the memory aside. But having Bree as a distraction was bad enough. If he let past mistakes make him weak, he’d fail again. “Aye. Most people thought Tavis and me were twins. Twins are common in our clan.”

“What were your brothers like?”

“Tavis was quiet, when he wasn’t mad or teasing us. Hot-headed, but loyal to a fault. Usually acted before he thought. Ian was full of mischief. Both of them were always getting into trouble.” Much like Bree. Faelan had saved his brothers’ arses from getting strapped many a time.

“And your mother?”

“She was cook, storyteller, and nurse. She had an elderberry bush she used to treat us for ailments. The stuff tasted bloody awful. Ian ran away every time he got sick.” Faelan and Tavis had dragged him home more times than Faelan could remember. “And she made the best shortbread in Scotland.” He smiled, almost hearing the tinkle of her laugh as she handed him the plate. His smile faded. She couldn’t laugh anymore. She was gone. Everything he knew was gone. No one knew he was alive, except Grog and Bree.

“Did she tell you stories about fairies and kelpies when you were a boy?” Bree’s voice was only a whisper now.

“Aye,” he said softly, touching the section of hair his dirk had sheared. But he’d always known the stories weren’t true. The real monsters were out there roaming the earth. And one day it would be his job to destroy them.

***

Shrouded forms circled the time vault, chanting, “Liar. Demon. Demon.” Faelan lay inside, his body like stone, unable to move. The crowd parted, and Faelan saw his father. He tried to call out, but his lips were numb. His father leaned closer, his face harsh with disappointment and disgust. The others dropped their hoods, and Faelan saw his executioners. His mom, Ian, and Tavis pointing accusing fingers at him.

Then he saw the woman, her eyes green as moss—Bree—holding a little boy, his skin and clothing wet. Liam. A dainty hand reached for the lid, and Faelan’s brain seized with fear. He saw the pale arm and then her sweet face. Alana smiled sadly and started to lower the lid. Another face came into focus. A smile started slowly, spreading wide, revealing sharp teeth as the man melted into Druan. Faelan watched in horror as darkness descended. Then there was nothing but silence as the key turned in the lock.

Faelan jerked upright, chest heaving, muscles taut as bowstrings. Bree lay with her back to him. He could see the curve of her cheek, her face as bonny as an angel. It was just a dream. He lay down beside her, watching her sleep as his nightmare faded. He touched her hair, wishing he dared pull her closer. He’d never felt anything like this for a woman. She set his body on fire, but it was more than that. He wanted to right the world for her, hold her and tell her every dream he’d had, every mistake he’d made—Druan, his deadly disease, the war… wee Liam. That was scary as hell. Not only was she not his, he also didn’t know what she was. She’d destroyed a halfling with his dirk and looked at the light from his talisman and lived.

Bree moaned and moved in her sleep. Her dreams were unsettled too. No wonder, after what she’d seen tonight.

“Russell, no.”

What had the bastard done to her? She’d faced half demons, killed one, yet her nightmare was about Russell? Faelan stroked Bree’s hair. There was a small birthmark at the top of her back, near the demon’s scratch. He dropped a kiss there, and she seemed to calm. Moving closer, he slid his good arm under her head, the other around her waist, and pulled her against him, careful of her injury. He told himself it was to comfort her, but he knew he needed to feel her breathe, to know he wasn’t alone. A century and a half had passed. Even if he could locate his clan, had they forgotten him?

Bree nestled her back against his chest, her backside snug against his groin, and Faelan was glad he’d worn a T-shirt and the sleeping pants she’d bought him. He should’ve put on his Levi’s for an added layer, and his kilt, if he could find it. He wasn’t just worried about Druan and his evil, Faelan worried he’d lose control and do something unforgivable to Bree.

***

The ache spread low in his groin. He rolled over, searching for warmth. A noise intruded, her voice. He was dreaming of her again. His body burned as he rubbed against the softness and found the place he craved. He shoved the barrier away and freed himself. He pushed, and pleasure poured over him like honey. Home. He was home.

The noise came again, and he felt pressure against his back, pulling him deeper into the dream. His nose tickled against something soft. Hair. The grogginess faded, and he had a feeling he shouldn’t be here, but something dug into his thighs, keeping him close. He heard a whispered plea and felt hips moving against his. He groaned as he thrust, burying his face in her hair. The fire grew hotter. A soft moan sounded at his ear, and something sharp pierced his back, jerking him from the dream. Fingernails.