Awaken the Highland Warrior (14 page)

She ripped the fragile page from the book and started to leave, when she saw a glass case in the center of the room. A broadsword lay inside on a black velvet cloth. She moved closer, her head spinning, noting the length, the polish of the metal, the ornate hilt, like the one her Highland warrior held in the painting. Here in the demon’s castle. Her stomach rolled as she remembered the old painting that looked like Faelan, the same sword. She’d rescued him from a time vault made for demons. Could Faelan be the demon? Why hadn’t he hurt her? Why kill those halflings? Halflings! She touched her stomach. Oh God. She’d slept with him.

A door slammed outside, and she heard male voices. She peeked down the hall. Two men stood outside a door, so immersed in conversation they didn’t see her. One was older, shoulders bent, his hair white, and the other tall and muscular, dark blond.

Russell.

***

Faelan stepped out of the shower, slipping in his haste. He didn’t want Bree to come home and find him in her bathroom. Well, part of him did, but it wouldn’t be wise. He’d stayed out longer than he planned, exploring the area. He’d found the yellow tape in the woods and the blood-stained earth. He’d picked up an odd scent. Sweet. Not animal, not demon. Not that a demon wasn’t responsible. Too much time had passed to tell. A demon’s scent was terrible but faded quickly. The incident left him with an unsettled feeling as he blocked the crypt and covered the grave.

The run had helped, connected both parts of him, the one that was one hundred and seventy-eight and the one that was twenty-seven. He’d reconciled himself to the fact that his family was gone. He wouldn’t see them again in this lifetime. The only thing he could give them now was a safe world for their descendents. The run hadn’t done a thing to ease his hunger for Bree, but he was beginning to think nothing would. Making love to her had made it worse. He couldn’t allow it to happen again. There weren’t just bairns and disease to worry about. The box he’d slipped into the cart would take care of that, but distraction from his mission could mean the end of humanity.

He dried off and inspected his arm. Looked better than it had before. He bandaged the wound, lifted his arms, and smeared the stuff on his oxters that kept a man from sweating. It hadn’t stopped this generation from bathing every day. With these fancy showers and Jacuzzis, having hot water at the touch of a hand, he couldn’t blame them. Wiping the steam from the mirror, he lathered his face with something that smelled like flowers and ran a tiny razor over his chin. Even his father couldn’t have cut himself with one of these. A man who’d wielded a sword all his life shouldn’t have had so much trouble removing whiskers.

Swords! Damnation. He had to get rid of those in the chapel before Bree found them. He’d never seen a woman so interested in weapons. It wasn’t natural. He tucked the towel around his waist and padded across the hall to his bedroom. After dressing in jeans and a T-shirt, he grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. His mother would have loved this kitchen. With freezers and ovens and microwaves, she could’ve baked for an army. At times, she did, with help from their grumpy old cook, Nan.

Faelan drained the bottle, set it on the counter, and headed out to the chapel. Enough daylight remained to see the interior of the chapel was a mess. Crumbling stones, pillars toppled. It was a wonder the roof held. He gathered the fallen swords and one small knife, looking for a place to hide them until they could be cleansed. There was a large pile of debris near the front. Must be the collapsed wall Bree mentioned. Perhaps he could hide the swords behind the stones. He entered a small recess and saw rubble piled in front of a gaping hole. She could’ve been killed. Then he noticed the rough-hewn steps. It was a hidden doorway. Bree hadn’t mentioned a secret cellar. She must not know, or she’d have knocked the wall down long ago. It would suffice. After he piled up the stones, she’d never know there’d been an entrance here.

Carrying the swords, he carefully descended the worn steps. It was black as Hades down here. The entire thing was underground, no windows. He tuned his vision, trying to make out the shapes. Against the far wall, he saw a coffin. Was this a catacomb? He hid the weapons in the corner and went to examine his find. When he was close enough to make out the details, he saw it wasn’t a coffin at all.

It was a time vault.

Bree’s breath pierced her lungs like icicles. What was Russell doing in the demon’s castle? Was he working with Druan? Why else would he be here? Had the whole relationship been an evil scheme? The chance meeting in the antique store. The reconnection of kindred souls.

A darker picture formed in her mind, one that made her stomach revolt. Had she been seduced by Druan himself? And how had the sword from her picture gotten into the demon’s castle? Was Faelan involved, too, or had Druan stolen it?

The men walked away, heads close, their strained whispers carrying to where she hid. She could tell from Russell’s posture that he wasn’t happy. The old man glanced over his shoulder, and Bree jumped back, her fingers digging into the wall. If she gave in to the shock, she’d have dropped to the floor and bawled, but she didn’t have time to cry. She had to move fast.

The map showed a staircase to the dungeon on the opposite side of the castle. She ran past several doors, stopping when she heard a woman’s voice. Bree cautiously looked inside. It was a sitting area filled with antiques and more medieval weapons. A woman lounged on a low sofa that must have dated back to the eighteenth century. She was slender but full-bodied, her hair jet black, lips red, with fingernails to match. Bree had never seen anyone so beautiful. She was drawn to the woman. Was this a premonition? Did the woman need help? Maybe she was a prisoner here, one of those females demons used for breeding. Bree debated approaching her, when the woman flowed to her feet, sinuously running her hands up her body, through her long, silky hair. The hands that emerged didn’t have red polish. They each had four hoof-like fingers tipped with long claws. A female demon. The woman laughed, her voice seductive, as her forearms began to ripple. Shaken, Bree covered her mouth and backed away.

She had to find Faelan. Which way to go? Druan on one side, this creature on the other.

A door closed inside the room. Bree held her breath and hurried past. Using the same hide-and-peek method as before, she located the stairs. Voices echoed off the stone. Someone was coming up. There was no place to hide, so she moved up to the next landing and waited for them to pass. Her skin tingled, as if she were being watched. When it was quiet, she started back down and saw two men still there. Their heads were lowered as they studied a piece of paper. One of them spoke, and they started to climb.

She didn’t remember moving, but before she could blink, she found herself on the second floor, as if an unseen force had propelled her up the stairs. This floor was decorated in the same theme as the first, dark ages meets darker ages. All the doors were closed, and she had no choice but go higher. Two stairs at a time, still holding her shoes, she silently huffed to the top floor. It was dark here. No sconces hung on the walls. She waited a moment, but the voices still came.

Using the dim light from her cell phone, she navigated a narrow staircase she found tucked at the end of the hall. She climbed her third set of stairs and came to small door with a lock on the outside. She was in the tower. The darkness was as thick as smoke, and she felt like someone was breathing on her neck. “Faelan?”

The voices sounded closer. Were they following her? Bree put her shoulder to the door and pushed, but it was stuck. A breeze brushed her cheek, and her hair lifted. The door slid open like it was greased, and she toppled inside. The room reeked of decay, and from the dim light on her phone, she could see a metal cot with blankets in the corner and a table with tubes and vials. “Faelan?” The door closed behind her, hanging on the same spot, leaving a sliver of light in the dark. The voices were near the door now. Something scuttled in the far corner of the room. The sliver of light blacked out, then reappeared.

“Hey, where did you come—” The voice outside gurgled, a wet, choking sound, then was silent.

Bree dropped to the floor and hid behind a table, breath coming hard. She pushed a button on the phone, clutching the faint light close for comfort. What was out there? She scooted over, trying to see around the edge, and stubbed her toe. She cradled her foot, trembling. She could call the police, but what could they do? Anyway, she had only one bar of signal, and it kept fading. The sliver of light went black as the door scraped shut, and she heard the clink of a lock. Was this how her life would end, trapped in a demon’s tower after stumbling onto the biggest mystery of her life? Her mother would grieve, speaking fondly of her reckless nature at the funeral, but there’d be no body, because no one would ever find her. It wouldn’t matter anyway. Faelan wouldn’t be rescued, and the world would die with her.

The air stirred beside her, and she heard a soft footstep. She stopped breathing, easing her phone shut as she shrank lower to the floor. Something was in here with her.

***

Faelan lifted the lid of the time vault and stared at what little of the inside he could see. How long had it been here? Who brought it? Where was the key? He closed the lid, disturbed. Had Michael reassigned Druan? How could he, without Faelan’s talisman? There must be another entrance to the cellar besides the old hidden door. Faelan poked around for clues, but even with his sharpened vision, he needed more light. He hurried up the steps, climbed over the debris, and ran outside. Twilight. They had to get out of here. Where was Bree?

He checked inside and out. She wasn’t there. A piece of paper lay on the counter. Division of Motor Vehicles. This was the paper she’d gone to get. Had she come home while he was out? According to the paper, the car belonged to a man outside Albany, probably one of Druan’s minions.

Surely Bree wouldn’t go there alone. He remembered watching in disbelief as she threw his dirk at that halfling, how fiercely she’d attacked Grog, how she’d insisted on going back inside the chapel for the swords. Damnation. That’s just what she’d do.

His talisman heated, growing uncomfortably warm. She was in danger. He could feel it. Why hadn’t she called him on that fancy phone? Shite. He’d forgotten to take it with him. He punched in her number from the house phone, but it went straight to voice mail. He wasn’t comfortable talking to a machine, so he hung up. He needed a horse. No, he needed one of those yellow cars. He called 411, like she’d showed him, and used his fiercest warrior voice to order a taxi. He found his cell phone in his bedroom, turned off. Bree had tried to call him earlier. By the time he slipped on a shirt and boots and dug through drawers looking for money, a horn honked outside. A dark-skinned man drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

“You’re sure this is a taxi?” Faelan asked him. “It isn’t yellow.”

“Says so right there on the side. See? Taxi.”

“No. It says, ‘ax.’”

“The
T
and the
i
fell off. You getting in or not?”

Faelan got in, but he didn’t like it one bit. Before he’d been suspended, he could have walked this area blindfolded. He’d scouted every mountain, every valley and hill hunting Druan. But now there were houses stacked on top of houses and highways that stretched for miles. He gave the man the address from the report and hoped the pile of coins from her junk drawer would cover the cost. It was enough to destroy a man’s sense of pride. How could he save Bree, much less the world, when he couldn’t buy himself a loaf of bread?

He highlighted Bree’s number and pushed Send again. On the third ring, she answered.

“Faelan?” she whispered. “Thank God… escaped… dungeon…”

“You’ve escaped from a dungeon!”

“No, did… you…”

“Where are you?”

“…castle… trapped…”

“Castle?” His heart thundered in his chest like a racehorse running for the finish line.

“…blood…”

“Blood? Are you injured? I can’t understand you.”

“Piece of crap cell phones,” the taxi driver said.

“Blood on your floor… kidnapped… rescue.” Bree’s voice faded.

Blood on his floor? “I hit my arm.”

“…thought you were… kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped? Me? You mean you went to…” the words stuck in his throat. “You went to rescue me?” Faelan squeezed the phone so tight he heard it crack. “Are you bloody mad?”

“Women,” the driver said, his gaze darting from Faelan to the road.

“I’ve been fighting demons since 1850—”

There was a squeal, and the car slammed to a stop. Faelan’s face bounced off the back of the seat and the phone flew out of his hand. He grabbed it and rose, meeting the driver’s round eyes in the rearview mirror.

“I don’t think—” the man started.

“Drive,” Faelan ordered, rubbing his nose. The driver’s head bobbed nervously and the taxi leapt forward. “But don’t kill us getting there.”

“Exactly where are you?” Faelan asked Bree.

“…right tower… Druan’s castle.” Her voice dropped so low, he wouldn’t have heard it if not for his warrior senses. “Hurry. Something’s… here… with me.” The connection went dead.

***

The taxi drove past it twice before Faelan saw the back of Bree’s car hidden in the trees. Where was the castle? Deeper in the woods? He paid the driver, and as the car sped away, Faelan crossed the small road and headed for the field. His skin started to prickle a second before he smacked into something hard. He caught a glimpse of trees, iron, and stone before he stumbled back. Warily, he stretched his hand in front of him. The air parted like a curtain, and a picture unfolded before him. A high stone wall, and behind it, a castle.

His clan’s castle. Here in America.

What sorcery was this? Faelan took two steps back, and the castle disappeared. Two steps forward, and it appeared again. An invisible cloak. Druan had hidden a castle in the middle of a field, a castle that looked exactly like the Connor Castle in Scotland. The illusion was only from outside the cloak. From inside, he could see the road and the trees where Bree had parked. No time to ponder it. He had to get Bree out before Druan discovered he had a guest. Faelan had seen what the demon did to his enemies.

His arm throbbed as he dropped over the iron fence. He sniffed. No demons close by, and no dogs, he hoped. It wasn’t likely. Demons hated animals. An animal could sense a demonic presence long before a human could. Faelan headed toward the north side of the castle, keeping to the shadows. A man with long, raven hair appeared near a narrow door. Faelan jumped behind a tree, his hand on his dirk. The man’s movements were graceful, almost elegant, but powerful. He was too far away to scent for demon blood, but he wasn’t someone Faelan wanted to meet until his strength returned.

Faelan glanced over his shoulder to make sure he hadn’t been spotted. When he turned around again, the man had disappeared.

***

Tristol perched on a branch high in the tree and watched as the warrior dropped and ran the few remaining feet to the castle. He tried the side door, and when it wouldn’t open, he stepped back, surveying the second-story balcony far above his head. He tested a thick vine, seemed satisfied, and began to climb. Muscles bulged as the warrior inched his way up the wall. He’d just reached the top when his dagger caught on the vine. He tugged it free, and the vine started to pull away. Leaping, the warrior grasped the edge of the balcony, dangled for a moment, then threw his legs over and stood.

Impressive.

He peered over the side and quickly turned away.

Tristol smirked. So the Mighty Faelan didn’t like heights, but he had strength and power. If it matched his reputation, he might be worth more than a way to eliminate Druan. He would have to bide his time and wait. Not only the fate of the living depended on the outcome of this fight.

***

Faelan leaned against the cold stone and touched his burning arm. He hated heights.

A chill worked up his spine. He glanced over his shoulder, then tested the small door to his left. It was locked. Next to it was a small, dark window. This would be a bedroom in his clan’s castle. He pushed against the glass, and it moved enough to get his head and injured arm through. He pushed hard, and his right shoulder scraped through, followed by his hips and legs. The room was dark. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, using the faint light to get his bearings. He was dismayed that the room looked just as he’d expected.

He opened the door and peered into the dimly lit hallway. The sight was disturbing. The second floor was a replica of Connor Castle. A staircase stood at the end of the wide hallway, like the one he and his brothers had played on. He heard voices approaching and ducked back inside the room, leaving the door cracked so he could hear.

“If Druan doesn’t find the key and the time vault soon, there won’t be any of us left.”

“You’d think he would’ve guarded it.”

The other voice shushed. “Don’t say that. If one of those half-demons hears, it’ll tell, and Druan will do to you what he did to Onca for losing the key. You know Druan’s been on edge, always looking over his shoulder. Can’t say I blame him. Lately, this place feels like it has eyes.”

“You’re working for demons, and you’re worried about ghosts?”

“You know what I mean. You almost jumped out of your skin when that ugly demon woke us this morning. Sometimes I wish we’d never…” the voices faded, and Faelan moved into the hallway, trying to listen. There was no doubt this was Druan’s castle. Faelan was so busy examining the similarities of this castle to the one he’d called home that he didn’t notice the white-haired old man until it was too late. The man—at least he looked like a man—ambled by, his head buried in a book, talking to himself. Faelan’s hand went to his dirk. He’d have to kill the man quietly, so he didn’t raise an alarm. The old man looked up, nodded, and continued toward the stairs, paying Faelan no mind, as if he belonged here. Like a bloody demon.

If Druan was still looking for the vault and the key, then he didn’t know Faelan was awake. Not surprising that Grog would be too scared to tell him. Faelan moved to the third floor. It was dark—no lights in the hall. He didn’t need the glow from his cell phone to find the last set of stairs, exactly the same as Connor Castle’s, small and winding, barely wide enough for a man’s shoulders. At the top was a small iron door. In Scotland, Alana had used the room to store her paint supplies.

“Bree?” he whispered.

“Faelan?” Her voice came back small and frightened. He wanted to hold her, comfort her, and then tie her to a chair. Or a bed. “Hurry, please.”

Faelan tried the door. It wasn’t locked, but it wouldn’t move. “Stand back.” He put his shoulder to the metal and pushed, feeling a rush of fresh blood. He pushed again, but it wouldn’t move. Odd, it wasn’t locked. Kicking it in would make too much noise. “Stand back.”

He put his shoulder to the iron and pushed. It opened enough for Bree to squeeze her body through. She rushed into his arms. “Are you okay?”

“I thought… just get me out of here.” She looked over her shoulder. “There’s something inside. I heard it move.”

If one of Druan’s horde was in there, Bree would be dead. Faelan gave it a quick look from the doorway, but even with his heightened senses, it was too dark to see much of the room. He didn’t hear any breathing besides hers and his own. If there was something inside, it wasn’t alive. “We have to leave before we’re discovered.”

“There are secret passages, but I don’t know if they lead outside. I came in through a pantry off the kitchen. I can show you.”

“I don’t think I’ll have any trouble finding it.” He could walk it blindfolded. With one hand on his talisman and the other holding his dirk, Faelan led the way to the dark kitchen.

“I came in through there.” She pointed to the pantry, and her hand hit a bowl, sending it crashing to the floor. “Darn it.”

He pushed her inside the small room as the lights came on.

“What was that?” a man asked.

“There’s a bowl on the floor,” the second man said.

“I can see that. It didn’t just leap off the counter.”

It was the two from before.

“No one’s supposed to be over here, but I’ve had this feeling all day, like someone’s watching me. You ever get that feeling?”

“In this place, I do. Check it out.”

Faelan pressed Bree against the wall, as he’d done last night. He could feel her heart pounding against his… as he had last night. He couldn’t be thinking about that now.

“You check it out. I don’t take orders from you.”

“Come on. There’s nothing here,” the first man said. “This whole plan is hopeless.”

“If you don’t stop talking like that, you’re gonna be hanging up there with Onca.” The voices faded away, and Faelan felt Bree exhale.

They moved outside and across the castle grounds as fast as they could, keeping to the shadows and hiding behind trees. When they reached the wall, he offered his hands to lift her up. She hesitated a second before pulling her skirt up to her hips. Hunger hit him hard, but he pushed it aside and concentrated on getting her over the top. Climbing the wall himself wasn’t easy, with his arm screaming in pain and his thoughts locked on her thighs.

“How’d you get here so fast?” she asked once they were in the car.

“I saw the paper on the counter. I thought someone had taken you. Or you’d done something… reckless.”

“I was so sure they had you,” she said, starting the car. “I knew the police wouldn’t believe me, and if they did show up, Druan would kill you and them too. Then I’d have to find your family and tell them they’d lost you, even before they knew you were alive.”

“What kind of woman goes around invading a demon’s castle?” An invisible one. How’d she even find it? What had happened to the meek, gentle women of his time? She was bold, with a temper to match, and with too much curiosity for anyone’s health. He felt a surge of something, but didn’t dwell on it. He was afraid it might be respect. He’d done unforgivable things to her; still, she’d put her life on the line because she thought he was in trouble. And she’d climbed over that fence like a warrior. Most women he’d known would have expected a man to carry them across. ’Course they wouldn’t have broken into the demon’s castle in the first place.

“Don’t yell at me. I was trying to help.”

“I’m not yelling.”

“You look like you want to. Besides, you thought the same thing. Weren’t you coming to rescue me?”

“I’m a warrior.” Not a damsel in distress. “I was fighting demons before you were born.”

“A warrior who just slept for one hundred fifty-one years and would’ve slept for eternity if a woman hadn’t interfered.” She looked across the road and shivered. “Let’s say we’re even and get out of here,” she said, putting the car in gear.

“What do you see there?” Faelan asked, nodding toward the empty field and trees hiding the castle.

She frowned. “A castle. Big iron fence.”

Damnation. How could she see it when he couldn’t?

“Why?” she asked, pulling out so fast he had to pry his head from the headrest.

“No reason.” He checked his bandage. The fresh blood hadn’t reached his sleeve.

“I thought you would’ve healed by now.”

“I reopened the wound earlier.”

“I’m sorry. I guess climbing over that wall twice didn’t do it any good. Sometimes I do things without thinking.”

That went without saying.

“We have another problem,” she said. “It gets worse.”

He didn’t see how. The demon was living in a replica of Connor Castle that was invisible to Faelan but visible to Bree? And now there was a time vault hidden under her chapel, and he had no idea if Druan had been reassigned.

“Russell is the demon.”

“I beg your pardon?” He must have misheard.

“Russell’s the demon. I saw him in the castle.” Her voice was strained, her fingers tight on the steering wheel.

“You’ve been under stress. The mind can play tricks when one is frightened—”

“No. It was him.”

Faelan’s insides knotted. It couldn’t be Russell. “What does he look like?” Demons rarely switched human forms. It took too long to get comfortable.

“Tall, muscular, dark blond hair, blue eyes. Handsome. Dresses well.”

Like Jeremiah. Damnation. Bree and Druan? His stomach knotted. There had to be another explanation. “Does Russell have any distinguishing marks?”

“Not that can be seen with clothes…” Bree trailed off, looking embarrassed.

A growl rolled from Faelan’s throat. He’d seen Druan without human skin, but never without clothes, and it irritated him knowing Bree had. How many other men had she seen naked? “Do you have a photograph of him?”

“I think I burned them all. I can’t believe that I… that he… but he was standing right there. It was him. Remember, I thought I saw him in town. I think he’s been watching me.”

“Maybe he followed you to the castle.”

“No. He didn’t even see me there. He was talking to an old man.”

Faelan’s knots twisted and formed new knots. Russell, the bastard who’d made Bree cry, was Druan. “How close were you?”

“We were engaged. Betrothed.”

“You were going to marry him?” Faelan’s knots grew claws.

“The whole thing must have been a setup. He used me to get to the time vault.”

That would explain why Grog told the halfling not to hurt her. Druan still needed access to the place, since he didn’t know Faelan was awake. Faelan rubbed his hand over his face. A demon of old had tried to marry Bree to get to him. Faelan knew he would have to ask her some brutal questions, but not now. “How did you meet him?”

“In college. We were both majoring in history. We dated a few times, then I moved to Florida. About a year and a half ago, I was visiting Grandma, and I stopped by this antique store. I reached for a book at the same time he did. We laughed about what a coincidence—”

“Coincidences rarely are.”

She gave him a startled glance, likely thinking how they were drowning in the damned things.

“He invited me to dinner in his tiny apartment in Albany. The jackass probably had a castle the whole time.”

“They’re all infatuated with castles, every last one of them.”

“One thing led to another, and we got engaged. He moved to Florida to be with me, but after a few months I saw another side of him, not so handsome. Demonic bastard.”

The tremble was in her voice again, and it made Faelan want to kill Russell, whether he was Druan or not. “What did he do?”

“He started hanging out with weird people. They’d call the house late at night, and he’d go off for days without any word. He was like a stranger when he got back, hateful and jealous, like a shell of himself. I know he stole money my dad left me. And there were other things.” Her lips thinned.

“Why didn’t you leave?”

“I kept making excuses for him. Then one day… one day when he was out doing whatever it was that he did, I packed and went to Grandma’s, and I got a restraining order, a legal document that says he has to stay away. Fat lot of good it did against a demon. As soon as I left, he started begging for another chance. I guess he was desperate to find you.”

“Did he hurt you?” He’d asked the question before, but he suspected he hadn’t gotten the correct answer.

She met his gaze then looked away. “Once.” Her chin tilted. “Only once.”

“What did he do?” he asked, dreading her answer.

“He hit me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s embarrassing that I stayed long enough to let him.”

“He’ll pay,” Faelan said. “I’ll make him pay.” But he had to find him to kill him, and if Druan had been reassigned, Faelan would die too. “Did anyone see you in the castle?”

“I don’t think so. Where were you when I came home earlier?”

“I went for a run to clear my head.”

“Did it?” She cast a sideways glance at him.