Awaken the Highland Warrior (28 page)

The fog swirled at her feet, and a man materialized out of the mist. Russell. His eyes were red rimmed, his face wild. Bree tried to run, but her legs were paralyzed like in her dream. A light moved in the woods, coming closer. Russell wasn’t alone. He lunged at her, and she swung her tote bag. It hit his arm and fell to the ground. He grabbed her from behind, one strong arm pinning her against his body, the other hand clamped over her mouth, silencing her scream.

“Do what I say, or you’ll die.”

She could smell his sweat, feel his beard scratch her cheek as he dragged her across the yard. Digging in with her shoes, she twisted and pulled her upper body. When they reached the woods, Russell lost his grip. Bree yanked free and ran toward the graveyard. She’d be safe there. Footsteps pounded behind her. Russell grabbed her arm, and she fell.

She lay there, face pressed into the fresh dirt. A blanket of calm settled over her. Her heart slowed. She smelled raw earth, the damp wool of her coat, and the stench of Russell’s sweat. She tasted the fog on her tongue as she locked eyes with a huge white owl sitting high atop an oak branch. It held her gaze as something sharp dug into her palm. Her fingers curled around a stone. A weapon. She leaped to her feet and smashed the stone against Russell’s head. He grunted and fell.

Bree’s heart sped again, her breathing came faster.
Run, now.
The words flashed through her head. She had her hand on the graveyard gate when the flashlight cut through the mist, and she heard a familiar voice. “Bree, what are you doing back—”

“Jared! We’ve got to get inside the graveyard before he wakes up.”

“Before who wakes up?”

“Russell. Turn off the flashlight.”

“Russell’s here? I chased someone through the woods. Did you see your yard?”

“It must have been him. Hurry. He’ll kill us.”

“Kill us? What’re you talking about?”

She looked back at Russell, inert on the ground. Was there enough time to get the book and disk and escape? “I’ll explain it in the car. You’ll need to be sitting down, anyway.” Where could they go? The only person who could stop Russell was still in Scotland, and he believed she was safe in Florida.

“My car’s still at the dig,” Jared said.

“Start mine. The keys are in it. I have to get something.”

She grabbed the tote she’d dropped and hurried to the house. She unlocked the back door, ran to Faelan’s room, and pulled up the loose floorboard. The only thing inside was the puzzle box. Had he moved the book and key? She didn’t have time to search the house. She hurried to her room and yanked off her damp coat. She pulled out drawers so violently the dresser tilted. She steadied it and flung clothes into her tote bag. She ran back to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, swiping bottles and jars aside until she reached the mayonnaise at the back. Her head was still in the refrigerator when someone pounded on the back door, rattling the knob. Russell’s contorted face pressed against the window beside the door, fists rattling the glass.

“Oh, God.” She shoved the mayonnaise jar into her bag and ran outside to the waiting car. Russell came around the side of the house, just steps behind her. She jumped into the passenger side and slammed the locks. “Go! Go!”

Jared spun out of the driveway, throwing her against the seat. She looked back and saw Russell loping after the car, mouth open in a scream. Another man—or creature, considering how it moved—materialized out of the woods behind him.

“What’s wrong? What are we running from?” Jared asked, looking through the rearview mirror. “Was that Russell?”

“He’s not really Russell. He’s a demon. That’s just his disguise.”

Jared stared at her, his face rippling with shock.

***

“Keep the change.” Faelan got out of the taxi, yawned, and rubbed his gritty eyes. The trip home had been a nightmare, changing planes in London, getting lost in the Newark airport. He’d almost missed his connecting flight. He would have kneeled and kissed the ground if he thought he could get back up.

“I can drop you closer to the house,” the driver said, peering down the tree-lined drive.

“This is good.” He was already taking a risk coming here at night. He had to make sure the key and the book were safe. Then, he was going to trap a demon and find out what Druan was plotting. A couple hours’ sleep first would help in case he had to use his talisman. He longed for his bed, but it would be safer if he slept on protected ground in the crypt.

Faelan dragged his bag out of the taxi and crept up the driveway. He kept close to the trees, eyes and ears tuned for things that didn’t belong. He felt naked without his dirk, but Bree had warned him that airport security would scan their luggage. Not only did people fly through the air where only God and birds belonged, but now they could see through walls and inside locked luggage. He couldn’t chance having to explain his weapon while he was carrying fake identification.

The top of the house appeared through the trees, and he thought he saw an old woman’s face in the attic window, but when he blinked, she was gone. When he broke through the trees, he saw Bree’s front door standing wide open. The demons had been here.

Thank God she was in Florida.

He set his suitcase down and eased inside, sniffing the air. He could smell lavender, but no demons. The house was empty. He passed Bree’s antique mirror, and it rippled like the surface of a loch. Jumping aside, he waited until it became solid again, then pulled it from the wall, laid it face down on the floor, and put his foot through the back. An enchanted mirror. He’d seen only one before. They weren’t used much; they were too unstable, but when working properly, Druan would be able to see inside the house. Did he already know their secrets, already know how Faelan felt about Bree? Damnation. He should have sent her someplace besides her mother’s. Russell would know where his future mother-in-law lived.

More warriors would have to be sent to protect Bree and her mother. He’d call Cody, see if he and his brothers could help. Faelan reached for his phone but remembered he’d left it in Scotland. There was one in Bree’s bedroom. First he had to get the
Book of Battles
and the key. Faelan hurried to his room. The plank lay next to the gaping hole in the floor. He dropped to his knees, heart drumming against his ribs as he searched every corner of the hole. Empty. If Druan had the
Book of Battles
, the whole clan could be destroyed.

Faelan grabbed his dirk and crossed the hall to Bree’s room. Her drawers were open, clothes strewn about the room. Had Druan searched Bree’s bedroom for the key? Faelan saw a coat crumpled on the floor, the coat she had worn in Scotland. Fear slithered up his spine.

Bree wasn’t in Florida.

Where was she?

He grabbed the phone and dialed her cell. It rang in his ear as a tune played on the floor. The music grew louder as he picked up the coat and pulled her phone from the pocket. She wouldn’t leave her cell phone. Had she forgotten it, like he had? Or had she been taken against her will?

With his dirk in one hand, talisman ready, he crept down the hall, searching the rooms. The kitchen was a mess, refrigerator open, bottles strewn across the floor, as if there had been a struggle. After checking the entire house to make sure she wasn’t sleeping or unconscious, he opened the back door. Her yard was gone, nothing left but dirt.

A groan came from near the chapel. Bree? He moved closer. A man lay outside the door. Blood ran from his head, dripping over his face. Faelan made sure it wasn’t a trap, then kneeled beside the man. He’d taken a right good thrashing, but he was breathing, and most of the blood was dried, not fresh.

The man stirred. His eyelids opened but didn’t focus. “…attacked me. Help…”

“Who are you?” Faelan asked. Was this Jared? As much as he hated thinking about her and the archeologist together, he didn’t want to see her friend hurt.

“…got to stop him.”

“Stop who? Who did this to you?”

“…took it… hide… chapel… couldn’t get in,” he rambled, struggling to sit. He gripped Faelan’s arms for support, and Faelan felt something thick underneath the man’s stained sweater. “Hide it… warn Bree.”

“Warn Bree? Who are you?”

The man’s blue eyes focused, and he blinked. “You’re… him.”

“I won’t hurt you. Where’s Bree?”

He wrapped blood-stained hands around Faelan’s wrists.

“…doesn’t know about him… have to protect it.”

“Tell me your name?”

The man spoke his name, turned, and ran. The blood drained from Faelan’s face.

***

The sorcerer jumped in surprise as Druan entered the room and the heavy box crashed to the floor. He picked it up, flinching at the hot breath on his neck. Next would come the claws.

“If you damage it,” Druan said slowly. “I’ll hang you beside Onca.”

“Yes, Master.” If this thing didn’t end soon, he would die of terror anyway. He was expendable now. Each hour that ticked by, he waited for Druan to realize it.

“The others are in place. How long before we can deliver the vials?”

“A couple of hours.”

Druan glanced at the ancient books spread over the worn table. “Did you find out what went wrong with the mirror?” Druan asked.

“There was a problem with the spell.” He wouldn’t mention he’d gotten it mixed up with her computer screen. No one used enchanted mirrors anymore.

“I have something I need to do. Then we wait for the warrior.” Druan laughed. The sound started out human, but he left the room in his natural form, without so much as a thank you for all the sorcerer’s efforts in the endeavor, an endeavor that could raise Druan’s status to first rank under the Dark One himself.

Years of perfecting, making and discarding, testing on animals and unsuspecting humans, even some halflings, and finally he’d gotten it right. His formula, his work, but would he get credit? No. He’d be lucky to keep his life another half century, while Druan got all the glory. He wished he’d been someplace else when Druan came looking to replace his dead sorcerer. He looked around, agitated, afraid Druan might have read his thoughts. He hated what was going to happen, but he wanted to live, even if surrounded by monsters.

***

Faelan snuck into the castle using the same entrance as before. Crawling up that infernal vine was worse the second time, with it half pulled away from the wall and his mind in torment over the clues he’d missed. He should’ve checked all possibilities, not only the obvious ones. He let attraction get in the way. Instead of being honest with her, he let her play right into Druan’s hands.

Faelan kept close to the walls, listening for any sound. He was on the second floor, halfway across the castle, when he heard voices, one of them familiar. Clasping his talisman, he peered around the corner. Two men were talking, the white-haired man Faelan had seen in the castle the first time, and a tall, dark-blond man.

Jeremiah. Druan wore the same human shell.

A burst of adrenaline hit first, then rage. Faelan opened the talisman. He would end this now. At that moment, the old man lowered his head and walked away, leaving Druan a perfect target. Faelan aimed the talisman, lined up the symbols, then clenched his teeth, letting the talisman fall against his chest. Druan was likely the only one who knew where the virus was, and he probably had Bree. If Faelan failed again, if he destroyed Druan and couldn’t find the virus, every human would die, including Bree. He had to wait for the other warriors. They’d been alerted and were on the way. It wouldn’t be long. They could handle Druan’s halflings and minions, while Faelan took care of the demon. In the meantime, he’d find Bree.

Druan opened a thick, wooden door behind him and stepped inside. Faelan waited, hoping the demon would come out and lead him to Bree. After fifteen minutes of hell, the door was still closed. If Druan was asleep, he could be bound with the shackles. Although it would be almost impossible to sneak up on a demon of old. Faelan listened for sounds inside, but all was quiet. He eased the door open, and the scene inside struck him with the force of a blow.

She lay on her side in an opulent bed, her arm curved over her breasts. Long, dark hair spilled across a pale cheek. The demon lay behind her, his human arms holding her close, the woman he’d met outside the tavern. Not Isabel, but Bree. She was a halfling. That’s how she was able to draw his eyes. She’d seen them just days before he was locked in the time vault. He remembered how gracefully she’d descended from the carriage, the green of her gown, her smile, then the look of shock. Had she known then who he was? Had they been following him while he followed Grog? The two men with her were probably Druan’s minions. Had she watched while they locked him in the time vault and waited to wake him when it was time?

Druan touched Bree’s shoulder, running his human hand over her arm and down her hip. With her eyes still closed, she smiled and murmured something, then reached for Druan’s hand. Pain roared through Faelan, ravaging everything in its path. Lies. All of it. The passion and kindness, the secret he’d seen in her eyes. All lies. He had no one to blame but himself for being deceived. The signs had been there. The key and the
Book of Battles
. She must have stolen them. Even if he destroyed the virus, with the book and the key, the Underworld would have the power to obliterate not only his clan, but the entire planet.

He gripped his talisman. If he destroyed Druan now, Bree would die with him. No matter what she was, he couldn’t do it. Another warrior would have to kill her, which was why warriors were warned to avoid women. He started to move, when Druan turned and looked at him. Fear flashed over Druan’s handsome, human face, shifting into a cunning smile as he focused on a spot behind Faelan. The smell came too late for him to react. Not again.

***

“Faelan, behind you!” Kieran shouted.

Faelan turned from the three demons advancing on him, and a halfling’s blade sank deep into his left arm. The pain was fierce, but at least it wasn’t his sword arm or his head, where the halfling would’ve struck if Faelan had turned a second later. Holding his injured arm close to his side, he raised his sword and met the halfling’s blade. Metal pinged against metal as the half-human backed into a corner. Faelan’s arm tightened as he swung. The evil in the halfling’s eyes flashed a second before the head separated from the body, sizzling as it vanished.

“Not bad for a novice,” Kieran said, before Faelan had even lowered his sword. He turned, gritting his teeth against the pain. Kieran grinned, but Faelan saw the concern in his mentor’s eyes before Kieran moved to help the others with the remaining demons. Faelan added his sword, and they quickly destroyed them.

“You should’ve called for help,” Kieran said.

“I thought I could handle it.”

“The others can take care of this. Let’s get that arm fixed while there’s some blood left in you.”

His arm burned like it had been gouged with a hot poker. This was his second battle since he left training and his first real injury. He was lucky he still had his head, and his arm. He never should have let the halfling sneak up on him. He followed Kieran through the corridors, clean except for the blood of warriors. Everything grew hazy.

The battlefield changed. Smoke and sulfur filled the air as swords clashed amid screams of horror.

He saw Kieran again, his face older, pale. He stood outside the circle of demons advancing on Faelan. Onwar, the ancient one, stood farther away, his teeth bared in a triumphant smile. Faelan knew he had to do something fast, or both he and Kieran would die. He couldn’t use his talisman on all of them; Onwar was too powerful. If he could kill Onwar by hand, then the talisman might be strong enough to take care of the rest.

“Kieran, get out of here,” he yelled.

Kieran’s face set. He dropped his sword and pulled his talisman from his shirt.

Faelan’s eyes widened. “No!”

“Close your eyes, Faelan,” Kieran said, his gaze resolute, sad.

“No! Kieran. I can—”

“Close your eyes, my friend.” Kieran didn’t give him time to react. He began the chant, and Faelan felt the air churn.

No
, his heart screamed.
No
. He pushed through the deformed bodies, shoving aside claws and swords as he tried to reach Kieran. The blinding light appeared. Faelan squeezed his eyes shut and threw his arms over his head. There were screams and the clatter of metal from the halflings’ swords. He opened his eyes, his breath raw. The demons were gone, except Onwar. The ancient demon let out a howl and leapt at Faelan. Faelan roared out his own rage and sprang, meeting Onwar in midair. He swung his sword with a ragged cry and took the weakened demon’s head. Faelan landed in a crouch, his throat closed, and forced himself to face the lifeless body on the castle battlement.

A hiss shattered the dream, and Faelan cracked open one eye. His stomach heaved as the light pierced his head. He remembered something nasty being forced down his throat and Bree’s intimate smile as she reached for Druan’s hand.

“How was your sleep, warrior?”

Faelan’s head jerked. His vision was hazy, but he could see he was in a dungeon, smell the dank air. Druan stood by the door, his human lips curled in a sneer. Faelan flexed his muscles, and cold metal bit into his wrists.

“Rejuvenating.” He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry as rawhide. “Michael sends his regards,” he rasped through a split lip.

Druan’s skin rippled, bones lengthening, but he stopped the change. All the Underworld feared Michael, even the Dark One himself.

“I’ve waited a long time for this,” Druan said, smiling. “You thought the war was the best I could do, but I had far bigger plans. I always have. This world will be mine, without the stench of humans.”

“Tristol might have something to say about that. He didn’t seem pleased to learn about your virus.”

“Tristol.” Druan spat the name. “He wasn’t supposed to see you. Grog was supposed to bring you later, after the others had gone, but Tristol won’t be a problem for long. I manipulated him and the others as easily as I did you.”

“Bree’s trap worked. You have me. Now what?”

Druan threw back his head, laughing so hard he almost shifted again. “Ah, it’s too good.”

Faelan clenched his jaw. It ached like it was broken. “I’m honored that you’ve been waiting for me all this time,” he mocked.

“Your family kept me entertained. Your brothers…” Druan smirked. “Little Alana. She grew into a lovely woman. So… generous.”

His family? The fuzz in Faelan’s head wove itself into panic. He couldn’t let it show. “Still telling lies?”

“I love a good lie, but this beats a fib by far.” Druan moved closer. “I couldn’t let your brothers get away with killing my sorcerer and ruining my virus. Your mother was quite distraught when I finished.”

Faelan yanked at the chains until his right shoulder began to dislocate. He saw Druan’s satisfaction and stopped.

“If you think it’s a lie, then take a look.” Druan slapped his scarred hand on Faelan’s forehead. He tried to jerk away, but the chains binding his wrists held fast. An image formed, his mother, her body draped over a coffin covered with flowers, her frail shoulders shaking with silent sobs. She looked so small. A low wail pulled from inside her hunched body, and she called a name. Ian. It was his brother’s funeral. There was a young woman, heavily pregnant, and a wee lad barely old enough to walk, clutching at her skirt. The lad’s lip quivered as he let go of his mother and touched a tiny hand to the wood coffin. Ian’s wife… and son?

Druan pulled his hand away, and Faelan’s head fell forward. His surroundings swam into focus, and he saw the demon’s twisted gloat.

“Ian was magnificent. Crying out for his wife and son as he died, a week before she bore him twins.”

Faelan’s blood raged, pumping anger and pain with each surge, like a nail driven inch by inch until it could go no more. “Don’t speak their names,” Faelan roared. “You’re not to speak their names!” He twisted and pulled. If he could reach his talisman. He yanked the chains, and his shoulder popped.

A fist smashed into his face, slamming his head into the wall.

“When you wake, we’ll talk about Bree,” Druan taunted as everything went black.

***

Bree heard a soft noise like the wind. Something brushed her face. She opened her eyes, and a shadow disappeared into the high ceiling above her. Her head ached, and she felt like she’d cleaned the carpet with her tongue. She was in a bed. A huge bed. Jared’s? After she’d told him everything, he insisted on bringing her to his house. Why didn’t she remember getting here? The pills he’d given her for her headache must have been too strong, or she had a serious case of jet lag.

Bree sat up and looked around the room. It was too dark for details, but the bed was king-size, the covers a rich brocade—not what she would’ve expected of Jared. What disturbed her more was the imprint of a head on the pillow next to hers. Had they slept in the same bed? She couldn’t remember anything, other than a dream of Faelan curled at her back. Bree peeked under the covers. She was still dressed, not that she thought Jared would take advantage of her.

She got out of bed and tripped over her shoes. She had to find a phone. She’d slept away precious time. Her tote bag was in a chair that looked like it was made for a king. She slipped on her shoes and checked her watch. Five a.m. They’d left her house around ten last night. She had to find Jared and get out of here. Russell could have followed them. Bree went to the door, turned the knob, and registered three things. A gargoyle, voices, and stone. Everywhere she looked there was stone. She wasn’t at Jared’s.

She was in Druan’s castle.

Where was Jared? She eased back, heart thudding with dread, and peeked through the cracked door. Two men stood talking farther down the hall, except they didn’t look like men. They were tall and thick, with skin like leather. Like orcs. Long daggers were sheathed at their sides and swords hung across their backs.

“I’ll guard her,” the first demon said. “You go to the dungeon and check on the warrior. If he escapes, it’ll be our hides.”

Warrior? Not Faelan. He couldn’t be here.

“You’re hoping Druan’ll give you a taste of her.”

“He’d kill anyone who touches her, and you know it.”

“It’s unnatural, how he watches her,” the second demon agreed. “I’ll go in a minute, after the sedative’s had more time to work. He almost broke my arm when we chained him to the wall.”

It had to be Faelan. Why was he here? It was too soon.

“What about the other one?”

“Probably dead. Throw him on the buzzard,” he said with a nasty laugh.

Bree’s chest constricted. Jared?

“You’d better hurry before he gets back.”

“Where is he?”

“In the tower hiding the key.”

Druan had the disk. There were two prisoners in the dungeon, one almost dead. Faelan and Jared? Russell must have followed them. Why couldn’t she remember anything? Bree eased the door shut, locked it, and examined her prison. Of course there were no phones. She’d have to rescue Faelan and Jared herself. She went to the window and eased the heavy draperies back. The sky was still dark. The best she could figure, she was on the second floor in the middle of the castle. Too high to jump.

The secret passages. If she remembered correctly, they also led to the dungeon. The map should be in her tote, if Russell hadn’t taken it. She found the bag and located her tiny flashlight. Someone had gone through her things. Nothing was where it was supposed to be, except the map. Russell had missed the hidden side pocket.

Bree ran a shaky finger over the faint lines running along several interior walls. According to the map, there was an access in the adjoining room, with a hidden door near the fireplace. Using the mini flashlight she carried after she’d gotten trapped in the tower, she inspected the elaborate fireplace and found the left lion’s head on the mantel was loose. She pushed, and a secret door opened.

Stale air hit her in the face. With a death grip on her flashlight, Bree climbed inside. She had to get to the dungeon before Russell returned or the guards discovered her missing. Something slid across her foot, and she smothered a yelp. All this for a man who’d dumped her. No, not for a man. Bree was doing this for the world. She had to rescue the one who could save it. She’d worry about her heart later.

And she had to free Jared. He didn’t deserve this. One more turn, and she found narrow, curved steps that led to the first floor. Several times she heard muffled voices. Stepping softly, as she’d seen Faelan do, she came to a dead end. She searched the wall and found a notch. A section swung open and she saw steps leading down into a dark hole.

The dungeon.

Dank air coated her lungs as she crept down the stairs. Her flashlight cut a beam through the darkness. At the bottom, she stood still and listened. The lack of moaning was a relief, until she considered what the alternative could be. Moving quickly, she peered in the open doors and saw chains and torture instruments, but there was no sign of Faelan or Jared.

Deep in the dungeon, a dim light shone, no brighter than a night-light. Beyond it, she found two doors, both locked. On the wall between, she saw a glint of metal. She swung her flashlight. Two sets of keys. She grabbed them both and pointed her light at the lock. The first set worked. The lock clicked open. She pushed the heavy door, nerves crawling with every creak. Someone would surely hear.

The sight inside ripped all else from her mind. Faelan was half lying on a crude, stone surface, his hands chained so high on the wall his upper body dangled, his arm twisted awkwardly.

“Faelan?” She ran to him and pressed her ear to his heart. She heard the slow, steady thump. A ragged cry wrenched from inside her. “What are you doing here?” Holding the flashlight in her mouth, she ran her hands over him, checking for broken bones. His talisman was still under his shirt. Russell must not know its power. A huge lump marred one side of Faelan’s head, and his bottom lip was covered in blood where it had split. His cheek was discolored and raw.