Awaken the Highland Warrior (6 page)

Druan stood in front of the antique mirror inspecting his human form. He leaned closer, peering at a tiny line in his forehead. The furrow surprised him. Was that a wrinkle? He’d been here too long. The humans were rubbing off on him. It wouldn’t be much longer. Soon all the pieces would be in place. He wouldn’t fail this time. He couldn’t, not with the Underworld watching to see if he would outdo his father’s plague and Tristol still gloating over his precious HIV.

This new virus would make Tristol’s AIDS look like child’s play. Druan’s shell started to shift just thinking about Tristol. The demon was even more despicable than the humans. Demon? Druan sneered. He knew Tristol’s secret. Druan had caught him in the act. If only he were free to reveal it. But he had secrets of his own to protect. A knock sounded. “Enter.”

“You called, Master?” This minion was new, not one he’d seen before.

Come to think of it, there had been several new faces in the last few days. He’d killed so many, he supposed Grog had found it necessary to replace them. “Did they find it?”

“No, Master, but we found a coffin.”

“A coffin?” Druan let out a frustrated roar and then forced himself to inhale and exhale, slow and steady. In human form, he’d found deliberate intakes of oxygen to be calming. He’d found it necessary too much of late. Here he was, ready to wake the warrior, and both the vault and the key were missing. He should have killed the warrior when he had the chance, but he’d needed to test the time vault. If it did what he suspected, he would have more power than he’d dreamed. “This wasn’t a coffin.”

“Are you sure this is the place?”

“I saw it buried myself.” He’d watched the lid close and the key turn in the lock.

“Maybe it’s been moved,” the minion suggested.

No one knew where it was except those who’d buried it, and most of them were dead. Tristol, Malek, and Voltar weren’t there. Druan had waited until they were gone before burying the time vault. Had one of them spied on him? Tristol? Had Tristol stolen the time vault? He’d probably dug it up and replaced it with a coffin for spite. He was near. Druan was sure of that. This morning he’d found another minion slaughtered on the front lawn. If this kept up, someone would notice the vultures.

Druan turned to the minion. “If the time vault has been moved, it couldn’t have gone far. It was heavy as a ship.” He’d tortured a young warrior decades ago, attempting to discover how they transported the vaults, but the warrior had stayed loyal until death.

Another knock sounded, and Malek walked into the room without waiting for permission. The minion dropped his head in deference as Malek passed.

“The human is here,” Malek said, brushing the streak of silver adorning his thick, auburn hair.

“Let him wait,” Druan said, wishing he could throw Malek out, or at least figure out why he was here. But he couldn’t refuse hospitality to one of the League. He turned to the minion. “Time’s running out. Find the vault or you’ll be
replaced.
”

He would’ve checked on it sooner, but he’d been so busy with the war and trying to salvage his lost virus, while convincing the rest of the League that the warrior had lied. He’d never dreamed someone might move the damned thing.

The minion kept his head lowered. “Yes, Master.” He followed Malek from the room, and Druan thought he saw a smirk.

That one needed watching. With minions, you never knew when they’d turn on you. If this wasn’t over soon, he’d get rid of the lot of them and start fresh. He knew a demon in Haiti who could supply as many as needed.

He moved back to the mirror, concentrating, but all he could see was himself. That oaf of a sorcerer. He frowned, growing angry when he realized how often he was slipping into human expressions, even when there was no one around to see his disguise, although he was glad it had remained intact after all this time. He admired the front and then turned away from the mirror, spinning his head around backwards.

Yes. That side was holding up, as well.

***

It was worse than trying to keep up with a child. Bree tucked the receipt in her wallet and searched the street for Faelan’s dark head. A warrior should be easy to spot. She hoped he was a warrior. A demon couldn’t look that good.

Then again, Satan couldn’t have been too ugly, or Eve would’ve run screaming from the Garden of Eden instead of listening to his lies. And Lucifer, the morning star, the signet of perfection, full of wisdom and perfect in beauty—yikes—until his pride corrupted him and he tried to become greater than God. The dark angels, demons disguised as angels of light, all beautiful. Like Faelan, who was hiding everything but his name. He probably would’ve hidden that too, if he hadn’t been half unconscious when she asked.

Bree spied a bakery, and a few stores down, a lingerie shop. Food and sex. She hurried toward Margaret’s Bakery, since it was closest. An assortment of delicious aromas teased her nose as she opened the door. A round, pink-cheeked woman smiled from behind the counter.

“I’m looking for a man—” Bree started.

“Aren’t we all, dear? All I got’s bread and doughnuts, but they’re the next best thing.”

“I don’t know about that… well, maybe doughnuts. I’ve lost my… friend. He’s tall—six four—longish dark hair, wearing a kilt.”

“Oh, him.” She smacked a hand over her heart. “I’d take him over doughnuts any day. He just left. Ate all the banana nut bread samples and headed for the lingerie—”

Bree’s feet were already in motion as she shouted thanks over her shoulder. The door slammed on the woman’s reply. Bree speed-walked down the street, dodging the morning shoppers, her tote bag with Faelan’s new clothes bumping her thigh.

Faelan in a lingerie shop? He’d have a heart attack. In his time prostitutes would’ve worn more clothing than the average woman today. Bree burst through the door, and there he was, in all his kilted glory, standing near the edible panty display, holding a tiny piece of material in his hands.

“Go ask if he needs help,” one of the slack-jawed girls whispered to the other, both staring at him as if he were Attila the Hun.

“You do it.”

They were probably afraid he’d ravish them. Bree wasn’t sure he wouldn’t, but she wasn’t about to stand idly by and let him ravish someone else. She set her bag down and cautiously approached him like an animal in the wild. “Faelan?”

He looked up, eyes so dark with passion that her heart moaned. Before she could blink, he pulled her into the dressing room behind him. The door slammed and his lips came down on hers, his body pinning her against the wall. Bree put her hands against his shoulders to push him away, but the feel of hard muscle and warm skin was too much. His mouth moved to her neck, biting and licking until her knees gave out, and all that held her up was his leg wedged between her thighs. He tasted every bit as delicious as she’d remembered, desperate with a touch of divine.

“Do you need any… help?” a timid voice asked from outside the closed door.

They both froze. Faelan dragged his mouth from hers. He looked at her body astride his leg. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice rough.

“Everything’s fine,” Bree croaked, her back still pressed to the wall. Faelan steadied her and backed away, his expression grim. He rearranged his kilt and sporran as Bree pulled her skirt down and ran her hands over her hair, hoping it didn’t look like they’d been doing what they had.

“Let’s get out of here.” She’d done some stupid things in her life, but since she’d found Faelan, she was off the chart.

He took her hand, and they exited the dressing room. An elderly woman waited outside the door, holding two thick robes. Next to her, the salesgirl was trying to cover her shock.

“Well, I never,” the woman said, glaring at Faelan from head to kilt over the top of her bifocals. “What kind of place is this?”

“Ma’am.” Faelan tipped his head, the edible panties still in his hand.

Bree snatched the panties and put them on the counter. “They didn’t fit.” She scooped up her bag and yanked Faelan outside. He took the tote bag from her, and they trudged in silence for a block until they came to a bench on a quiet street.

Bree sat, and Faelan joined her, putting a large space between them. “I’ll leave as soon as we get back. I need my dirk.”

“Where will you go? You’ll starve.”

“I can hunt.”

“You have to have a license to hunt. You probably need food. Let’s try that taco place. You can change clothes in the restroom. You’re drawing too much attention in that kilt. Then, we’re getting you a cell phone or a leash. I’m not losing you again.”

***

“Do you need a doctor?”

Faelan’s hand was pressed to his chest, his face pale.

Bree took his arm. “I’m taking you to the hospital.” She could tell them she’d found him on the street.

“No.” He pulled away, walking toward the brightly colored fruits and vegetables, floor-to-ceiling shelves of food, cereal boxes, pastries, and breads.

“I thought you were having a heart attack,” she said, hurrying after him. He didn’t hear her. He was already halfway to the bananas. Shopping with him would be fun.

Half an hour later, she’d changed her mind. “Stop eating the grapes, before they throw us out of the store,” she hissed. The produce manager watched them from the corner of his eye while pretending to stack oranges.

“I’m hungry.”

He couldn’t be hungry. He’d just eaten ten tacos and half a pound of grapes. “Here, eat a granola bar. We can pay for it. I’m going to get another cart,” Bree said. They’d already filled one. “Don’t eat anything else.”

Faelan stuffed his mouth with granola like a starving toddler and moved down the aisle with the loaded cart. Bree grabbed an empty one and squeaked back. She rounded the corner and stopped. Faelan wasn’t chewing. That was a good sign. The package he was reading wasn’t. He glanced up, mouth parted, eyes dark, and the hand holding the box of extra large condoms darted behind his back.

“Ice cream. We need ice cream. Meet me in the freezer section.” Her cart thumped along, squeak, bump, squeak, bump, as she fanned her heated face. She yanked out a carton of Caramel Delight, and a reflection appeared in the glass, right there beside the Chunky Monkey. Her heart froze. Russell! She whirled, searching the aisle for his dark blond head. It couldn’t be Russell. He was in Florida.

“Hello, Bree.”

She yelped and spun again, and the carton of ice cream shot out of her arms like a torpedo. “Peter!” Peter Rourke was a homicide detective. One of her grandmother’s dearest friends.

Peter chuckled, retrieved the ice cream from the floor, and placed it in her cart. “I swear, you remind me of Emily. Haven’t seen much of you since the funeral. You doing okay?”

“Good as can be expected.” Bree glanced toward the aisle where she’d left Faelan and saw him park the cart near the restrooms. “I still miss her. I think I always will.”

“Me too.” He sighed. “I’m glad I ran into you. I stopped by…”

She tuned him out, her thoughts racing. She had to get rid of Peter before Faelan got back. She took a couple of steps backward so she could see Faelan coming before Peter spotted him. Thank God they’d put the tote bag with his old clothes and boots in the car. How would she explain that? How would she explain Faelan? She wasn’t even sure who he was, what he was.

“…strangers in the area.”

“What did you say? Strangers?”

“You sure you’re okay?”

She nodded. “What about strangers?”

“A couple of campers saw something suspicious near your place.”

“Suspicious?” Breathe in, breathe out. Had someone seen her dragging Faelan out of the crypt? If the world found out about him, she’d lose him. Someone else would solve her mystery.

“This morning, before sunrise. They were pretty shaken, rambling a bunch of nonsense about… well, it won’t do any good to go into that. Must have been watching too many scary movies, but we had to check it out.” He paused and leaned closer. “We found a body in the woods behind your house.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “It was bad, Bree. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Bree’s legs felt like a paper doll’s. A dead body? In her woods? Was that the scream they’d heard? “Who was it?”

“Don’t know yet. We’re talking to the campers. The man was… torn up,” Peter said. “Or else an animal got him. He’d been dragged through the woods.”

She remembered the shadow outside the bathroom window. Had she seen the killer?

“Whatever or whoever did it was big. And strong.”

Strong. Like Faelan, who’d looked ferocious enough to uproot a tree with his bare hands when she’d followed him? And she was almost certain he’d tried to hide a bloody footprint. But he was with her when they heard the scream, and he hadn’t been out of her sight long enough to kill someone and drag him through the woods. “I haven’t seen anything.”

Maybe he had. That might explain his desire to leave.

“Call me if you do. Better yet, why don’t you stay with me for a few days? I’d feel more comfortable if you were away from there.”

“Thanks, but I’m expecting some books I have to sign for. I’ll be careful.”

“Just like Emily,” he said with a wistful smile. “You could fill a room with all those books. Well, promise me you’ll be careful. We’re trying to keep this quiet, but your grandmother would come back and haunt me if I didn’t warn you. Maybe get that young man of yours, the archeologist, to stay for a few days. We’re patrolling the area, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a strong man around.”

She had a strong man around, but was he the one they were looking for?

“Did you know they have toilets on the wall—” Faelan stopped short when he saw Bree wasn’t alone. His gaze darted between Peter and Bree. He was still several feet away, but it was too late to pretend she didn’t know him.

“And this is?” Peter asked quietly, his shrewd cop eyes assessing Faelan and the loaded shopping cart.

“Faelan. He’s here for a visit.”

“Unusual name. Been here long?”

“Since last ni… last night.” Drat.

“I hope you didn’t pick him up somewhere.”

Did a graveyard count? “No, I’ve known him… seems like forever.”