No man could know Bree and not want more than friendship. “He insulted you. Doesn’t sound like much of a friend?”

“He didn’t insult me, and he is a friend. My best friend. He was there to pick up the pieces after Russell almost destroyed me.” She scowled. “I have to go out for a while. I won’t be long.”

“You can’t leave. Not alone.”

“I’m going out to meet a friend.”

“Him? The archeologist?”

“Does it matter?” Bree glared at him. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

Of course it mattered. He’d just made love to her. He had a right to know where she was rushing off to. “I’m trying to protect you. A man’s been murdered, and there’s an eight-hundred-year-old demon who’s spent centuries perfecting ways to destroy humans like you. If that’s not reason enough for a bodyguard, there were twelve half-demons in the chapel last night. One of them tried to capture you.”

“I counted ten.”

“I killed two before you got there. I’m trying to keep you alive, but you’re making it bloody hard.”

Bree sighed. “I’m going to see Janie. If her boyfriend can trace the tag number on that vehicle from last night, we’ll know where to start looking for Druan. And I think he knows some people who might be able to get you a passport and fake driver’s license.”

“It’s not safe to go alone.”

“You can’t go with me. If Janie sees you in person, you can forget protecting clan secrets. You think I ask questions. I’ll be back in a few hours. You can raid the fridge and flip through the TV channels to your heart’s desire. Your sex likes that.”

“My sex?” Faelan readjusted the pillow.

Bree picked up a camera and pointed it at him. “I need a photo in case he can get you an ID,” she said stiffly, and clicked a button. She rushed from the room, leaving him wondering who he wanted to kill first, Druan or Jared. Faelan had held her, made love to her, and here she was, defending another man. She obviously regretted last night. He heard the shower turn on and wondered if she was trying to wash him off her skin. He showered in the hall bathroom, and when he came out, she was gone. A note on the kitchen counter said she’d be back in a few hours. What kind of society allowed women to go rushing off into danger without a thought for their safety?

Enlightened? Advanced? Hell, they were insane.

He stormed through the house looking for his kilt. She must have thrown it away. His body thrummed with tension. He needed exercise. He needed to ride Nandor, and he needed his sword. Except for the battle in the chapel and chopping wood, he’d been still for too long, hiding inside like a lass. Some fresh air and sunshine might clear his head. Maybe he’d run into a demon. A fight would relieve some of his frustration.

He pulled on his boots and heard a car turn onto the driveway. Bree must have forgotten something. He’d talk some sense into her if he had to tie her to a chair. He hurried outside and moved around toward the driveway, when he noticed this car sounded different. It didn’t rumble. A strange vehicle rolled up to the house, and Faelan dove behind an apple tree, slamming his arm into the ground. He felt fresh blood soak the bandage and trickle down his arm. A man got out. Her friend, Peter. He went to the door, knocked, and when no one answered, he wrote something on a piece of paper, stuck it on her door, and left.

Faelan read the paper. “Call me. Having trouble tracing your friend’s name. Urgent.” It wasn’t enough that demons were hunting him, now the authorities were after him, too. He went inside, still dripping blood, and fixed his bandage. The cut would’ve been nearly healed if he hadn’t used so much energy with the talisman while he still hadn’t regained full strength from the time vault. He crossed the backyard and started running along the old trail. In Scotland, he’d raced against Nandor to keep ready for battle. The last time Faelan had seen the stallion, Nandor had followed along the fence, neighing softly, as if he’d known Faelan was never coming back.

Everything Faelan knew was dead, even his horse.

God wasn’t dead. Michael wasn’t dead. Did Michael even know he was awake?

There was no going back. He couldn’t change what was done. He started running again, slowly at first, then picking up speed, until his thoughts were banished and all that touched him was the wind. He could feel Nandor running beside him, could hear the whinny of excitement as the stallion surged ahead. For miles he ran, feeling nothing but the life pumping through his veins, his feet pounding the earth, the talisman slapping his chest as Nandor urged him on.

***

Bree ran her finger across the drop of blood on Faelan’s bedroom floor, stark fear erasing her earlier worries of pregnancy and disease. Druan’s demons must have come back for Faelan. She shouldn’t have left. He was still weak from using his talisman. The car must belong to one of his minions. They’d probably taken Faelan there. She grabbed the DMV report and hurried to the computer, working for once. She printed the directions from MapQuest, snatched her tote bag, and raced out of the house to rescue Faelan yet again.

Foot to the floor, she flew past familiar streets, onto a small road she didn’t know existed, and another so isolated she doubted God knew it was there. She’d have been less surprised to see Disney World than the stone castle outlined against the sky. At either end, towers stretched toward the heavens, dark and forbidding. Thick forests surrounded the castle, blocking out the fading sun. This wasn’t the home of a minion. This was a demon’s lair, and it felt familiar.

Faelan had told her the demon would have a base nearby, but she hadn’t expected a castle or an iron fence like the Great Wall. A dungeon. The castle probably had a dungeon. That’s where they’d keep him. If he was alive. Don’t even think it. He’s alive. He has to be. The problem was getting him out. She couldn’t march up and knock on the door. She should’ve called Peter. What could the police do against demons? What could she do? She didn’t even have a weapon.

Something moved in front of the massive structure. She slowed the car as two huge vultures took flight, then continued past the heavy gates until she found an opening in the trees where she could hide her car. Across the road, a large tree grew next to the fence bordering the castle, a good place to climb and jump the fence.

After hiding the car, she whispered a prayer, tossed her sandals over the fence, and hiked up her skirt. She got a firm grip on the lower branch of the tree and started climbing barefoot. At the top of the fence, she slipped a foot between the iron bars and swung over. That scumbag rock climber she’d dated hadn’t been a complete waste after all. She dropped to the other side and bent over, hands on her knees, as she caught her breath. How would she get Faelan back over the wall if he couldn’t walk? First, she’d have to find him.

The first-floor windows were covered with bars. She’d have to find another way in. She darted from tree to bush until she was a hundred feet from the castle and then ran. Pressing her back flat against the wall, she dried her sweaty palms on her denim skirt and switched her cell phone to vibrate, in case it rang. Russell had wrecked everything else. It’d be just like him to spoil the only covert mission of her entire life. Keeping to the shadows, she slipped around to the back of the castle and found a door unlocked. It opened to a pantry behind a large kitchen. Empty. She peeked out into a corridor wide enough for her Mustang.

The walls and floors were made of stone, and draperies covered windows taller than a house. Statues stood in the corners, and ancient weaponry decorated every space. A battle-ax and a war club hung next to a lance. Even without examining them, she was certain they were authentic. There were a few pieces that didn’t resemble anything she’d seen, and she was an expert. After Faelan destroyed Druan, she would come back, but now, she had to find the dungeon. There must be stairs somewhere.

Holding a shoe in each hand, she darted from statue to statue, hiding behind each one until she was sure the way was clear. Footsteps rang on the stone. There was no place to hide. She squatted behind a fat statue of a hellhound and stopped breathing as the footsteps drew near. A tall, well-dressed man with a shocking streak of silver in his auburn hair passed by. Was that Druan?

The man stopped outside a door, peered up and down the hall, then fiddled with a lock. The door opened, and he darted inside. Why would Druan break into a room in his castle? A crash sounded, followed by a raised voice. Bree hurried inside an arched doorway and almost dropped to her knees. The room was two stories tall with bookshelves lining the walls from floor to ceiling. The castle library. She gazed in awe imagining the stories, the history held there. But this was a demon’s castle, and Faelan’s life was in danger. She didn’t have time to look at old books. Bree started to leave, when she felt the air shift and pressure against her back, like a hand. She bumped into a tall table and grabbed it to steady herself, dislodging a book. Castle Druan.

It couldn’t be. Just like that? She’d always been fascinated with castles, studied them, visited several, gotten lost in a few. Most had a written history, often including a map. If she could find one, she’d get to Faelan far faster than stumbling around looking for stairs. She opened the book to the back. There it was, a meticulous diagram, like an answer to a prayer. Someone was watching out for her.

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.