“No.” Bree shook her head, refusing to believe it. “She died of cancer.”

“True, she had cancer, but—”

“You killed Grandma?” Something hardened inside Bree, like steel replacing muscle and bone.

“And Frederick, poking around where he didn’t belong.”

“You bastard!”

Druan’s face chilled. “If you’re not careful, I’ll send you to join them. You think I’ve waited centuries just to sit back while humans try to destroy me? Infiltrating my camp, pretending to be workmen and campers? No one interferes with my plans. Not humans, warriors, or demons. Not even you.”

Angus must have been working undercover at Jared’s dig. Bree pictured him, bloodied and torn, and Faelan, who could be dead, both fighting to save the lives of humans who didn’t know they existed. And her grandmother who’d welcomed every stranger with open arms. Innocent lives lost to Druan’s evil.

Bree flew at him, catching him off guard. She clawed his handsome features, and the face began to shift. The eyes changed first, becoming narrow and yellow, the pupils reptilian. Bones cracked and lengthened, and smooth skin that had held her close and soothed her fears turned leathery and gray. He smiled, and where there’d been an orthodontist’s dream, there were only sharp teeth and an odor so foul she couldn’t breathe. The monster of her nightmares, worse than the thing in the chapel.

“Do you want to take me on, my human?” he asked, his voice deep, rumbling from his chest. He rose to his full height, towering above her.

Bree took a step back, trembling inside, knowing she didn’t stand a chance, but she refused to let him see her quake. “You’re the one who’s pathetic, a hideous beast hiding behind human skin.”

“My looks don’t please you? That could make things interesting. I’d hoped you would come willingly, but I can take now what I didn’t take before.” He ran a sharp nail slowly down her neck, his stench caressing her face. “What I’m sure you’ve given the warrior. And I won’t be in the pretty archeologist’s form.”

“You can go back to hell.” Bree threw the only weapon she had, her flashlight. Druan screeched in rage and flew at her.



Chapter 31


“We don’t know if Druan’s using the same virus or a different one, but he has to be stopped,” Faelan told the warriors gathered in the bed and breakfast where he and Bree had stayed. It hurt just thinking her name. The others still believed she was innocent, that Druan was up to his old tricks. Faelan knew what he’d seen, no matter how much he wished he hadn’t. He’d already lost everything in the world he cherished. There was no reason to hope he’d be spared this.

“I think there are others helping him. I saw five men in my dream,” Sorcha said. This time there was no coy look slanted at Duncan. She’d been oddly subdued since Angus’s death. “The faces were blurred. Two could’ve been Faelan and Druan, but who were the other three?”

“Tristol, Malek, and Voltar?” Duncan suggested, his gaze on Sorcha.

Faelan wondered if anyone else noticed how the warrior’s eyes softened when Sorcha wasn’t provoking him.

“The demons of old? Blimey. Don’t even think it,” Brodie said, crossing himself.

“They’ve probably all been secreted away working on this virus,” Ronan said.

Faelan nodded. “If they’re alive, and I know Druan is, you can be sure they’re not sitting around idle.”

“You have the shackles ready?” Shane asked.

Faelan studied the short blade of his sgian dubh, dreading to answer. His father had the dagger made as a gift for when Faelan came home from America. It had been locked away all these decades. Sean had sent it with Duncan. The sgian dubh had never been used, yet it looked older than the dirk he had in the time vault, the one Kieran had given him his first year as a warrior. “I’m not using the shackles. Druan’s desperate. He’ll be nigh impossible to suspend.” He didn’t tell them he had no choice, since Bree, or someone, had stolen the key along with the Book of Battles. If he told them, they’d have to kill her. He would find out where she’d hidden the things before anyone knew they were missing, and then… he didn’t know what he’d do.

A knock sounded at the door, Mrs. Edwards again, asking if they needed anything. The woman was nosier than Bree.

“I agree with Faelan,” Duncan said, after Mrs. Edwards had left. “There’s too much riding on this to take a chance.”

“Aye. Better off to blast him the minute you see him,” Brodie added, “and pray the other demons aren’t there.”

“Cody’s already at the castle, scouting the grounds, keeping an eye on the place.” Faelan hadn’t wanted to let Cody go in alone, but they both knew one man could hide easier than two. Besides Faelan, Cody was the most experienced of the group. Faelan pulled aside the ruffled curtain at the window and peered at the orange-pink sliver riding the mountain. He let the drape fall into place and turned back to face the others. “It’s time. Let’s move.”

One by one the warriors filed out of the Victorian bedroom, their weapons hidden in what looked like suitcases. Warriors in his time used the secret compartment of a trunk, like the one in Bree’s attic or a specially made box. They hadn’t had swords that could collapse to the size of a dagger or these fancy gadgets and weapons. They went out armed with a talisman, a sword, strong senses, a sgian dubh, and a dirk. Occasionally a pistol or bow. Faelan was glad they still preferred swords for fighting. At least that hadn’t changed.

Ronan gave Faelan a slap on the shoulder that he knew was meant to be comforting. In spite of butting heads in Scotland, Ronan had proven to be a good friend, even lent Faelan his sword. “Keep an open mind, Faelan. I still say Druan’s up to his tricks. How could she be a halfling and make another halfling disappear or look at an open talisman? It’s impossible.”

Or trickery. She could’ve have lied about seeing the light. A human couldn’t do those things either. He’d known all along too many things didn’t add up, but he overlooked them, because of loneliness and lust.

“Faelan, I need to talk to you.” Sorcha waited by the door, hands twisting the hem of her shirt. He looked at the lovely woman he felt nothing for, save respect. “What is it?”

“It’s about Bree.”

He didn’t want to talk about Bree. His mind was already consumed with her. He hadn’t slept more than an hour, tormented by her voice, pleading with him to hurry. When he woke up, Ronan was watching him, and Faelan knew he must have cried out. That was the last time he’d slept.

“I don’t think she’s a halfling, Faelan.”

It angered him that they continued feeding his hope. “Why do you say that?”

“You know I sensed danger surrounding her.” She looked uncomfortable and moved around the room, stopping to pick up a silver bowl from a table. She examined it in silence until he wanted to rip the thing from her hands. She put the bowl down and turned to him. “I shouldn’t have acted as I did.”

“Like I was your next meal?” He was rude, but he wanted this conversation over. He wanted to put an end to this mess. He needed to destroy demons.

Sorcha blushed. “I was just, I don’t know what I was doing.”

“I think I have a fair idea,” he said, glancing at Duncan’s retreating back. “I saw her in Druan’s bed. The danger you sensed was because she’s been hanging around for a hundred and fifty years waiting to kill us. She’s probably the traitor Angus was talking about.”

“Why didn’t she kill us? No one suspected her. She was right there in the midst of some of the strongest warriors alive. She could’ve had us wiped out. She could’ve crept from room to room, killing us one at a time,” Sorcha challenged. “What you saw had to be a trick.”

“How could it be a trick? I met her in a different century, looking exactly the same.”

“You said she claimed the woman in the picture was her great-great-grandmother. You were close to Bree. How could she hide something like that?”

“I saw her with my own eyes, in bed with Druan.” He hadn’t told anyone about the intimate smile he’d seen, a smile a woman would only give a lover.

“Men are so bloody visual. Things aren’t always what they seem. You should know that better than most. You’ve spent years battling demons hiding in human skin. He probably drugged her. Think, Faelan. Who could have released your chains except Bree? If she’s a halfling, it makes no sense that she would wake you from the vault, help you find your family, feed you… take you to her bed. She could’ve killed you while the last thing on your mind was the hunt.” Sorcha raised one eyebrow, and Faelan’s cheeks warmed at the memory of Bree on top of him, her hips locked to his. “She could’ve killed you a dozen times over, and you know it.”

He didn’t tell Sorcha that Bree had kept his dirk hidden from him part of the time. She could have plunged it into him while he lay unconscious in her bed the first night. “I don’t know what to believe.” A flicker of hope warmed him, though, softening the armor he’d welded around his heart.

Sorcha rubbed both temples. “There’s something bigger here. He despises you, but Bree figures into his plan somehow, and he’s playing on your feelings for her. If I hadn’t acted like a moron, things might be different.” She looked troubled, and Faelan suspected this was the real woman hiding behind the vixen.

“We’ve got a battle to fight. Let’s focus on that. Then we’ll find Bree and get the truth.” He would find her one way or another. If he was wrong, he’d misjudged Bree. Unforgivably. If she was a halfling, she had to be suspended. No. He’d make sure she was destroyed, so she’d simply cease to exist. He couldn’t bear the thought of her being locked away for a hundred and fifty years awaiting Judgment. Faelan led the way toward the door, stopping when he glimpsed his reflection in the mirror. Black shirt, black pants—combat pants they called them—cuts and bruises that would’ve already healed, if he’d slept. He looked almost as miserable as he felt, but the outside didn’t show the blistering fires raging within, searing his body, mind, and soul until he feared there would be nothing left but a shell, like the demons wore. And there, with his hair pulled back for battle, for the world to see, was the mate mark on his neck. Sorcha’s shocked gaze met his in the mirror, and she paled.

***

Druan held Bree in his arms, looking at the face he’d grown so fond of. In his eight hundred years, he’d corrupted humans, killed them, manipulated them, even eaten a few, but he’d never cared for them. Frail creatures. But her. There was something different about her. He could feel the power emanating from her, an aura. She must be special. Why else would Michael block him from her dreams as he had nearly two decades ago? Druan remembered the glow in her bedroom as she thrust the cross toward him, gripping it in her small hand in an attempt to cast him out of her house. And standing behind her had been Faelan’s ghost.

“Is it ready?” Druan asked the gangly youth who approached.

“Yes, Father.”

“You know what to do.” He handed Bree to the boy. A feeling of regret crossed his mind as her warmth left him and her head drooped against the youth’s shoulder. He hadn’t killed her, just knocked her out. She was lucky. She wouldn’t see her fate.

He thought about the century and a half of planning nearly ruined because of her, and the key hidden on her mantel all this time. Had Bree bothered to tell him, her best friend, that she’d made her amazing discoveries? The key, the journal, the Book of Battles, the warrior. No, she hid them all and crept about like a thief, probably giving her body to his enemy. That book would have brought him all the power and glory he wanted, even without the virus and the time vault. There would have been nothing the Dark One wouldn’t have granted for a gift so grand. Druan would’ve held Tristol’s place of honor.

Come to think of it, Bree deserved some torment. Druan smiled and brushed his hand across her forehead. Her eyes flew open, and he saw a flash of recognition, an instant of relief, before she remembered who he was. She screamed. Her shrieks continued, then sudden silence.

A minute later, Druan’s son dropped the key into his scarred hand, a scar even his human form couldn’t disguise. Druan’s constant reminder of Faelan and his cursed charm.

Now the warrior would die, but first he had to suffer.

Druan’s half-human son stood proudly awaiting his next order. Druan shifted into his demon form. “Come here.” He held out his hand, waiting until the boy was close before he struck. It was regretful. The boy had served him well, but he couldn’t leave anyone alive who knew where he’d hidden Bree, and he could make another son. He dragged his son’s body into the woods and dumped it into one of the holes he’d dug in the earth. He wouldn’t need them anymore.