Awaken the Highland Warrior (30 page)

“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.

The pieces were in place. Soon the earth would be his, and Tristol would be nothing but a smudge on history. Druan shifted to human and walked away from his son’s body without a second glance. This last trick was almost too good, but he would miss her. Talking with her about human things, putting his arms around her as humans did for comfort, his human lips to her warm cheek. Later he might free her, let her make atonement for her betrayal by replacing the son he’d had to kill. He might even take on his human form from time to time. He knew she’d been fond of it.

Faelan parted the veil with the sword Ronan had lent him and stepped inside. The castle rose against the night sky, evil emanating from its towers like a curse.

Shane stuck out a finger. “Just like Conall said, a curtain.”

“Quiet,” Faelan called softly. “You can be seen and heard from this side.”

Duncan put out his hand and stepped inside.

Ronan slung his bow over his shoulder and stepped through, joining Faelan and Duncan, looking at the others still waiting on the other side. “It’s like a two-way mirror,” he said.

“It runs a few feet outside the fence,” Faelan said. After all the warriors had passed through the veil, they checked their weapons one last time, climbed the imposing fence, and dropped onto the other side. There were a few lights on inside the castle, but it was quiet outside. What if Druan had hidden the virus somewhere else, Faelan thought. No. He would keep it close, and what better place than here? A wind arose, swirling in the trees behind them. The warriors tensed, swords ready, but the disturbance settled as quickly as it had begun.

“That was odd,” Cody said, slipping soundlessly behind them, the only one of the group aiming a gun.

“Blimey. I didn’t even hear you coming,” Brodie said to him. “Don’t suppose you found the virus already?”

“No, but there’s a pile of bodies, humans, torn to shreds. Must be minions.”

“If the virus is ready, he probably doesn’t need them anymore,” Duncan observed.

“Something strange is going on here. A helicopter landed earlier, then several cars left,” Cody said. “I’ve checked the outbuildings. Nothing there, but he could have it hidden underground.”

“It’s here somewhere,” Faelan said, feeling the prickle of unseen eyes. “Let’s get inside.” They moved toward the small door on the side of the castle. “Locked.”

“I can break it down,” Niall said, testing the door.

“And announce that we’re here?” Ronan pushed him aside. “Move over, muscle boy. Let me show you how it’s done.” He took a piece of thin metal out of his pocket and fiddled with the lock. “There.”

They split up, Anna and Cody vanishing into the trees, as the others disappeared inside. Niall and Shane were checking the first floor, Duncan and Sorcha the second, Tomas and Brodie the third, and Ronan and Declan the towers. Faelan and Conall would check the dungeon and secret passages. They headed around back to the entrance Conall had used. The young warrior had gained a new respect. If not for his help, Faelan would already be dead, and the world would be doomed.

Conall lifted a wall of ivy aside with his sword, uncovering a small door. Holding their weapons before them, they entered a low, dark tunnel. Muffled noises filtered through the night, paws scurrying against stone, and another sound, still, but larger, the shifting of air. Faelan touched Conall’s arm, signaling him to halt. There was nothing, not even breathing. But something was here. Faelan could feel it. Best get into the light. A few paces more and they reached a door that opened at the top of stairs leading to the dungeon.

“It’s dark down there, nothing but a couple of old torches hanging on the wall.”

“We’ll have to rely on our eyes. We don’t want them to know we’re here.”

Conall pointed to the opposite wall. “Over there’s where I heard someone behind the wall, before I found you. I couldn’t figure out how to get inside. The catch isn’t like ours. I’m guessing it was Bree.”

The pain of her betrayal hit Faelan again, but if he thought too much on what Sorcha said, that Druan was playing games, the distraction would be worse.

Tuning their eyes to the dark, they descended into the dungeon. Once they were in place, the warriors whispered their locations through their microphones.

“I don’t understand what these demons want anyway,” Conall said.

“They’re pawns. Their master wants the human race extinguished. He’s furious at God for casting him out and creating us.”

With his back flat against stone, Conall slid around the corner. “No one here.”

“Check every room. Who knows where it could be hidden. I suspect Ronan and Declan will find something in one of the towers. That room Bree was locked in was used for something. I should’ve checked it, but I had to get her out of there fast.”

“Is there something between you two?” Conall asked. “Ronan said you and Bree were… I guess I figured you and Sorcha would be mated. Have you felt the bond for one of them?”

Had Conall seen the mark on Faelan’s neck? He’d untied his hair to hide it. He didn’t want anyone asking questions he couldn’t answer.

“Sorcha’s nothing to me but a cousin.”

“And Bree?”

Bree. He couldn’t explain things he still didn’t understand. The passion, the sense of belonging he felt with her, even when she was driving him barmy. Like he’d found a missing part of himself.

Duncan’s voice came across the earpiece, sparing Faelan the effort of trying to explain. “Demons here. Six of them. Sorcha, look out!”

Before he could think, Faelan started toward the stairs. He stopped when Conall caught his arm. “Female warriors,” Faelan muttered. He spoke into the microphone. “Can you take them?”

“Sorcha’s already killed two,” Duncan said over the screams. “Leave one of them alive… bloody hell, woman. I was going to question him.”

“You should’ve said so,” Sorcha grumbled. “I see a demon, I kill him. You need to take a chill pill, cousin.”

“Stop calling me cousin.”

Conall grinned. “I wouldn’t want to cross her. Guess it was different in your time.”

Faelan nodded. He’d never thought women inferior, as some men did. He always held them in high regard, but they were precious, to be handled gently. He couldn’t imagine going into battle with one, but the other male warriors seemed to regard them as equals on the battlefield. He’d seen Sorcha and Anna at practice and knew they could hold their own.

Bree was just as strong. She’d opened his vault, fed him—no easy task in itself—and helped him find his family. She even saved his life with his own dirk. He wanted to believe he could’ve escaped if she hadn’t destroyed the halfling holding him, but he wasn’t sure. She tried to rescue him from the castle when he didn’t need it and may have loosed his chains when he did. She’d excused inexcusable behavior and let him make love to her more than once.

“You okay? You don’t look so good,” Conall said, glancing up from the map in front of him.

He nodded. Had he made a mistake? He couldn’t think about it now. It wouldn’t do anyone any good.

“There’s a metal door here.”

“I’ll go in first.” Faelan entered the small empty room. There was another door at the back. Excitement started to build until he saw it was unlocked. Druan wouldn’t leave his virus unsecured. Faelan stuck his head in. Stockpiles of swords and guns lined the walls, more than Druan could possibly use.

Conall moved in behind him. “Blimey. He’s got enough weapons here to wipe out an army. Bet he’s selling them to finance all this.”

“Could be for his halflings.” They couldn’t summon weapons at will. Only full demons had that ability. “Or he’s arming his supporters. You and I know human wars don’t start with humans.”

“If we set a small explosive here,” Conall said, pointing to the door, “we can destroy the entrance without bringing the roof down on our heads. They won’t be able to get to the stuff. We can come back later and destroy it or take it.”

“It’ll announce our presence, but if we can keep these weapons out of their hands, it’ll be worth it.”

“I’ll put a delay on it so we have time to take cover.” Conall planted the device, and they left, shutting the door behind them.

“We found a stash of weapons,” Faelan told the others. “We’re sealing off the door. In about two minutes the floor’s going to shake. Let’s stand back and see what bugs come running.”

“This is where I found you,” Conall said, pointing to a small room behind them.

Faelan moved inside. The scent of death hung in the air. He glanced at the heavy chains hanging from the wall and the pile of clothes in the corner. Kneeling, he turned the body over, wrinkling his nose against the smell. It was the man he’d found beaten in Bree’s backyard. Russell. His injuries were worse. Druan must’ve worked him over again. Whatever part Russell played had sealed his fate.

“The dead guy had some kind of book under his sweater. Leather-bound, like a journal, but I didn’t have time to take a closer look.”

Faelan pulled up Russell’s dirty sweater, not worrying about the stench. “There’s nothing here.”

Conall knelt and looked for himself. “It’s gone.”

“Damnation.”

“What is it?”

“It was the
Book of Battles
,” Faelan said.

“I thought you hid it.”

“It was gone when I got back from Scotland. Russell must have stolen it.” Not Bree. What else had he accused her of that she hadn’t done?

“I should’ve taken it,” Conall said, “but someone was coming, and my hands were full.”

With me
, Faelan thought. “Don’t blame yourself. I saw it on him too and didn’t know what it was. He kept mumbling about protecting something. Must’ve been the book. I think he realized too late what he was up against.”

Conall checked his watch and warned the others. “Thirty seconds till it blows.”

“What’s this?” Faelan asked, pulling an envelope out of Russell’s shirt. It was addressed to Bree. Faelan stuffed it in his pocket and noticed the wound on Russell’s neck. He scrubbed at it with the edge of Russell’s sweater, uncovering two puncture marks. He drew back in shock.

“That looks like—” Conall’s words were interrupted by the explosion.

Faelan leapt to his feet as footsteps sounded on the stairs “You ready?”

Conall nodded, glancing back at Russell’s body. He drew his sword as the footfalls grew louder. Both men sprang out at the two newcomers, still in human form. They weren’t even armed.

“Minions. This’ll be messy.” But it had to be done. Once they turned evil, it was too risky to trust them. Faelan plunged his sword into the minion’s heart a second before Conall took the other one’s head.

Both warriors stood mute, staring at the piles of dust on the floor.