There must be another explanation, but if not her, then someone in her family was a thief. How else could the book be here, in the place they had lived for generations? Was someone in her family a minion? Or all of them? It would make sense that Druan would put the time vault somewhere it could be guarded. Demons often had a family of minions serve them for generations.
Faelan looked at the book lying there, holding so many answers. All he had to do was look inside, and he’d know if he would destroy Druan. If his brothers had died trying to help him. His suspension and awakening wasn’t normal. Would he be forgiven for such a transgression?
Faelan’s hands shook as he opened the book again, but he couldn’t make himself look at the words. He wasn’t beyond breaking an insignificant rule or two, but he’d followed the important ones far too long to cast them aside now. He flipped through the pages quickly to make sure the book was intact. The ink was faded and there were some stains, but it seemed fine until the end. The last few pages had been ripped out.
Someone had taken part of the Book of Battles. Bree? She’d admitted to being here. It must be her footprints marking the dust. Years of fighting demons had taught him to look beyond the obvious. If she’d lived here less than three months, it was possible she didn’t know about the book. He had no proof she had taken it. It wasn’t fair to hold her responsible for something someone in her family could have done.
He started to close the book and saw the last page, half torn, was written in a strange language. He’d heard rumors of secrets hidden deep within the clan. Was this one of them? Closing the book, he left the attic and approached her room. If he confronted her, she’d lie about it anyway. No. Better to watch her. Catch her in a mistake. He hid the book under the floorboard with the time vault key and then climbed into the shower, leaning against the tile in exhaustion. He was certain of one thing. Whether she did or didn’t steal the book, he would find his answers here.
***
A ringing phone woke Bree. She shot up in bed, staring at it, afraid to answer, afraid not to. What if something was wrong with her mother? “Hello?”
“Bree, it’s Peter. Sorry to call so late, but it’s urgent that I catch your friend before he leaves.”
This was her chance to get rid of Faelan, get him out of her hair. But then she’d never find out who he was and how he’d gotten inside the time vault, and she’d never rest knowing she’d walked away from the greatest mystery of her life. “Sorry, you missed him.”
“Damn it. Any way to reach him?”
“It’d be difficult. Is he in trouble?”
“No. Just wanted to ask him some questions. Where did you say he lived?”
“Uh… Scotland.”
“Scotland? Don’t suppose you have his phone number?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What did you say his last name was? I’ll find him.”
She hadn’t given Faelan’s last name when she introduced the two men. “Vault.”
“Faelan Vault. Got it. I thought about swinging by your place in the morning. I wanted to look in on you. You could always rustle up some French toast.”
“You can’t. I’ve got the flu.”
“The flu? I just saw you this morning.”
“It hit fast.”
“You need anything?”
“Rest. Did you identify the victim?”
“Not yet. Kind of hard, with his body ripped to shreds and his fingers and head missing. Sorry. I’m frustrated. A mutilated body and no leads.”
“What about the campers?”
“They don’t know anything, or not saying, if they do.”
“What about the ones who saw something strange?”
“They hightailed it out of here as soon as we questioned them. Didn’t even come back for their gear.”
“Did they actually witness the murder?”
“No. Just saw something in the woods near where it happened.”
“You think they were involved?”
“I doubt it. I’ve never seen two people so scared.”
“What did they see exactly?”
Peter gave a frustrated sigh. “An orc. Their words, not mine.”
“An orc?”
“Like in Lord of the Rings. Those monsters with the ugly heads. They were probably on drugs, but keep your doors and windows locked. Whatever did it was either incredibly strong or incredibly insane.”
Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Bree glanced at her locked door. “You sure it wasn’t an animal?”
“You can’t repeat this, but we found some strands of hair. They look human. They’re testing them now.”
“What color?” she squeaked.
“Dark. Like your friend’s. If you happen to find a number for him, or if you change your mind about staying there alone, call me. Emily had my cell phone number in the kitchen. Bree… be careful.”
After he hung up, Bree touched the short piece of hair, remembering how terrifying Faelan had looked lunging at her with his dagger, how angry he’d been when she followed him outside after the scream, the footprint he’d hidden, the blood. His fury in the crypt when he’d found her taking a picture of the time vault. His bizarre behavior over Erik.
Was Faelan the demon? Was that his secret? He was with her when they heard the scream, but maybe he had a partner. Maybe her grandmother hadn’t meant for Bree to help Faelan, but to help someone lock him away. Bree threw back the covers. This time she’d find his name in the book no matter how long it took. Demon or warrior. It was time for show and tell.
***
It was gone.
Bree searched the floor, behind the boxes, in the boxes, but the Book of Battles was missing. He must have taken it. A thump sounded outside the window, and she jumped. Dead limbs were always falling from the old oak, but after finding Faelan, Bree didn’t chalk anything up to normal. She went to the small window, clouded with age, and lifted the hem of her pajama top to clear a circle. The full moon was surrounded by clouds, throwing shadows on the chapel and graveyard. Trees began to look like skeletons and the chapel windows like empty sockets in a skull. The window facing her darkened as if something stood there. It wasn’t Faelan. She’d heard him snoring softly as she crept past his door. The shadow shifted again, and two yellow spots materialized, then vanished and reappeared in the blink of an eye.
She was halfway to Faelan’s room before she realized she’d turned to him for protection, when he could very well be the threat. His door was still ajar. Invitation or chivalry? She stepped inside. He lay on his back, one arm flung over his head, the edge of a towel covering his groin. He wasn’t wearing the sleeping pants she’d bought. He wasn’t wearing anything, from what she could tell.
His face was relaxed. Dark hair fell across his forehead, spilling over his outstretched arm, blending with the fine hair dusting his armpit. Her soul ached, and for a second, she didn’t care what he was or where he’d hidden the book. Then her sanity returned. She had to know which side he was on. The book must be here somewhere. She’d hidden her treasures under the loose floorboard when she was a child. Had he found her hiding place?
She tapped her foot softly until she heard the squeak and then removed the plank. A glint of metal shone in the dark. She pulled out a necklace, a tarnished silver cross. Her dad’s. Her grandmother had given it to her the night he died, the night she told Bree the story of warriors and demons to distract her from her grief and keep the nightmares away. Before they left for the funeral, her grandmother had asked for the necklace back. It was valuable, she’d said. She shouldn’t have given it to Bree yet. Bree knew it was valuable. It kept the nightmares away like her grandmother said it would, so Bree hid it under the floor and said she’d lost it. That was the only time in her life she’d lied to her grandmother. The necklace had lain there in the dark for nearly two decades. How could she have forgotten hiding it here?
Caught up in her thoughts, she didn’t hear the noise until too late. Faelan stood next to the be
d wearing nothing but his talisman and tattoos, his face set like the Grim Reaper. Bree jumped to her feet, heart racing, the necklace clenched in her hand.
“What are you doing?” he said, advancing on her.
She backed away. “I’m… my… the…” A kind of serenity enveloped her, in the middle of her guest room, facing the most frightening, most naked man she’d ever seen, a man who should be dead, who might have murdered someone behind her house, and who could even be a demon. She stiffened her shoulders, straightened her spine, and gave him her meanest glare. She was sick of it. Sick of the lies, the secrecy, the pretense. On both sides. If he was a demon, she’d rather fight him now.
“You know darned well I’m looking for the Book of Battles, and I hope to God you have it, because otherwise, it’s disappeared.”
“I have it,” he said, after a long, hard stare.
Bree put her hands on her hips. “Why did you steal it?”
“Steal it?” His face went from menacing to incredulous. “Steal it? Ye daft woman.” The brogue was thicker now and loud enough to wake the dead. “You’re the one who stole it!”
“Me? My grandmother had this book when I was a child.” Had he lost his mind, along with his pajamas? She waved her hand at his groin. “If you can’t keep that thing down, put on some clothes.”
He grabbed his jeans from the floor and jammed muscular legs into them, then jerked a shirt over his head. “Tell. Me. Now,” he said, forming each word loud and harsh, “how you have my clan’s Book of Battles and what you did with the missing pages.”
“I told you, it belonged to my grandma, and I didn’t take the pages. I found it that way.”
“The book belongs to the Connor clan.”
“Well, I guess they lost it. Like you’ve lost your amnesia.”
Faelan’s jaw clenched, his fists clenched, she bet even his butt clenched. She was sure if she wasn’t a woman, he would’ve hit her. And she sure as heck would’ve hit him back.
“It wasn’t lost. It was stolen.” His lips thinned and his eyes blazed. “And now it ends up in your house. While you’re at it, explain who this is.” He jerked open the drawer next to his bed with enough force to turn it into toothpicks and thrust a sticky picture in her face.
“What did you do to my picture?”
“So you admit it’s you?”
“It’s not me, you arrogant dolt. It’s Isabel. My great-great-grandmother.”
He didn’t say anything, just stood there, glowering at her.
“I’ve fed you, clothed you, given you a bed, and you’re pretending you can’t remember who you are or where you came from, while I’m agonizing over whether I’ve rescued a warrior or a demon.” She balled her fists, digging the cross into her palm, and she wished she could punch him in the face. “I was starting to think you were a warrior, but now I’m not so sure.”
“How do you know about warriors?” he asked, his voice accusing.
“Grandma told me the story when I was a girl. I thought it was just make-believe.”
“Your grandmother?” He looked puzzled, but some of the anger left his face.
“I didn’t even remember the story until after I found you, then I discovered the book in the attic while you slept.” Bree didn’t mention the bizarre dream and her grandmother telling her to find the book, to help him, or how she’d smelled her grandmother’s lavender perfume when she woke. “The book’s amazing, and that last page, did you notice it’s in another language or some kind of code? I could make out only a word or two, but I’d give my entire Civil War collection to know what it says,” she said, forgetting for the moment how disgusted she was with him. “There are even dates of battles from the future.”
He stared at her like she’d channeled Satan. “You read the book?”
“Not all of it… yet.”
He scrubbed his hands over his faintly bearded chin. “This must be a test.”
“A test? What are you talking about?”
“None of this makes sense. How you found me. How your grandmother got my clan’s book, a book so sacred no one but the Keeper is allowed to read it.”
“You have a Keeper. Wait… you mean you haven’t read the book? Are you kidding?” He didn’t look like he was kidding. “I have no idea how Grandma got it. I saw her with it once. I thought it was her journal. That’s what I was searching for when I found Isabel’s. All the women in our family kept journals.” On her father’s side anyway.
Faelan looked from the picture to her and frowned. “I have to find out how she got it.”
“Does it matter? It’s safe now.”
“It matters. The book is life and death to our clan. ”
That explained why he was so uptight. “You can have it if you’ll drop the amnesia crap and tell me who you are and how you got inside the time vault.”
Faelan opened his mouth to speak, and the window behind him shattered. Before she could scream, Faelan had his arms around her and dove, flinging both of them onto the bed. His body covered hers, her head tucked safely against his chest, from accuser to protector in a second. He looked at the window, drew in a harsh breath, and lurched to his feet, pulling her with him. Bree heard an ungodly growl and glimpsed something tall and gray with yellow eyes as more pieces of the glass broke.
“Get to the attic. Now!” Faelan pushed her into the hall. “Lock the door and stay away from the windows.”
“Come with me,” she pleaded, gripping his arm.
His face looked like a relic carved from stone. He glanced back at the thing trying to get inside. “I can’t. Now go!”
***
The minute Bree was out of the room, Faelan leapt toward the window, but the creature had already withdrawn. He reached for his dirk. Damnation. She still had it. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d fought empty handed. He climbed out the window and took off after the monster, but the thing was gone. The familiar hum flowed through his body, anticipating a battle, but this fear was new. He looked back at the broken glass. He couldn’t go after the creature and protect Bree. What if there were others? If he was outnumbered or needed to use his talisman and wasn’t strong enough to stop them all, eventually they’d get inside.
He’d lost his touch. He’d meant to rest his eyes, not fall asleep. He should have forced her to leave, angry or not, or at least warned her what might be hiding in her backyard.
After he killed this monster, he’d tell her as much as he could. Soften it up, try not to scare her. She might be braver than most women, but they were all gentle at heart. Finding him alive in a graveyard was nothing compared to the horror waiting out there. Only one kind of creature walked on two legs and had eyes like a snake.
***
Bree locked the attic door behind her and watched from the window as Faelan vanished like a phantom between the graves. Shadows lengthened and danced until she couldn’t tell if they were men or ghosts or trees. What was that thing? Why was it trying to get inside the house?
Unclenching her hand, she slipped the tarnished cross over her head. The smell of lavender hung in the air. Grandma had dried the flowers here to make sachets. Bree let the scent calm her, focus her thoughts. Faelan’s instinct to protect told her he couldn’t have killed the man in the woods. He’d shielded her. Again. She’d never seen anyone move as fast as he had to get her clear of the breaking glass, and now he was out there defending her while she had his dagger hidden in a boot in her closet. Forget this.
She unlocked the door and hurried down the stairs to her bedroom before she lost her nerve. She dug Faelan’s dagger out of the boot, shoved her foot inside, and headed out the back door. There was no sound, not even the lonely hoot of the owl that had kept her company for several nights. Part of her wanted to run back inside and hide, but she couldn’t let Faelan face this thing unarmed. She grabbed the broom she’d left on the porch and moved toward the graveyard.
Quieting her demons and better judgment, she tucked the dagger in her boot and put her hand to
the metal gate, rough with weather and age. It creaked open as she stepped inside. She crept between the graves, expecting a monster to pop out from behind a headstone.
“Faelan?” she called softly as she neared the crypt. “Where are you?”
She heard a noise from the other side of the graveyard, and she saw something drop to the ground near the fence. She turned and ran past the gnarled oak tree to the back of the crypt. The ground disappeared. Throwing her arms up to protect her head, she landed hard, face down in the dirt. When she could breathe again, she crawled to her knees. She’d fallen into the open grave. Her ankle ached, but nothing was broken.
Another cry came from the chapel, like the one this morning. Faelan? Using the broom for leverage, Bree climbed out of the grave. A figure glided across the yard. Not Faelan. She started to jump back into the grave and hide, but Faelan could be hurt. Why hadn’t she listened to him when he wanted to leave? Too late now. She hobbled from the graveyard, not stopping until she stood inside the door of the ruins.
The darkness was thick, broken only by a shaft of moonlight through an arched window. She found the nearest corner and hid until her vision adjusted enough to make out shapes. A pillar—or was it a man? Something moved near the front of the old church. There was a shuffling noise, and another shadow darted off to her side. How many people were here?
“Faelan?” she whispered, creeping behind the pillar.
A hand clamped tight over her mouth, as an arm pulled her against a hard body. Her broom dropped. She kicked back with one foot—the sore one—and heard a grunt echo her own.
“It’s me.” Faelan’s voice was little more than a warm breath against her ear. Her body sagged into his. “Keep quiet. We’re not alone.”
“Who’s in here?” she whispered. Except for the campers, they’d never had trespassers. Now people were sneaking around everywhere, and she was afraid they weren’t people.
“Stay here, and don’t make a sound,” was his only answer.
“Don’t leave.”
“I’ll be back.” He squeezed her arm, and something brushed the top of her head. A spider? A kiss? She didn’t see him again until he passed in front of the window. A broad shape leapt at him, and Bree stifled a cry. His dagger! She still had it. Silhouetted in the moonlight, the two forms lunged and dodged, moving impossibly fast. She smelled the thing behind her before she heard the hiss. Her spine chilled, like cubes of ice had replaced bone. She slowly turned. Sharp teeth flashed as yellow eyes glittered in the dark.
Awaken the Highland Warrior Page 9
