Awaken the Highland Warrior

by Anita Clenney

  Druan opened a thick, wooden door behind him and stepped inside. Faelan waited, hoping the demon would come out and lead him to Bree. After fifteen minutes of hell, the door was still closed. If Druan was asleep, he could be bound with the shackles. Although it would be almost impossible to sneak up on a demon of old. Faelan listened for sounds inside, but all was quiet. He eased the door open, and the scene inside struck him with the force of a blow.

  Chapter 29

  She lay on her side in an opulent bed, her arm curved over her breasts. Long, dark hair spilled across a pale cheek. The demon lay behind her, his human arms holding her close, the woman he’d met outside the tavern. Not Isabel, but Bree. She was a halfling. That’s how she was able to draw his eyes. She’d seen them just days before he was locked in the time vault. He remembered how gracefully she’d descended from the carriage, the green of her gown, her smile, then the look of shock. Had she known then who he was? Had they been following him while he followed Grog? The two men with her were probably Druan’s minions. Had she watched while they locked him in the time vault and waited to wake him when it was time?

  Druan touched Bree’s shoulder, running his human hand over her arm and down her hip. With her eyes still closed, she smiled and murmured something, then reached for Druan’s hand. Pain roared through Faelan, ravaging everything in its path. Lies. All of it. The passion and kindness, the secret he’d seen in her eyes. All lies. He had no one to blame but himself for being deceived. The signs had been there. The key and the Book of Battles. She must have stolen them. Even if he destroyed the virus, with the book and the key, the Underworld would have the power to obliterate not only his clan, but the entire planet.

  He gripped his talisman. If he destroyed Druan now, Bree would die with him. No matter what she was, he couldn’t do it. Another warrior would have to kill her, which was why warriors were warned to avoid women. He started to move, when Druan turned and looked at him. Fear flashed over Druan’s handsome, human face, shifting into a cunning smile as he focused on a spot behind Faelan. The smell came too late for him to react. Not again.

  ***

  “Faelan, behind you!” Kieran shouted.

  Faelan turned from the three demons advancing on him, and a halfling’s blade sank deep into his left arm. The pain was fierce, but at least it wasn’t his sword arm or his head, where the halfling would’ve struck if Faelan had turned a second later. Holding his injured arm close to his side, he raised his sword and met the halfling’s blade. Metal pinged against metal as the half-human backed into a corner. Faelan’s arm tightened as he swung. The evil in the halfling’s eyes flashed a second before the head separated from the body, sizzling as it vanished.

  “Not bad for a novice,” Kieran said, before Faelan had even lowered his sword. He turned, gritting his teeth against the pain. Kieran grinned, but Faelan saw the concern in his mentor’s eyes before Kieran moved to help the others with the remaining demons. Faelan added his sword, and they quickly destroyed them.

  “You should’ve called for help,” Kieran said.

  “I thought I could handle it.”

  “The others can take care of this. Let’s get that arm fixed while there’s some blood left in you.”

  His arm burned like it had been gouged with a hot poker. This was his second battle since he left training and his first real injury. He was lucky he still had his head, and his arm. He never should have let the halfling sneak up on him. He followed Kieran through the corridors, clean except for the blood of warriors. Everything grew hazy.

  The battlefield changed. Smoke and sulfur filled the air as swords clashed amid screams of horror.

  He saw Kieran again, his face older, pale. He stood outside the circle of demons advancing on Faelan. Onwar, the ancient one, stood farther away, his teeth bared in a triumphant smile. Faelan knew he had to do something fast, or both he and Kieran would die. He couldn’t use his talisman on all of them; Onwar was too powerful. If he could kill Onwar by hand, then the talisman might be strong enough to take care of the rest.

  “Kieran, get out of here,” he yelled.

  Kieran’s face set. He dropped his sword and pulled his talisman from his shirt.

  Faelan’s eyes widened. “No!”

  “Close your eyes, Faelan,” Kieran said, his gaze resolute, sad.

  “No! Kieran. I can—”

  “Close your eyes, my friend.” Kieran didn’t give him time to react. He began the chant, and Faelan felt the air churn.

  No, his heart screamed. No. He pushed through the deformed bodies, shoving aside claws and swords as he tried to reach Kieran. The blinding light appeared. Faelan squeezed his eyes shut and threw his arms over his head. There were screams and the clatter of metal from the halflings’ swords. He opened his eyes, his breath raw. The demons were gone, except Onwar. The ancient demon let out a howl and leapt at Faelan. Faelan roared out his own rage and sprang, meeting Onwar in midair. He swung his sword with a ragged cry and took the weakened demon’s head. Faelan landed in a crouch, his throat closed, and forced himself to face the lifeless body on the castle battlement.

  A hiss shattered the dream, and Faelan cracked open one eye. His stomach heaved as the light pierced his head. He remembered something nasty being forced down his throat and Bree’s intimate smile as she reached for Druan’s hand.

  “How was your sleep, warrior?”

  Faelan’s head jerked. His vision was hazy, but he could see he was in a dungeon, smell the dank air. Druan stood by the door, his human lips curled in a sneer. Faelan flexed his muscles, and cold metal bit into his wrists.

  “Rejuvenating.” He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry as rawhide. “Michael sends his regards,” he rasped through a split lip.

  Druan’s skin rippled, bones lengthening, but he stopped the change. All the Underworld feared Michael, even the Dark One himself.

  “I’ve waited a long time for this,” Druan said, smiling. “You thought the war was the best I could do, but I had far bigger plans. I always have. This world will be mine, without the stench of humans.”

  “Tristol might have something to say about that. He didn’t seem pleased to learn about your virus.”

  “Tristol.” Druan spat the name. “He wasn’t supposed to see you. Grog was supposed to bring you later, after the others had gone, but Tristol won’t be a problem for long. I manipulated him and the others as easily as I did you.”

  “Bree’s trap worked. You have me. Now what?”

  Druan threw back his head, laughing so hard he almost shifted again. “Ah, it’s too good.”

  Faelan clenched his jaw. It ached like it was broken. “I’m honored that you’ve been waiting for me all this time,” he mocked.

  “Your family kept me entertained. Your brothers…” Druan smirked. “Little Alana. She grew into a lovely woman. So… generous.”

  His family? The fuzz in Faelan’s head wove itself into panic. He couldn’t let it show. “Still telling lies?”

  “I love a good lie, but this beats a fib by far.” Druan moved closer. “I couldn’t let your brothers get away with killing my sorcerer and ruining my virus. Your mother was quite distraught when I finished.”

  Faelan yanked at the chains until his right shoulder began to dislocate. He saw Druan’s satisfaction and stopped.

  “If you think it’s a lie, then take a look.” Druan slapped his scarred hand on Faelan’s forehead. He tried to jerk away, but the chains binding his wrists held fast. An image formed, his mother, her body draped over a coffin covered with flowers, her frail shoulders shaking with silent sobs. She looked so small. A low wail pulled from inside her hunched body, and she called a name. Ian. It was his brother’s funeral. There was a young woman, heavily pregnant, and a wee lad barely old enough to walk, clutching at her skirt. The lad’s lip quivered as he let go of his mother and touched a tiny hand to the wood coffin. Ian’s wife… and son?

  Druan pulled his hand away, and Faelan’s head fell forward. His surroundings swam
into focus, and he saw the demon’s twisted gloat.

  “Ian was magnificent. Crying out for his wife and son as he died, a week before she bore him twins.”

  Faelan’s blood raged, pumping anger and pain with each surge, like a nail driven inch by inch until it could go no more. “Don’t speak their names,” Faelan roared. “You’re not to speak their names!” He twisted and pulled. If he could reach his talisman. He yanked the chains, and his shoulder popped.

  A fist smashed into his face, slamming his head into the wall.

  “When you wake, we’ll talk about Bree,” Druan taunted as everything went black.

  ***

  Bree heard a soft noise like the wind. Something brushed her face. She opened her eyes, and a shadow disappeared into the high ceiling above her. Her head ached, and she felt like she’d cleaned the carpet with her tongue. She was in a bed. A huge bed. Jared’s? After she’d told him everything, he insisted on bringing her to his house. Why didn’t she remember getting here? The pills he’d given her for her headache must have been too strong, or she had a serious case of jet lag.

  Bree sat up and looked around the room. It was too dark for details, but the bed was king-size, the covers a rich brocade—not what she would’ve expected of Jared. What disturbed her more was the imprint of a head on the pillow next to hers. Had they slept in the same bed? She couldn’t remember anything, other than a dream of Faelan curled at her back. Bree peeked under the covers. She was still dressed, not that she thought Jared would take advantage of her.

  She got out of bed and tripped over her shoes. She had to find a phone. She’d slept away precious time. Her tote bag was in a chair that looked like it was made for a king. She slipped on her shoes and checked her watch. Five a.m. They’d left her house around ten last night. She had to find Jared and get out of here. Russell could have followed them. Bree went to the door, turned the knob, and registered three things. A gargoyle, voices, and stone. Everywhere she looked there was stone. She wasn’t at Jared’s.

  She was in Druan’s castle.

  Where was Jared? She eased back, heart thudding with dread, and peeked through the cracked door. Two men stood talking farther down the hall, except they didn’t look like men. They were tall and thick, with skin like leather. Like orcs. Long daggers were sheathed at their sides and swords hung across their backs.

  “I’ll guard her,” the first demon said. “You go to the dungeon and check on the warrior. If he escapes, it’ll be our hides.”

  Warrior? Not Faelan. He couldn’t be here.

  “You’re hoping Druan’ll give you a taste of her.”

  “He’d kill anyone who touches her, and you know it.”

  “It’s unnatural, how he watches her,” the second demon agreed. “I’ll go in a minute, after the sedative’s had more time to work. He almost broke my arm when we chained him to the wall.”

  It had to be Faelan. Why was he here? It was too soon.

  “What about the other one?”

  “Probably dead. Throw him on the buzzard,” he said with a nasty laugh.

  Bree’s chest constricted. Jared?

  “You’d better hurry before he gets back.”

  “Where is he?”

  “In the tower hiding the key.”

  Druan had the disk. There were two prisoners in the dungeon, one almost dead. Faelan and Jared? Russell must have followed them. Why couldn’t she remember anything? Bree eased the door shut, locked it, and examined her prison. Of course there were no phones. She’d have to rescue Faelan and Jared herself. She went to the window and eased the heavy draperies back. The sky was still dark. The best she could figure, she was on the second floor in the middle of the castle. Too high to jump.

  The secret passages. If she remembered correctly, they also led to the dungeon. The map should be in her tote, if Russell hadn’t taken it. She found the bag and located her tiny flashlight. Someone had gone through her things. Nothing was where it was supposed to be, except the map. Russell had missed the hidden side pocket.

  Bree ran a shaky finger over the faint lines running along several interior walls. According to the map, there was an access in the adjoining room, with a hidden door near the fireplace. Using the mini flashlight she carried after she’d gotten trapped in the tower, she inspected the elaborate fireplace and found the left lion’s head on the mantel was loose. She pushed, and a secret door opened.

  Stale air hit her in the face. With a death grip on her flashlight, Bree climbed inside. She had to get to the dungeon before Russell returned or the guards discovered her missing. Something slid across her foot, and she smothered a yelp. All this for a man who’d dumped her. No, not for a man. Bree was doing this for the world. She had to rescue the one who could save it. She’d worry about her heart later.

  And she had to free Jared. He didn’t deserve this. One more turn, and she found narrow, curved steps that led to the first floor. Several times she heard muffled voices. Stepping softly, as she’d seen Faelan do, she came to a dead end. She searched the wall and found a notch. A section swung open and she saw steps leading down into a dark hole.

  The dungeon.

  Dank air coated her lungs as she crept down the stairs. Her flashlight cut a beam through the darkness. At the bottom, she stood still and listened. The lack of moaning was a relief, until she considered what the alternative could be. Moving quickly, she peered in the open doors and saw chains and torture instruments, but there was no sign of Faelan or Jared.

  Deep in the dungeon, a dim light shone, no brighter than a night-light. Beyond it, she found two doors, both locked. On the wall between, she saw a glint of metal. She swung her flashlight. Two sets of keys. She grabbed them both and pointed her light at the lock. The first set worked. The lock clicked open. She pushed the heavy door, nerves crawling with every creak. Someone would surely hear.

  The sight inside ripped all else from her mind. Faelan was half lying on a crude, stone surface, his hands chained so high on the wall his upper body dangled, his arm twisted awkwardly.

  “Faelan?” She ran to him and pressed her ear to his heart. She heard the slow, steady thump. A ragged cry wrenched from inside her. “What are you doing here?” Holding the flashlight in her mouth, she ran her hands over him, checking for broken bones. His talisman was still under his shirt. Russell must not know its power. A huge lump marred one side of Faelan’s head, and his bottom lip was covered in blood where it had split. His cheek was discolored and raw.

  Bree dropped a soft kiss on the side of his mouth and tugged in vain at the heavy chains. She tried the second key, but it took several tries to get the rusty lock open. She released his right wrist, gently lowering his arm onto his chest. His shoulder was dislocated. His head rolled to the side, the weight of his body digging the shackle deeper into the flesh of the wrist still trapped. She struggled to support his weight while she freed his left arm. He sagged against her, his shirt gapping open, his battle marks exposed. Tears trickled down her cheeks and dropped onto his chest as she held him.

  God grant this warrior’s aim be true as his heart. Bend time and bring forward, his mate beside him, not apart. Bree whipped around, but she was alone. There was no time to figure out where the disembodied voice came from.

  “Faelan, wake up. We’ve got to go.” Her efforts to pull him to a sitting position were useless. She wasn’t strong enough to move him. And she still had to find Jared. A noise sounded outside, and she stopped breathing. It came again, the brush of a shoe on stone. Someone was coming, and they didn’t want to be heard. She checked that Faelan was lying secure before moving toward the door. A pile of rags lay in the corner, a boot beside it.

  Jared?

  “I’ll come back for you, Jared. I promise.” She turned off the light, stuck her head out, and saw a shadow dart into another hallway. Carrying her shoes, she felt her way back toward the secret passage. Her fingers shook as she searched for the notch. The stone wall scraped open. She hurried inside and closed the entrance, ago
nizing over each lost second.

  After a minute of quiet, she slid her finger into the notch. A light tap sounded from outside. Yanking her hand back, she listened to the soft searching sounds on the other side. Easing away, she turned and fled, taking the first turn she saw, and soon found herself lost in a maze of tunnels.

  She checked her watch. Fifteen minutes had passed. Too long. Choosing a random direction, she ran into one dead end after another. She opened at least ten secret doors, expecting to be discovered, then she found a small, wooden doorway, surprising in a place made of stone. She eased it open and bumped into a huge tapestry. Pulling back the edge, she saw a room with several men—or creatures—seated at a table. They were discussing something in a language she couldn’t understand, but the emotion translated well. Excitement. She had to hurry. She stepped back and tiptoed the other way. One last turn, and she came to a wall that seemed familiar. She opened the door and stumbled onto the dungeon stairs, welcoming the musty air. Praying whoever was there had gone, she aimed her light and rushed toward the room where she’d left Faelan and Jared. She opened the heavy door. Empty chains dangled from the wall.

  Faelan was gone.

  It couldn’t have been him outside the secret passageway. He wasn’t even conscious. Bree moved toward Jared, still motionless in the corner. The back of his head was matted with blood, and he lay too still. Tears blurred her eyes as she knelt and rolled him over. She stared at his bloodied face, illuminated by her flashlight. Her body went cold. “No. God, no.”

  The soft tap of a shoe behind her alerted her that she wasn’t alone. “Where have you hidden my warrior?” The voice was quiet. And terribly familiar. Bree slowly turned, her body weak with shock.

  Druan.

  Chapter 30

  Faelan held tight to Conall’s shoulders as the fence came into view. “Slow down.” His shoulder ached, and his legs wobbled like a new foal’s.