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
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
