Awaken the Highland Warrior

That she was too old not to have a husband. Unmarried at twenty-six would have been a spinster in his time.

“I don’t have much luck with men.” She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until he lifted one sexy eyebrow in disbelief.

“You can’t be serious?”

“I can’t find a good one.” With those ears of his, she’d have to be more careful what she said. She had a tendency to talk to herself, something Jared teased her about. Jared. “You know, the archeologists will be back in a few days. You’ll have to stay hidden.”

“Aye. We can’t have your reputation sullied.”

Her reputation sullied? “I was thinking of someone asking questions.” She glanced at his kilt. “You said no one could know about you. I could say you’re Cousin Reggie. He owes me.” She pictured the crypt rising from the weathered gravestones, the old tree hanging over the top like a shroud, and remembered the crippling fear. Screams. And blood. The memory stopped there, as it always did.

“What in tarnation is that?” Faelan asked, looking out the window at a silver glint in the sky.

“An airplane.”

“Airplane?” The word sounded as strange on his tongue as computer had. He watched the white line cut through the clouds, and she could see a thousand questions in his eyes. His astonishment erased any lingering doubts. She took pity on him, knowing he must be dying of curiosity, too.

“It’s remarkable how much travel has changed in the last century. We’ve gone from carriages and hot air balloons to airplanes that can carry hundreds of people anywhere in the world in less than a day.”

“You jest?” he murmured, obviously forgetting his amnesia as he watched the plane disappear, his expression a mixture of fascination and alarm.

If he wasn’t the demon, why didn’t he admit who he was?

***

When the last of the policemen had gone, the tall man slipped from the woods, carrying the shovel he’d taken from the dig. He hurried through the graveyard, stopping at the back of the crypt. Counting off five paces from the corner, he approached the third grave. Just as the paper had said, a headstone with no name. He heard a cry and something white swooped overhead. A huge owl settled in the gnarled tree, tucked in its wings, and watched with steady, round eyes. Was this a bad omen? Swallowing, he raised the shovel and drove it deep into the earth.

Chapter 6

Druan stood in front of the antique mirror inspecting his human form. He leaned closer, peering at a tiny line in his forehead. The furrow surprised him. Was that a wrinkle? He’d been here too long. The humans were rubbing off on him. It wouldn’t be much longer. Soon all the pieces would be in place. He wouldn’t fail this time. He couldn’t, not with the Underworld watching to see if he would outdo his father’s plague and Tristol still gloating over his precious HIV.

This new virus would make Tristol’s AIDS look like child’s play. Druan’s shell started to shift just thinking about Tristol. The demon was even more despicable than the humans. Demon? Druan sneered. He knew Tristol’s secret. Druan had caught him in the act. If only he were free to reveal it. But he had secrets of his own to protect. A knock sounded. “Enter.”

“You called, Master?” This minion was new, not one he’d seen before.

Come to think of it, there had been several new faces in the last few days. He’d killed so many, he supposed Grog had found it necessary to replace them. “Did they find it?”

“No, Master, but we found a coffin.”

“A coffin?” Druan let out a frustrated roar and then forced himself to inhale and exhale, slow and steady. In human form, he’d found deliberate intakes of oxygen to be calming. He’d found it necessary too much of late. Here he was, ready to wake the warrior, and both the vault and the key were missing. He should have killed the warrior when he had the chance, but he’d needed to test the time vault. If it did what he suspected, he would have more power than he’d dreamed. “This wasn’t a coffin.”

“Are you sure this is the place?”

“I saw it buried myself.” He’d watched the lid close and the key turn in the lock.

“Maybe it’s been moved,” the minion suggested.

No one knew where it was except those who’d buried it, and most of them were dead. Tristol, Malek, and Voltar weren’t there. Druan had waited until they were gone before burying the time vault. Had one of them spied on him? Tristol? Had Tristol stolen the time vault? He’d probably dug it up and replaced it with a coffin for spite. He was near. Druan was sure of that. This morning he’d found another minion slaughtered on the front lawn. If this kept up, someone would notice the vultures.

Druan turned to the minion. “If the time vault has been moved, it couldn’t have gone far. It was heavy as a ship.” He’d tortured a young warrior decades ago, attempting to discover how they transported the vaults, but the warrior had stayed loyal until death.

Another knock sounded, and Malek walked into the room without waiting for permission. The minion dropped his head in deference as Malek passed.

“The human is here,” Malek said, brushing the streak of silver adorning his thick, auburn hair.

“Let him wait,” Druan said, wishing he could throw Malek out, or at least figure out why he was here. But he couldn’t refuse hospitality to one of the League. He turned to the minion. “Time’s running out. Find the vault or you’ll be replaced.”

He would’ve checked on it sooner, but he’d been so busy with the war and trying to salvage his lost virus, while convincing the rest of the League that the warrior had lied. He’d never dreamed someone might move the damned thing.

The minion kept his head lowered. “Yes, Master.” He followed Malek from the room, and Druan thought he saw a smirk.

That one needed watching. With minions, you never knew when they’d turn on you. If this wasn’t over soon,