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The minute Bree was out of the room, Faelan leapt toward the window, but the creature had already withdrawn.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
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.
