“I counted ten.”
“I killed two before you got there. I’m trying to keep you alive, but you’re making it bloody hard.”
Bree sighed. “I’m going to see Janie. If her boyfriend can trace the tag number on that vehicle from last night, we’ll know where to start looking for Druan. And I think he knows some people who might be able to get you a passport and fake driver’s license.”
“It’s not safe to go alone.”
“You can’t go with me. If Janie sees you in person, you can forget protecting clan secrets. You think I ask questions. I’ll be back in a few hours. You can raid the fridge and flip through the TV channels to your heart’s desire. Your sex likes that.”
“My sex?” Faelan readjusted the pillow.
Bree picked up a camera and pointed it at him. “I need a photo in case he can get you an ID,” she said stiffly, and clicked a button. She rushed from the room, leaving him wondering who he wanted to kill first, Druan or Jared. Faelan had held her, made love to her, and here she was, defending another man. She obviously regretted last night. He heard the shower turn on and wondered if she was trying to wash him off her skin. He showered in the hall bathroom, and when he came out, she was gone. A note on the kitchen counter said she’d be back in a few hours. What kind of society allowed women to go rushing off into danger without a thought for their safety?
Enlightened? Advanced? Hell, they were insane.
He stormed through the house looking for his kilt. She must have thrown it away. His body thrummed with tension. He needed exercise. He needed to ride Nandor, and he needed his sword. Except for the battle in the chapel and chopping wood, he’d been still for too long, hiding inside like a lass. Some fresh air and sunshine might clear his head. Maybe he’d run into a demon. A fight would relieve some of his frustration.
He pulled on his boots and heard a car turn onto the driveway. Bree must have forgotten something. He’d talk some sense into her if he had to tie her to a chair. He hurried outside and moved around toward the driveway, when he noticed this car sounded different. It didn’t rumble. A strange vehicle rolled up to the house, and Faelan dove behind an apple tree, slamming his arm into the ground. He felt fresh blood soak the bandage and trickle down his arm. A man got out. Her friend, Peter. He went to the door, knocked, and when no one answered, he wrote something on a piece of paper, stuck it on her door, and left.
Faelan read the paper. “Call me. Having trouble tracing your friend’s name. Urgent.” It wasn’t enough that demons were hunting him, now the authorities were after him, too. He went inside, still dripping blood, and fixed his bandage. The cut would’ve been nearly healed if he hadn’t used so much energy with the talisman while he still hadn’t regained full strength from the time vault. He crossed the backyard and started running along the old trail. In Scotland, he’d raced against Nandor to keep ready for battle. The last time Faelan had seen the stallion, Nandor had followed along the fence, neighing softly, as if he’d known Faelan was never coming back.
Everything Faelan knew was dead, even his horse.
God wasn’t dead. Michael wasn’t dead. Did Michael even know he was awake?
There was no going back. He couldn’t change what was done. He started running again, slowly at first, then picking up speed, until his thoughts were banished and all that touched him was the wind. He could feel Nandor running beside him, could hear the whinny of excitement as the stallion surged ahead. For miles he ran, feeling nothing but the life pumping through his veins, his feet pounding the earth, the talisman slapping his chest as Nandor urged him on.
***
Bree ran her finger across the drop of blood on Faelan’s bedroom floor, stark fear erasing her earlier worries of pregnancy and disease. Druan’s demons must have come back for Faelan. She shouldn’t have left. He was still weak from using his talisman. The car must belong to one of his minions. They’d probably taken Faelan there. She grabbed the DMV report and hurried to the computer, working for once. She printed the directions from MapQuest, snatched her tote bag, and raced out of the house to rescue Faelan yet again.
Foot to the floor, she flew past familiar streets, onto a small road she didn’t know existed, and another so isolated she doubted God knew it was there. She’d have been less surprised to see Disney World than the stone castle outlined against the sky. At either end, towers stretched toward the heavens, dark and forbidding. Thick forests surrounded the castle, blocking out the fading sun. This wasn’t the home of a minion. This was a demon’s lair, and it felt familiar.
Faelan had told her the demon would have a base nearby, but she hadn’t expected a castle or an iron fence like the Great Wall. A dungeon. The castle probably had a dungeon. That’s where they’d keep him. If he was alive.
Something moved in front of the massive structure. She slowed the car as two huge vultures took flight, then continued past the heavy gates until she found an opening in the trees where she could hide her car. Across the road, a large tree grew next to the fence bordering the castle, a good place to climb and jump the fence.
After hiding the car, she whispered a prayer, tossed her sandals over the fence, and hiked up her skirt. She got a firm grip on the lower branch of the tree and started climbing barefoot. At the top of the fence, she slipped a foot between the iron bars and swung over. That scumbag rock climber she’d dated hadn’t been a complete waste after all. She dropped to the other side and bent over, hands on her knees, as she caught her breath. How would she get Faelan back over the wall if he couldn’t walk? First, she’d have to find him.
The first-floor windows were covered with bars. She’d have to find another way in. She darted from tree to bush until she was a hundred feet from the castle and then ran. Pressing her back flat against the wall, she dried her sweaty palms on her denim skirt and switched her cell phone to vibrate, in case it rang. Russell had wrecked everything else. It’d be just like him to spoil the only covert mission of her entire life. Keeping to the shadows, she slipped around to the back of the castle and found a door unlocked. It opened to a pantry behind a large kitchen. Empty. She peeked out into a corridor wide enough for her Mustang.
The walls and floors were made of stone, and draperies covered windows taller than a house. Statues stood in the corners, and ancient weaponry decorated every space. A battle-ax and a war club hung next to a lance. Even without examining them, she was certain they were authentic. There were a few pieces that didn’t resemble anything she’d seen, and she was an expert. After Faelan destroyed Druan, she would come back, but now, she had to find the dungeon. There must be stairs somewhere.
Holding a shoe in each hand, she darted from statue to statue, hiding behind each one until she was sure the way was clear. Footsteps rang on the stone. There was no place to hide. She squatted behind a fat statue of a
