hellhound and stopped breathing as the footsteps drew near. A tall, well-dressed man with a shocking streak of silver in his auburn hair passed by. Was that Druan?
The man stopped outside a door, peered up and down the hall, then fiddled with a lock. The door opened, and he darted inside. Why would Druan break into a room in his castle? A crash sounded, followed by a raised voice. Bree hurried inside an arched doorway and almost dropped to her knees. The room was two stories tall with bookshelves lining the walls from floor to ceiling. The castle library. She gazed in awe imagining the stories, the history held there. But this was a demon’s castle, and Faelan’s life was in danger. She didn’t have time to look at old books. Bree started to leave, when she felt the air shift and pressure against her back, like a hand. She bumped into a tall table and grabbed it to steady herself, dislodging a book.
It couldn’t be. Just like that? She’d always been fascinated with castles, studied them, visited several, gotten lost in a few. Most had a written history, often including a map. If she could find one, she’d get to Faelan far faster than stumbling around looking for stairs. She opened the book to the back. There it was, a meticulous diagram, like an answer to a prayer. Someone was watching out for her.
She ripped the fragile page from the book and started to leave, when she saw a glass case in the center of the room. A broadsword lay inside on a black velvet cloth. She moved closer, her head spinning, noting the length, the polish of the metal, the ornate hilt, like the one her Highland warrior held in the painting. Here in the demon’s castle. Her stomach rolled as she remembered the old painting that looked like Faelan, the same sword. She’d rescued him from a time vault made for demons. Could Faelan be the demon? Why hadn’t he hurt her? Why kill those halflings? Halflings! She touched her stomach. Oh God. She’d slept with him.
A door slammed outside, and she heard male voices. She peeked down the hall. Two men stood outside a door, so immersed in conversation they didn’t see her. One was older, shoulders bent, his hair white, and the other tall and muscular, dark blond.
Russell.
***
Faelan stepped out of the shower, slipping in his haste. He didn’t want Bree to come home and find him in her bathroom. Well, part of him did, but it wouldn’t be wise. He’d stayed out longer than he planned, exploring the area. He’d found the yellow tape in the woods and the blood-stained earth. He’d picked up an odd scent. Sweet. Not animal, not demon. Not that a demon wasn’t responsible. Too much time had passed to tell. A demon’s scent was terrible but faded quickly. The incident left him with an unsettled feeling as he blocked the crypt and covered the grave.
The run had helped, connected both parts of him, the one that was one hundred and seventy-eight and the one that was twenty-seven. He’d reconciled himself to the fact that his family was gone. He wouldn’t see them again in this lifetime. The only thing he could give them now was a safe world for their descendents. The run hadn’t done a thing to ease his hunger for Bree, but he was beginning to think nothing would. Making love to her had made it worse. He couldn’t allow it to happen again. There weren’t just bairns and disease to worry about. The box he’d slipped into the cart would take care of that, but distraction from his mission could mean the end of humanity.
He dried off and inspected his arm. Looked better than it had before. He bandaged the wound, lifted his arms, and smeared the stuff on his oxters that kept a man from sweating. It hadn’t stopped this generation from bathing every day. With these fancy showers and Jacuzzis, having hot water at the touch of a hand, he couldn’t blame them. Wiping the steam from the mirror, he lathered his face with something that smelled like flowers and ran a tiny razor over his chin. Even his father couldn’t have cut himself with one of these. A man who’d wielded a sword all his life shouldn’t have had so much trouble removing whiskers.
Swords! Damnation. He had to get rid of those in the chapel before Bree found them. He’d never seen a woman so interested in weapons. It wasn’t natural. He tucked the towel around his waist and padded across the hall to his bedroom. After dressing in jeans and a T-shirt, he grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. His mother would have loved this kitchen. With freezers and ovens and microwaves, she could’ve baked for an army. At times, she did, with help from their grumpy old cook, Nan.
Faelan drained the bottle, set it on the counter, and headed out to the chapel. Enough daylight remained to see the interior of the chapel was a mess. Crumbling stones, pillars toppled. It was a wonder the roof held. He gathered the fallen swords and one small knife, looking for a place to hide them until they could be cleansed. There was a large pile of debris near the front. Must be the collapsed wall Bree mentioned. Perhaps he could hide the swords behind the stones. He entered a small recess and saw rubble piled in front of a gaping hole. She could’ve been killed. Then he noticed the rough-hewn steps. It was a hidden doorway. Bree hadn’t mentioned a secret cellar. She must not know, or she’d have knocked the wall down long ago. It would suffice. After he piled up the stones, she’d never know there’d been an entrance here.
Carrying the swords, he carefully descended the worn steps. It was black as Hades down here. The entire thing was underground, no windows. He tuned his vision, trying to make out the shapes. Against the far wall, he saw a coffin. Was this a catacomb? He hid the weapons in the corner and went to examine his find. When he was close enough to make out the details, he saw it wasn’t a coffin at all.
It was a time vault.
Chapter 15
Bree’s breath pierced her lungs like icicles. What was Russell doing in the demon’s castle? Was he working with Druan? Why else would he be here? Had the whole relationship been an evil scheme? The chance meeting in the antique store. The reconnection of kindred souls.
A darker picture formed in her mind, one that made her stomach revolt. Had she been seduced by Druan himself? And how had the sword from her picture gotten into the demon’s castle? Was Faelan involved, too, or had Druan stolen it?
The men walked away, heads close, their strained whispers carrying to where she hid. She could tell from Russell’s posture that he wasn’t happy. The old man glanced over his shoulder, and Bree jumped back, her fingers digging into the wall. If she gave in to the shock, she’d have dropped to the floor and bawled, but she didn’t have time to cry. She had to move fast.
The map showed a staircase to the dungeon on the opposite side of the castle. She ran past several doors, stopping when she heard a woman’s voice. Bree cautiously looked inside. It was a sitting area filled with antiques and more medieval weapons. A woman lounged on a low sofa that must have dated back to the eighteenth century. She was slender but full-bodied, her hair jet black, lips red, with fingernails to match. Bree had never seen anyone so beautiful. She was drawn to the woman. Was this a premonition? Did the woman need help? Maybe she was a prisoner here, one of those females demons used for breeding. Bree debated approaching her, when the woman flowed to her feet, sinuously running her hands up her body, through her long, silky hair. The hands that emerged didn’t have red polish. They each had four hoof-like fingers tipped with long claws. A female demon. The woman laughed, her voice seductive, as her forearms began to ripple. Shaken, Bree covered her mouth and backed away.
She had to find Faelan. Which way to go? Druan on one side, this creature on the other.
