“What did he look like?” the monster snarled.
The man shrank back. “T-tall. It was too dark to see anything,” he lied, not knowing why the monster cared.
“Did you hear his name?” Long teeth gnashed inches from his face.
“No,” he lied again, afraid to say more.
The monster turned to the skinny man beside him. Or was he another monster hiding under human skin? There was a bulge under his shirt, like a bandage, and the man looked as terrified as he felt.
“You didn’t tell me anyone was with her, Grog. Two centuries I’ve kept you, helped you increase in power, and you hide this from me? You’ve seen the man. Was it him?”
The skinny man’s skin rippled. “Master, I didn’t see anyone—”
“Liar.” The monster swiped with one of his claws, and Grog smashed into the wall. Half his face was gone. “If it’s the warrior, the plan will have to be altered. Keep looking, and find out the man’s name, or you’ll be keeping Grog company.”
The man ran from the room, sick with fear. He wiped his clammy forehead and tried to think. He was almost certain he had what the monster wanted. He’d found it by sheer luck when he’d stepped on a loose floorboard. If he gave it to him now, though, the monster would have no reason to keep him alive.
The hair rose on his neck. A stranger with long, raven hair stood in a dark doorway with a smug look on a face that was startlingly handsome after the earlier nightmare. The stranger watched from the shadows as two men talked farther down the corridor, one not fully human, the other immaculate, his hair streaked with silver.
When he looked back, the raven-haired stranger had vanished. This place was rife with secrets as well as horrors. He had to warn her. It was too late for him, but she shouldn’t have to pay for his sins.
***
Faelan gripped the arms of the seat, trying not to look at the earth disappearing below. His stomach dropped as the plane rose higher. He couldn’t remember what he’d eaten last, but he’d be lucky if it stayed down. Hot air balloons were one thing; this was madness. A big metal bird hurtling through the sky. He hadn’t stopped sweating since he stepped into the airport terminal carrying his fake birth certificate, driver’s license, and passport. In his time, a man’s name and his reputation were all the proof he needed.
At least the documents bore his real name. He didn’t know how he’d repay Bree. She’d given the man a wad of money that would have fed a family for a year, in his day. He was going to owe her his first bairn. If he ever had one.
“Can we change seats?” he asked Bree, averting his gaze from the clouds rolling past his window.
Her lips twitched. She patted his hand and stood in the aisle while he unbuckled and slid over. He didn’t dare try to stand, so she was forced to climb over him, her backside in his face as she took her seat. It was the only time his stomach had stopped rolling since he boarded this death trap. He wondered if the flight attendant would let her sit in his lap so he wouldn’t have to think about how long it would take for them to plummet from the sky.
Bree sat down and slid a cover over the window. Damnation. He wished he’d known the thing closed. He could’ve pretended he was in a car and worried instead about what he’d find when they arrived in Scotland. He started feeling almost normal until she said, “You’ll be fine. These things hardly ever crash.”
The plane landed none too soon, and he had to do it all over again. If he wasn’t afraid the disease would be released, he’d take a ship back to New York. Or did Bree expect him to stay in Scotland?
They rented a car at the airport, and after Bree finished chattering about having to drive on the wrong side of the road, Faelan got his first view of his homeland in more than a hundred and fifty years. This wasn’t the Scotland he remembered. Quaint villages had been replaced with crowds and buildings and cars, but outside the towns, the place was much the same. Homesickness gripped him as the scenery rolled by, flowers and sheep dotting hills and glens, farmhouses with curls of smoke drifting from stone chimneys.
“Look at those border collies. And sheep. I think there are more sheep here than people.” She turned her head as they passed a flock, and the car veered into the path of an oncoming vehicle.
“Watch out!” he yelled, grabbing for the wheel. They’d be lucky if they lived to meet his family, with Bree talking and driving and looking all at the same time.
“I see it,” she said, wrestling the car into the lane.
Trouble was, she wanted to see everything. At once.
“Look at that field of heather, and beyond it, the mist hanging over the valley. Can’t you picture the men in their kilts, raising their swords for battle? Oh my gosh, you experienced it, for real.”
He hadn’t battled other clans, but he’d battled many a demon on this soil.
“And the sky, it’s so… Scotlandy.”
“Scotlandy?”
“Just like I pictured Scotland. But better. I should have traveled here years ago.”
He was glad she was so enthralled with the land where he’d spent most of his youth. There was a kind of rightness about it all. It helped ease his worry over what he’d find when he arrived. He leaned his head back as she prattled on about fairies and kelpie, letting the gentle motion of the car and the scenery soothe his nerves. He wished he could show her the fields where he’d run and played with his brothers, the cold river where he’d caught fish and cooked them over a fire and frozen his arse off when the water was deep enough for swimming. The hidden cave where he’d camped, pretending to be a warrior long before he was. No matter where he roamed, the Highlands would always be home. Home. He closed his eyes.
“Faelan?”
Faelan woke with a start. Bree was shaking him.
“We’re almost there.”
