exist.
Thunder rumbled in the distance as she reached for the blinds. A storm was coming. A flash of lightning streaked the sky, and something moved at the edge of the woods. A deer. Or a camper. A few campers always showed up here lost. Since Grandma Emily thought she was a cross between Martha Stewart and Mother Teresa, it wasn’t unusual for the visitors to stay for hours.
What if it was the person who locked Faelan inside the burial vault? Had he seen her dragging Faelan across the backyard? Could Faelan’s weakness have been a ploy to get inside? Thief or ghost, his fever was real. So was the lump on his head. Bree locked the window and closed the blind. Still, it might be wise to hide her valuables. Her Civil War collection was on loan to one of the universities. She doubted anyone would want her books or artifacts. The only real thing of value to a thief would be the two-carat diamond earrings Grandma had given Bree before she died. The earrings had been in her family as long as the disk.
Out of habit, Bree touched her ears and found the left one bare. She hurried to the mirror, confirming her fear, and got another shock at her appearance. Her cheek looked like a microdermabrasion treatment gone bad, and her diamond wasn’t the only thing missing. A few inches below her ear, a chunk of hair had been sheared. She stared at the thin, pink line where the dagger had grazed her throat. Her missing earring was the least of her worries. Was she insane to take this risk?
Something bothered her about this whole thing, more than the peculiarity of finding a live man buried in a crypt.
She wasn’t comfortable leaving him unguarded, so after showering, she dressed again, removed his ice pack, and pulled the rocking chair close to the bed. The wind howled outside as she listened to the steady rhythm of the chair and tried to collect her thoughts. The walls faded and the room disappeared.
Bree launched out of the chair, the scent of lavender strong in the air. She stared at the naked man tangled in her sheets. Twice he’d called the chest a time vault.
Forget vampires… there was a demon in her bed!
Chapter 3
Grandma’s story was no fairy tale. The legend of warriors and demons battling for the fate of mankind was true. Bree had opened the demon’s prison, tucked him into her bed, and let him kiss her.
She grabbed her tote bag, car keys, and the dagger. Halfway down the front steps, she stopped. It wasn’t because she was barefoot and it was the middle of a stormy night. This was her home, where she’d spent nearly every summer growing up. Her haven. She wasn’t running away. She’d done too much of that the past few months. No one would make her leave again, not even a demon. There must be some way to send him back. Her heart gave a funny little wrench when she thought about his kiss and how much he looked like her Highland warrior. But a legend was one thing; playing hostess to a demon was another.
Bree put down her bag, keys, and the dagger and punched in the number to Jared’s cell phone. She should’ve told him about the map before. He was her best friend. After leaving a jumbled message asking him to call, she started to dial 911, but there was no way anyone would believe Faelan was a demon who’d been locked in a time vault awaiting Judgment. She wouldn’t, if she hadn’t opened the darned thing.
Holding the dagger in front of her, she tiptoed down the hall to her bedroom. His dark head rested against her pillow, hand curled low on his stomach, where the sheet had slipped. She was struck by an insane desire to crawl in next to him, cuddle up and… cripes! Was he manipulating her mind in his sleep? She yanked the door closed, smashed her finger, and bit back a yelp.
Her grandmother had said to find the book. What book? She had as many as Bree. Bree headed to the attic, where the books were being stored while she finished the library. Help Faelan? How? She crossed the dusty floor, passing decades of history she hadn’t fully explored. Every minute she wasn’t working on the house she’d spent tending the graveyard, reading Isabel’s journal, or watching the archeologists dig. She hadn’t written in her own journal in months.
After searching several boxes, Bree was about to give up when she heard a thump a few feet away. A book lay on the floor.
Bree unclasped the straps, opened the book, and stared at the name written in faded ink on the yellowed page.
Her blood hummed. Was it possible? All those summers she’d visited as a child, had he been in there waiting for someone to wake him? She read on and found names and dates.
The book said warriors had talismans. Was that what Faelan wore around his neck? Was he a demon who’d stolen a talisman, or a warrior who’d hijacked a time vault? Bree ran her finger down the entries, searching for his name, but there were so many, and the writing so hard to read it could take days, weeks. Several pages later, she found something that made her mouth drop.
