***
A noise pulled Bree from her restless dreams. She opened heavy lids and saw Ronan leaning against the door, arms crossed over his chest, watching her. Or was it Declan? He wore Levi’s and a black T-shirt. “Oh,” she said, sitting up from her awkward position. Had she snored or drooled in her sleep?
“Ah, Sleeping Beauty awakes.”
Ronan. There was that sexy lilt to his voice.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to know you don’t snore.”
Thank God for small favors. “I fell asleep.”
“Must have been a good book.” He glanced from her bookless lap to the floor, but didn’t comment. “I’d wager you’re stiff as a board.”
“More like a steel beam.” She liked Ronan. He was easy to talk to, if you didn’t get distracted by his body and face.
“It’s not yet dawn. You could stretch out on a real bed.”
Bree’s stomach rumbled softly.
“Or we could raid the kitchen. I was headed there when I heard the moan.”
“Moan?”
“You must have been dreaming.” He gave her a grin that should’ve been outlawed.
“Do all warriors have Superman hearing?”
“Afraid so. The caped hero has nothing on us.”
“He can fly.”
“Well, there is that.”
Bree rubbed her tummy. “I
“Then let’s see what treats Coira’s hiding from me.”
“She hides food from you?” Bree followed him out of the library.
“From all of us. Warrioring works up a hearty appetite.”
She knew a warrior with a hearty appetite, she thought sadly. “Then lead on, and I’ll blame it all on you.”
He led her into the kitchen and flipped on a light. “I’d bet my dirk she’s got cookies hidden somewhere.” Looking around the big, cozy kitchen, he went straight to the refrigerator, where he reached up and grabbed a cookie jar hidden behind some boxes. It sounded like he groaned. “Shortbread. Coira makes the best.” He took one, bit it, and held the rest to Bree’s mouth. “Try it. Don’t worry. I don’t have cooties, and my hands are clean. I haven’t scratched my ass all day.”
She smiled and took a nibble. “That is good.”
He took another and handed her the jar. “Coira says it’s Faelan’s mother’s recipe.”
Bree stopped chewing, but Faelan had already ruined her sleep; she wouldn’t let him ruin her appetite too.
Ronan pointed to a cabinet. “Grab a couple of glasses, and I’ll get the milk.”
“You must spend a lot of time here.”
He patted his flat stomach. “Does it show?”
Bree laughed. “I meant here at the house.”
“This is a second home, like base camp, for all of us. Warriors from the clan travel all over the world, wherever we’re sent, but we’re always welcome here.”
“I guess it’s all the traveling that makes the accents so hard to place. I can hear a hint of brogue, but no two are alike. Faelan sounds more like a Scot since he’s gotten here. He’d started to sound modern.”
“We pick up languages and dialects fast. It’s part of our disguise, but the tongue knows when it’s home.” Ronan poured two glasses of milk and took a long drink of his.
“I suppose not having a definite accent makes it harder for a demon to find out where you live.”
“Aye. We’ve gone to great lengths to protect our clan’s location. It wouldn’t be good if we were found out.”
“Druan’s castle is a duplicate of this one. Someone must know.”
“Let’s hope whoever it is, is dead.”
They chewed for a few moments in silence. Bree reached for another cookie. “Ronan and Declan sound like Irish names, not Scottish.”
“Celtic,” Ronan said, wiping his mouth. “Mostly used in Ireland. My mother was Irish, like Faelan’s. Many Scottish warriors find their mates in Ireland. My father named the first son…” His eyes shadowed. “My mother got to name the second. She didn’t know she’d get two.”
“You have an older brother? Is he a warrior?”
