“Isabel said McGowan acted peculiar. Would Druan kill his minion or halfling?”

“Druan kills as easily as you and I breathe.”

“Another possibility is that McGowan was looking for the book.”

“Or hiding it. McGowan could’ve stolen it for Druan. There was some concern over its safety before I left Scotland.” Druan might have planned to steal it, which would explain why Michael had warned Faelan, and not the Keeper, that the book was in danger. That meant the responsibility for the Book of Battles being stolen lay squarely at his feet, along with Druan’s disease and the war.

“And Druan would get rid of any witnesses.”

“For a human, you understand the demon mind very well.”

“Thank Russell. He introduced me to the dark side.”

She didn’t say more, so they lay in silence as Faelan wondered exactly what Russell had done to her. When this was over, he’d see how brave Russell was against a man.

She moved her arm, baring the creamy slope of her breasts, adorned by the necklace. Had she written the letter he’d found with it? Tomorrow he’d ask her. If someone had hurt her, he would track him down after he finished with Druan and Russell.

“What do you think Grog meant about his master being upset if I was hurt?” Bree asked. “Why would a demon care if a human got hurt?”

He wouldn’t, unless the human was his minion or he wanted her for breeding. Had Druan seen Bree and become infatuated with her? She was beautiful, and Druan was obsessed with beauty. “Some demons take humans to breed halflings.”

“Take?”

“Kidnap. Then they kill the mothers.”

“Okay, I could’ve done without hearing that.”

“Demons need halflings to help hide their evil plots. Demons live a long time.”

“How old is Druan?”

“Around eight hundred years.”

“Good grief! Do they all live that long?”

“It depends on the order. The first order is the created demons. They’re eternal. They operate on a spiritual plane.” Warriors didn’t battle them. Michael handled that part. “The second order is born, like humans, but both parents are full demons. They live anywhere from a few hundred years to a millennium. The older ones can become very powerful, like Druan. We call them the demons of old or the ancient ones. They’re the strongest demons a human will encounter. There’s only a handful left.” Faelan had destroyed one in his seventh year as a warrior. It was the first time since the seventeenth century that one of the ancient demons had been assigned.

“What about halflings?”

“The third order, the lowest. They’re earthbound, live a couple hundred years or so. Demons like using halflings to do their bidding because they’re more loyal than minions, and halflings don’t live long enough to become a threat, which sometimes happens with lesser demons. They’ve been known to steal from each other, though it’s against their rules.”

“They have rules?”

“Of a sort.”

“So Druan’s got another couple hundred years to wreak havoc on earth?”

“Unless he’s gained years. They can extend their lifespan if they serve their master well, even become eternal, like the first order.”

“Their master? Like in Satan?”

“They call him the Dark One, but he goes by many names. Satan, Lucifer, the Devil. If it stinks, he’s behind it. Each demon has a purpose. Addiction, cruelty, deception, greed.”

Bree shuddered. “I’m tired of demons. Tell me about your family. Faelan sounds Irish.”

His family. He relaxed his mind, and the memories rushed in, smiles and laughter, battle cries and swords. A tiny casket being lowered into the ground. He pushed that one away. He couldn’t deal with it now.

“My mother was Irish. She named me after her grandfather.”

“What did you do when you weren’t hunting demons?”

“We raised horses. Clydesdales, some Highland ponies, a few Arabian mixes, like Nandor.”

“Nandor?”

“My horse. He was more like a friend than a horse. Sounds daft, aye? But there were times when he was the only living thing I saw for weeks. You grow fond of an animal when he’s the only one around to listen to you talk.”

“Do you miss him?”

He sighed. “Aye, I do. In my day a warrior valued his horse as much as his sword. I reckon Nandor must have thought I left him. My father would have taken care of him. Now there’s a man who loved horses, almost as much as he loved fighting demons, and Alana spent most of her time riding or in the stable when she wasn’t painting. She was the youngest. My parents didn’t expect another bairn.” Not after the first tragedy. “We all coddled her. She should have been a wee devil, but she had a heart as big as the Highlands. My brothers and me, we spent most of our time training, or with the horses. Until it was time to hunt.”

“You don’t use many Scottish words for a man in a kilt,” Bree said, her voice growing thicker.

“I’m a Highlander,” he said, thumping his knuckles over his chest, “always will be, but I’ve spent so much time in different parts of the world, surrounded by other warriors who’ve done the same, it messes with the speech.” Part of the reason warriors were sent so far from home and dressed and talked as natives in the lands where they fought was to keep demons from identifying the clan.

“Have you been to America before?”

“When I was seven, a demon came after my father, after our family… we came to Philadelphia, stayed until I was eight, then moved back to Scotland. My brothers didn’t like it here.”

“Your brothers, were you close?”

He saw the wee casket again and his mother’s grief-stricken face and felt guilty for brushing the memory aside. But having Bree as a distraction was bad enough. If he let past mistakes make him weak, he’d fail again. “Aye. Most people thought Tavis and me were twins. Twins are common in our clan.”

“What were your brothers like?”

“Tavis was quiet, when he wasn’t mad or teasing us. Hot-headed, but loyal to a fault. Usually acted before he thought. Ian was full of mischief. Both of them were always getting into trouble.” Much like Bree. Faelan had saved his brothers’ arses from getting strapped many a time.

“And your mother?”

“She was cook, storyteller, and nurse. She had an elderberry bush she used to treat us for ailments. The stuff tasted bloody awful. Ian ran away every time he got sick.” Faelan and Tavis had dragged him home more times than Faelan could remember. “And she made the best shortbread in Scotland.” He smiled, almost hearing the tinkle of her laugh as she handed him the plate. His smile faded. She couldn’t laugh anymore. She was gone. Everything he knew was gone. No one knew he was alive, except Grog and Bree.

“Did she tell you stories about fairies and kelpies when you were a boy?” Bree’s voice was only a whisper now.

“Aye,” he said softly, touching the section of hair his dirk had sheared. But he’d always known the stories weren’t true. The real monsters were out there roaming the earth. And one day it would be his job to destroy them.

***

Shrouded forms circled the time vault, chanting, “Liar. Demon. Demon.” Faelan lay inside, his body like stone, unable to move. The crowd parted, and Faelan saw his father. He tried to call out, but his lips were numb. His father leaned closer, his face harsh with disappointment and disgust. The others dropped their hoods, and Faelan saw his executioners. His mom, Ian, and Tavis pointing accusing fingers at him.

Then he saw the woman, her eyes green as moss—Bree—holding a little boy, his skin and clothing wet. Liam. A dainty hand reached for the lid, and Faelan’s brain seized with fear. He saw the pale arm and then her sweet face. Alana smiled sadly and started to lower the lid. Another face came into focus. A smile started slowly, spreading wide, revealing sharp teeth as the man melted into Druan. Faelan watched in horror as darkness descended. Then there was nothing but silence as the key turned in the lock.

Faelan jerked upright, chest heaving, muscles taut as bowstrings. Bree lay with her back to him. He could see the curve of her cheek, her face as bonny as an angel. It was just a dream. He lay down beside her, watching her sleep as his nightmare faded. He touched her hair, wishing he dared pull her closer. He’d never felt anything like this for a woman. She set his body on fire, but it was more than that. He wanted to right the world for her, hold her and tell her every dream he’d had, every mistake he’d made—Druan, his deadly disease, the war… wee Liam. That was scary as hell. Not only was she not his, he also didn’t know what she was. She’d destroyed a halfling with his dirk and looked at the light from his talisman and lived.

Bree moaned and moved in her sleep. Her dreams were unsettled too. No wonder, after what she’d seen tonight.

“Russell, no.”

What had the bastard done to her? She’d faced half demons, killed one, yet her nightmare was about Russell? Faelan stroked Bree’s hair. There was a small birthmark at the top of her back, near the demon’s scratch. He dropped a kiss there, and she seemed to calm. Moving closer, he slid his good arm under her head, the other around her waist, and pulled her against him, careful of her injury. He told himself it was to comfort her, but he knew he needed to feel her breathe, to know he wasn’t alone. A century and a half had passed. Even if he could locate his clan, had they forgotten him?

Bree nestled her back against his chest, her backside snug against his groin, and Faelan was glad he’d worn a T-shirt and the sleeping pants she’d bought him. He should’ve put on his Levi’s for an added layer, and his kilt, if he could find it. He wasn’t just worried about Druan and his evil, Faelan worried he’d lose control and do something unforgivable to Bree.