“Like I was your next meal?” He was rude, but he wanted this conversation over. He wanted to put an end to this mess. He needed to destroy demons.

Sorcha blushed. “I was just, I don’t know what I was doing.”

“I think I have a fair idea,” he said, glancing at Duncan’s retreating back. “I saw her in Druan’s bed. The danger you sensed was because she’s been hanging around for a hundred and fifty years waiting to kill us. She’s probably the traitor Angus was talking about.”

“Why didn’t she kill us? No one suspected her. She was right there in the midst of some of the strongest warriors alive. She could’ve had us wiped out. She could’ve crept from room to room, killing us one at a time,” Sorcha challenged. “What you saw had to be a trick.”

“How could it be a trick? I met her in a different century, looking exactly the same.”

“You said she claimed the woman in the picture was her great-great-grandmother. You were close to Bree. How could she hide something like that?”

“I saw her with my own eyes, in bed with Druan.” He hadn’t told anyone about the intimate smile he’d seen, a smile a woman would only give a lover.

“Men are so bloody visual. Things aren’t always what they seem. You should know that better than most. You’ve spent years battling demons hiding in human skin. He probably drugged her. Think, Faelan. Who could have released your chains except Bree? If she’s a halfling, it makes no sense that she would wake you from the vault, help you find your family, feed you… take you to her bed. She could’ve killed you while the last thing on your mind was the hunt.” Sorcha raised one eyebrow, and Faelan’s cheeks warmed at the memory of Bree on top of him, her hips locked to his. “She could’ve killed you a dozen times over, and you know it.”

He didn’t tell Sorcha that Bree had kept his dirk hidden from him part of the time. She could have plunged it into him while he lay unconscious in her bed the first night. “I don’t know what to believe.” A flicker of hope warmed him, though, softening the armor he’d welded around his heart.

Sorcha rubbed both temples. “There’s something bigger here. He despises you, but Bree figures into his plan somehow, and he’s playing on your feelings for her. If I hadn’t acted like a moron, things might be different.” She looked troubled, and Faelan suspected this was the real woman hiding behind the vixen.

“We’ve got a battle to fight. Let’s focus on that. Then we’ll find Bree and get the truth.” He would find her one way or another. If he was wrong, he’d misjudged Bree. Unforgivably. If she was a halfling, she had to be suspended. No. He’d make sure she was destroyed, so she’d simply cease to exist. He couldn’t bear the thought of her being locked away for a hundred and fifty years awaiting Judgment. Faelan led the way toward the door, stopping when he glimpsed his reflection in the mirror. Black shirt, black pants—combat pants they called them—cuts and bruises that would’ve already healed, if he’d slept. He looked almost as miserable as he felt, but the outside didn’t show the blistering fires raging within, searing his body, mind, and soul until he feared there would be nothing left but a shell, like the demons wore. And there, with his hair pulled back for battle, for the world to see, was the mate mark on his neck. Sorcha’s shocked gaze met his in the mirror, and she paled.

***

Druan held Bree in his arms, looking at the face he’d grown so fond of. In his eight hundred years, he’d corrupted humans, killed them, manipulated them, even eaten a few, but he’d never cared for them. Frail creatures. But her. There was something different about her. He could feel the power emanating from her, an aura. She must be special. Why else would Michael block him from her dreams as he had nearly two decades ago? Druan remembered the glow in her bedroom as she thrust the cross toward him, gripping it in her small hand in an attempt to cast him out of her house. And standing behind her had been Faelan’s ghost.

“Is it ready?” Druan asked the gangly youth who approached.

“Yes, Father.”

“You know what to do.” He handed Bree to the boy. A feeling of regret crossed his mind as her warmth left him and her head drooped against the youth’s shoulder. He hadn’t killed her, just knocked her out. She was lucky. She wouldn’t see her fate.

He thought about the century and a half of planning nearly ruined because of her, and the key hidden on her mantel all this time. Had Bree bothered to tell him, her best friend, that she’d made her amazing discoveries? The key, the journal, the Book of Battles, the warrior. No, she hid them all and crept about like a thief, probably giving her body to his enemy. That book would have brought him all the power and glory he wanted, even without the virus and the time vault. There would have been nothing the Dark One wouldn’t have granted for a gift so grand. Druan would’ve held Tristol’s place of honor.

Come to think of it, Bree deserved some torment. Druan smiled and brushed his hand across her forehead. Her eyes flew open, and he saw a flash of recognition, an instant of relief, before she remembered who he was. She screamed. Her shrieks continued, then sudden silence.

A minute later, Druan’s son dropped the key into his scarred hand, a scar even his human form couldn’t disguise. Druan’s constant reminder of Faelan and his cursed charm.

Now the warrior would die, but first he had to suffer.

Druan’s half-human son stood proudly awaiting his next order. Druan shifted into his demon form. “Come here.” He held out his hand, waiting until the boy was close before he struck. It was regretful. The boy had served him well, but he couldn’t leave anyone alive who knew where he’d hidden Bree, and he could make another son. He dragged his son’s body into the woods and dumped it into one of the holes he’d dug in the earth. He wouldn’t need them anymore.

The pieces were in place. Soon the earth would be his, and Tristol would be nothing but a smudge on history. Druan shifted to human and walked away from his son’s body without a second glance. This last trick was almost too good, but he would miss her. Talking with her about human things, putting his arms around her as humans did for comfort, his human lips to her warm cheek. Later he might free her, let her make atonement for her betrayal by replacing the son he’d had to kill. He might even take on his human form from time to time. He knew she’d been fond of it.



Chapter 32


Faelan parted the veil with the sword Ronan had lent him and stepped inside. The castle rose against the night sky, evil emanating from its towers like a curse.

Shane stuck out a finger. “Just like Conall said, a curtain.”

“Quiet,” Faelan called softly. “You can be seen and heard from this side.”

Duncan put out his hand and stepped inside.

Ronan slung his bow over his shoulder and stepped through, joining Faelan and Duncan, looking at the others still waiting on the other side. “It’s like a two-way mirror,” he said.

“It runs a few feet outside the fence,” Faelan said. After all the warriors had passed through the veil, they checked their weapons one last time, climbed the imposing fence, and dropped onto the other side. There were a few lights on inside the castle, but it was quiet outside. What if Druan had hidden the virus somewhere else, Faelan thought. No. He would keep it close, and what better place than here? A wind arose, swirling in the trees behind them. The warriors tensed, swords ready, but the disturbance settled as quickly as it had begun.

“That was odd,” Cody said, slipping soundlessly behind them, the only one of the group aiming a gun.

“Blimey. I didn’t even hear you coming,” Brodie said to him. “Don’t suppose you found the virus already?”

“No, but there’s a pile of bodies, humans, torn to shreds. Must be minions.”

“If the virus is ready, he probably doesn’t need them anymore,” Duncan observed.

“Something strange is going on here. A helicopter landed earlier, then several cars left,” Cody said. “I’ve checked the outbuildings. Nothing there, but he could have it hidden underground.”

“It’s here somewhere,” Faelan said, feeling the prickle of unseen eyes. “Let’s get inside.” They moved toward the small door on the side of the castle. “Locked.”

“I can break it down,” Niall said, testing the door.

“And announce that we’re here?” Ronan pushed him aside. “Move over, muscle boy. Let me show you how it’s done.” He took a piece of thin metal out of his pocket and fiddled with the lock. “There.”

They split up, Anna and Cody vanishing into the trees, as the others disappeared inside. Niall and Shane were checking the first floor, Duncan and Sorcha the second, Tomas and Brodie the third, and Ronan and Declan the towers. Faelan and Conall would check the dungeon and secret passages. They headed around back to the entrance Conall had used. The young warrior had gained a new respect. If not for his help, Faelan would already be dead, and the world would be doomed.

Conall lifted a wall of ivy aside with his sword, uncovering a small door. Holding their weapons before them, they entered a low, dark tunnel. Muffled noises filtered through the night, paws scurrying against stone, and another sound, still, but larger, the shifting of air. Faelan touched Conall’s arm, signaling him to halt. There was nothing, not even breathing. But something was here. Faelan could feel it. Best get into the light. A few paces more and they reached a door that opened at the top of stairs leading to the dungeon.

“It’s dark down there, nothing but a couple of old torches hanging on the wall.”

“We’ll have to rely on our eyes. We don’t want them to know we’re here.”