Druan moved closer to the corner. “What’s so important about the charm, warrior? It gives a nasty burn, for a pretty decoration.” Druan swirled and picked up the talisman by the cord, winding it around one claw, careful not to touch it. His ugly head turned as he scrutinized it. “I see writing,” he said, inching toward the box. “Another trophy to replace the sword. I’ll keep it with the Book of Battles to mark the day of your defeat.”

Faelan’s skin felt clammy. Book of Battles? Druan had the book? His chest pounded like a cattle stampede. The demon was five feet from the box, bleeding from his wounds. Faelan had to destroy him. Now. Beheading a powerful demon was almost impossible, but it was that or wrestle the talisman from him. He’d already made the first cut. Faelan adjusted his grip on his sword and lunged for the demon.

Druan threw the talisman over Faelan’s head and snatched the box. He reached for one of the vials as Faelan spun and dove for the talisman. He slid across the floor, snatching the talisman as it rolled. He opened it as he leaped to his feet, praying it had enough strength, and began to chant. Druan opened the vial and flung it across the room. The air sizzled, too thick to breathe; the floor shook. Faelan watched it happen as if in slow motion. The iron bar broke free from the wall and the door burst open. Niall rushed into the room, followed by the others, as green vapors clawed through the air like fingers. Faelan heard a warning cry and saw the warriors spin around, throwing their arms over their eyes. A boom sounded like thunder as brilliant white light met the green vapors in midair. Colors swirled, tumultuous and violent, and the white wound around the green, swallowing it like a snake. Druan screamed, his face distorted, as he reached for the virus. The light retracted, leaving nothing but the metal box and empty vials clattering in its wake.

The virus was gone.

Druan was gone.

Where was Bree?



Chapter 34


The room filled with warriors, swords drawn, chests heaving, some dripping blood.

“Are you okay?” Duncan asked, but all Faelan could manage was a nod.

“What in blazes was that?” Brodie asked.

“You almost kissed your ass good-bye,” Niall said. “We all did.”

Sorcha ran in, hair flying, then lowered her sword. “I’m too late.”

The warriors circled Faelan, voices low with shock. Ronan put a hand on Faelan’s shoulder. “You did it, brother. He’s gone. The virus is destroyed.”

“You need rest,” Cody said. “We’ll get Bree. Where is she?”

Faelan’s legs buckled, too weak to support him, and he sank to his knees. “I don’t know.”

***

Four days later…

Faelan ran his fingers over the stone, leaving a smear of blood. He’d rubbed his skin raw. He kept his eyes off the bed as he moved to another stone, looking for a crack or hidden catch.

“Faelan?” Ronan stood in the doorway of Druan’s bedroom. “Go home. Get some sleep before you fall over.”

“I can’t leave.” Faelan pounded his fist against the next stone, but it didn’t move. “I can hear her calling me.”

“I know, but you killed an ancient demon. You’re still weak. You need rest and food. We’ll keep looking. You know that. He’s hidden her somewhere. He was too obsessed with her to hurt her.”

But where? Druan said he’d hidden her where only he could find her. The minions they’d captured had been no help. It was as if Bree had disappeared.

“Sean called a few minutes ago,” Ronan said. “The McKenzie clan is searching Druan’s last castle in Europe.”

“What about the demons at the conference? Did they get them all?” The list Coira found on Angus matched the one they’d discovered in Druan’s bedroom three days before.

“Most of them. They were still waiting for their vials. Warriors swarmed the place; only a few demons escaped, but they’re being hunted down. Cody has a friend in the FBI who’s covering our tracks. The public thinks it was a drug bust. More than a hundred demons have been destroyed in the last four days, thanks to you and Angus. This is the biggest joint operation in clan history. But you need to rest now, or you’ll be dead before we find Bree. Ever hear of Romeo and Juliet?”

“He’s right, Faelan,” Duncan said, joining Ronan at the door. “Let us finish up here. Ten more warriors just arrived from Australia. They brought Skylar and Caleb, two of their best Seekers. And Ryan and Brenna are on their way from Rome. Their sense of smell is unequaled. We won’t stop till we find her.”

Faelan nodded and rose to his feet. They’d all worked tirelessly, especially Conall. The young warrior had sworn he would not stop looking until she was found. He still felt responsible for losing her.

“Here,” Duncan said. “We found this hidden in the library.” He handed Faelan a leather book. “It’s her Grandma Emily’s journal. I don’t know why Druan had it.”

Holding the book under his arm, Faelan trudged through the castle, ignoring the long looks and hushed whispers as he passed his clansmen surveying and cataloging Druan’s possessions, some repairing the damage from the blast while others searched for Bree.

Since Angus had been followed, the Watchers decided it best to move some of the warriors from Scotland to make another home base. No one knew why Druan’s castle looked so much like their own, or how it had been cloaked, but once they installed a security system, the place would be hard to penetrate, and by then every demon who’d helped Druan and knew the castle’s location would be dead. Druan guarded his secrets well, as his sorcerer had said, even from the Dark One.

Faelan drove Bree’s car to the house and sat in the driveway, dreading to go inside. Some of the other warriors had searched the place to make sure she wasn’t there. Faelan hadn’t had the courage to come back and face his guilt and pain. He sat there until it was too dark to see, trying not to suffocate at the thought that he might have to wake every morning without her, trudging through minutes and hours until the oblivion of sleep brought relief.

Why God had chosen to dangle her in front of his nose, the only woman he’d ever loved, and then yank her away, he couldn’t fathom. There must be a reason. Michael might know. But as powerful as Michael was, he was still a servant, and some things God kept to himself.

Opening the door, he dragged himself from the car and forced one foot in front of the other until he stood in her bedroom. He wanted to collapse, but he was covered with sweat and dust. Her things were still scattered everywhere. He picked up clothes and draped them over a chair, closed drawers, and righted the photographs that had hidden his father’s pocket watch. The last frame, one he hadn’t noticed before, showed a gray-haired woman—he recognized Bree’s grandmother from other photographs in the house—smiling at a dark-haired lassie who looked like a fairy from one of his mother’s stories, with her green eyes and mischievous grin. The same lassie Faelan had seen huddled under the covers in his dream, the one Michael had sent him to protect. Everyone else had believed in her, but he, the one person who should’ve known better, who should’ve trusted her, had betrayed her. He trailed his fingers over her face. Where are you?

He stood under her shower, letting the water beat down on his head and run over his back, washing away the grime, leaving only guilt. He remembered her battling Grog with a broom, trying to get her hands on the swords, baking him a pie. Touching him in the tub. How shocked he’d been, how he’d thought he would die from wanting her.

Now he just wanted to see her, feel her breathe. He’d known her less than a fortnight, but she was bound to his soul. He turned off the water and stepped out. Wrapped in a towel, he walked back to her bedroom. A book lay on the floor by her bed. It was leather-bound, like the journal Duncan had found, but thicker. Isabel’s journal? He picked it up and ran his hands over the rose engraved on the cover. He’d seen this book before, more than a hundred and fifty years ago. He remembered it falling at his feet outside the tavern. On the inside a name was written, Isabel Belville. Proof it was Isabel he’d met, not Bree.

Near the front of the journal was a genealogy chart. Above Samuel Wood, Isabel’s father, was another name. Nigel Ellwood. Faelan leaned closer and rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Nigel Ellwood. It couldn’t be. He was the missing Watcher who’d vanished before Faelan was born. The clan believed the Watcher had died. He’d obviously lived long enough to have a son, Samuel. Bree’s great-great-great-grandfather.

Bree was part of his clan.

That’s why Faelan bore the mate mark, why he had memories of Bree before he’d met her, even before she was born. It wasn’t the time vault messing with his mind. God hadn’t dangled her in front of him and taken her away. The whole thing had been planned. She was his mate. And he’d thrown her back in God’s face.

Faelan grabbed the phone and dialed. “Sean, it’s Faelan—”

“Faelan, my boy. I’ve been worried. I was ready to come over there myself. Have you found her?”

“No. We’re still searching.” For Bree, the Book of Battles, the time vault key. Vampires.

He’d told the clan about the key and the missing book, but they’d had no luck finding them so far. The Council was meeting even now. He was grateful they were still trying to find Bree, with so many troubles weighing on the clan.

“They’ll find her. They won’t stop till they do. The whole clan owes her a debt for freeing you.”

“Aye,” he said, feeling the weight of guilt again. She risked her life for him, and he’d forsaken her, sent her from Scotland thinking he didn’t care for her. Straight into Druan’s trap.