Anita Clenney - Heart Of A Highland Warrior

The front door stood open. That in itself was alarming, even if he hadn’t just nearly been eaten by monster wolves. He didn’t hear anything inside. Holding his sword ready, he spun and entered. There were piles of dust everywhere. Like the ones in the battle with Druan. Bloody vampires. What the hell had happened here? Anna was tough, but she couldn’t have killed all these vampires alone. Maybe the wolves? A body lay near the staircase. Not human. Demon. Not Anna’s work. A demon would have disappeared if a warrior killed it. His blood started to pump harder. Bree said Anna was in danger. Was he too late? The wolves…maybe they were after her. He rushed back to the door as he called the castle for backup. The wolves were stone again. Whatever they were chasing had gotten away, or it was too late. But Anna could still be here. Someone was. He could feel eyes watching him.

He turned back to the wide staircase leading from the first floor. It was littered with piles of dust. He followed the trail of ash to the second floor and stepped over a pile of demon guts. This place must have been fancy without all the dust and blood.

The third floor had even more ash. More than dead bodies. The vampires had lost. At the end of one room, he saw a shattered door and found a room that had clearly been the site of a battle. Furniture smashed and things toppled off shelves. Someone was partial to emeralds.

He still didn’t hear anyone, but he could feel eyes watching him. The only thing he saw was a life-size portrait of a woman in a mirror. He continued his search while waiting for the others to arrive. If Anna was captive here, she might be in the dungeon.

He discovered other dead vampires and a few demons as he made his way to the dungeon. It was nicer down here than the living quarters of some castles he’d visited, and many he’d broken into, but its purpose was obvious the farther he went. He found a room filled with instruments of torture. Blood still stained the floor. He sniffed. Not Anna’s. After the vampire bite he’d gotten two years ago, his sense of smell was even stronger. He healed faster, moved quicker.

Still searching, he found cells with shackles on the walls and floors, and in the deepest bowels of the dungeon there was a room that had obviously been lived in. The door was open. Inside there was an unmade bed, a toilet, and a sink. His guts tightened into knots. There was something about the room, a smell, a feel, that made him sick. He hadn’t been attacked so far, so he ignored stealth and called out Anna’s name.

Where was she?

The wolves. The bloody damned wolves. She must have drawn them away.

The woman looked at the desecration. Tristol would be furious. All his hard work destroyed, and by Voltar, one of the League. She’d never liked any of them. Traitorous backstabbing bastards. But Voltar was the worst. Even Tristol considered him an enemy. She should have killed Voltar long ago. She would have killed him this time, if she’d been here. But she’d only arrived in time to see him fling the hybrid aside and run from the castle.

She had failed Tristol. She had worked hard to protect him, fighting battles he didn’t know existed, paving his way to glory. For centuries she had hidden in the shadows, watching and protecting from afar. But when he really needed her, she hadn’t been here.

Her gaze fell on the hybrid, who was standing in the shadow of a statue. Another enemy, but Tristol deserved this one. He’d stolen everything from the hybrid. The lost look on his face stirred her heart. He stared at the handsome warrior at the bottom of the stairs, jaw clenched under his beard. As the warrior started out the door, the hybrid started forward, then stopped. His shoulders slumped, and he dropped to the floor as if his legs had been cut away. He put his head in his hands, and she heard a raw, wounded cry. The kind of cry that only came when you were alone and thought no one listened. Her own eyes grew damp. He was bloody and bruised, would probably die from his injuries if she didn’t kill him on Tristol’s behalf. But something stopped her. Instead, she moved back to the emerald room. Nearly everything here had been destroyed from the battle. She moved in front of the mirror and touched the markings on the side. She closed her eyes, questioning her own sanity as the whirring began.

Ronan stepped outside the fortress, disturbed in a way he couldn’t explain. It wasn’t just Anna. Something else was wrong. He felt like stone, like one of those wolves. And there they were, still lined up, cold and hard, as if he’d just dreamed that not an hour ago they’d been trying to rip him apart.

He quickly checked the outside of the castle, praying they hadn’t gotten Anna, but he didn’t find any bodies. He did find footprints. Two sets. A woman and a man. The man was barefoot and limping. Ronan saw a drop of blood. And injured. Had they gotten away?

He hurried toward the gate to check and see if her car was still there. He stepped on the other side of the veil and heard a whirring sound like a windstorm or a helicopter. But the other warriors couldn’t have arrived this quickly. He looked up, but didn’t see anything.

He stuck his head back through the veil to see if it was something on that side.

The fortress and the stone wolves had disappeared.

ANNA HID HER car in the woods near Bree’s house in case they were followed. She helped the semiconscious prisoner from the car and put his arm around her shoulder. “We’ll stay in the woods until we make sure no one’s watching the place.” When they reached the house, the driveway was empty and the lights were off. No one was there. “Please let them be OK,” she whispered. She didn’t know what the clan would do about Tristol and Voltar. If warriors had been assigned to destroy them, they’d better show up soon.

She heard a loud noise like a motorcycle. Faelan had a motorcycle, but he’d promised Bree he’d stop riding it until the baby was born. It must be Voltar. His human shell had been a biker.

“He’s followed us. The graveyard. He can’t get to us there.” Demons couldn’t step on holy ground. She dragged the prisoner toward the iron fence surrounding the graves. He stopped again, staring at the graveyard. “Hurry, before he spots us. I’m going to hide you here and lead him away.”

“No.”

“We don’t have a choice. You’re going to die if I don’t.”

The prisoner’s arm slid from her shoulders, and he slumped against a tall headstone. “Go on,” he said, clinging to the stone, his body ready to collapse but his gaze fierce. “Protect yourself.”

“Then we’ll both hide in the crypt,” she lied. The burial site that had hidden Faelan’s time vault was empty now that he’d sent the time vault back. No one would think to look inside a grave. The very reason Faelan had remained unnoticed for one hundred and fifty years. After she got the prisoner inside, she would close the lid. He was weak now. By the time he got out, she would have led Voltar away.

Working quickly, she helped him inside the crypt, which sat in the middle of the graveyard. It wasn’t large, about fifteen feet square with a stone burial vault near the back to hold a casket. Or a time vault, in Faelan’s case.

Strangely enough, an old wooden coffin was already inside, near the door. What was Bree up to now? She was going to drive Faelan insane yet. The coffin. That might be a good hiding place. She lifted the lid and saw it wasn’t empty. The skeleton occupying the coffin wore a kilt. “That won’t work. Not without crushing whoever’s inside. We’ll hide in the burial vault.” That must be where the coffin would eventually rest.

The prisoner appeared to be leaning on the coffin for support, but when she helped him stand, he seemed distressed. He looked at the coffin and then the burial vault for several seconds through hooded eyes. “You first. I’ll close the lid,” he said, his voice weak.

“No. You’re injured worse. I’ll close the lid.”

“You…” His eyes closed, and he started to fall.

He should be dead. Anna grabbed him. “I’m not letting you die. Now climb in there.” Grunting, she pushed and shoved and got the lid partially open. As gently as she could, she helped him inside. When he was lying flat, she started to pull the cover closed. “No.” The fear on his face tore her heart. He tried to sit up. “Stay here with me. He can’t get in here. That’s why…” His body swayed.

Anna understood why he felt that way. If she were him, she would too. “OK. I’ll stay.” Until he passed out, which shouldn’t be long. Then she would lead Voltar away. “I’m going to close the lid halfway so it’ll be easier to move from the inside.”

After she was finished, she climbed inside the burial vault with him and lay down. It was a tight fit. She had to turn slightly toward him to make it work. She didn’t close the lid all the way. She wasn’t going to be here long. Besides, he had a death grip on her hand. She tried to leave a couple of times, but each time he would rouse and wouldn’t let go of her hand.

“I know my name.…” His voice trailed off, and his eyes closed.

Anna leaned closer, trying to hear. “Tell me.”

He whispered his name as a muffled roar came from outside. “Anna!”

Voltar. She pulled her hand free and climbed out of the burial vault. He was unconscious. She couldn’t let Voltar find him. Her fingers found his pulse—strong—and he wasn’t bleeding now. Leaning down, she kissed his cheek. “I’ll come back after I call Faelan and Bree,” she whispered.

She pulled the lid closed, hoping he wouldn’t wake until she got back or until she had Faelan or someone come for him. Taking care to close the door quietly, she slipped from the crypt, moving silently past the headstones to the fence near the back of the graveyard.