Anita Clenney: Awaken the Highland Warrior

Out of habit, Bree touched her ears and found the left one bare. She hurried to the mirror, confirming her fear, and got another shock at her appearance. Her cheek looked like a microdermabrasion treatment gone bad, and her diamond wasn’t the only thing missing. A few inches below her ear, a chunk of hair had been sheared. She stared at the thin, pink line where the dagger had grazed her throat. Her missing earring was the least of her worries. Was she insane to take this risk?

Something bothered her about this whole thing, more than the peculiarity of finding a live man buried in a crypt.

She wasn’t comfortable leaving him unguarded, so after showering, she dressed again, removed his ice pack, and pulled the rocking chair close to the bed. The wind howled outside as she listened to the steady rhythm of the chair and tried to collect her thoughts. The walls faded and the room disappeared.

Grandma’s rocking chair creaked softly, making nine-year-old Bree sleepy at last. Her eyes were still swollen from crying, and her nose felt like a balloon. Her dad was in heaven now, Grandma had told her after they rescued Bree from the crypt, but she’d already known. She held her ragged panda closer, staring at the candle flame as she listened to Grandma’s fairy tale about big strong warriors who could destroy terrible demons—maybe even rotten cousins who locked girls inside crypts. It was way better than Snow White and a bunch of goofy little men.

“Time vaults,” Grandma whispered, “that hold demons until Judgment.”

Bree’s lashes drooped…

“Now, Bree.” Grandma’s voice was shaky but loud.

Bree opened her eyes as the window pane rattled and a flash of lightning lit the room. Grandma stood near the bed, but her dark hair was gone. She was gray, her skin wrinkled.

“Find the book, Bree! Help him.” Grandma vanished.

Bree launched out of the chair, the scent of lavender strong in the air. She stared at the naked man tangled in her sheets. Twice he’d called the chest a time vault.

Forget vampires… there was a demon in her bed!

Chapter 3

Grandma’s story was no fairy tale. The legend of warriors and demons battling for the fate of mankind was true. Bree had opened the demon’s prison, tucked him into her bed, and let him kiss her.

She grabbed her tote bag, car keys, and the dagger. Halfway down the front steps, she stopped. It wasn’t because she was barefoot and it was the middle of a stormy night. This was her home, where she’d spent nearly every summer growing up. Her haven. She wasn’t running away. She’d done too much of that the past few months. No one would make her leave again, not even a demon. There must be some way to send him back. Her heart gave a funny little wrench when she thought about his kiss and how much he looked like her Highland warrior. But a legend was one thing; playing hostess to a demon was another.

Bree put down her bag, keys, and the dagger and punched in the number to Jared’s cell phone. She should’ve told him about the map before. He was her best friend. After leaving a jumbled message asking him to call, she started to dial 911, but there was no way anyone would believe Faelan was a demon who’d been locked in a time vault awaiting Judgment. She wouldn’t, if she hadn’t opened the darned thing.

Holding the dagger in front of her, she tiptoed down the hall to her bedroom. His dark head rested against her pillow, hand curled low on his stomach, where the sheet had slipped. She was struck by an insane desire to crawl in next to him, cuddle up and… cripes! Was he manipulating her mind in his sleep? She yanked the door closed, smashed her finger, and bit back a yelp.

Her grandmother had said to find the book. What book? She had as many as Bree. Bree headed to the attic, where the books were being stored while she finished the library. Help Faelan? How? She crossed the dusty floor, passing decades of history she hadn’t fully explored. Every minute she wasn’t working on the house she’d spent tending the graveyard, reading Isabel’s journal, or watching the archeologists dig. She hadn’t written in her own journal in months.

After searching several boxes, Bree was about to give up when she heard a thump a few feet away. A book lay on the floor. Secrets of the Afterlife. Grandma’s favorite. Why had it fallen? Bree dug through the box. Near the bottom, she found a thick leather-bound book with straps. Grandma’s journal? Bree had seen it only once. She’d surprised her grandmother, who quickly hid the book underneath a pillow. Bree had been searching for it when she found Isabel’s journal and the map.

Bree unclasped the straps, opened the book, and stared at the name written in faded ink on the yellowed page. The Book of Battles of Clan Connor . This was not Grandma’s journal. In smaller print underneath was written By the order of… The rest of the sentence was smudged. Bree sat on the attic floor, eyes growing wider with each page. She learned about secret clans and talismans of great power and ancient time vaults that held demons until Judgment. According to the book, the time vaults could be opened only after 150 years, the number Faelan had whispered in the crypt.

Her blood hummed. Was it possible? All those summers she’d visited as a child, had he been in there waiting for someone to wake him? She read on and found names and dates. In the year 1749, the Demon Mour was suspended by Warrior Malcolm… The last name was impossible to read. This was a record of battles between demons and warriors of the Connor clan. Bree quivered with excitement. Demons and warriors… it was real. How had Grandma gotten it? Why had she never mentioned it?

The book said warriors had talismans. Was that what Faelan wore around his neck? Was he a demon who’d stolen a talisman, or a warrior who’d hijacked a time vault? Bree ran her finger down the entries, searching for his name, but there were so many, and the writing so hard to read it could take days, weeks. Several pages later, she found something that made her mouth drop. In the year 2053, the demon Lor was defeated by Warrior Darius Ander.

In the year 2053?

Regardless where Grandma had gotten the book, this was more incredible than Stonehenge or the Lost Colony of Roanoke. The last few pages were missing; only jagged edges remained, and the one that had survived was written in a language she didn’t recognize. Bree’s head swam, and an image started to take shape, but a noise sounded below, and the vision fled.

She put the book back in the box and closed the top. Gripping the dagger, she crept down the stairs, faintly registering the scent of lavender clinging to the air. She eased her bedroom door open, expecting to see something out of The Exorcist. He didn’t look like a demon. He looked like a man caught in the throes of a nightmare. His head tossed back and forth, damp hair clinging to his neck, sheets tangled with his legs. He mumbled a word here and there. “Druan.” The name from before, and another, “Alana.”

Alana? A wife? Had Bree kissed a married man? Let him rub his naked body against her? Was he a man? Did demons marry? If he had been married, his wife would be nothing but dust. Of course he’d have nightmares. Bree moved closer. A sheen of sweat covered his body. The fever had broken. He uttered one small sound that blew common sense away. He whimpered. If he was a demon, she was doomed.

She put the dagger on the table and took the cloth to the bathroom to dampen it. When she returned, his forehead felt cooler, and he seemed more at ease. She untangled the sheet from his legs and wiped the sweat from his face. And because she simply had to, she smoothed the tiny line between his brows. Moving the rocking chair to the corner of the room, she sat close enough to see him or hear if he called out in his sleep and near the door, in case she needed to run. Staying here was dangerous, but any treasure hunter worth her salt knew great discoveries required great risks. If this stranger had somehow traveled through time, she had to know why and how.