Awaken the Highland Warrior Page 10

  Chapter 11

  It stood as tall as a man, but even in the darkness she could see it wasn’t human. Bree backed away until her shoulders dug into the worn pillar. Lips drew back over pointed teeth as it stretched a claw toward her face. Trembling, she scooted sideways, moving out of its reach. The creature hissed and tilted its head, its snake eyes tracking her. If she didn’t run now, she would be dead.

  Drawing on memories from childhood, she turned and ran. Her ankle throbbed. She could hear the creature coming behind her. Could it see her? Smell her? If she screamed, Faelan would be distracted, which could get him killed. The remnants of a fallen pew caught her foot, sending her headlong into a wall. Her fingers scraped the rough surface as she pulled herself upright.

  She looked back and saw the hulking shadow still coming, its movements awkward, as if bones weren’t connected in the right places. She had to hide. A memory came from nowhere. The small alcove near the front of the chapel where she’d played hide and seek with her cousins. Hurrying toward the niche, she slipped inside, pressing her body against the wall. The darkness closed around her like a blanket, and she saw in her mind a little girl huddled under the covers. Bree could feel the girl’s terror, feel the softness of the stuffed animal that hid her face, blocking the monster with thick, gray skin, sharp nails and teeth, watching by her bed.

  The shuffling sounded closer. Bree peeked out. It was almost here. She crouched lower and felt the wall behind her give. A rain of stones hit her. When the creature was so close she could touch it, she lunged past its legs. It swiped at her, claws biting into her shoulder. Her skin burned like she’d been hit with a branding iron.

  “Faelan!” She rushed toward the window where she’d last seen him fighting. She heard an inhuman scream, and then Faelan was there, gripping her arms.

  “I told you to stay over there.”

  “I couldn’t—”

  The thing hissed, and Faelan stepped in front of her. “How did that get in here?”

  The ugly one looked from Faelan to Bree as seven others slunk in behind it. The two on the outside appeared normal, from the outline of their bodies, but those in the middle had shapes that were all wrong. Long arms, deformed heads. They pulled out swords, and Faelan tensed beside her.

  “We can’t outrun them,” he whispered. “I’ll distract them. You run for the door.”

  “Wait, I have your—”

  He put a hand against her waist and pushed. One of the creatures charged, swinging his sword at Faelan’s neck. Bree bit back a scream as Faelan leapt clear and extended his leg, sending his opponent’s sword clanging into a wall. Two moved in from behind. Faelan whirled to meet the attack, his body now visible in the dim moonlight at the window. Both creatures lunged, and Faelan leaned backward, his hair brushing the floor as the blades skimmed the air above his nose. There were too many. He would never escape. Claws dug into Bree’s arm. She screamed as the ugly creature yanked her close. Its skin was rough, cold, the smell nauseating. She kicked and punched. Faelan’s fist shot past her head, slamming into the creature’s face. Faelan pulled her free and planted his foot in the beast’s chest, knocking it backwards. It opened its mouth and let loose a sound between a scream and a howl. Like this morning.

  “Quick,” Faelan yelled, shoving her behind the pillar again.

  A voice called from the back of the chapel. “Leave the woman alone, or the master will be angry.” Every head turned toward the figure standing outside the door.

  Faelan spat out a name. The man cursed then quickly ran. The ugly creature lumbered toward Faelan as the others closed in. He moved back, drawing them away from where Bree hid.

  The nearest one spun to look at her, but only his head turned. He rotated his body to match his head, took a step forward, and hesitated, looking at the door where the man had disappeared. Turning back to join Faelan’s attackers, he opened his mouth and let out a wail, as the others picked up the terrible cry. They rushed Faelan, forming a circle around him, voices rising in unison, like a pack of howling wolves. One of the creatures flew backwards, opening a hole in the group, and she could see Faelan’s arms were trapped, but his feet were vicious. She couldn’t make out any details of the one who held Faelan, except the creature had a face that was too wide, body thick as a bull, and sharp teeth closing in on Faelan’s throat. She had to get his dagger to him.

  Her breathing slowed. A calm settled over her. She smelled the stone crumbling under her fingers, tasted the mustiness of the chapel on her tongue, the stale air of dust and decay. The creatures were clearer now, as if someone had turned on a soft light. As she’d suspected, they weren’t human.

  Destroy it! The thought punched her mind. She pulled Faelan’s dagger from her boot and drew her arm back as if she’d done it a hundred times. She hurled the dagger at the one holding him. It whizzed past Faelan’s ear and sank into the monster’s chest. It howled and disappeared as the dagger clattered to the floor.

  One minute the thing was there, the next, it wasn’t.

  Faelan’s stunned gaze met hers. Before Bree could absorb what had happened, he snatched the dagger, and moving so fast he was a blur, slit the throat of the one next to him. It gurgled and disappeared. He leaped into the air and did some kind of fancy flip, landing several feet outside the circle. Maybe he was Superman.

  “Bree, cover your eyes!”

  She could taste fear, but nothing this side of heaven could make her shut her eyes or leave Faelan to fight the creatures alone. The chapel dimmed again, except for the faint moonlight behind Faelan. He raised one hand to the heavens, clasping his talisman with the other, and in a steady voice, a torrent of strange words flowed from his mouth like the thunder of a waterfall. The air thickened and hummed. A stream of light flashed from his chest.

  Bree shielded her eyes against the brilliant light, and she clearly saw the hideous thing that had grabbed her. No wonder those campers had fled. Its skin was thick and gray, the head rounded, with coarse black hair, hideous yellow slit eyes, and pointed teeth bared in a scream. It disappeared in the flash of light, taking the remaining creatures with it.

  Faelan stood with one hand still raised, the other holding the talisman. His face glowed, as if carved out of a brilliant stone. Time stood still. She’d never forget it, for as long as she lived. Where the creatures had stood seconds before, there was nothing but fallen weapons. Not even dust remained, like in the vampire stories. The light retracted, leaving the chapel dark again.

  Faelan was the warrior.

  He turned, and even through the darkness she felt his eyes searching out hers. Her champion. Her legs went numb, thinking how close they’d come to dying, how close she’d come to killing him with his own dagger. A few inches nearer…

  Faelan sprinted to her. “Are you okay?” he asked, pulling her tight to his chest. The beat of his heart was strong against her cheek, the talisman warm. “Bree, talk to me.”

  “I thought they were going to kill you. Where did they go? What was that light? I’ve never seen anything so brilliant.”

  “You saw the light?” His voice was raw, hands trembling as he cradled her face.

  “It was incredible. Why did you tell me not to look?” A rush of energy shook her to the core. She’d killed that evil thing. She, Bree Kirkland, had made it disappear. How? She didn’t know, but she wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t a freak. She’d always known there was more to life, something bigger, something more. Now she had proof.

  “You looked at an open talisman?” The words sounded like a death sentence on his lips.

  “It was incredible. Amazing. Astonishing. Hey, what’s that man doing out there?”

  Faelan whirled and faced the open door. A short, skinny man scurried out from behind a tree, slipped a cell phone into his pocket, and ran across the yard. It was the man who’d told the creatures to leave her alone.

  A rumble rolled up from Faelan’s throat. “Stay here. Don’t move.” He took off across the yard like a hunter stalking his
prey.

  Bree scooped up the broom she’d dropped and ran to the door. “Hurry, he’s getting away!”

  The intruder looked back at Bree’s cry and saw Faelan advancing on him, dagger drawn. “Greg,” Faelan said through clenched teeth. “Or should I call you Grog? Seems like yesterday I saw you.”

  The man threw his head back, hunched his shoulders, and groaned. His body contorted, skin rippling, growing thick, as his face stretched, sprouting long teeth and bulging eyes, like in a werewolf movie, but it wasn’t a werewolf. It was another of those things from the chapel.

  Faelan cursed.

  Bree gaped as the thing he’d called Grog drew a knife. She didn’t know where it came from. He didn’t have any pockets… or clothes.

  Grog took advantage of Faelan’s surprise and slashed at his throat. Faelan dodged the knife, kicking Grog in the thigh. Grog staggered, regained his balance, and came at Faelan again, swiping at his face with a clawed hand. The two hit the ground rolling, a grunting tangle of arms and legs and claws and blades. Someone cried out, and Bree flew into the fight, swinging her broom. She went for Grog, but missed and hit Faelan when he spun Grog around.

  “Get back,” Faelan said, swatting at the broom.

  She yelled out a kiap she’d learned in first-year tae kwon do and brought the handle down on Grog’s leathery wrist. It made a loud cracking sound. She hoped it was his arm and not her broom. Grog cursed and dropped the knife, snatching it up again while Faelan gawked at Bree in shock. Grog lunged, knocking Faelan off his feet, and raised the knife over his chest. Bree jabbed the broom at Grog’s face, poking his protruding eyes with the bristles. He sputtered and jumped to his feet, then shifted into a human again, clothes and all. Arms pumping, he sprinted toward the driveway like the devil was at his heels.

  Faelan gave Bree a glare that would’ve quelled an avalanche and leaped to his feet. Bree moved out of his way, but Grog was too far ahead, and barefoot, Faelan was at a disadvantage. He stopped, drew back his arm, and the dagger winged through the air, faster than when she’d thrown it. Grog stumbled and cried out but kept running.

  An engine revved, and a black SUV hurtled up the driveway in reverse. The back door opened, and Grog yanked Faelan’s dagger from his shoulder, dropping it as he jumped in. Faelan caught up and latched onto Grog’s arm, pulling him partially out of the vehicle. Grog swung his knife at Faelan’s throat as a black mist materialized overhead. Faelan was thrown back, and the knife caught his arm instead.

  Bree sprinted to reach him as the SUV sped away. The mysterious cloud had disappeared, and a stain was darkening Faelan’s shirt. “You’re bleeding,” she panted, reaching for his arm.

  He turned on her, his face distorted with fury. “What the bloody hell were you doing?” he bellowed, veins bulging in his neck. “Don’t ever interfere when I’m in battle.”

  She stepped back, shocked, before anger overrode her fear. Rising to her full height, almost a foot shorter than him, she glared back. “Interfere? I saved your butt in there, and you’re still playing male chauvinist? I don’t know what women were like in your day, but this is my house, my property.” She jabbed her finger into his chest. “I don’t take orders from you. I’m going back to get those swords before any more of those things come to kill us.”

  Faelan opened his mouth, but Bree stalked off. Let him bleed to death. He caught up to her a few steps away. His hand touched her shoulder, and she cried out.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice softer. The dark stain spreading across the torn cotton of his brown T-shirt, dripping down his arm, drained her anger like air escaping a punctured tire. She’d almost lost him tonight. If he hadn’t fallen back, his throat would’ve been slit instead of his arm.

  “You startled me,” she fibbed. No need to tell him that thing had clawed her, or she’d hurt her ankle, which seemed fine now. He already thought she was dying from looking at a light. “Is this why you wanted to leave?”

  “You have no idea what we’re dealing with.” He held his arm stiff against his side.

  “Then stop pretending you can’t remember anything, and tell me what’s happening.” She lifted his sleeve. Blood ran from a gash above the scar on his left bicep. She pulled her dust-covered pajama top over her head, thankful she’d worn a bra. Turning it inside out, she pressed it against the cut. “You need stitches.”

  “I just need a bandage,” Faelan said, staring at her breasts. “I’ve had worse injuries.” His gaze hesitated on the cross she wore, before lifting to her eyes. “I didn’t know you could throw a dirk.”

  “I didn’t either. It’s like something was controlling my arm. I can’t believe I killed it.”

  A muscle twitched erratically in his jaw. “That makes two of us.”

  “All those cousins who thought I was crazy, even my mother. I knew there was more to life than just… life. Hold my shirt against your arm,” she said. “After I get those swords out of the chapel, I’ll bandage your wound. No need to leave all those weapons for them to kill us with.”

  “They don’t need swords. They could kill you with their fingernails. I’ll get the weapons tomorrow.”

  “What were those things? What were they doing in my chapel, and what the heck did Grog do? One minute he was human then he… wasn’t.”

  Faelan still watched her as if she’d swallowed a hand grenade. “They were halflings, and they were looking for me.”

  “Halflings? Like in the movies?”

  “I don’t know about your movies. These aren’t full-blooded demons, but they have some demon blood. Full demons can’t step on holy ground. That’s why Grog couldn’t come through the door.”

  “Why didn’t he disappear like the ones in the chapel?”

  “I only wounded him. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Good grief. I just looked at a light. You saw it too, and you’re fine.”

  “It’s my talisman. What are you doing out here, anyway? I told you to stay inside.”

  “I was bringing your dagger,” she said, checking his wound. “You have control issues, and you’re a chauvinist. A nice one, but a chauvinist. You should work on that.”

  “You could’ve been killed.”

  “I know. That thing had claws an inch—”

  “No. My talisman could’ve killed you. It should have killed you. That’s why I told you to close your eyes.”

  “How could I not look? It was glorious—”

  He shook his head and rubbed his hand over his face. “You’re the most exasperating woman I’ve ever known. Nobody looks at an engaged talisman and lives.”

  “Then I guess I’m lucky I’m seeing only shadows and black spots. But if we don’t get inside and bandage this cut, you’ll likely bleed to death right here in the driveway, and I’ll have to kill Grog myself.”

  Faelan said something not very gallant as he retrieved the dagger Grog dropped.

  Bree ushered Faelan into her bathroom, since the first-aid kit was there, and remembered too late, so was the Jacuzzi. “Don’t move.” She wasn’t about to keep hovering over him half naked. Even wounded, he hadn’t stopped staring at her breasts. She put on the first thing she saw, an old T-shirt of Russell’s she’d planned to burn in a cleansing ceremony, and walked back to the bathroom where Faelan sat on the toilet lid holding her shirt against his wound. His fingers were long and lean, strong. He’d thrown that dagger like he’d been doing it forever. She could think of other things those fingers would probably do well, but until she found a way to keep her Prince Charmings from morphing into frogs, she couldn’t get romantically involved.

  “Raise your arms.” She reached for the hem of his T-shirt, helping him pull it over his head. Her irritation was forgotten at the sight of all those muscles inches away and the bloody cut on his bicep.

  She took a calming breath, which didn’t help at all, since all she could smell was him, and bent to get the first-aid kit from under the sink. When she looked back, she caught him staring at her b
utt. She scrubbed her hands and examined his wound. It was deep, still bleeding.

  “You should get this stitched,” she said, after she’d cleaned it.

  “No.”

  “It’d be a shame to die of an infection because you were scared to go to the doctor.”

  “I’m not scared… ouch! What did you do?”

  “It’s antiseptic.”

  “That hurt more than the knife. Well, do it then.”

  “I’m done. Hold this gauze against it until it stops bleeding. I’ve got some pain reliever and sleeping pills, if you need them.”

  “You need pills to sleep?”

  “Not anymore.” Although she wouldn’t rule out tonight. “I hope this heals as fast as your palm.”

  “That was a small cut, but I heal fast, unless I’m weak.”

  “Good, because hospitals want ID, and you don’t exist.”

  “ID?”

  “Identification. Proof of who you are. We’re big on that in this century. If we go to the hospital, I’ll have to tell them you’re homeless.” If he stayed long, she’d have to get him a fake ID.

  “I am homeless.”

  “Be glad you’re sleeping in a bed and not a crypt.”

  He gave her a wry smile. “What happened to your shoulder?”

  “A wall collapsed in the chapel. A stone hit me.”

  “That’s how your great-great-grandfather died,” he said, looking like a knight who’d failed to slay his damsel’s dragon. “I can take a look at it for you.”

  “It’s fine.” The last thing she needed was those hands on her. She was already dying from his scent. It must be the rush that came from cheating death. Nothing like sexual energy to prove you were alive. “You’ve had a cut on this arm before. Another demon?”