Faelan: A Highland Warrior Brief (13 page)

The next time Michael called Faelan, it wasn’t to help Bree. Her grandmother was talking to a man. He looked familiar, but something about him repulsed Faelan. The man was angry and threatening Bree’s grandmother. She backed away, frightened. “No. I can’t let you do it. Please leave.”

Then the man shifted, and he wasn’t a man anymore. He was a demon, tall, with gray skin and yellow eyes. The same demon who had sat in Bree’s bedroom. Faelan hurried to help her grandmother. The demon must have sensed him. He turned and ran, but it was too late for Bree’s grandmother. She lay on the floor, gasping for air, her hand on her chest. Faelan knelt beside her and focused as hard as he could to try to touch her, to help her. He put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll get help.” He didn’t
know how. No one could see him.

But she must have seen him, because she looked up at him. “Who are you?”

“Faelan.”

“Our Faelan? From the time vault? Am I dead?”

“You know me?”

“Our family protects the time vault. We gave an oath.” She clutched her chest. “My heart won’t last. You must protect Bree. She’s in danger. I tried to warn her. Help her…please.” Then she pulled in her last breath and
died.

Abruptly, as if his own breath were being pulled from him, he was drawn back to his silence. Michael was there,
filling the place with a glow.

“It’s almost time,” Michael said. “Rest now. The battle is coming, and you must be strong. The world will perish if you don’t succeed.” He moved closer, closer than he ever had. The light was so bri
ght Faelan’s head ached. “Sleep...
you have to forget.”

Faelan felt himself traveling, as if being pulled backwards through a cave. Her face flashed before him, as a woman, then a lass, each image growing fainter. “No! Don’t take her f
rom me. I have to protect her.”

“You will. But I can’t let you remember where you’ve been. The time
vault must also be protected.”

Faelan strained to hold on to her face, but blackness
closed in on him.

She was gone.

Then, as if he watched from a great distance, he saw himself crouched behind a tree, waiting as the sound of horses thundered through the night. A horde of demons appeared with Druan riding in the middle. If Faelan didn’t destroy the demon, the world would end, but Druan was supposed to be alone. The demon rode closer, and Faelan noticed with shock that three other ancient demons rode with Druan. It was too late for Faelan. He couldn’t destroy them all, but he would kill as many as he could before he died. He started to attack, but something smashed against the back of his head. There was a moment of darkness, then a light flashed. A shadowy figure stood over him. Druan! He grabbed his dirk and struck for the shadow’s throat, seeing at the last second tha
t it wasn’t Druan, but a woman.

A stranger with dark
hair and terrified green eyes.

The End

Awaken the Highland Warrior

by Anita Clenney

Bree’s fingers tightened around the metal disk as she ran through the graveyard, zigzagging past leaning headstones. Her lantern swayed, throwing shadows on the crypt looming before her, its stone walls the color of bones. Thick vines crept over it, sealing in cracks left by time, while gnarled branches from the twisted oak hovered like
outstretched arms. Protecting...

or threatening?

An owl screeched overhead as she scurried up the crumbling steps, wishing night hadn’t fallen, when shadows twisted into monsters and spirits came out to play. The burial vault lay open near the back of the crypt, waiting. Blood rushed past her ears, a sound like all the angels’ wings beating in unison. She moved closer and peered at the chest inside. It was ornate, made of metal and wood, with green gemstones embedded in each corner. It looked ancient, like it belonged in a museum or a pyramid, or perhaps Solomon’s Temple. The beauty of it struck her again, as it had when she’d first discovered it.

She set the lantern on the edge of the burial vault and studied the markings on the chest. Swirls and shapes like writing shifted in the amber glow. Stretching out a finger, she touched the surface. Warm? She yanked her hand back and hit the lantern. It crashed to the floor, throwing the top of the crypt into darkness. Dropping to her knees, she scrambled for the light. A sound cut through the silence, scraping, like fingernails against stone. She grabbed the lantern, not daring to blink, then remembered the wind outside and the claw
-like branches of the old tree.

She placed the lantern securely on the vault cover she’d pushed onto the alcove and unfolded her hand. The metal disk she held was three inches in diameter and appeared to be made from the same metal as the chest, not silver, not gold. One side had deep grooves; the other was etched with symbols. With trembling fingers, she lined up the disk with the matching grooves on top of the chest and pushed. There was a series of clicks
as the notched edges retracted.

A voice rushed through her head.
What lies within cannot be, until time has passed with the key.

Bree whirled, but she was alone. Only stone walls stood watch, their secrets hidden for centuries. It was sleep deprivation, not ghosts.

She pulled in a slow, steadying breath and tried to turn the disk. Nothing. Again, this time counterclockwise, and it began to move under her hand. She jerked her fingers back. A loud
pop sounded and colors flashed...
blue, orange, and green, swirling for seconds, and then they were gone. Great, hallucinations to
go with the voices in her head.

Her body trembled as she gripped the lid. This was it. All her dreams held on a single pinpoint of time. If this ended up another wild goose chase, she was done. No more treasure hunts, no more mysteries, no more playing Indiana Jones. She’d settle down to a nice, ordinary, boring life. She counted.

One.

Two.

Three.

She heaved open the chest.

Terror clawed its way to
her throat, killing her scream.

The man inhaled one harsh breath and his eyes flew open, locking on Bree. A battle cry worthy of
Braveheart
echoed off the walls. Bree jumped back as metal flashed and a rush of air kissed her face. Petrified, she watched him crawl out of the burial vault, a wicked-looking dagger in his hand. Her scream tore loose as she turned and fled. Fingers grazed her
shoulder, and she glanced back.

The last thing she saw before her feet tangled with the shovel was the dead man reaching for her.

Other Books By
Anita Clenney

Awaken The Highland Warrior
(A Connor Clan Novel)

Embrace The Highland Warrior
(A Connor Clan Novel)

Faelan: A Highland Warrior Brief
(A Connor Clan Novella)

Guardians of Stone
(A Relic Seeker Novel)

Fountain of Secrets
(A Relic Seeker Novel)
coming soon!

About the Author

Photo by:
Barbara Woodward

NY Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author Anita Clenney grew up an avid reader, devouring Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys books before moving on to mysteries and romance. After working as a secretary, a Realtor, teacher’s assistant, booking agent for Aztec Fire Dancers, and a brief stint in a pickle factory (picture Lucy and Ethel--lasted half a day)
... sh
e realized she'd missed the fork in the road that led to her destiny. Now she spends her days writing mysteries and paranormal romantic suspense about Secret Warriors, Ancient Evil and Destined Love. Anita lives in suburban Virginia, outside Washington DC, with her husband and two kids.

Fun Facts

- She once lived in a tree house.

- Stopped to rescue an unconscious chipmunk once, only to have him miraculously revive in my car and go into escape mode.

- Has been in love for as long as she can remember. It all started with Donny Osmond.

- Is a hopeless shopaholic (forget tennis elbow, she's discovered shopper’s elbow).

- Has over 29 mirrors in her house. Not because she wants to see herself, but because she uses them as artwork.

- Favorite outfit: jeans and a t-shirt. And diamonds.
Always
diamonds.