No. Not every man.
There was still one she could count on.
***
Faelan stood outside Bree’s door, sweat running down his chest. He’d tried sparring with Brodie to work off his frustration, but it hadn’t helped. He had to make her understand. He raised his hand to knock and flinched as something crashed inside. It was followed by cursing and a flurry of banging and stomping.
“What time does your flight leave?” a male voice asked. Faelan felt the doorknob dig into his palm. What the hell was Ronan doing in Bree’s room?
“Six a.m. I’ll get a room for tonight,” Bree’s muffled voice said.
“You want me to come with you?”
Come with her? Faelan pressed his ear to the wood, straining to hear her response. All he heard was a smacking sound. Was that bastard kissing her?
Faelan flung open the door. It bounced against the wall and almost smacked him in the face when he charged inside. Ronan was half naked, as usual, and there wasn’t an inch between him and Bree. Both of them turned, and Bree’s face frosted over. She stood on tiptoe, gave Ronan a kiss on the cheek, and snatched her suitcase.
“Thank you, Ronan, for everything. I’ll call you later.” She stalked past Faelan, her eyes liquid with pain.
For everything? What had he bloody given her? Faelan stared at Bree’s retreating back and Ronan with his arms crossed, eyes hard. Faelan wanted her to leave, but not like this. He hurried after her. He’d throw Ronan out a window later.
Faelan raced down the opposite hall, shoving past several warriors who looked up in surprise. Rounding a corner, he ran into Conall, the young warrior he’d practiced with earlier. “I need your help.”
After a hurried conversation, Faelan followed Bree outside to where Anna’s car was waiting. “Let me carry that.” He reached for her suitcase and she whirled, eyes ablaze. The corner of the case grazed his groin, and he grunted, doubling over as she turned and stomped to the car. He hobbled after her. “Wait, we have to talk,” he wheezed.
Bree flung her luggage inside Anna’s car. “Talk.” Her expression was dour, as if she’d been sucking lemons. “You lie to me, treat me like a leper, and now you want to talk? You’re just like those demons you hunt. A handsome form hiding a troll. I risked my life for you, fed you, clothed you, tended your wounds. I found your family. I gave you everything I had to offer, and you shoved it all back in my face. There’s nothing left to say.”
She climbed in the car and slammed the door. Anna, standing by the driver’s door, gave him a cool stare and got in. The car sped down the driveway, leaving Faelan standing there holding his groin. He was still there when Conall’s car rolled by.
A troll? She’d called him a troll? He turned and saw the flash of faces disappear from the window behind him and warriors watching from the field. “Mule-headed woman.” He started toward the stable. Horses didn’t nag or bombard a man with hundreds of questions and look at him with accusing eyes that wrapped his heart in layers of guilt.
“You gonna let her go?” Ronan asked, coming up behind Faelan. He’d put on a shirt, at least.
“Aye.” Faelan debated on knocking the scowl off Ronan’s face. Instead, he clenched his fists and trudged toward the stall of the black stallion that reminded him of Nandor.
“I could go with her. For protection,” Ronan said, his face hard. “Then meet you in Albany.”
Faelan turned and moved inches closer to the tall warrior. “She doesn’t need any more of your bloody help. Or anything else you have to offer.” He’d heard about Ronan’s exploits with the female sex. It appeared he was trying to add Bree to his list of conquests.
Ronan stepped forward, bringing them nose to nose. “She’s sure not getting anything from you. Everything she’s done for you, and you throw her out like yesterday’s trash. I don’t care if you are a legend. She deserves better than that.”
The horse skittered away, sensing the tension.
“I’m taking care of her,” Faelan said, moving to steady the stallion. Conall would keep an eye on her.
“What you’re doing is acting like an ass. She spent last night in a chair because you were in her bed.”
“I’ll wager you had a solution.”
“What if I did? Unless she’s your mate, you have no say in the matter. And you sure as hell have no say over where I sleep.”
Faelan knew if he didn’t leave now, one of them would end up on the floor. He opened the door to the stall. “I’m going for a ride before I do something you’ll regret.” His groin still ached, but it would serve as a reminder that women and warriors didn’t mix.
“I liked you better when you were in the time vault.” Ronan punched the stable wall and walked away.
Faelan stayed out all day, riding the horses, grooming the horses, complaining to the horses. He watched the moon rise and considered waiting for the sun, anything to keep him away from family members and warriors who kept popping around corners and out from behind trees like jack rabbits, their dark looks heaping on the guilt.
Sorcha was the only one who understood.
The next morning, his stomach forced him to breakfast. The smells of eggs, bacon, beef sausage, potato scones, and kippers were ruined by Ronan’s black glare. Anna, Brodie, and Shane didn’t look any happier. No one spoke but Coira.
“Faelan, I found this in Bree’s room. She must have forgotten it.” Coira laid a book beside his plate and patted his shoulder. At least she wasn’t glaring at him. “Could you get it to her? Or I could mail it, if you’ll give me the address.”
It was the sketchbook Bree’s mother had brought. Faelan swallowed a bite of tasteless bacon and opened the first page. There were drawings of the graveyard and a lassie standing inside a glowing crypt, blood dripping from her hands as she reached for the burial vault. The bacon felt like a live pig tromping in his stomach. There was a castle—Druan’s or the clan’s, he couldn’t tell—and a face in the window, drawn by a child. The torment of the tiny artist leapt from the pages, in the evil slant of the eyes and the thick skin on the head and tiny pencil strokes where Faelan knew firsthand there were sharp teeth.
Druan.
Faelan’s fork clattered to the table. How could a child draw a picture of an eight-hundred-year-old demon?
He turned the page and stared at the last sketch in shock.
For God’s sake. How many coincidences could one person bear?
He shoved back from the table, catching his chair before it crashed. “I have to go…” He left the others staring after him. Holding the sketchbook, he hurried to the phone. Bree didn’t answer her cell. He scrubbed his hand over his face, trying to calm the panic. Sorcha had warned him this was somehow connected to Bree, that she was in danger. He’d thought sending her away would fix it.
Faelan tried Bree’s mother and found she knew nothing about her daughter coming to visit. Maybe Bree hadn’t told Orla. Using the credit card Sean had given him, Faelan called the airline and arranged for the first flight home. Home, where was home? He was stuck between times. He would arrive before the others, but he needed to make sure Druan didn’t escape and that he was far away from Bree. And he needed time to settle his thoughts, figure out what he would do after the battle was over. Figure out if he could fix the damage he’d done to Bree.
Faelan grabbed a suitcase and started throwing in clothes. The door opened, and Ronan stepped into the room. “What do you want now?” Faelan asked.
“You look like you saw a ghost.”
“Worse. I think Bree’s in danger.”