“Can I interview him?” Matilda asked. “Maybe tag along and get some good material for my book.”
There was a resounding no from everyone in the room.
“Well, then,” Matilda said, looking almost offended.
“I thought you were writing about vampires,” Shay said.
“I’ve decided to write my memoirs. I’m not famous, but how many people have encountered a vampire and know real live warriors?”
Cody gritted his teeth. “You can’t write about warriors. Remember, we told you about the secret.”
“Oh, I won’t use real names,” Matilda said.
Cody clenched his hands together, and Shay patted his chest.
“And I’m including a chapter on reincarnation,” Matilda said.
“I didn’t know you believed in reincarnation,” Nina said.
“I just started. I think the cat was human once.”
The day of the funeral dawned gray, which to Bree seemed an indicator that nothing was going right. The minister was running late—not that it mattered since Faelan had vanished. Anna still hadn’t shown up, which was really troubling. The Seeker who was coming had gotten delayed. And Matilda had some kind of mishap that had Cody ready to scalp her and everyone around them.
Faelan had planned to reschedule the funeral, but Ronan and Bree had convinced him to continue. Whatever was happening with the vanishing fortress and Anna was big. Faelan was the oldest and strongest warrior the clan had. They needed him to be one hundred percent, not mired in grief.
“Stop pacing,” Ronan growled at Bree.
He was in a foul mood too. He was worried about Anna, afraid he’d gotten there too late to save her. “If he doesn’t show up soon, he’s going to miss his brother’s funeral.” Bree plopped down on the sofa, the same one Grandma Emily had used for years. Everything in this room was just like it had been when Grandma Emily lived here. Had Layla sat here? Layla had died when Bree and her twin were babies, so she couldn’t have known her mother anyway. But it hurt more knowing everyone had kept the truth from her.
“He’ll show up.”
Bree laid her hand over her stomach, trying to feel the tiny life growing there. “He didn’t even come to bed last night.” Faelan always came to bed.
Ronan dropped onto the seat beside her. “We were out late helping Lachlan and Marcas search for Anna. He probably didn’t want to wake you.” He cocked one eyebrow, and a slow grin started across his face. “But if he’s slacking on his conjugal duties, darlin’, all you have to do is ask—ouch.”
Bree pulled her hand back after smacking his chest. “You’re not fooling anyone. You’re feeling as guilty as Faelan. You’re just flirting to distract yourself.”
He touched his chest and shrugged. “You’ll have to stop hitting me after my nephew is born. You don’t want to set a bad example.”
“If you don’t stop tormenting Faelan, you won’t be around to be an uncle to the baby. And you know very well we don’t know if we’re having a boy or a girl.”
“I’ll take either,” he said. “Or both. Twins do run in the clan. And didn’t you have a twin? I’d say your chances are pretty good.” Ronan put his hand on Bree’s stomach, and the baby—or babies—jumped.
“Did you feel that?”
“Yeah.” Ronan stared at Bree’s belly and then looked away.
“You could have one of your own,” Bree said softly. He must want children, at least subconsciously. He touched her belly every chance he got.
“No thanks. Yours will do just fine. I’ll have my hands full keeping your ancient husband in line.”
Bree looked at her watch and stood. “I’m going to find him. He probably took a walk in the woods.”
Ronan stood next to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “No you don’t. I’m under orders to keep you here.”
“I’m worried about him.”
“He probably needs to settle his head, you know. This is hard for him, thinking Tavis died at sea, now finding out he died here. And in his mind he lost him just a few days ago. Finding the grave has brought back all the guilt. God knows he’s got enough guilt anyway.”
“Huh,” Bree said. “You’re one to talk about guilt. You still believe you’re responsible for Cam’s death.”
“That’s different.” A muscle ticked, just in front of Ronan’s ear. “I know I got my brother killed.”
Ronan’s phone rang before Bree could lecture him on his guilt over Cam. He pulled it out, answered, and Bree watched his face harden.
“What is it?” she asked, clutching his arm.
Ronan hung up. “The blond vampire escaped. What could go wrong next?”
Faelan finally arrived, and the warriors gathered under a cloudy sky to pay their final respects to Tavis Connor. His brother’s final resting place would be the burial vault where Bree had found Faelan. The warriors stood somberly in front of the crypt, waiting as Faelan and Sean spoke to the minister. It wouldn’t be a long service, so they hadn’t even put out chairs. He’d grieved for his brother once, and now he had to do it again.
“I still think he should have done the DNA test,” Shay said to Bree.
“Faelan doesn’t want to wait. He’s certain it has to be Tavis. It’s his dagger,” Bree said. “The man is wearing a kilt. The coffin is the right time period.”
“Sucks for Faelan,” Cody said next to Shay, idly playing with her engagement ring. “Like losing his brother twice.”
“Wait,” Shay said. “Isn’t that the minister you said had a nervous breakdown?”
Bree sighed. “Yes, but he was the only one available on short notice.”
Sean and Faelan joined them, and Faelan stood beside Bree. He reached for her hand as the minister took his place in front of the group. The wood coffin rested in the shadows behind him. Faelan had insisted on burying Tavis in his original coffin, though it was rotted in places. Faelan said his brother wouldn’t have wanted to be buried in a fancy box.
“We gather here today on a sad occasion,” the minister began. “But one that isn’t without hope.”
Bree held Faelan’s hand tight as the minister continued. A minute later, something thumped in the crypt. “What was that?”
“I don’t know,” Faelan said, looking at the crypt.
The minister looked at the coffin. He turned back to the crowd, cleared his throat, and spoke again. “This isn’t the end, but the beginning. Death is not final.”
There was another loud thump, and the minister jumped. Bree wasn’t sure, but she thought he cursed. He swiped a hand over his thinning hair and glanced behind him into the crypt. He sped through the rest of the funeral, periodically looking back at the coffin. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
“Don’t mention dust,” Brodie muttered. “Bloody vampires.”
A crash sounded inside, followed by a roar. The minister screamed and knocked over the makeshift podium as he raced across the graveyard. The warriors moved toward the crypt with one motion, drawing their swords.
“What was that?” Niall asked.
“It’s coming out of a crypt,” Brodie said. “It can’t be good. I hope it’s not that blond vampire.”
“He’s in the dungeon in Scotland,” Shay said.
“Not anymore,” Bree said. “Ronan said he escaped.”
“You watch the front, I’ll take the back,” Shay said. She and Bree were the only ones able to track the vampires’ quick movements, where the others just saw streaks of light. And they could fight the vampires better than the warriors could, as if something was programmed inside them to battle the creatures.
A shadow darkened the door, and a figure stumbled out. He had long, dark hair and wore a kilt and a blood-soaked shirt. There were shouts of alarm as warriors hurried toward the man.