Heart Of A Highland Warrior

by Anita Clenney

  Gripping her dagger, she launched herself at him. He turned at the last second, but he was too late. Anna drove her dagger through his heart. A little more to the left than she would have liked, but it did the trick. With a startled gasp, he turned to dust before her eyes.

  A vampire. A bloody vampire. The howling continued, closer now. They must have guard dogs, and nasty ones from the sound of it. She hurried toward the back of the fortress, in the direction the skinny man had gone. Away from the dogs. There was a small offset entrance around the corner. The door was ajar, as if someone had forgotten to close it all the way. There was no time to make sure she wasn’t leaping from the frying pan to the fire. She had only one second to sniff for danger. She smelled sweat. Fear. The skinny man, she hoped. Better him than a pack of guard dogs.

  Quietly but quickly, she closed the door and listened. Nothing on this side. Outside, the howls grew louder, more ferocious. The noise would draw any other creatures here. She had no idea if she was dealing with only vampires or if there were demons here too, but she had no choice except to keep going and try to find the way up to the first floor and back out. With a place this size, there could be dozens, or even hundreds, of vampires or demons. She couldn’t take them on alone. And Ronan would want to be in on this fight. He hated vampires after what had happened to Cam.

  Anna did a quick check around her. There was a faint glow like she’d seen in the windows outside. A set of descending stairs led to the nicest dungeon she’d ever seen. And she’d seen more than she wanted. Demons loved castles and fortresses. She didn’t know much about vampires yet. The clan still had a lot to learn about their new enemy. This dungeon had a wide, arched corridor with suits of armor and statues lining the walls. Amber sconces provided the glow, giving the illusion of warmth when it was really cold.

  The deeper she went, the more the place resembled a dungeon. There were several doors with small, barred windows. She came to another corridor and saw two cells on her right. One had heavy shackles attached to the wall above a stone bench and another set of shackles bolted to the floor. A low cry sounded from the opposite direction. An angry, helpless sound like an animal that knew it was dying. It was even more disturbing than the howling outside. She pressed herself against the wall and moved closer to the sound. A door rattled, and she heard a dull slap, like a fist on flesh, followed by a groan.

  “Not holding up so well today, are you?” a man said.

  She couldn’t see if this was the skinny man, but it didn’t sound like his voice.

  Several more slaps were followed by groans. Anna moved close enough to peer inside the room. The first thing she saw was a pile of clothing on the floor, and then she saw the naked man. He was chained to a wall by his wrists. His ankles were shackled to the floor, and his back was facing her. He was young and muscular with dark hair almost touching the angry red slashes that streaked across his back. He snarled, and the muscles in his forearms bulged as he yanked at his chains.

  “One more,” his captor jeered. He was a big man, more fat than muscle, bald, and held a bullwhip with knots tied at the end. She couldn’t tell if he was a vampire, demon, halfling, or human. He didn’t smell like a demon, but if he was in human form, he wouldn’t. He might just be a nasty minion. He pulled his arm back and flicked his wrist. The whip snaked through the air and landed on the prisoner’s back, the knotted end digging into his ribs. The prisoner’s body jerked. He cried out, and his body went slack.

  Bile rose in Anna’s throat. Was he dead? Her fingers tightened on her dagger, but it wouldn’t be wise to intervene now. She didn’t know who he was or what this place was. But it was bad.

  The prisoner knew he wasn’t dead. He hurt too much to be dead. That was the only thing he knew about himself. That, and that he was a killer. He knew this because he was certain exactly how he’d kill the fat guard holding the whip if he could get loose from these chains and rid of the cloudiness in his head. A door slammed deeper in the dungeon, and he heard a roar. He’d heard it before. What in hell was this place? Maybe this was hell. Then he smelled it. Through the agony and darkness slipping over him, a light fragrance wafted on the air. He didn’t know how, but he knew that smell.

  The guard loosened the chain attached to the prisoner’s shackles, and he fell to his knees. A cup was shoved to his mouth. “Drink.”

  He wanted to refuse, but he was thirsty. He opened cracked lips and drained the cup. His body was shaking so half the contents ran down his chin.

  “If you want to use the toilet, do it now.” The guard removed the shackles from his hands but left the long chain securing his feet to the floor. Still holding the whip, the guard forced him to his feet, then shoved him toward the strange pot in the corner. The prisoner stumbled into place and started to lift his kilt, and then realized he was naked. He took aim, as best as he could with shaking hands. Bloody hands. A memory pulled loose from the emptiness of his mind. A man lying on the forest floor with deep slashes running the length of his chest. The prisoner could almost smell the blood. The man moved, his eyes widening with recognition. Pleading. Pleading for what? Mercy?

  The prisoner looked at his bloody hands again. Had he killed the man in the forest?

  “You gonna piss or not?”

  Through swollen eyelids he saw the guard leering. He always watched when he was naked or exposed. Bloody pervert. The prisoner managed a few drops, but it hurt too much to stand. He pushed the lever, this time too near collapsing to marvel at the water swirling as the pot emptied.

  The guard forced him back to the wall and shackled his wrists, bumping the prisoner’s swollen finger. It was a clean break. It should heal in a few days if they would stop beating him. “Don’t cause trouble and I’ll give you double food rations tomorrow.” The guard’s voice was sharper than usual, his smirk replaced with a worried frown. “Make me look bad in front of the master, and as soon as he’s gone again, you’ll starve. I’ll tell him you’re failing his experiments.”

  The prisoner slumped against the wall, wincing when his back grazed the hard stone. But exhaustion pulled at him stronger than pain. The burning in his body gave way to gooseflesh from the cold. With no windows, the only way he could guess the time of day was by mealtimes. It must be evening. The fragrance was still there. Did the guard not notice? The scent pulled at him, but he couldn’t place it. At the least, it took his attention off his raw back.

  He cradled his head between the wall and his raised arm as he’d done for the last, what…fortnight? Longer? He’d lost track of time. As soon as he closed his eyes, the dreams would likely return. Maybe this time they’d tell him who he was.

  Anna hid behind a statue and waited until the guard left the room. He was alone. The man he’d tortured was still inside. Alive? Dead? He’d closed the door, so she couldn’t see. The guard had to be eliminated. She didn’t know exactly who or what he was, but he was evil. He reeked of darkness and greed.

  Her talisman wouldn’t work if he was a vampire. So she stepped out from behind the statue, raised her dagger, and let it fly. The guard turned at that moment, and the blade caught him in the shoulder instead of the heart. He let out a terrible roar, and Anna started toward him to finish him off.

  “Stop,” a man ordered behind her, and a gun dug into the back of her skull.

  “Stupid bitch!” the bald guard yelled. “Who the hell is she? No one’s supposed to be down here.”

  “I got her.” The man moved around to her side, keeping the gun at her head. It was the skinny man she had followed. Neither of them appeared to have fangs. Maybe they weren’t vampires.

  The guard yanked out Anna’s dagger and pressed his hand against the wound. “Shoot her if she moves.”

  “Who are you?” the skinny man asked.

  “And how the hell did you get here?” The fat guard nursed his wound. “Are you one of the new ones? You’re supposed to stay upstairs.”

&n
bsp; “I followed him,” Anna said, motioning with her thumb at the skinny guy.

  The guard frowned. “Lance? Where were you?”

  His hand shook, but he covered it by changing positions. “Just went out to run an errand.” His voice sounded as shaky as the gun. He was lying to the guard.

  “He was talking to someone, a tall man,” Anna said. “Very secretive. When he left, I followed—” The gun smashed into her temple, and everything went black.

  Anna woke to shouts and the sounds of running. She lay on a stone floor. It was dark here. No sconces. She had no idea how she’d gotten here or how long she’d been unconscious. She didn’t feel any pain except for the violent headache from where the skinny guard had hit her.

  “I think he went this way,” someone called.

  She stood and tried to adjust her vision, but it made her head hurt worse.

  “How did he get loose?” the fat guard yelled.

  “I don’t know, but the master will flay us if he escapes.”

  “There won’t be anything left of us to flay if this monster gets hold of us.”

  Monster? Was he talking about the man he’d tortured? He hadn’t looked capable of escaping, much less hurting anyone. Anna listened to the sounds of the hunt, doors clanging and the guards shouting as she tried to get her bearings. She felt a warm breath on her neck and froze. She wasn’t alone. Whoever or whatever was behind her was close. Instinctively, Anna eased her hand toward her talisman. It wasn’t there. She lowered her hands, quickly but quietly checking to see if it could have fallen and caught on her gown. It was gone. A sick knot settled in her stomach. The guards must have taken her talisman and her dagger. She’d never lost her talisman, never even taken it off. A warrior was only half a warrior without her talisman.

  “Who are you?” she said, keeping her voice calm.

  No answer. Another warm breath. Closer? Her heart was pounding in her ears. If this was a vampire, she was screwed. Fists clenched, she slowly turned. The only think she could make out was a tall shape. Broad. Male. Definitely a male scent. There was something wild about the smell. Not quite human. The guards were yelling, coming closer. The shape let out a roar, and Anna threw a hard kick at his midsection. It didn’t connect. The darkness had swallowed him. She spun, straining to see him. Nothing. She heard breathing several feet away. Without her weapons, she wasn’t as effective, but she still had her senses, strength, and speed. She rushed toward the sound, and as she swung at his head, she saw another shadow dart past. There were two of them? She could see one of them now, and she struck. An arm reached out and grabbed her wrist, blocking her blow. She pulled free and went for him again. He ducked, but he wasn’t nearly as fast as before. Or he was a different one. One what?

  She aimed a kick at his chest, and he let out a groan. Then arms grabbed her, locked around her, and she smelled blood. She heard sniffing. Was he crying? She hadn’t hurt him that bad. She’d just gotten started. The arms weren’t pinning her now. He seemed to be holding on to her to keep from falling…

  Over his labored breaths, she heard the guards coming.

  “We need to check this section. He can’t have gone far.”

  She stepped back, and the shape slid away with a thud. Anna moved to the corner of the cell, away from the voices and whoever she had fought. Where was the second man?

  “What happened to the lights?” the fat guard asked.

  “I don’t know. They were on earlier when I brought his food.”

  “Turn them on.”

  “I’m getting them now.”

  The lights came on, the dim glow almost a shock after the pitch-black darkness. She was in a cell, and a man lay on the floor. Dark hair covered his face, and he wore a white shirt and a kilt. Or the shirt had been white at one time. Now it was smeared with blood. Like his hands. He couldn’t be the one who’d stood behind her. He’d moved too fast, like a vampire. This looked like the man she’d seen in the torture room. At least he was dressed now.

  The guards caught sight of the man and cursed. “How did he get here? I left him in the torture room,” the fat guard said, confirming Anna’s suspicion.

  “I didn’t bring him here.” The skinny guard was defensive.

  “I didn’t either…holy hell. It must have been the hybrid.”

  “Why would he do that? And how did he get the door open? I’ve got the key.”

  “What is he? A ghost—dammit. What’s she doing here?” The fat guard had caught sight of Anna. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “I did put her here,” the skinny guard said. “I had to lock her up quick, and I only had this cell key. The hybrid must have brought him later.”

  The fat guard cursed. “We don’t have time to move them both. We have to find that damned hybrid. Put one of them in the next cell.”

  “She’s conscious,” the skinny guard said. “I’ll move her.”

  “I’m surprised she’s alive, as hard as you hit her. And just as she was starting to talk. I think you are hiding something, Lance.”

  “She was getting ready to attack. I saw her muscles tense.” Lance, the skinny guard, opened the cell and pointed his gun at her. “Get out here.”

  Anna walked to the cell door. Lance’s eyes were filled with hatred. He was hiding something from the other guard, and she’d outed him. As soon as he found the right moment, she knew she’d be dead. “What are you?” she asked. “Vampire? Demon?”

  Fear and hatred flashed in his eyes, and he opened the door to the adjoining cell. “Get inside.”

  As Anna entered, she glanced back at the man lying on the floor in the other cell.

  Lance slammed the door. “What are we going to do with her, Bart?”

  “We’ll have to deal with her in the morning,” the fat guard said. “Let’s find the hybrid.”

  “I don’t know why they don’t just destroy him since we have the new specimen.”

  “The master wants to make sure this one works out first,” Bart said. “Let’s go deal with this mess.”

  “You gonna leave him unchained?” Lance asked, nodding toward the other cell.

  “He’s no threat in that condition,” Bart said. “And I drugged him earlier. I’ll chain him in the morning.”

  She’d beaten up a tortured, drugged man. Hell, what a night. She waited until the footsteps faded and then walked to the bars between their cells. The dungeon was still relatively dark, even with the sconce, and she couldn’t see the man clearly. She could only assume he was alive. “Hey,” she whispered. “Can you hear me?”

  His fingers twitched, and he tried to move but collapsed to the floor again. His hair still covered part of his face, and he wore a beard. From what she could see, his eye and cheek were swollen and streaked with blood. Like Angus’s.

  “Who are you?” she asked. “What are you doing here?”

  He rolled slightly, and his hair fell back from his face.

  Anna’s breath caught. “Faelan.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  ANNA PRESSED CLOSER to the bars. It couldn’t be Faelan, could it? She’d just talked to Ronan. He said Faelan and Bree should be home soon. Unless they had been captured in the last few hours. Could he be Duncan? He and Faelan looked enough like to be brothers. No, this man had a beard. Faelan and Duncan had both been clean-shaven in Virginia. But that was a few days ago.

  She studied him a minute longer, the length of his hair, the shape of his head. Definitely not Duncan. But she couldn’t be sure this wasn’t Faelan. Whoever he was, he needed help.

  “Can you move closer?” Anna asked. All warriors had basic medical training. She didn’t know what she could do with these bars between them, but she had to try.

  He must have heard her because he started sliding closer. It was slow, and she cringed as he groaned in pain.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.
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  His eyes opened, and Anna saw a flare of recognition before they closed again. Was it him? Good God. The clan must not know, or this place would be surrounded by warriors. And Bree would fight the Dark One himself to free Faelan. Anna reached through the bars and touched his hand. A jolt ran up her arm. Blimey. What was that? She’d touched Faelan dozens of times sparring with him. He’d beaten her every time, but he’d never shocked her.

  She checked his hand. No wedding ring, but he did have a broken finger. There wasn’t a talisman at his neck, but the guards could have taken his too. She needed to see his chest. A warrior’s battle marks were as good as fingerprints, and she knew most of the warriors’ marks from sparring with them, since males usually sparred shirtless.

  She shook his arm gently, and he hissed. She yanked her arm back. Maybe he wasn’t human. But he looked so much like Faelan. Demons could shift into human forms, but she’d never known a demon that could shift into a known identity. Even if that were the case, a demon would never be able to maintain his human shell if he were this injured.

  “Can you roll over? I need to see your chest.” Hopefully he’d think she was checking his injuries.

  He grunted and tried to move. It took a minute, but he managed to roll onto his side. She pulled his shirt aside and looked at the tattoos on his chest. Battle marks. Her heart sank. If the Mighty Faelan was trapped in here, what did that say for the rest of the clan? But something was different about these marks. She looked closer. It was difficult to see in the dim lighting, but she was certain these weren’t Faelan’s marks. Then who was he?

  “I need to check your injuries.” She’d probably inflicted a couple of them. She put her arm through the bars and checked his pulse. Strong. Alternating bars, she checked him over. There was a knot on his head and a couple of cuts on his neck that had already dried. She already knew his back was a mess. There were cuts on both calves and a small pool of blood at the edge of his kilt, making her wonder what else they might have done to him after she was captured.