Free Awaken the Highland Warrior by Anita Clenney Page A

vault was as breathtaking as when she’d first seen it. Wood inlay adorned metal etched with symbols as far as she could see, like a sarcophagus. A polished gemstone was set in each corner. Green jasper. Was that what she’d glimpsed inside? She was dying to inspect the interior, but opening it would be too dangerous. A streak of dried mud smeared the front edge, and she imagined Faelan being dragged there unconscious. Or worse, awake. Who had stood over him, turning the disk, stealing his family, his life?
    Bree raised the camera, and a shadow rose from the floor, obscuring the vault. A low growl came from behind her. She turned. A figure loomed in the door of the crypt, blocking the light. The darkness lengthened and grew as it came closer. She opened her mouth to scream.
    “What the hell are you doing?”
    “Faelan! You scared the stuffing out of me.” She glanced guiltily at the time vault, then at Faelan’s face, and almost wet her pants.
    His eyes were obsidian slits. “What are you doing here?”
    The low rumble of his voice made the hair on her neck stand. She backed against the burial vault, clutching the camera to her chest to keep her heart in place. “I lost an earring last night.”
    “Why is the time vault uncovered?”
    “I thought while I was here, I would get a couple of pic—” She yelped as he ripped the camera away.
    “Why?” The word dripped with venom.
    “Why? Because it’s incredible, that’s why.”
    His hands clamped around the camera with so much force she thought he’d crush it. “No photographs.” He tugged the heavy cover of the burial vault into place with one hand, grabbed Bree’s arm, and pulled her outside, eyes scanning the graveyard and woods.
    “Wait,” she said, wrenching free. “I promised Orenda I’d put this back.” She picked up the piece of headstone, cradling it in both hands.
    Faelan’s expression was hostile and wary, as if he expected her to bash him in the head. If she could lift the headstone high enough, she would. She left him standing there and started toward Orenda’s grave.
    Faelan caught up, planting himself in front of Bree. He opened his mouth to speak, looked past her, and his jaw dropped. He walked to the back of the crypt.
    Bree turned. From this angle, she could see a pile of dirt behind the crypt. She followed him, still lugging Orenda’s stone. Outrage rumbled through her as she stared at the gaping hole. Was this what he’d been doing out here? “What did you do? This is my favorite grave.”
    “I didn’t do it—” his head snapped up. “We have to go. Now.”
    “Orenda’s headstone—”
    Faelan snatched it up as if it were a marble and dropped it on the ground. “Put it back later.” He pushed her past Layla’s and her dad’s graves and out the gate.
    “Wait. We can’t leave the grave uncovered.”
    “I’ll come back.”
    Had he seen something? She expected gunshots or screams as he dragged her into the house. As soon as they were inside, she wheeled around to blast him for being so rude, and the phone rang. Frustrated and angry, she answered without thinking.
    The voice caught her off guard. She gripped the table to steady herself, leveling her voice to hide her dread. “What do you want, Russell?”
    “You’ve been avoiding my calls.”
    She wrapped her hand around her shoulder to stop the shaking. “I have nothing to say to you.” He’d stolen her money, her dignity, and peace of mind. What more could he want? Her blood? “I’ve asked you not to call.”
    “I miss you, Bree. Don’t do this to us—”
    He sounded sincere, like the old Russell from college, and for two seconds she remembered how charming and sweet he’d been. After she moved to Florida, the relationship died a long-distance death. A year and a half ago, she ran into him in an antique shop while visiting her grandmother; the same shop where she’d bought the Highland warrior painting. Bree had reached for an old book, only to find