Edinburgh, Scotland
Nearly twenty-four hours later, Diana passed through Immigration at the Edinburgh airport, grateful to finally be off the airplane. Two flights and an obnoxiously long wait in New York had left her rubber-legged and exhausted. She mumbled something about vacation to the Customs and Immigration officer, and within minutes she had her passport stamped and her bag slung over her shoulder as she headed toward the taxi queue at the exit.
No line. Thank God for small favors. She slid into one of the classic-looking black cabs that always appeared in movies about the UK.
“The MacDonald Hotel, please.” Her throat was rough from exhaustion and the rest of her didn’t feel much better.
“Aye, lassie. The one at the base of the Royal Mile, near Arthur’s Seat?” His Scots brogue was thick.
“Yes.” She’d used her phone in New York to book a hotel at the foot of the small mountain. She had no idea what she was going to do when she got there. Stand at her window and stare at it? Wait for it to talk to her? Fear had driven her away from home, but now that she was here she was at a bit of a loss.
The streets were dark and silent as the cabbie navigated through the city. In less than thirty minutes, the cab rolled to a stop next to a wide expanse of grass that surrounded the small mountain she’d come to see. Buildings crouched at the edges of the park, though they were set back a ways across the grassy expanse at the mountain’s base.
She squinted up at it, nearly blinded by the streetlight right outside her car window. The dead volcano looked bigger from the base. It positively loomed. One side was a sharp vertical cliff that rose up from the grassy park. It sloped down on the other side, undulating to form small hills and valleys.
It looked just as it did on her wrist. Bigger and not as stylized as the tattoo, but there was no mistaking it. It wouldn’t take long to climb to the top, she estimated. Maybe she’d do it in the morning.
“Ach, lassie, I’m sorry.” The cab driver’s voice made her jump. “The construction for the new tram has made it all the way down here. I took some back roads to see if I could get around it, but no good.”
She glanced out the window to her left. A maze of wire fence construction barriers crisscrossed with walkways.
“Your hotel is just ahead, not a hundred yards down the street. Only work lorries allowed through, no’ cars. There’s a walkway there, through the barriers. Think you can walk it? It’s a fine neighborhood—the Palace and Parliament are right here—so no need to worry.”
“Sure, no problem.” She handed him twenty-five pounds and slid out of the car, dragging her small bag behind her.
She stood for a moment in the pale yellow light as a fine fog began to creep along the ground, ushered in by the cooling air. But as she stared up at Arthur’s Seat, the revelation wouldn’t come. No epiphanies, angels on high, carrier pigeons, nothing. Nothing at all to tell her what was going on in her life and why an outline of this mountain had appeared on her wrist at the same time an evil creature had burst into her kitchen.
Her nails cut into her palm as she squeezed the strap of her shoulder bag. She had to fix whatever this was and get back to work, to finishing her book and getting her promotion. The longer she was gone, the more the kindling under her career smoldered. It would eventually go up in smoke, and then she would have nothing. Nothing to show for her years of work and nothing to show for the sacrifice.
As the cab sped away, she turned on her heel to head to her hotel, determined not to dawdle no matter how curious she was. Out of the corner of her eye, Diana caught sight of three familiar spindly figures with long black hair creeping out from behind the construction barrier. No. The cabbie had said she was near the top government building in the city—it should be safe.
The creatures crept closer along the only walkway connecting the city and the park. They blocked the only way to the safety of the hotel. Her heart jumped into her throat and she managed to let out one strangled scream before her body kicked into action.
The bag slipped off her shoulder as she spun to run across the lawn at the base of the mountain, hoping that someone had heard her and would come running. Running as she was now, with her feet pounding the ground and the wind tearing through her hair.
Cadan felt her presence like a wrecking ball to the chest just moments before a scream cut through the silence. He sped toward the noise, racing down the sloping hill from his perch on an outcropping of Arthur’s Seat, his lungs and muscles burning in tandem. He’d waited here all day for Aerten’s vision to manifest.
Finally, it had. But she’d said nothing of attackers.
Terror lanced through him like acid in his veins. The wind tore at his clothes with icy claws as he hurtled down the eastern slope, with only faint moonlight to illuminate the scene below him.
A small figure fled from three taller ones at the base of the mountain, hair flying like a flag behind her. She stumbled and fell, and he swore he could hear a sob burst from her throat. Protect. He embraced the instinct and pushed himself harder, adrenaline singing in his veins.
Almost there. Only fifty yards. The beasts were upon her now, and her terror made a growl rise in his throat. Hurtling over a pile of rocks, he tackled the closest assailant, crashing to the ground in a tumble. The creature, a spindly red demon with eerie feminine features, bucked beneath him, attempting to throw him off. Cadan didn’t hurt women, but this demon was more evil than woman.
Cadan thrust his elbow at its face, the satisfying crunch of cartilage and bone like music to his ears. He plowed a fist into the demon’s mouth. Regretful that he couldn’t hurt it more without leaving Boudica at the mercy of the other two, he slit its throat with a knife plucked from his boot.
Pain tore through his shoulder. He reached back, yanked on the
knife sunk deep into the muscle. With predatory grace, he swung around and grasped the demon’s arm and twisted it up behind its back. The crack of snapping bones sang in his ears. Vengeful pleasure seethed through him as he reached up and broke the demon’s neck with his other arm. For her.
A scream caught his attention. Just ahead of him, the woman struggled beneath the last demon. She brought her knees up and kicked the beast off her, then scrambled to her feet. Her gaze locked with his and she gasped, eyes flashing with fear and confusion. Fear dominated, and she turned and fled into the night.
Gods damn it, he was here to save her.
The demon she’d kicked off glanced at her fleeing form, then charged him. Cadan stabbed the beast in the heart, twisted the knife out, and took off after her. The demons’ bodies would sublimate once they drew their last cursed breath, returning them to the hell from which they came.
Must find her. Fear turned the blood in his veins to ice until he felt they would burst. With Boudica’s return to consciousness, someone who wanted her dead knew that she was back. Even now there could be more creatures chasing her.