Page 18 of Unveiled

He touched his chest, where the Triarc’s chant had seemed to vibrate through bone.

Valour.

He felt the memory of another heartbeat then. Not his. Adrian’s. From the moment they had stood back-to-back, pressed close during the chaos, breathless and alive, something passed between them.

Connor shoved the thought away so hard it felt physical.

He had work to do. First, though, he needed to have a stiff whisky, and plan what questions he wanted answered later.

***

Adrian

Adrian couldn’t decide whether the pounding in his head was from the storm, adrenaline, or the fact that he still needed sleep. His earlier hours resting had been filled with dreams of battle scenes, monstrous shadows, and danger. He’d dozed off in his bed while reviewing the fort’s accounts.

At the washbasin, he splashed cold water over his face, staring at the reflection that blinked back. Tousled hair. Pale skin. Eyes too bright from worry. His pulse jumped as the dream he had had hit him hard and uninvited.

Connor standing before him on the hill. His hand gripping his arm during the fight, then turning toward him after the last creature fell, eyes wild, breath shaking.

He gripped the edge of the basin. “Merdre. This is ridiculous. It was only a fucking dream.”

He dressed quickly, tugging on boots over warm socks, and pulling his coat tight before stepping into the hallway. Piper stood there, a steaming mug in her hand.

“There he is,” she said, taking him in with a raised brow. “You look like you’ve been dragged through three hedges and interrogated by all of them.”

Adrian bit back a smile. “Charming.”

“You get my meaning.” She pressed the mug into his hands. “How bad was it? Really?”

Adrian exhaled. “Bad enough. Something, I don’t know what, came through with that storm. Something magical.”

Piper nodded grimly. “The others will want answers.”

He knew that. He could feel the weight of eyes on him. His people expected strength. Expected steadiness, command. But even with all the chaos, the fear, the responsibility, his thoughts kept drifting back to one thing.

One person.

Connor Brannigan.

A stubborn, infuriating, broad-shouldered Highland menace.

Adrian took a long drink of tea, trying to burn Connor’s face from his mind. It didn’t work.

Max entered with heavy steps. “We need to head back to that village as soon as we can, get more answers,” he said.

Adrian nodded. “Connor will be thinking the same.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “You seem awfully certain of that man’s thoughts.”

Adrian sent him a murderous glare. Max smirked.

He felt restless the whole ride to the village. Even Max noticed, though he said nothing beyond a raised brow and a grunt.

The village was beautiful in the daylight. Frost-rimmed gardens, stone cottages glowing amber in the sun. But beneath the beauty lay fear. Adrian saw confusion in every face, pain in every movement.

He gathered small groups, asking what they remembered. Most had no answers. Some remembered lightning. Others remembered a sound like a crack in the sky.

He was speaking to an elderly woman when he sensed him.