Of Scars and Secrets (Time Walkers Tales Book 2)

4

He was surprised to see Nicholas, as it had been some time since his sister Emmy’s son last traveled through time to visit him. Although he was exhausted from a double shift in the emergency department, it had been some time since he’d seen his sister’s son, and in all truth, Connor enjoyed his company. There were few things that comforted him of late, and knowing that his efforts to ensure their bloodline would go on made the reality of what he must do seem somewhat easier to bear. No, Nicholas should not be cavorting through time, breaking every known rule of their kind in the process, but he could not find it within himself to come down too harshly on the young man.

They met in the street near the hospital and ended up seated at a corner bar. It was not long before Nicholas was several beers in, and both men were feeling no pain.

“You know you should be in 1656 by now, right?” Nicholas took a gulp of his beer, eyeing the waitress as she refilled their whiskey shot glasses. “What’s keeping you from leaving? Is my mom being difficult again?”

“Yeah, she’s not thrilled about it,” Connor said. “She’s been in a funk since her twenty-first birthday passed. She knows we need to go, but I haven’t pushed it too much.”

Nicholas nodded, and Connor noticed the young man seemed to have a pleasant buzz going, the conversation flowing easily without much filter between them. He was aware Nicholas did not understand why Connor was still determined to follow through with his plan to return to the past. Connor had read some of the passages in the Book of the Blooded Ones about his own death in 1656, and it was an argument they enjoyed pretty much every time they had a drink together. There was another fact, however, that Nicholas did not know, the true reason why Connor needed to ensure that Emmy returned to the past and why their mother prepared them so well. Emmy was meant to intervene when Time Walkers attempted to abduct their mother—and in turn, by stopping that event, Emmy would be there to heal their father from a mortal would, using the magical blood she wore in an ampule hanging from a lanyard on her neck.

Connor would not be swayed from his duty; it was why he was committed to the end. Nicholas, not knowing the truth, persisted in trying to convince him to change his fate.

“Well, you can’t hardly blame me for delaying it,” Connor continued. “I know how my story ends, but it’s still difficult to accept that I’m the one who has to set it in motion.”

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like to throw it all away? To forget what we know, to ignore those things we know to be true? I do, sometimes. I want to just go back, tell my father what I’ve seen…make them understand why I’ve been away from them for so long. To have a life, grow old with a woman,” Nicholas said softly.

Connor laughed at his nephew’s whimsical declaration. He took a swig of his drink, pointing one finger at Nicholas in the way that he remembered his father once did to him and his mother.

“I’d like to see my father once again,” Connor agreed. “It would be good to sit with him, to talk to him. I don’t remember much what he was like, only that he was strong, and that I felt safe when I was with him.” The thought that Emmy would save their father, and that his father would join them in the future comforted him, in those darkest times when he thought he might not be strong enough to see it all through.

Nicholas nodded. “Oh, aye,” he said, slipping back into that hint of an ancient accent. “He was a good man. I wish I had known him, too, when I was still innocent of all this…this chaos.”

“Why do you do it, then?” Connor replied.

“For him, I imagine,” Nicholas said quietly. “To right the wrongs I have done. It should have been me that day at Squatter’s Hill. I should have been on the bay mare. It is my fault, and I cannot strike it from my thoughts. No matter where I go, to what time, to what place, it is always there. And I am so weary of it.”

Connor downed the remainder of his draft beer and placed the empty glass on the table. The waitress swooped in and replaced it with a full beer, giving Nicholas a side-eyed glance at his empty shot.

“Another?” she asked. Connor raised a brow when Nicholas nodded. Once she left and came back with a fresh shot of whiskey for each of them, Nicholas stared at it for a while before he spoke.

“And you?” Nicholas asked, throwing back a shot, causing him to wince and shake his head. “Why do you do it? You could say the hell with all of it, screw your blood-born destiny. You could put an end to it now, forget what your family has demanded of you, and pretend it’s all some fairytale. Your sister would be safe—and you would live a long, normal life here, in this time.”

Connor took his time with the whiskey, nursing the shot somewhat until he resigned himself to the task and threw it back. He set it on the table, placing his fingers over the rim. How could he explain that once Nicholas began visiting him, it made him unable to do anything less than continue with his sworn duty? Even knowing he would die in the past, he faced it gladly—because changing any of it would erase Nicholas’s existence, and their bloodline would cease to exist. He was no hero, nor was he thrilled at the thought of his own demise. Yet once he knew his nephew, and knew of the life and family his sister would have, he could do nothing other than help his sister travel to the past—and ensure all of their futures.

He set a level gaze on Nicholas and spoke slow and careful when he finally answered his nephew.

“Some of us are meant to be sidekicks in this story. Sure, I could deny my duty and betray everything I believe to be true. But then what of my sister? And what of you, nephew? If I don’t go back, my sister will not live, and you’ll never be born. If I make that choice for my own selfish reasons, I’d be erasing her future—and yours. I’ve grown fond of you, despite you being an utter ingrate. I can’t end your existence before it starts. And who knows? Maybe it’s not all set in stone. I’m holding out for a happy ending.”

Connor lifted a toast to Nicholas, and they clanked their glasses together.

“To honor. And destiny. They’re pretty much the same thing, after all,” Connor announced.

“True story,” Nicholas agreed.

They carried on like that for some time. Eventually, when the barkeep cast them a glare for the umpteenth time, they parted ways. Connor watched his nephew walk away down the cobblestone sidewalk, grinning when Nicholas stumbled over an uneven stone and let out a swear in an interesting combination of what sounded like Norse and Scots. It seemed Nicholas inherited plenty of traits from their warrior ancestors, and Connor was glad for it.

He shoved his fists into the pockets of his coat and took off walking, trying to shake off the inevitable effects of the alcohol in his blood. It was already causing a pleasant chaos of his senses, and he imagined he would sleep well when he arrived home.

The cab ride back to his home in the suburbs offered Connor a brief respite, a momentary pause in the whirlwind his life had become ever since Nicholas reentered it. He paid the fare and stepped out into the chill of the night, the alcohol in his blood lending a deceptive warmth to the cool air.

Muttering a curse for letting himself indulge too much, his hand found the crackling white paint of the rail, the splinters scraping his palm. As he shuffled a foot onto the step, a figure emerged from the shadows, and Connor felt the fine hairs on his neck rise to attention, a ripple of unease washing over his skin.

”Cameron.” It was no question the man posed, rather a statement, his voice a low rumble that seemed too certain, too knowing.

Suspicion flared within Connor, stirring him to alertness. ”Who’s asking?” he replied. Connor could sense the simmering power in the stranger, his rugged features echoing something ancient and arcane as he stepped into the glow of the porchlight. Tousled brown hair fell loosely over thick brows, shielding a pair of unnatural blue eyes. There was no mistaking what the man was—and it had been a long time since Connor encountered another of their kind.

The man uttered a low snort. ”You’re a suspicious one, aren’t you? You’ll need to put that aside for now. We need to have a discussion, and I do not intend to waste time explaining our shared history.”

Every alarm bell in Connor”s mind rang out. Another Blooded One, here, in his quiet suburban life, was an anomaly, a threat not just to him but to the fragile peace he”d built. He looked up at the house. The lights were dark, so he knew his sister was asleep. Glancing back to the stranger, he nodded his head, urging the man to walk with him away from his home. He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked off, and the man kept in stride.

”What do you want from me,” Connor demanded.

“My name is Ronan. I know you and your sister plan to travel to the seventeenth century.”

Connor’s jaw tightened. “If you’re here to stop us, you’re wasting your time.”

Ronan continued, seemingly unrepentant. “Yes, you’ll go, as you are bound to do, I know there is no question on that matter. What you do not know, however, is that your collaboration with Nicholas Neilsson has resulted in changes to your timeline.”

“What changes? What has Nicholas done?” Connor asked. He abruptly stopped walking. A heated rush coursed through his blood, settling low in his belly. What had Nicholas done?

“You are aware you will die when you travel to the past, correct?” Ronan replied.

Connor nodded, the unease roaring now in his ears. “Yeah. I know.”

“Nicholas slipped an ancient elixir into your drink tonight. When you die in the past, you will be buried in a shallow grave. In three days’ time, you will rise, and I will be waiting for you.”

“You’re insane,” Connor growled. “Blooded Ones do not rise from the grave. We’re done here.” He’d had enough. The man was clearly crazy, a veritable lunatic, and he was speaking in riddles.

But Ronan wasn”t deterred. Instead, he stepped closer, the air between them charged with an unspoken challenge. ”You are correct; Blooded Ones do not rise from the grave. Yet you are more than a Blooded One now. The elixir your insolent nephew gave you changed that. When you meet your mortal death, you will rise as an immortal. I am here to ask you to join us. The council thought it best that you be prepared for what is to come.”

Immortal?The mention of a council, of decisions and shadows cast over his future, sent a shiver down Connor”s spine. Despite the alcohol, his mind sharpened, narrowed on the immediate danger and the broader implications.

“That’s impossible. I’ve never heard of an immortal Blooded One. Just who the hell is this council, and why should I believe anything you say?” Connor countered.

Ronan”s expression shifted then, a brief flicker of understanding crossing his furrowed features. ”Of course you’ve never heard of us. We are much more skilled at keeping our secrets than most Blooded Ones. Like it or not, we”re on the same side. And when you have lived as long as I have, you will realize that you need allies—among mortals and Blooded Ones.”

The air seemed to still, the night holding its breath as Connor processed Ronan”s words.

Ronan”s gaze met his. ”Your nephew has made powerful enemies among our kind. He had no right to give you the elixir and make the decision of immortality for you. It is not our way. If you wish to protect him from the repercussions of his actions, you will join us. If you do not, you will have no power to stop others of our kind from coming for him.”

The revelation hit Connor like a physical blow, the implications sprawling before him. Die a mortal death. Rise from the grave as an immortal. Join with a band of immortal Blooded Ones who want to see Nicholas eliminated. What choice did he have?

“Tell me why you’re offering to help me. Are you betraying your council over this?” Connor asked.

The corner of the immortal’s mouth twitched, as if the man found that notion humorous. “There are many clans of immortal Blooded Ones, no different than the mortal Blooded clans. We do not agree on all matters, and we have our differences. Fortunately for you, my clan understands that you had no choice in the matter of your immortality, and that is why I am here.”

“I need time to think,” Connor muttered.

”You need to make a choice,” Ronan continued, his voice a solemn vow in the darkness. “No matter what you decide, I will be there when you rise. It is not something any man should endure alone.” He extended his hand.

Connor considered it for a long moment. The veiled threats and unnerving revelations had ended with a somber realization of his duty and his destiny. He clasped the immortal’s hand and shook it.

“There is one more thing,” Ronan said.

Connor raised his brows and let out a bitter low laugh. “What more could there be?” he asked.

“The other Blooded One you consort with—the Time Walker. His kinsmen sent him here to find your parents. Do not let him follow you when you take your sister to the past.” Ronan replied.

“You’re mistaken. I know of no others of our kind in this time. It’s only Emmy and I,” he said.

Ronan leveled a hard stare at him. “As I said, you will learn you need allies. The police officer, he is not your friend. Ensure he does not follow you.”

As Ronan stepped back, disappearing into the night as silently as he had arrived, Connor’ shoulders slumped. He ran a hand over his face, rubbing his brow and eyes, and then tilted his head up to glare at the night sky. The moon shined brightly above, as if taunting him, a smirking globe witness to madness unleashed.

Derek. Not Derek. He had trusted the man with his life, with the safety and care of his sister. All the years they spent in friendship, Connor despised the part of him that he could not confide in Derek. Yet all along, Derek was living his own lie, his own orchestrated deceit.

Standing alone on the sidewalk, the cold night air no longer felt refreshing but rather seemed to seep into his bones with a chill that mirrored his inner turmoil.

He made his way home, the weight of Ronan”s revelations making the simple action feel monumental. How could he protect those he loved, guide them, when the very fabric of their reality seemed to be woven with far more complexity than he”d ever imagined?

He was immortal. His best friend was a fraud. Every moment of his life that led to this moment seemed to shatter, senseless and corrupted in the tangled truth of it all.

Inside, the warmth of the house enveloped him, a stark contrast to the cold dread that had settled in his heart. Emmy, ever perceptive, would surely notice the shift in his demeanor. He was adept at being the elder brother, the protector, yet she managed to see through him quite easily when he was troubled. How could he reassure her, maintain a facade of normalcy, when Derek had been a second brother to her? Two dangling truths he must withhold from her burned him, smoldering there beneath the surface of every interaction.

As he made his way through the quiet halls of their home, the familiar sights and smells offered no comfort. The living room, usually a haven of relaxation and familial warmth, now felt like a stage set for a play in which the actors were all too aware of the audience”s gaze.

He could make no decision yet on what to do—would he join Ronan and the other immortals, or would he take his chances alone, knowing his best friend was an enemy in disguise?

The night passed with restless unease, Connor turning over Ronan”s words in his mind, grappling with the impact of the decision he must make. When morning light finally crept through the windows, casting a soft glow on the familiar surroundings, it brought no relief, only a stark reminder of how he must conceal the truth from his sister.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, with Emmy”s concerned glances posing a silent question he wasn”t ready to answer. The usual comfort of their morning routine, the shared smiles and light conversation, now felt like a facade, and he did not know how to even meet her gaze.

After Emmy left for her day, Connor sat alone, uneaten food on his plate. The house, once a sanctuary, now felt like a fortress on the verge of siege. It was time. They needed to leave and travel to the past. He would tell his sister at dinner when she returned home, and then they would go. They could put it off no longer. Yet before they went, he had one last task to complete.

With the knowledge Ronan shared, suddenly so many things made sense to him. Fragments of memories surfaced, those tiny inklings that nibbled at the consciousness, surging up now and then but remaining buried unless stirred. A memory of finding Derek looking through drawers in the study, and Connor accepting his innocent explanation. Another memory of seeing Derek look strangely at the vial on Emmy’s neck, and quickly averting his gaze. Other insignificant things, like when Derek seemed to get tense at the mention of Connor’s mother, or the way his friend always changed the subject when asked about his early childhood or family. Despite his desire for Ronan to be wrong, in the depth of his heart, Connor knew the man spoke true: Derek was a Blooded One, a Time Walker who had inserted himself into their lives.

The confrontation outside the local police station was a forgone conclusion. Derek was about to step into his car when Connor approached him, his strides purposeful and laden with the weight of Derek’s treachery. Without a word, Connor grabbed him, pinning him against the side of the car with a force fueled by anger and hurt.

”I know the truth, Derek!” Connor spat, the bitterness tightening his grip.

“Hey, man, what the hell’s gotten into you? Back off!” Derek barked.

Connor started blankly into the eyes of the man who was once his most trusted friend. “You can go the hell back to wherever you came from and tell your Klassen kinsmen my parents are long gone. It’s over.”

The shock on Derek”s face was evident, but it was quickly replaced by a glimmer of resignation.

”Connor. Let me explain—”

”Explain what? Explain how you were sent to spy on us? Or explain how you lied to me, to Emmy, when we trusted you?” Connor interrupted, his voice rising. The fight between them was fierce, years of friendship unraveling in the space of heartbeats, each accusation widening the chasm that now lay between them.

Derek stared back, flinching as Connor gripped his shirt. Connor’s last twinge of hope sank when he did not deny the accusation.

“I had no choice. I was barely more than a child when they sent me here,” Derek stammered. “I didn’t give my father anything. Once I knew you, and Em, I didn’t have it in me to betray you. You guys are the only true family I’ve ever had, you’ve got to believe me.” Connor stiffened. Yes, he recalled when they met as kids, when Derek came to live next door with his foster parents. Was he eleven, twelve? It did not matter.

“Yeah, I thought we were family, too. It ends now. It’s over. We’re leaving. You’ll never see us again,” Connor blankly replied.

”Please, don”t go to the past. You”ll die there, Connor. And Emmy... I love her.”

The admission halted the fight as suddenly as it had begun, leaving them both panting, the air around them charged with tension and unspoken regrets. Connor released Derek, stepping back, his expression hardening.

”Emmy is bound to another in the past. Our duty is to our family, just as yours is to your own,” Connor said, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging within him. ”If you ever cared for us, if we were ever truly friends, you”ll stay here. Leave us in peace.”

They stood there for a long moment. Connor’s feet were rooted in place, as if the motion of taking a step would propel him on a path he could never return from. It was Derek who finally broke the silence, his voice low and resigned. ”I”ll stay. I won”t interfere. I promise.”

As Connor stepped away, he didn”t look back. The realization that his and Emmy”s departure was imminent, that there was no more time to waste, pressed upon him with an urgency he couldn”t ignore. He knew he had to convince Emmy, ready or not, that their time in the present was over. Their duty to their parents, to the past that shaped them, called them back, and he would do whatever it took to ensure they answered that call together.

Walking away from Derek, from the life he had known, Connor felt the weight of his decisions, the sacrifices yet to come. But his task was clear: he and Emmy would face their destiny, bound by blood and honor, and they would take that path to the bitter end.