“But you also said you protected relics.”
“Protect, not guard. ’Tis the archangels who do the hiding. As for the three you mentioned, one does not exist. ’Twas created as a great fable to distract certain people who came too close to the truth.”
She knew she must look like a gaping monkey, but she couldn’t help herself. She’d spent too many years tracing dead-end trails. If they’d created a false relic, that would certainly spur the Church’s fury, particularly if those clergy members who backed them discovered the duplicity and faced humiliation at the possible discovery. “Which one?”
“I shall allow your intended to tell you that secret…” He trailed away, looking out the window.
She resisted the overwhelming urge to cry out in frustration. He couldn’t just leave her hanging. Yet if she let him see her desperation, he might get suspicious and draw this out even longer. Hell, he might refuse to tell her anything.
With a heavy exhale, Merrick continued, “All you must know now is that Azazel desires eight relics. Each one he claims gives him power that shall, if they are all acquired, allow him to ascend to the Almighty’s throne. He has obtained the sacred nail used in Christ’s crucifixion that was ensconced in your house’s walls, and now he possesses the one in Maggie’s. He will try for the third. Soon.”
“Which is where I come in?”
“Aye. You possess the ability to stop him from overtaking the Almighty.”
She tried to swallow, but the lump of foreboding that lodged in her throat made the task difficult. Visions of spirits long ago, she could handle. Hell, in some of them she’d seen some horrible things. But she was certainly not equipped to stop a regular demon, much less one powerful enough to overthrow the Almighty. She shuddered. “How is this even possible?”
“Enough tonight. ’Tis plenty for you to consider.” Merrick’s gloominess evaporated. He slipped his hand around her upper arm, and through the fabric of her shirt, he fingered the armband. “Gabriel told you naught?”
The heat in his touch made her want to squirm. His gentle hold, the stroke of his thumb, so casual, yet so intimate. In less time than it took to draw a breath, she was thrown right back to when he’d decided McDonald’s was a better option, when she’d kissed him like she might never kiss another man again. She quickly averted her gaze before the intensity in his eyes made her give in to the urge to touch her lips to his, to discover whether the same all-consuming pleasure could occur twice. With a nervous laugh, she answered, “Not a word. Just that he’d picked two up, one for me and one for—” She stopped, aware she’d said too much. She hadn’t intended to involve Sophie until she’d learned all she could.
“For who?” His gaze hardened. When she hesitated, those onyx eyes glittered like glass. His fingers tightened around her arm. “Who, Anne?”
Oh damn. She bit back a disgruntled mutter and let her shoulders sag. “My sister.”
Where she’d hoped his expression might relax, it took on more intensity. His mouth pressed into a firm line. For two heartbeats, he remained silent, and then he turned her loose with a contemptuous snort. “’Tis no wonder you stared at Caradoc thus. She bears his mark. You sought to keep this from me.”
“No!” The exclamation tumbled off her lips with vehemence. “Sophie doesn’t have tattoos.”
“You heard Mikhail—the mark may be any kind, not just ink put into skin. ’Tis anything that is unique, significant, not a mere scratch or freckle.”
She shook her head violently. “Caradoc showed us the griffin as his mark.”
He stared at her, his gaze shifting with suspicion, accusation, and doubt. “If you withhold the truth from me, damsel, Mikhail shall have to cut me down to stop my leaving. I shall withdraw my oath of loyalty to you, no matter the cost.”
A sliver of fear needled its way down her spine and froze her heart. She’d already lied and couldn’t afford to lose the one person possibly willing to help her. “Um.” She shifted position and set her sack of food on the coffee table. Leaning back, she opted to talk about her sister. “Sophie’s a former model. She’d never get a tattoo. And you’ll certainly never get her out of California.”
“Her choice is not her own. You shall contact her tomorrow.”
Seraph, light, salvation—whatever these damn armbands meant, she would not sit back and watch Merrick throw himself at Sophie like every other guy did when they realized the other twin was better. Let Farran have her. He’d have an outlet for his anger at least. For if anyone could manage to really piss off these knights, it was her sister. They wouldn’t know what to do with a prima donna.
Shocked by the fierce jealousy that rushed through her veins at the thought of Merrick with Sophie, Anne struggled to maintain her cool. “I think Gabe can handle when she’s supposed to be here, just fine.” Deftly, she changed the subject. “I need a radio—I can’t sleep without music. And I need a change of clothes. Underwear. My toothbrush too. My fuzzy socks.” Since she’d decided to stay the week out, and Gabe had given her all her research materials, she might as well be comfortable.
Merrick’s shoulders shook with his soft chuckle. “Fuzzy socks?”
She sighed in exaggerated pleasure. “Oh, they’re the best. It’s chilly in here. They’ll keep my toes warm. Will you take me back to my house so I can get some things?”
He lifted one dark eyebrow. “You have decided to accept your fate and stay?”
That was a little more complicated. She couldn’t accept that her life could be decided by a prophecy, by fate.
Hesitantly, Anne nodded. “I have Thanksgiving break I can spend here.” Reaching to her right, she plucked a folded piece of paper off the end table and offered it to Merrick. “I need to get this to Dr. Knowles, the head of the History Department at Benedictine, so he doesn’t worry. I’m expecting him and his wife for dinner tomorrow night.”
“Nay.”
Firm, succinct, he left no room for argument. She gritted her teeth together.
“’Tis not safe for your return. Not until your intended is found. I shall retrieve the things you wish tomorrow night, and I shall speak to Mikhail about seeing your letter delivered.” He took the note and shifted position so he could shove it into his back pocket.
The air fled her lungs with a whoosh. Anne stared, certain she’d heard him wrong. But the longer she held his gaze, the brighter his eyes shone. He’d offered, and he didn’t look a bit put off by having to make an hour-long drive just for her belongings.
Overjoyed, Anne gave in to impulse. She let out a squeal and flung her arms around his neck in a fierce hug. Two days ago, no one could have told her she’d find the prospect of clean underwear so exciting. Now, the simple necessity felt as if Merrick had offered her the world.
His arms came around her hesitantly. But as the stiffness in his posture gave way with his sigh, he held her close. So close, she could feel the beat of his heart against her breast. As one hand rubbed the small of her back, Anne breathed in the spice of his cologne and settled her cheek on his shoulder.
The angled planes of his face, the sharp line of his jaw, fascinated her. Power lurked there, strong lines that spoke of hardship she’d never known and triumph she could only imagine. This man, this knight, killed without hesitation. And yet there was a gentleness beneath the surface, one he showed only when he thought she wouldn’t notice. Like now. The way he closed his eyes. The way he nudged aside a stray strand of her hair with his cheek and slid his hand up her spine, as if he too enjoyed the stolen moment of comfort.
The way he had revealed a moment of hesitation when he feathered his lips across hers.
She pulled away to study him more closely. Dusky lashes lifted. Confusion passed across his gaze before it morphed into complete stillness. A spattering of freckles lined the tops of his cheeks, so light and faint she’d have never noticed them if she weren’t mere inches away. Creases around the corners of his eyes said this man had laughed once, and often. So unlike the rare occasi
on he let her see his humor.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and Anne’s heart thumped hard. Her thoughts slammed together, her pulse leapt to life. Would he kiss her again? Did she dare kiss him? God above, she wanted to. But a tiny portion of her mind ordered her to wait. He’d been the one who’d run. He should be the one to make the move a second time. She licked her lips and swallowed, suddenly hot in the chilly room.
Merrick’s eyes lifted to lock with hers. In those dark depths, desire glowed like hot coals. And just as coals would burn, his gaze seared beneath her skin to warm her blood. To hell with the voice of reason—what could kissing him hurt? He’d already expressed his interest earlier. She’d gone so long without a man’s touch that she deserved a little self-indulgence. She was a grown woman, able to take a lover as she wished, and he was hers, after all. For a little while at least.
It didn’t matter if he knew her tattoo matched his or not. She could keep hers hidden between the combination of darkness and her socks.
Yes—a grown woman. She wanted this. Wanted him. She leaned in and feathered her mouth across his.
CHAPTER 10
Merrick did not dare move. He was too afraid to find himself dreaming and too afraid good sense would crash upon him. Anne’s breath mingled with his, her seeking touch laden with unspoken questions. Questions he could not begin to answer.
She suckled at his lower lip, and something deep inside his gut ground down so tight he ached. The heat of her tongue, as she trailed the tip of it along the seam of his mouth, warmed his blood. He parted his lips, touched his tongue to hers. A jolt of fire shot through him, and he could not silence a gasp. Though he had already experienced the headiness of her mouth, it affected him with equal power, if not more, the second time.
Releasing her arm, he slid his hand up her shoulder, spread his fingers along the side of her neck. He did not know who moved first, who changed the angle of their body, but as he released a shuddering exhale, the kiss deepened. Her tongue tangled with his, slowly, leisurely. Her sweet flavor soaked into his awareness, erasing all sense of time and place. Aye, indeed she tasted of honey, and something far richer, a heady flavor he could not describe but left him craving more. Unbearably feminine.
He twined his free hand into her hair, becoming lost in the kiss. It intensified, took on more demand, and Merrick’s body responded with frightening ferocity. His cock swelled. His heart thundered against his ribs. The hollow ache in his gut became intolerable. On a low groan, he dragged Anne into his lap, desperate for the feel of her softness.
She straddled his thighs, settled herself atop him with such perfection he nearly spilled himself right there. He sucked several sharp breaths through his nose and fought the rush of ecstasy back. As he trailed light kisses across her cheek, he tugged on her hair, tilting her head to expose her throat. He traced the throbbing vein there with the tip of his tongue and dropped his hand to her breast. Her fullness filled his palm, her nipple puckered beneath the pad of his thumb.
An image of his mouth closed around the hardened nub rose behind his eyelids. Aye, she would have beautiful, creamy skin. Soft with a lingering hint of the fragrance he now associated with her. He swirled his thumb around her nipple as he might do were she in his mouth, and Anne murmured a soft sound of pleasure.
Merrick loosed her hair and caught her other breast. Lifting, kneading, he brought them together until the soft flesh puckered at the open neckline on his shirt. He pressed a kiss there, grazed his teeth across her flesh until the lace of her bra thwarted him. Frustrated, he popped one button free with a flick of his wrist, giving himself room to pull back the scrap of lace. The dusky bud beneath stood erect, begging for attention.
Glancing up at her, he took in her partly open mouth, the way her teeth clamped into her lower lip. She shuddered as he stroked her breast, the motion rolling down her spine and rocking her hips into his. A burst of pleasant pain arced through his veins. God’s teeth, he felt as if he might come apart at the seams. Other women had impassioned him, but never such as this. Never had he felt so out of control of his actions, experienced the deep need to seat himself within her and hear her cry out his name. Truth be told, he could not recall a time he wanted to hear a woman cry out, as he much preferred the silence, the sound of dampened flesh slipping and sliding. And yet he wanted to hear Anne’s release.
He shut his eyes and closed his mouth around her nipple. His free hand, he fastened at her hip. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she arched her back, allowing him more freedom with his mouth. He suckled, he laved, he teased. Steady pressure of his hand guided her hips until she moved against his throbbing erection in small, agonizingly faint motions.
His body moved of its own accord, seeking out what it needed. His hips lifted into hers, grinding against her sensitive center, the barrier of their clothes a torment he despised. No doubt, she would be moist and ready, for the heat that burned between them could not solely come from his desire.
She trembled in his arms. “Merrick,” she whispered, “make me yours.”
He let her flesh slide from his mouth to murmur, “’Tis what I—”
Merrick stopped. Like water thrown upon a campfire, everything inside him turned cold. ’Twas exactly what he was doing—making her his when she belonged to one of his brothers. Saints’ blood, had he lost so much of his soul to darkness?
Damnation.
His nerve endings frayed as he eased Anne off his lap. Tugging at his jeans, he stood. He dared not look at her, could not bear to see the disappointment certain to lurk in her expression or the confusion behind her eyes. He ground his teeth together so hard he thought they might crack and pulled in a deep breath. “You are not mine to have.”
Without giving her a chance to protest, he strode from the room and pulled the door shut behind him. In the hall, he sagged against the wall. Leaving her caused unexplainable pain. His body shook with the effort of walking away, of doing what his oath demanded. If ’twere his mark she bore, naught could stop him from taking all she offered. He would have her until they were both so spent with exhaustion they could do little more than roll into each other’s arms and sleep.
Yet that was the crux of the matter. She was not his. Would not ever be his. Going down this path was a road to torture unlike any he had borne before. For her, for him, for the man she would eventually swear herself to. He would rather face the beatings, the stretchings, the carvings he had endured during his imprisonment at Chinon.
Nay, he would not let the darkness convince him he could indulge himself with Anne.
Still dizzy, he shoved away from the wall and descended the stairs to the lower levels of the temple. The halls were dark and quiet, the men’s nocturne habits having brought them to the common room, or drawn them to a game of late-night billiards. He marched down the corridor to Mikhail’s chambers and let himself inside.
Bent over a thick, leather-bound tome that Merrick knew to be the archangel’s record of events, Mikhail did not lift his head as he asked, “What troubles you, Merrick?”
“Anne has agreed to cooperate and stay. I have agreed to retrieve a few of her belongings tomorrow.” He withdrew the paper from his pocket and set it on Mikhail’s desk. “She asked me to leave that note for someone at the college.”
Unfolding the thin slip of paper, Mikhail studied Anne’s letter. Gently, he folded it closed and set it back down with a succinct nod. “I shall see ’tis appropriately handled. Thank you. You should rest—you look as if you have not slept in weeks.”
’Twas how he felt as well, but he knew his harrowed expression had little to do with lack of sleep and everything to do with an auburn-haired demon whose kiss carried an even greater poison than Azazel’s evil. “Aye,” he murmured.
Letting himself out, Merrick made his way to his chambers and stripped out of his clothes.
Anne haunted him as he lay down in his bed. Her perfume clung to his pillow and stirred the heat in his loins. Softer, sweeter lips he had not known
. Were it not for the whores who pretended interest, he had never heard a maid ask for a bedding. ’Twas his experience women would rather play coy than admit they felt such things as pleasure. Aye, their bodies did not lie, but their tongues omitted much.
Yet Anne left no room for questions. Like a man, she made her wishes known. A trait Merrick found refreshing. Would she speak so freely in his arms? He envisioned her bold, unafraid, her hands guiding his over her body, drawing his fingertips between her legs.
Make me yours.
He groaned aloud as his muscles tensed and his cock stirred against his thigh. He flopped onto his back with a frustrated hiss. Yet she waited for him there as well. He felt the heaviness of her body, the perfect way her hips held him. With an anguished oath, he rolled onto his side. Nay, though he might try, he would not sleep tonight.
* * *
Anne dragged herself off the couch after what seemed like hours. In reality, she suspected only twenty or thirty minutes had passed while she sat in stunned stupor, but without a clock or radio, she couldn’t be certain.
What the hell had just happened? She hadn’t particularly intended for her stolen kiss to lead to making out on her new couch, but when it had, she sure hadn’t expected Merrick to withdraw like he flipped a light switch.
Her left breast still tingled, and she absently rubbed at it as she wandered into the bedroom. Full dawning settled over her. She’d asked Merrick to sleep with her. Something had misfired in her brain. While she was more than free to take a lover, getting wrapped up in Merrick complicated things. They lived, literally, in two different worlds. He wouldn’t fit into hers, and she had no intentions of getting stuck here. Still, when it came to him, she found herself powerless. He eradicated good sense, made her incapable of thinking of anything beyond the incredible nature of his kiss. The way he made her feel alive.
The way he made her feel, period.
Immortal Hope: The Curse of the Templars Page 12