Immortal Hope: The Curse of the Templars

by Claire Ashgrove

  Hearing nothing, Anne took a deep breath and descended.

  Careful to keep her steps light enough that her boots didn’t echo, she climbed down ten, fifteen, maybe twenty stairs, and still they went on, a never-ending path into complete darkness. The air changed the farther she went, assuming a cool, heavy moistness.

  “Well, well, what have we here? Merrick leaves the comely maid.”

  From behind her, the harsh masculine voice brought her to an immediate halt. She cringed inwardly, scrambled for a likely excuse, and slowly turned around to face certain punishment. Wearing a sneer, a man she didn’t recognize folded brawny arms across his chest and blocked her path. “Ranulf, look what I found.”

  Ranulf. Anne stiffened, the name prompting an unwanted memory of the man who’d glowered at her during dinner.

  He emerged behind the first. His frosty blue gaze fell to her, full of the same malice it had conveyed before.

  She backed up, taking another step into the shadows. Her eyes darted past them, a futile search for a means of escape. But the intimidating pair filled up so much of the stairwell she could hardly see the light beyond. “Ah. I—I got turned around.”

  “Did you now?” Ranulf asked with a smirk. “We can show you where you belong, wench.”

  “I ah—” Anne stepped down another stair. One more, and she’d turn around and run. Surely there had to be more than one exit out of the inner sanctum. Or maybe so many rooms down there she could get lost in them. “I’ll just be going now. I think I can find my way.”

  “I would not be so certain of that.” A deep bass washed over her shoulder, full of dark foreboding.

  Whirling around, Anne gasped as a third man, far larger than the others, blocked her only means of escape.

  Merrick’s voice rose in her memory. ’Tis not safe for you in these halls. Why, oh why hadn’t she listened?

  With a lift of her shoulders, she swallowed down a shiver and boldly met Ranulf’s jeer. “Let me by.”

  “I do not believe so. There are three of us, all wondering if we bear your mark. If anything, you will come with us.” He reached for her, pudgy fingers clamping around her wrist.

  Anne jerked on her arm with a soft cry. She dug at his hands. “Let me go.”

  A hand settled into her shoulder blades and pushed her forward, forcing her up a stair and closer to Ranulf. Appearing at her side, a fourth giant effectively boxed her in without room to do so much as turn sideways. The anxious beat of her heart turned frantic.

  Ranulf spoke again. “Merrick is not here to save his whore. You give him your favors, why should we not take ours?”

  “I do no such thing! Let me go!” She drew an arm back and blindly struck out, not caring whom she attacked. Nails raked down the fourth man’s face.

  He drew back, his oath a violent hiss that came between splayed fingers. “You bitch!”

  “Let me go, or I swear to God I’ll scream my head off.”

  For the first time since Merrick stormed into her house, Anne knew fear. It coursed through her veins like big icebergs bent on stilling her heart. She could fight, yes, but it wouldn’t take much to overpower her.

  A scrape of steel from the shadows behind her made her heart twist. She flinched, anticipating a prodding prick in her back.

  The flash of a blade cut through her vision. Slow, precisely timed, the broadsword descended, coming to a harmless stop on top of the hand that held onto her. “Take your hand away, Ranulf, before I remove it for you.”

  Cold and menacing, Anne recognized the voice long before she looked.

  His features tight and dark, Farran held the man’s furious stare. Her captor’s jaw worked as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, and his fingers clamped down tighter, his intent to refuse crystal clear. When Farran’s sword didn’t move, the man let out a disgusted snort and flung her arm back at her.

  Farran cut through the men, opening a passage for her. The glare he gave her held deadly meaning. “Take your leave. Now.”

  Anne didn’t wait to be told twice. She raced up the stairs, down the corridor. The doorways passed in a blur. Her heels pounded out a frantic rhythm against the stone.

  Out of nowhere, a hand wound around her waist, knocking the wind out of her as someone dragged her to a halt. Kicking and clawing at her captor, she tried to escape his suffocating hold.

  “Still yourself, milady. ’Tis I, Lucan. On my way to collect you for our evening meal.”

  Anne collapsed in his arms. Relief coursed through her body, giving way to trembles. She held onto his forearms in search of her faltering courage. Her pride wouldn’t let her show him her gratitude, or how terrified she’d been. No, not Lucan, not any of the knights. Not even Merrick. If she wanted these men’s respect, she couldn’t let them know she felt anything but courage.

  As she relaxed, his hold loosened, and her heels touched the floor. Her emotions once again under control, she pushed free of his arm and turned around with a smile. “Thank you, Lucan. I don’t think I’m hungry, though.”

  Not after that encounter. The idea of sitting in a room full of strange men, any one of them capable of the dishonorable actions of the four on the stairs, made her stomach churn. She tried for a smile. It faltered as her chin quivered, but she covered the trembling up by hurrying to add, “I would prefer to return to my room.”

  Lucan dipped at the waist, a slight gesture but still enough to stir her unease. “Then allow me to escort you, milady.”

  It took all Anne’s self-control not to cringe as he reached for her hand. The sugary words, the chivalrous gestures—the guy was really too good to be true. Compared to the churlish Farran, unyielding Merrick, and the handful of crude men she’d just encountered, Lucan was plain odd. But she’d rather have Lucan nearby than those four jerks.

  He settled her hand atop the back of his forearm in a courtly gesture and offered her a stiff smile. Anne braced herself for the rush of energy, anticipated the fuzziness in the back of her mind that came with her second sight. When it didn’t come, she furrowed her brow. What was wrong with her gift? For it to fail completely … She gnawed on her lower lip as she fell into step beside Lucan, the oddity entirely unsettling.

  They made their way to her chambers in silence. As they set foot on the main level of the house, Anne averted her eyes from the men who turned to stare. A blush crept into her cheeks, Ranulf’s insinuation about her intimacy with Merrick too fresh to dismiss. Even if she was doing something unethical—not to mention dangerous to her heart—by seducing Merrick, she wasn’t a whore, and the fact even one man might think of her that way, left her mortified.

  Maybe because she had thrown herself at Merrick. Maybe because, in the depths of her heart, she wanted far more than his kisses, or the too-brief touch of his hands. Whatever the case, perception or truth, she felt the sudden need to hide.

  How her sister managed to go through life without feeling this kind of humiliation, she’d never understand. Always a flirt, always accustomed to men’s attention, Sophie flaunted her affairs without regard. Somehow, she never suffered for it either. In some weird way, it seemed to boost her reputation with the elite.

  Anne bit back a self-directed oath. Good grief, she’d almost forgotten she needed to phone her sister. It would be late afternoon in California, and if she didn’t get ahold of Sophie now, her sister’s ever-demanding nightlife would ruin the opportunity.

  “Lucan, do you have a phone?”

  He cocked his head with a puzzled crinkle of his dark eyebrows. “Aye, I do.”

  “May I use it?”

  “I see no reason not.” He stopped at her door, nodded at the handle.

  Anne opened the door and beckoned him inside. “I’ll be just a few minutes.”

  Lucan fished in his jeans pocket and produced a slim, black phone. He handed it to her, the lines of curiosity in his expression deepening.

  Dismissing his probing look, Anne snatched the cell phone out of his open palm and wandered into her be
droom. She pulled the French doors shut before she sat on the edge of the bed. He could wonder, but she’d already told one knight about her sister. The rest would wait. No way would she have another man hounding her for information about her beautiful twin.

  She punched out the number and waited.

  The line rang once … twice … Four tones later, Sophie’s bright and cheerful voice greeted her. “Sophie here! I’m busy right now, but I’ll call you back.”

  Damn. Tamping down a frustrated grunt, Anne willed her voice to remain calm. “It’s me. Look I need to talk to you.”

  * * *

  On the other side of Anne’s door, Lucan leaned against the wall, attempting to show interest in the shelf of books. Scanning the titles out of rote habit, he listened to her one-sided conversation.

  “I’ve ah, gotten myself into a mess. I need to pick your brain for what I should do, and I have limited time to do it in. This is important. I’ve got to find a way out.”

  Lucan drew back in shock. As a fissure of suspicion worked its way down his spine, his body tensed. Clearly, Merrick had been displeased with Anne when he left, but Lucan had suspected it came from more of the maid’s willfulness than any real bone of contention. So convinced of that theory was he, that he had given Merrick’s admonishment to watch her only cursory consideration. Yet her words implied something of more substance came between them.

  “I know things I shouldn’t. Secrets I’ve got to tell you. Above all that…” Anne let out a heavy sigh. “I think something terrible is about to happen. I don’t want to be here when it does.”

  Nay, of course she would try to flee. Merrick had suspected as much. Christ’s toes, Merrick should have been more forthright. Should have made his concern clearer. She had come from the inner sanctum; the Almighty only knew what she may have found or overheard.

  “I gotta run. I’ll call you when I can.”

  Lucan moved to the far side of the bookshelf as the mattress creaked. He pretended not to hear the doors open, studied one spine in particular. A copy of their written history stood separate from the other titles, and surreptitiously, he pulled it free. He would not chance further secrets to this woman, no matter what Mikhail claimed she was.

  Struggling to keep his expression amicable, he turned to her with lifted brows. “May I borrow this from your library?” He took the risk, hoping she would not inspect the book, and flashed it beneath her nose.

  In answer to his silent prayer, she gave the book a brief, dismissive glance. “Sure. Thanks for the phone.” Extending her hand, she offered his cell phone.

  “Of course, milady.” Lucan stuffed the device into his back pocket and tucked his book beneath his arm. “Did you wish anything else of me this eve?”

  Distracted, Anne shook her head as she chewed on her bottom lip.

  Though he knew it was rude, he did not wait for her to reconsider. With little more than a respectful dip of his chin, he strode to the door and let himself into the hall.

  Merrick would be most extremely displeased when he heard the lady had become lost beneath the house. He would rile and rant, curse and swear when he heard Lucan had disregarded the direct order to watch over her. But when he learned the woman he protected intended to spill their secrets to an outsider, Merrick would see red.

  They had all sworn loyalty, and a small part of Lucan longed to believe Anne’s conversation was innocent. Yet try as he might, he could not convince himself she would not become an unexpected threat. Gabriel relayed that Azazel had heard Abigail’s dying command to unveil the seraphs. It would not be beyond the lord of darkness to use the tidbit of knowledge to his advantage and create the perfect lie to fool them all into revealing the sacred hiding places. He had used greater trickery to accomplish lesser victories.

  If he succeeded, if the maid was indeed some sort of dark trap, Lucan refused to be the outlet to his brethren’s fall. Nay, he had no choice. Despite his vow of loyalty to her, he must inform Merrick of the woman’s plans to leave.

  CHAPTER 15

  As nightfall descended, Merrick eased the truck to a stop in front of the temple and looked up to the window on the second floor. For seven hours, he had sat by the river, contemplating all manner of things. From the futility of the Templar cause, to what sort of belongings Anne might desire; from the hopelessness of his soul, to whom Anne might match, his thoughts continually returned to her.

  His solitude served no purpose other than to remind him he wasted time attending to her. Each night Fulk became more dedicated to his evil path, each passing minute he moved farther away. The days of tracking him would be meaningless if Anne did not find her intended soon. Fulk’s trail grew cold as the time passed.

  Were it not for Mikhail’s admonishment that Fulk would find salvation when the time was right, Merrick would beg to be released from Anne. However, Merrick could speak until he ran out of air, and Mikhail would not grant the freedom to pursue his transformed cousin.

  Merrick dared not reveal his attraction for the maid either. Should he, Mikhail would confine him in the solitary cell for the inability to curtail his lust. Particularly when such desire involved another Templar’s seraph.

  A shadow moved beyond the second-story window, and Merrick’s pulse bounced. He glanced at the clock radio sitting in his passenger’s seat, anxious to present the gift. ’Twas a small thing, a token really, that he hoped might light her face with the same joy McDonald’s brought. He could have left it behind—should have, knowing Uriel’s distaste for modern music. Yet pleasing Anne soothed the gnawing in Merrick’s spirit. Her bright smile eased the ever-lingering sense of despair. And so he had grabbed it as an afterthought, having spent far too long sifting through her clothes.

  Which presented a whole new set of frustrations. Rummaging through Anne’s closets and drawers exposed him to a far more intimate side of the woman he guarded. Her underclothes created vivid images he felt quite certain the archangels would find sacrilegious. Wispy panties, bras of such fine lace he feared he would ruin the delicate things. All of them carried that same enticing aroma of lavender and sugar. By the time he had stuffed the entire drawer in his bag, he felt awkward and embarrassed, and he had yet to discover the things she slept in.

  When he had, he had to leave the drawer in favor of her closet before he could recollect his thoughts enough to dump her lingerie drawer into his duffel.

  All told, he packed his bags so full he had trouble zipping them. And now, he could not wait to present them to her.

  At the same time, he dreaded the moment. His strength of will would crumble should he witness that ecstatic smile again. The one that made him feel more victorious than any battle won with swords.

  As the light upstairs flickered, the television dimming before flashing bright, he realized he could not put off the inevitable. With a muffled mutter, he let himself out of the truck, went around to the other side, and hauled out her belongings.

  He would not linger. He would deposit the bag on the floor, bid her good night, and retreat to his chambers. Come morn, he would seek out Lucan, for he did not wish to hear anything that would force him to confront Anne again tonight.

  Shouldering his way inside, he nodded to a trio of men gathered around the billiard table. The band of crimson around their left shirtsleeves branded them as members from Europe. They answered with sharp nods, a lift of a hand, a murmured hello.

  Odd, he thought as he mounted the stairs. At least fifty years had passed since he had spoken with any of the European knights. The men under Mikhail oft clashed with these—as many claimed rights to properties Mikhail’s knights once owned. Men like Caradoc.

  Strange they would come so far. Mikhail must have sent for Raphael and reinforcements. Which meant the situation with Azazel worsened.

  More things he would consider come morn.

  He took a deep fortifying breath at Anne’s door. A small portion of his soul demanded he let himself inside and take the liberties he would have enjoyed had she wand
ered into his life nine hundred years ago. Whilst he shared the residence with many others, the simple fact remained, she resided in his house. Once he had dreamed of such a circumstance. Now the fantasy only created a bitter taste in his mouth.

  Resigning himself to reality, he knocked twice upon her door.

  She answered as he lifted his hand for the third, concurrent rap. Briefly, she stared, bewildered. Then, her gaze fell to his armload of supplies, and her porcelain features lit with such delight a fist clamped around Merrick’s heart.

  “My things,” she murmured as he moved past her. “Oh, Merrick, you brought my radio.”

  The whimsical quality of her voice, the gratitude that turned her words into music, swelled his chest. Damnation. She had turned him as soft as butter. This trial of loyalty would surely be the death of him.

  He set the bags down, unwilling to look at her for fear she would see how deeply she affected him. “I brought what I thought you might desire. Should you find something missing, we shall discuss it in the morn.”

  “Oh. You’re leaving again?”

  His back to her, he closed his eyes. The touch of disappointment that fringed her question disturbed the accursed hollowness in his gut. “Aye.”

  Before he could fully shrug off the thick straps digging into his shoulder, her hand settled against the small of his back. “I’d hoped you might stay with me for a while,” she murmured.

  Her fingertips slid up his back, warming his skin. As he righted himself, she ducked under his elbow and looped her arms around his neck. Stepping in close, Anne pressed her body to his.

  Everything inside Merrick coiled tight. Her warmth, the feel of her breath upon his neck, the perfume in her hair, she overwhelmed him in a heartbeat. He battled with the urge to slide his arms around her waist and draw her even closer. The longing to capture her mouth and drink from her honeyed lips assailed his senses with the force of a battering ram. Like a strangled man desperate for one gulp of fresh air, he disentangled himself from her embrace and took a step away.