Immortal Hope: The Curse of the Templars

by Claire Ashgrove

  Urging her to run away.

  He dropped to his knees, his sword dangling uselessly at his side. Blood turned his white shirt into a patchwork crimson cloth. Rivulets ran down his back, trickled across his weakened shoulder.

  Anne’s heart lurched in her throat. He was immortal … but Mikhail said they could die.

  Damn it, she couldn’t leave him here like this. Even if he was a bit crazy, a bit frightening, she couldn’t abandon him to die alone. Not when he’d set her free and set himself in the heart of danger.

  She shut off the engine and glanced around the SUV, searching for something that would cut the rope around her wrists. Her gaze instead settled on a sharp object in the backseat, partially hidden in shadow. Shuffling sideways, she contorted her body until she could reach both hands into the space between the seats and kicked with her feet to tip her farther over. Her fingertips grasped cold metal. Encouraged, she wriggled back into her seat and brought her hands in front of her face.

  Similar to the dagger Gareth gave her earlier, a small blade protruded from a bone hilt. The designs in the grip were different, save for one—both daggers brandished the Templar cross.

  A quick glance out the window revealed Tane had moved, but not by much. He held his sword feebly above his head, struggling for the ability to rise.

  Awkwardly, Anne worked at the door handle until it gave, then kicked the door open. Her bare feet hit the pavement running straight for the closest of the two remaining creatures. Three feet away, she lifted her hands over her head, and with the last stride forward, threw all her weight into the strike. Flesh gave beneath her hands, the dagger sinking deep into a shadowy back that had more substance than she’d imagined.

  Her stomach heaved again. She ignored the taste of bile at the back of her throat and yanked with all her might. The dagger pulled free.

  Again she stabbed, and again, until the creature gave up the notion of attacking Tane and turned to face her. Fear wedged between her lungs as unholy eyes gleamed a bright red-orange. She backed up, her courage vanishing beneath the demon’s foul stare.

  At her side, Tane let out a muffled curse. She glanced his way long enough to see him rise on one knee, before a rush of air drew her attention back to her opponent. Claws sliced in front of her face, a breath away from her nose.

  “Damnation!” Tane wheezed as he pushed to his feet. “Get in the truck and leave this place!”

  Anne shook her head, backing up another step, her gaze glued on him. He stepped in front of her, finishing off the beast she’d wounded with one neat slice across the belly. He barely had time to swivel before the remaining creature set upon him.

  Jaw tight, expression hardened against the pain, Tane stepped forward and fended off the blow meant for Anne’s head. She backpedaled closer to the SUV’s front bumper. He wheezed with the effort of maintaining the fight, and for several terrifying heartbeats, Anne thought he’d fall to his knees again. But with a vigorous shake of his head, he reclaimed his balance and ran the lesser creature through.

  One hollow, ghostly moan filled the air around them before the beast melted in a puddle of fathomless black.

  Tane doubled over, hands on his knees, panting.

  She watched the gathered people, surprised when they slowly turned away, their interest fading, as if seeing unholy creatures from the grave was a nightly occurrence.

  When Tane’s breathing leveled out, he lifted his head and caught her gaze. Mixed emotion flickered behind his green eyes, combining gratitude with appreciation with regret. He shook his head. “’Twas foolishness, Anne, to do such.”

  To her surprise, a slight smile tugged at her lips. “I couldn’t leave you behind.”

  The fierceness returned to his gaze with her simple remark, his look once more that of a man on a mission. A man possessed by a convoluted mistruth.

  He took her by the elbow. “Come. We must finish our discussion. ’Twill take time for Azazel to learn of his failure. He shall not come again this night. ’Twould be folly.”

  Denying her opportunity to protest, he steered her in a semicircle and guided her toward the glowing lights at the far end of the alley. His limp slowed their progress, the blood on his palm wetted hers. Streetwise stragglers parted, allowing them access to the fire. A few offered smiles. One lone man greeted Tane with a hearty wave.

  With a pained grimace, he balanced her as she sat beside a lighted barrel, then helped her pull her robe around her body. Someone offered him a blanket, which he accepted without word. Tucking it about Anne’s shoulders, he covered her from the wintry breeze. He rocked back on his heels and set his hand beneath her chin. As he lifted her face, he offered a weak smile. In his gaze, apology burned, along with a smattering of regret. She struggled to hold on to her earlier anger, but the way he’d unhesitatingly defended her made fury hard to find. She wanted to hate him for the danger he exposed her to, for taking her against her will. Instead, all she felt was a strange stirring of pity for this noble, misguided knight.

  * * *

  Anne’s sad eyes cut Tane to the quick, and before the heartfelt stare could penetrate his will, he jerked his hand away. He stared at the flames in a desperate attempt to sift through his conflicting emotions and locate the truth that lay within his heart. Already he wronged her. He had abused her person by binding her hands and had risked not just her safety but her status as well. ’Twas only one thing he could do to right his actions—prove they were paired. Once she realized this, she would have no choice but to forgive, and he could begin to make amends for his unacceptable wrongs.

  He rolled up his right sleeve, exposing his forearm. In the flickering light, a long half-moon scar glinted white as it wound from elbow to wrist. Unable to confront the silent accusations in her gaze, he looked at the fire and turned his arm up in front of her lap. “I was twenty-four. ’Twas my first battle to defend my father’s lands from a neighboring lord. We won the day and brought back many prisoners. On the return trip home, however, one of my men flogged a man too wounded to match our hurried pace. I sought to stop him, and he challenged my command. In the fight that followed, his blade shredded through my leather gauntlet. ’Twas deep, but the knight soon learned his error.”

  His gaze narrowed, the scene as fresh in his memory as if it had happened the day before. The fight, the pain, the shattering of brothers’ love. His oldest sibling he had never seen again. “I sent him on his way. A year later, the man lost his life to a border skirmish.”

  Chancing a glance at her, he took in the way her eyes followed the narrow white line. She studied it so thoroughly, ’twas as if she recognized the flaw, and Tane’s heart leapt to his throat. He pivoted to face her fully. “You recognize it,” he breathed. “Show me the one that matches.”

  Anne’s eyes widened again, large saucers that made her blue eyes stand out like bright beads. She shook her head in rapid time. “I can’t.”

  He gathered her bound hands and pressed his lips to the backs of her knuckles. “Anne, do not fear me. I beg you. I meant naught of what befell you tonight. Once I was honorable, and I shall spend the rest of my days proving what lies buried in my heart. I cannot control the darkness that guides me now. In time, ’twill subside.” His voice caught, and he cleared the emotion away with a short cough. “I swear this on my life.”

  Her throat worked as she swallowed. She closed her eyes as she shook her head once more. When she looked at him again, Tane could not mistake the fine mist of tears that gathered in the corners of those lovely blue orbs.

  “I’m not yours, Tane,” she whispered.

  He drew back, whipped by the fierce lash of disbelief. “You are. How else would you recognize my scar?”

  She opened her mouth, then shut it, only to repeat the motion once again. He watched the indecision pass across her face, each flicker of her expression turning his gut into a chain of tight knots. He gave her hands a gentle shake of encouragement. “You may tell me anything. I will carry your words to my grave, shou
ld you ask me to.”

  “I see things,” she murmured as she pulled her hands free from his. “I saw the scene you described when you touched my hair earlier. But I’m not your intended, Tane. My mark isn’t the same.”

  Stung, Tane scowled. She must be wrong. She had fought for him. Risked her own life to aid his. It could not be possible they did not share a predetermined bond. “Show me!” he thundered.

  She shrunk away from him, wincing. “I can’t.”

  “You can, and you will. Else I will assume your fear of me stays your tongue. If you speak the truth, lady, best you prove your words.”

  In her hesitation, he sensed her fear. Of what, he could not be certain. Him mayhap. The way he had forced his will upon her. Did she think he would so force her, once their oath was shared? “Anne, though I doubt your claim, I have no right to hold you if we are not paired. I am not like Merrick. I will not keep you chained if you are not mine.”

  She shifted position, rocking onto one hip. Slowly, she extended her slender left leg and set a sock-clad foot in his lap. Had she the use of her hand, the gesture would have been elegant, yet with her balance threatened, she toppled sideways, catching herself on her elbow. Her muffled mewl as her skin ground into the pavement cut him deep. He reached for her, intending to help her upright.

  Twisting, she refused his help. “No. Look for yourself.”

  Tane stared at her foot, anxiety thrumming through his veins. His pulse jumped chaotically, and to his horror, the overwhelming understanding that he had somehow erred settled into his spine. Not wanting to see the evidence of his mistake, but unable to accept her words, he tugged the sock down her foot to expose her ankle.

  Twined around her creamy skin, twin serpents wound together, their bodies crossing midway in an eerie depiction of the Templar cross. The very same art that wound around Merrick’s arm.

  He let go, her skin scorching his fingers. Christ’s blood, he was a dead man.

  “He does not know.”

  Anne shook her head. “No. Telling him will kill him. My visions, and Mikhail’s words, say it’s so.”

  A thousand emotions crashed down upon his shoulders. Grief, pain, guilt and shame flooded through him. His lungs felt tight, his chest a band of iron that refused to expand. Righting her sock, he set her foot from his lap and sank his head into his hands. He had accused Merrick wrongly, had escorted a seraph into formidable danger. Worse, he had disobeyed every oath and vow by taking Anne, and in so doing, betrayed the one man he most admired. Merrick, who had trusted him with the secrets of the Templar. Merrick, who gave a man who had lost everything something to believe in.

  By all that was sacred, he deserved to die.

  CHAPTER 30

  Anne huddled into the scratchy wool blanket. The smell of mildew assaulted her nose, threatening to send her into a sneezing fit. A miserable prospect, given she lacked the use of her hands. Her fingers felt numb, Tane had bound them so tight.

  Beside her, Tane stared into the firelight. The conflict that warred behind his eyes made the battle Merrick fought over his attraction to her seem small and insignificant in comparison. Though she couldn’t quite decide whether Tane was just plain crazy, or if something deeper caused his grief, he mourned his actions, that much was evident. Still, while she longed to despise him, she couldn’t shake the remembrance of how he’d defended her, and in that act, he earned her respect. He might have kidnapped her, but he’d sworn an oath of loyalty and he hadn’t hesitated to uphold it.

  “Tane.” She broke the strained silence. “Unbind my hands.”

  He lifted his head, her voice drawing him from his thoughts. He reached for his sword, then as if he thought better of drawing it in public, dropped his hand from the leather-wrapped pommel and picked up her bound wrists. He pried at the knot, the task more difficult without the use of a blade. At last, the rope slid free and tumbled away. Blood rushed into her fingers, turning annoying tingles into needlelike pulses of pain. Gasping, Anne rubbed at her wrists, alternately shaking them to aid the blood flow.

  “I am sorry, milady,” he murmured.

  She couldn’t bring herself to tell him it was okay. It wasn’t, and if he hadn’t shown such obvious remorse, she’d run like the wind. She’d been taken without consent, forced into a ride across town, and nearly attacked. Nothing about that was okay.

  Despite it all, she couldn’t bring herself to get up and walk to the SUV. He was in no condition to drive, and her overtaxed nerves wouldn’t allow her to take the wheel.

  Moreover, beyond the burning trash bin, a cluster of three dark figures huddled near a concrete pillar. Every once in a while, Anne caught the flash of something silver. She couldn’t make out what it was, but the suspicious way they kept leering at her was enough to make her decide Tane was the lesser threat. He at least had no intention of harming her, despite his kidnapping. And he’d said no more demons would come tonight.

  She fixed him with a hard stare. “Call Merrick, and hand me your phone. I want to return now.”

  He hesitated, acceptance passing behind his deep green eyes. He knew as well as she, Merrick would be furious. Her sympathetic heart got the better of her, and she offered, “I’ll tell him I came willingly.”

  Tane shook his head. “Nay. I deserve whatever punishment Merrick chooses.”

  “Don’t be stupid, Tane. The two of you are friends. Don’t let me ruin that. Go, if you must, I’ll wait here for him.” She understood too well what would happen if Merrick learned the truth of Tane’s errors tonight. His body already bore payment enough for those mistakes. If the SUV’s windshield didn’t resemble confetti, she’d drive them both back to the temple and make excuses for her absence. Tane hadn’t harmed her directly. He didn’t deserve Merrick’s inevitable wrath.

  Inclining his head toward the gathered figures, Tane made his awareness of further possible danger evident. “I vowed to protect you. I will not dishonor that oath. I will stay.” He pulled the phone from his hip pocket and flipped it open to punch a solitary button before he passed it to her.

  Anne lifted it to her ear in time to hear the first ring. It rang no further.

  “What have you done with her?” Merrick’s voice boomed through the receiver, full of the fury of a thousand men.

  She cringed, even as emotion filled her to capacity and she whispered, “It’s me.”

  “Anne?” The relief that flooded through the line turned her heart over. A heartbeat passed, a long moment that hung between them as he exhaled. God, if only she could reach through the line and touch him. She closed her eyes, imagining his face.

  In a hoarse voice he asked, “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In the city. Down by the haunted houses.” She glanced around, searching for a street sign. Finding a green marker, she added, “Near Twelfth Street.”

  “Are you safe?”

  Her glance settled on Tane, the vision of how he’d fought to keep her safe rising once more. Slowly, she nodded. “I am.”

  “Stay there, damsel. I will arrive in a few minutes.” With that, the line went dead.

  Anne passed the phone back to Tane and pulled the mildewed blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Don’t tell him, Tane. I care too much to see him hurt.”

  He bowed his head, but not before she noticed the fine sheen of tears glimmering in his eyes. “I told you I would carry your secrets to my grave.”

  * * *

  Merrick yanked a sweatshirt over his head and hastily unfastened his sword, exchanging it for a less noticeable dagger. “She is in Kansas City.”

  Behind him, Farran and Caradoc sheathed their swords. For an hour, they had turned the temple upside down, rousting men from beds, demanding to inspect their chambers. Each failure had twisted Merrick’s insides so tight, he felt as if he had been turned inside out. Now the relief that flooded through him left him light-headed, a staggering effect he had not imagined
could be possible.

  Caradoc backed through the doorway. “I will tell the others they may cease their searching and inform Mikhail.”

  “I will go with you, Merrick.” Farran did not ask. He grabbed at the jacket hanging on Merrick’s wall and stuffed his arms in.

  Mayhap a good thing, for Merrick did not trust himself should Tane still be with her. He had known, when Mikhail demanded the men step forth and present their blades, that the sword belonged to the missing man—his trusted brother. Only he had no idea where Tane might have imprisoned her. Had she not phoned, they could have searched for days before any one of them thought to scour the city.

  Reason contradicted his fierce desire to gut his brother. In his heart, Merrick knew Tane would never steal away a seraph if the darkness did not drive him to insanity. Yet he could not excuse the action. Not when others suffered equally and still maintained control somewhat.

  He rushed through the door without a word, Farran on his heels. At the SUV, Farran nudged him out of the way to claim the driver’s side. “You are of no mind to drive.”

  Nay, he was not. He shook as if he had walked through a yard of ghosts. His thoughts were so jumbled he could not begin to speak, not the least of which was the realization he loved Anne. Loved her so deeply the idea of losing her left him weak. Powerless.

  Lost.

  He climbed into the passenger’s seat and slammed the door. Farran gunned the truck in reverse, and as they sped down the side streets, Merrick could only stare at the landscape’s passing blur.

  The miles passed in anguished minutes, each feeling more like hours. It seemed they would never reach her, and he could not shake the deeper fear that when they arrived she would be gone again. That Tane would whisk her away, and Merrick would never again see her beautiful face, or feel the tenderness of her touch.

  When the orange glow of homeless fires lit the overhanging bridges, Merrick grabbed at the door handle. He scanned the sparsely gathered people, his heart lodged firmly in his throat. Everything inside him lit up bright and burning as his eyes found long auburn hair.