A look of such surprise filled Farran’s features that Merrick could not stop a laugh. As the doors pulled shut once more, he set it free, and looked to Anne. “What have you done, little demon?”
Her cheeks stained with bright color and she dropped her eyes from his. “I, uh. Well. He wouldn’t let me in. So I made it impossible to keep me out.”
He did not want to know. In truth, he did not care. He had everything he needed right here in his arms. Whilst he could not lose himself in her supple body the way he longed to, he could enjoy the pleasures of her mouth before exhaustion snuffed out his newfound strength. He dusted light kisses across her cheeks, over the bridge of her nose, then lower, in search of her honeyed lips.
Unfortunately, the Almighty seemed determined to make him wait for the privacy he craved. As the doors opened once more, Merrick pulled away from Anne with a groan. His little demon muttered beneath her breath, expressing the same displeasure, before she twisted around to investigate the cause of their interruption.
With a squeak, she slid back to her feet, exposing Merrick to Mikhail’s look of consternation.
“Merrick, you are not to have visitors.”
He opened his mouth to explain, but Anne stepped forward and spoke first. “Mikhail, we’ll need men to move Merrick to the rooms upstairs.”
The archangel studied first her, then Merrick, then Merrick’s sword. Understanding crept into his stiffened features, and Mikhail clapped a hand on Merrick’s shoulder. “You may have begun the healing, but ’twill be many more days before you are well enough to walk. The wound upon your thigh will require Uriel’s attendance.”
“I can look after his leg,” Anne declared.
“Milady, I have no doubt of your talents, but ’tis to the infirmary he must go. ’Twill not be for long.”
Anne squeezed Merrick’s hand and lifted her chin. “Then put a cot beside his bed. I will stay with him.”
Unable to take another moment of his helplessness, and possessed by the deep need to hide Anne away from the rest of the world until he was quite finished telling her just how much he cared for her, Merrick found the strength to sit upright. Slowly, he swung his legs over the edge of the table, ignoring the flames that surged up his injured thigh. His back to Mikhail, he pulled Anne between his knees and set his smile free.
Sliding one hand through her silken hair, he murmured, “I will stay with the Lady du Loire.”
“Merrick, ’tis not possible.”
With a distracted shake of his head, Merrick continued, “Send my men to take me up the stairs. Uriel may tend me there.” His eyes never left Anne’s. Their bright blue depths drew him in, sucked him down until he drowned. She gazed back up at him, and in her softened features, Merrick read her love. It burned fierce, and strong, a holy flame that naught could extinguish. Their vows were said, no one could ever tear them apart. For the rest of time, she would stand at his side … and he beside her.
His heart swelled to painful limits, and he pulled her closer. In the back of his mind, he recognized the closing of the door, yet it mattered little. He had words he needed to say, regardless of who watched, or who waited.
Framing her face between his hands, he stared into her mesmerizing blue eyes. His thumbs brushed against her cheeks, and for a heartbeat, Merrick did not know the words. Yet as her lashes lowered in a slow blink, they came back in a rush.
“I love you, Anne,” he whispered hoarsely.
She offered him a soft smile. “I love you.”
He took her then, claimed her mouth, and kissed her thoroughly. He had lost friends, brothers he loved, and the battle had been a complete defeat. Yet here, in this tiny scrap of a woman, he found life. In time, the darkness would leave him completely. Their union would give the Order hope. He would be required to share her attention now and then, but for the moment, he selfishly let the world fade and basked in the infinite glory of her love.
Epilogue
Sophie kicked a dusty wooden crate in front of a grime-covered arched window and sat down heavily. The wide pane of glass would have overlooked the cathedral’s manicured rear courtyard, but with the layers of neglect, all she could see was a thin white film that turned the world beyond into a dreary landscape.
She sighed as her sister’s worry filtered through the bond that only twins could claim. It wasn’t often she could sense Anne, but the more time Sophie spent locked away from the world, the once-faint bond strengthened. Not really a surprise given all the suffocating quiet Gabe forced her to accept. If she could talk to Anne, explain what had happened with Chandler, why she hadn’t called in days …
Sophie sighed again. Wishing would get her nowhere. Gabe made his expectations clear. In exchange for the archangels’ protection, Sophie was bound to this dreary attic until she mastered her metaphysical gifts. Gifts that evidently had very little to do with her affinity for ghosts, and focused on auras—something Sophie had never once witnessed before. Not only that, she had to learn to use a sword. A sword.
The idea was ludicrous.
Then again, everything else Gabe said bordered on insane. Demons overtaking the world, Templar Knights born centuries ago, her sister the reigning lady of the North American Templar stronghold? Little Anne, who loved her books, her research, and threw-up at the sight of blood, bound forever to a man who lived by the sword. Who killed things. Creatures like what Chandler morphed into.
Creatures like the man Sophie was fated to join.
A shudder gripped her. Rubbing her arms to ward off goose bumps, she rose from the crate. Pacing helped. With Gabriel on the other side of the country in D.C., doing whatever it was he did and unable to keep her occupied, the endless treks across the cathedral’s attic eased Sophie’s nerves. But when the silence set in, all she could hear was his warning words: Prepare yourself, Sophie. You must survive your mate’s need to kill.
Sophie stopped in the middle of the wide-open expanse and slid the bronze serpents from her arm. Since she’d been here, she could remove the armband at will, and she turned it in the dim light, watching the tiny onyx eyes sparkle. A handful of days ago, her biggest concern was finding an emcee for the charity auction this coming weekend. Now, the fate of the world rested in her hands. Gabe hadn’t exactly said that, but everything else he explained implied the meaning.
If only this little trinket had been a regular old antique with one of the usual ghostly presences attached to it. Life would be a hell of a lot easier then.
As she pushed the armband back over her elbow, the other emotion she regularly sensed from her sister seeped into Sophie’s subconscious. Contentment. Happiness that Sophie had never felt from Anne. She knew, innately, that peacefulness came from Merrick, that this commander of the Templar knights healed all the empty places inside her sister’s soul. And knowing her twin was happier than any woman had a right to be made it easier for Sophie to accept her own waiting fate.
She walked to the weapons rack on the far side of the room and withdrew the heavy broadsword Gabe had introduced before he left. It weighed down her shoulder uncomfortably. The leather-wrapped pommel chafed her palm. Yet this awkward weapon was her salvation, the only hope she would have of avoiding death.
If Anne can do this, so can I.
Lifting her shoulders in determination, Sophie set her feet apart the way Gabe had shown her and tested the broadsword by gently guiding it across her body. Somehow, someway, she’d master the art. If she didn’t, she’d lose her life.
And damn it, she just wasn’t in the mood to die.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
IMMORTAL HOPE: THE CURSE OF THE TEMPLARS
Copyright © 2011 by Valerie M. Hatfield
All rights reserved.
A Tor® eBook
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
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New York,
NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
ISBN 978-0-7653-6758-7
First Edition: January 2012
eISBN 978-1-4299-7061-7
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
The Curse
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Copyright
Immortal Hope: The Curse of the Templars Page 34