Immortal Trust

by Claire Ashgrove

  The intimacy of his quiet gaze didn’t escape her. Somewhere during their extended meal, they had crossed a line. She had crossed a line. The man who sat beside her now was no longer Lucan her professional rival, but Lucan, the man he’d asked her to see. And what she saw, she liked. Immensely.

  He still bore the same appearance that made her think of motorcycles and sneaking out of her parents’ house as a teen. But beneath the wild long hair, the darkly chiseled features, and his knowing gray eyes, Lucan possessed a refined nature. He was the kind of man who understood the difference between Riesling and Viognier. Who could appreciate classical music as well as a good dose of rock and roll.

  Beneath each fascinating layer, Chloe discovered something constant and unchanging. From the moment he had entered her room she’d felt safe. Even now, with the sun no more than a sliver on the horizon—the time the demons usually swamped her—she barely noticed the things beyond her windows. Though the wind blew, and now and again she caught the subtle hum of malicious energy, Lucan’s presence cocooned her with the promise of safety.

  “Tell me about Egypt.” He nodded at the stack of historical references on her table. “Did you enjoy your time there?”

  “Oh,” she said on a sigh. “I love Egypt. I love the tombs. The art. Everything about it. Not so much the cities—but then I don’t tend to spend a lot of time in them. Out there in the shifting sands, it’s heaven. You never know when the next storm might reveal some piece of lost history.”

  “I was there many years ago. I remember quite well the heat and sand.”

  “Oh? What were you working on?”

  Lucan shook his head. “’Twas a military contingent. A brief assignment to lead those who had gotten themselves into quite a predicament back home.”

  With all the stories of tourists captured and foreigners disappearing, his story didn’t surprise her. It did, however, explain the uncanny feeling that he’d protect her. That military training had a way of seeping into every day life.

  “Were you in the service long?”

  He set his empty glass aside and folded his arms behind his head. “Aye. Until this assignment, ’tis all I have known.” Sitting forward, he flipped open the book on ancient tombs and thumbed to the first page of the Bahariya Oasis. “I remember this place. To avoid the enemy we were forced to hide in tombs. The art was amazing. We had to descend through the bottom of abandoned homes. ’Twas near impossible to cover our comings and reseal the floors.”

  Chloe’s feet thumped to the floor as excitement tripped down her spine. He’d been to Bahariya. In the tombs. Possibly those she’d walked in—her work had included the demolition of several abandoned homes. “Do you understand hieroglyphics?”

  “Aye. A bit of them. Though I am certain your knowledge exceeds mine.”

  She chewed on her lower lip, debating. If she showed him the image she’d copied, would he ask questions she couldn’t answer? Or would he assume it was simple curiosity? She shrugged off the worry, too anxious to find someone who might have seen the sigil that had doomed her. Standing, she went to her desk and withdrew a time-crinkled notebook. She flipped it open to the photograph she’d pasted inside and set it on the table beneath his nose. She tapped the curious picture of the jackal-like Wepwawet. “Have you seen this before?”

  A shiver rolled through her as she looked once again at the glyph she knew by heart. The grayish head identified him clearly as the Egyptian deity who led the dead through the underworld. But where typical depictions of Wepwawet showed him holding an ankh in one hand and a spear in another, in this one, he clutched a sword and a strange winged head. On discovering the glyph deep within a shaman’s tomb, she’d first thought it to be a false reproduction—the sword had yet to become the weapon known today during the era the tomb was crafted. Yet her team had the paint sampled, proving it predated Alexander’s conquest by several centuries.

  Lucan visibly stiffened. He shook his head slowly and murmured a quiet, “Nay.” But when he lifted his gaze to hers, his eyes flickered with words he didn’t say. He had seen it, damn it.

  “What does it mean?” she pressed.

  “Where did you find it?”

  She shook her head and perched on the edge of the couch. If he didn’t trust her enough to reveal the meaning, she wouldn’t tell him why she wanted to know. Not to mention, if she spouted off about demons following her and curses, he’d probably laugh—as both Julian and Blake had. “I didn’t find it. I was told I would encounter something meant for my eyes alone in the unfinished antechamber. That glyph was the only sigil present.” And she’d known nothing but fear since that fateful afternoon.

  Lucan’s gaze bored into her. “Who told you of it?”

  She shrugged, ignoring the way the intense light behind his stare sent another shiver rolling to her toes. “Just a guy.” Under no circumstances would she tell him—or any other human being for that matter—that she’d heard the voice plain as day in the tunnel, the same voice of the native man in the oasis, but it had come out of nowhere. She’d turned around, expecting to see his weathered face, only to find darkness, her team farther back, quietly at work documenting funerary items. She’d been alone in that tunnel when something had spoken to her. The same something had attached to her and refused to let go.

  Chloe collected the notebook and returned it to her desk. As she passed the small window, the all-too-familiar tap-tap clanged in her head. She cast a nervous glance to Lucan, but he turned the pages in her book, unaware they had unwelcome guests.

  He looked up as she neared the loveseat. “Chloe, this afternoon…” His gaze searched her face, uncertain.

  Chuckling, she waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. Julian and I argue in public too. I evidently have a way of provoking people.”

  “Nay. I am not speaking of that. The reliquary—I meant it when I said you should mention naught of its divinity. If it fell into the wrong hands, or the wrong people should learn you possess it, your life could be in great danger.”

  She almost laughed. If he only knew the greater threat that haunted her. Men, guns, kidnappings, and death threats didn’t hold a candle to true evil. Instead, she merely shrugged her shoulders. “I’m willing to risk my safety if it reveals the secrets of our past.”

  He reached between them and caught her hand. Sincerity softened the insistent lines of his expression. “You possess the Veronica, a sacred relic that belongs to the Church. I cannot allow you to harm yourself, or the cloth. I must return it.”

  When she pulled on her arm, annoyance driving her to distance herself from the warmth of his fingers, he refused to let go. She stared at the soundless television, determined to ignore his argument. As an archaeologist he should understand the need to educate the public. The purpose was the very foundation of their profession.

  “Chloe.”

  His quiet voice urged her eyes back to his.

  “I will make you a promise. When I return it, I will do everything in my power to establish a sacred resting place for such an important item. A place where it can be viewed, its story can be told, and ’tis safe from thieves and those who would wish to use it for corruption.”

  For one endless moment, Chloe couldn’t breathe. Compromise, she hadn’t anticipated. But what he offered was exactly what she desired—if the relic proved to be what he claimed. She didn’t know how to respond to such a generous offer. Didn’t know how to look away from his mesmerizing gray eyes that revealed such honesty she could feel his words in her soul. He meant it. He really meant it.

  So had Blake, at one time.

  She shook off the spell and frowned. “What if it isn’t the Veronica? What if it’s just another cloth, or what if nothing’s inside at all?”

  A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “’Tis not, but should it be, you may do what you will with both the reliquary and the contents. We could open it tonight and solve those questions.”

  “Don’t be silly. There are processes. Protoc
ols I established with my team to ensure every relic was treated the same way.” Her frown deepened as she remembered her students and her brother. “This isn’t just about me and you. Julian wants to witness the opening. Andy’s excited about it also. I have a whole team that came here in the middle of winter, hoping to find something of significance. Now we have. I won’t cut them out. And I won’t jeopardize the integrity of my hard work among my professional peers either.”

  “I shall respect that.” His thumb stroked over the back of her palm, stirring to life all the awareness she so desperately wanted to ignore. Tingles raced up to her shoulder. Her pulse stuttered. In the core of her soul, something wholly unfamiliar awakened to that gentle back-and-forth motion.

  “Will you trust I shall reveal the cloth when the time is appropriate?” His eyes said something else, a plea she didn’t dare consider: Will you trust me?

  She glanced down at their joined hands, the warmth of his palm as enticing as water after a hot day amid the Egyptian sands. Strong fingers. A grip meant to soothe, yet prominent evidence of the power in his hands. Altogether masculine. Wholly appealing.

  Against her will, her fingers tightened around his. She nearly sighed at the delight of holding on to him. They sat in her room, avoiding the subject of their earlier kiss. It had been so long … Did she dare take a leap of faith and believe in what he offered? His words and the physical pleasure?

  No, she couldn’t. Not when they disagreed over an important artifact. As long as they stood at opposing corners, too much room existed for him to work toward his own purpose and hide his intentions. Trust couldn’t be established on such rocky terms. And though he had sworn he’d expose the relic if it proved legitimate, he’d mentioned nothing about giving her team credit for the find.

  “I think you’d better leave, Lucan,” she whispered.

  “Aye,” he answered, equally as quiet.

  He rose, bringing her to her feet alongside him. She followed to the door, indulging in the simple pleasure of holding his hand a few minutes longer. But when he should have disentangled his fingers and reached for the handle, he turned sideways and lifted her chin with his opposite index finger. He shook loose her fingers, used that hand to sweep her hair away from her shoulder. Then with it, he captured the side of her face and brushed her cheek with that tantalizing sweep of his thumb.

  She knew he was going to kiss her. Knew she ought to step back and stop him before he could dip his head. But though logic screamed at her to move, she stood stock still, barely breathing.

  As light as a feather, his lips brushed over hers. His breath stirred the fine hairs on her face. Goose bumps broke over her skin, and Chloe pulled in a short breath to keep from stumbling against his chest. With an inward whimper, she parted her lips and invited him into the kiss.

  Lucan’s mouth settled over hers softly. His lips played a game of capture and release, each press longer than the one before, until he slid his hands into her hair and accepted she had no intentions of breaking free. Warm and enticing, the tip of his tongue slid along the seam of her lips and, caught up in the rush of heady bliss, Chloe touched hers to it. The rich flavor of the wine they’d shared lingered on his mouth. She drank it in as deeply as she had from her glass.

  Pleasure ignited like fire, warming her from the inside out. She leaned into his body, twined her arms around his neck, and rose to her toes as he deepened their kiss. The velvety stroke of his tongue against hers took her to a place she had forgotten. An oasis where no harm came from pleasure and desire knew no punishment. She indulged, abandoning her fears in favor of the safety Lucan’s nearness offered.

  When his kiss took on more demand, she gave freely. Met the seeking thrust of his tongue with equal greed. Satisfaction rumbled in the back of his throat, eliciting her into a soft moan. God, it had been so long since she’d been kissed like this. Maybe she hadn’t ever been … Not so thoroughly. Not so incredibly. No, she’d never before felt like if the kiss ended, something inside her would crack into pieces.

  She pressed in closer, and his hand slid down her back. His arms encircled her. The hardness of his breath mirrored her own. Warmth flowed between them where their bodies connected, drawing her deeper into the magic of the moment. Her womb tightened, and moisture gathered between her legs, stark evidence of how she’d starved her body.

  Lucan’s fingers pressed against the small of her back, urging her hips into his. She took a wobbly step forward, aligning their bodies from shoulders to toes. But when her belly flattened against the hard length of his arousal, Lucan sucked in a sharp breath and abruptly terminated the kiss.

  He took a step back. Slowly, he released her from the protective circle of his arms. With one hand, he turned the door handle. His mouth danced once more across hers, chaste and soft. “Good night, Chloe.”

  “Good night,” she whispered as he stepped into the hall.

  CHAPTER 9

  Lucan let himself inside Gareth’s room and made his way through the dark to the empty sofa. He said a quiet prayer on finding Gareth sprawled across the bed, snoring quietly. Conversation was the last thing he wished to encounter after what had transpired on the threshold of Chloe’s room.

  Damnation, he had not intended one kiss to go so far. If it had not been for the fierce surge of white heat that shot stars through his mind when her body nestled against his swollen shaft, he would have taken her there on the floor. He was not opposed to such a notion—floor, bed, wall, couch, where mattered little. ’Twas the timing that concerned him. The hesitancy in her amber eyes before she yielded to the kiss. If she were not fully ready for something so simple, she would not embrace their inevitable joining. Her body would, aye. But she would regret waking from the haze of desire.

  When he took her, and aye, he would, ’twould be to both her heart and her body that he brought pleasure.

  He pulled off his boots and stretched out on the cushions. ’Twas also the matter of the glyph he must negotiate before he could consider a deeper involvement with Chloe. Oaths and vows aside, what she showed him tonight concerned him far more than the demons that collected in her shadow. The two paired hand in hand, but Chloe carried the mark of Azazel.

  Someone in Egypt branded her for the dark lord.

  Centuries had passed since he last witnessed the mark of Saladin’s most faithful. So much time he thought to never look upon the glyph again. Yet tonight, he discovered it in his seraph.

  Her hesitancy to accept a fair agreement regarding the Veronica added to the burden of his mind. Her resistance, combined with the demons and Alaric’s words, only increased his suspicions that Azazel had already approached Chloe. Lucan could find no other reason for the mounting list of oddities about his intended mate.

  Her on-and-off demeanor. Her fierce arguments that he did not trust her. Her insistence to guard the Veronica on her own, her refusal to open the reliquary with anyone else present—all acts that united her with the unholy one.

  Add into the mix that unlike the previous pairings of Templar and seraphs, he could find no real obstacle to overcome, and as much as he wished to deny it, he could not turn away from the very likely possibility Chloe had been seduced by evil and worked to find a means of turning over the Veil. His presence, along with Caradoc’s and Gareth’s, made what she had been tasked with difficult. For if she chose to surrender the relic whilst they were present, she would fail.

  She would not perish, but she would fail, and restoring her from Azazel’s clutches might well erase what remained of her mind.

  God’s teeth—could he be part of a greater nightmare?

  Tossing an elbow over his eyes, he groaned. Nay, he was missing something. He must be. If Chloe’s soul housed darkness, his would recognize it. As his spirit balked each time he confronted Azazel’s minions and stirred each time he crossed their vile path, he would feel darkness within her when he stood at her side.

  Though his body had most assuredly awakened, tonight the darkness slumbered.

>   Lucan squeezed his temple between thumb and middle finger to drown out the noise. For the first time in a great many years, he questioned his ability to succeed in the Almighty’s design. If he could not sift through fact and fiction and separate suspicion from what he recognized as truth, he could not hope to gain her oath. He would fail, and the prophecy would shatter.

  One undeniable fact stood apart from the rest—he could not approach her about her Nephilim blood until he knew the meaning of the glyph. If he confided her status as a seraph, and she did indeed serve Azazel, the dark lord would have his new Lilith in a heartbeat. Azazel would steal Chloe away, use her body for his pleasure and her healing spirit for his destruction. All the light she carried would assume his taint, and in so doing, grant her phenomenal power. She would become Azazel’s ally. His lover. His mate.

  Christ, but Lucan did not know which way to proceed. If she were pure, presenting her with the seraphs’ torc protected her.

  Lucan flopped onto his side in search of comfort he would not find. Wide awake, he stared out the window, listening for trouble through the walls.

  He would have to wait. Bide his time and observe her carefully. She could not hide a dark purpose if he became her constant companion. Azazel could not reach her either. In protecting her, Lucan would die, but she would come to understand the danger she faced. The temple could offer her protection after his demise. Mayhap even find her another eventual mate.

  * * *

  A steady thump-thump drew Chloe from pleasant dreams. She opened her eyes, half expecting to find Lucan beside her in the bed, then blushed as her gaze fell on the empty pillow. No warm body at her side. Just in her imagination.

  But man, oh man, he was every bit as incredible in her dreams as he’d been in her doorway. Giving in to a goofy smile, she sank deep into the pillows and pretended not to notice the scritch-scratching on her window pane. She never should have allowed him to kiss her. She’d known it would mess with her head. Now she ached in all the places that she’d convinced herself didn’t exist. Restlessness infused her blood. Her breasts felt heavy, her skin too tight.