She tossed and turned and finally let out a frustrated sigh. “Damn,” she muttered.
Another heavy thump brought her upright in bed. Cocking her head, she eyed the door. She leaned over and switched on the light. As light filled her room, the dark presence registered in the forefront of her mind. From beyond the window it bore down on her like iron weights, so thick and suffocating she couldn’t bring herself to look for fear she’d see the beast through the drawn draperies. The hairs along her arms lifted. Her chest constricted, making normal breath impossible.
“Is someone there?” she called out.
“It’s me, open the damn door, I’ve been knocking for twenty minutes. People are starting to peek in the hall,” Julian answered with a touch of exasperation.
Twenty minutes? Good grief, she must have been out like a rock. Relief, however, accompanied the sound of her brother’s voice, and she tossed the covers back to shuffle to the door. The chain lock rattled in the quiet, followed by the click of the heavy dead bolt. Chloe yawned as she opened the door.
Julian marched past her, looking like he’d shared the same restless slumber. His short blond hair stuck out at odd angles. Though fully dressed, his shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest and his belt buckle jangled at his waist. She dropped her gaze to his feet, observing he hadn’t tied the laces on his boots either. “Julian, is something wrong?”
He pushed long fingers through his hair and shook his head. A frown marred the high line of his brow, a sure signal something was eating at him. But the way his eyes darted around the room, as if he feared someone waited for him in the shadows, aroused Chloe’s concern. Something was most definitely wrong with her brother. Had he fought with Miranda? Gone home with the wrong girl and run into her boyfriend? Husband maybe?
“What is it, Julian?”
“I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about that trunk. Keep seeing it in my head.”
The trunk? For the love of Mary, he’d woken her up in the middle of the night about the relic? Chloe gritted her teeth and called on her patience. “Can’t this wait until morning?”
“No!” He shook his head violently. “Let’s open it, Chloe. Now. We can surprise the team tomorrow. Hell, we can even pretend we know nothing when we get there. But let’s open it. I’ll go crazy if I don’t find out what’s inside.”
Dumbfounded, Chloe squinted at her brother. “You’ve been drinking.”
“No, I swear I’m sober.” He held up both hands in defense. Jumped on one foot. “See. Look. No wobbling.” In a burst of unexpected energy, he rushed to her and caught her hands between them. “Let’s open it, sis. What if it’s filled with gold?”
One long, slow blink didn’t change the situation as she’d hoped. Julian didn’t disappear, and she didn’t wake up to find this weird tirade of his had been a dream. She shook her hands free. “Go back to bed, Julian. For that matter maybe you ought to go find a stiff drink and unwind.”
“Let me see it, sis?” he pleaded quietly. “Just once more. I can’t stop thinking about it.”
For a moment, she entertained the idea of pulling the relic out of her safe just for the sake of appeasing him so he’d go away. But as the notion surfaced, she dismissed it just as quickly. If she showed him the relic, in his current zealousness, she’d have to spend another hour disarming his ideas of opening the trunk. She went to the door instead. Holding it open, she pointed into the hall. “Out. Go back to bed, Julian. We’ll talk about the relic in the morning.”
“But—”
“Out,” she insisted a bit louder. “I’m not doing this tonight. I’m tired, and I want to go back to sleep.”
She braced for his scowl. Anticipated a rush of angry words. Julian’s temper could put hers to shame when something really upset him. If she were lucky, he’d vent and blow, and then tomorrow they could talk about this rationally. If she weren’t lucky, his attitude would cling to him throughout the next day, and God only knew how many others.
Instead, he merely stared at her, his expression flat, void of all emotion. His eyes locked with hers, but those blues that were usually so full of warm light darkened to a dull lifeless shade of near black. He looked beyond her, as if he saw something on the distant wall.
Vacant.
“Julian?”
As if someone snapped fingers in front of his face, his eyes focused on her. “Yeah?”
“Are you okay?”
“Fine.” He forked his fingers through his hair again and gave her a half smile. “Tired. Tomorrow?”
“Yeah, tomorrow.” She tipped her head toward the open door. “Get out of here. I need my beauty rest.”
With a curt nod, opposed to the grin she expected, he strode into the hall. Chloe eased the door shut, locked it, then leaned her weight into it. Evidently they were both losing their grip on reality. Julian couldn’t sleep over a fabulous relic, and she’d crossed boundaries with Lucan. The next thing she’d know, Andy would start hitting on women.
The light dimmed as a low wind whistled around her windows. Outside, the scratching raked across the glass like nails on a chalkboard. Chloe stiffened. When would it stop? What did it take to have one decent night’s sleep? Drawing in a deep breath, she pushed away from the door and turned around.
As she looked to the curtained window, the glass shook with an earthquake’s force. Chloe dove for a small red satchel on the opposite side of the bed. The curtains shimmied, whipped against her hand.
“Damn you, go back to the hell you spawned from,” she muttered as her fingers curled around the crushed velvet. Sitting up, she jerked the drawstrings open and stuffed her hand inside. She grabbed a stick of sage incense, a stick of vanilla, and a small butane lighter. Lighting them both, she swallowed hard and swung her legs off the side of the bed nearest the window.
The racket grew ominous. A spine-tingling crack issued from the glass. Chloe steeled herself against the overwhelming malice that enveloped her. She took a step closer, drew in a deep breath. As she exhaled, she recited the words she’d used on only one previous occasion.
“In the name of the Almighty, I banish you from this place. Go now, you cannot bring me harm.” Sweeping her hand before her body, she waved the purifying smoke toward the glass. “Mighty Gabriel, hear these words, protect me with your sacred might.”
Beyond, something let out a low, hollow moan.
The curtains stilled. An eerie calm descended on the room. Her hands shook as she set the incense across the mouth of a wineglass and collapsed onto her bed. Huddled into a ball, she pulled a bracelet of blue beads from the pouch and slipped it around her wrist.
Then, she allowed her tears to fall.
CHAPTER 10
Darkness surrounded Julian. Closeted away in his bottom-floor room, he sat in the chair near the window and grasped at the last bits of sanity he possessed. Tonight he had nearly attacked his sister. Would have, if she hadn’t spoken his name and pulled him out of the depths of the abyss that engulfed his mind. For what, he couldn’t recall. Or perhaps he had never known in the first place.
It knew. This beast that fed off his soul knew precisely why it had gone to Chloe’s room in the middle of the night.
He, however, only recalled the struggle for power, the sheer effort required to keep it at bay. Most days he failed. When he felt his strength weaken and the beast began to dominate, he retreated far from Chloe. Something about her enraged the demon. No … Enraged wasn’t right. It only ever felt rage when she thwarted its plans. His sister aroused the demon. As if it recognized something about her and yearned to draw her into its arms.
His arms.
Fuck, he didn’t know anymore. His arms, its arms—good God, what would it be like to embrace his sister as a woman?
His stomach roiled at the thought. But deep inside, something else stirred to life. It pulled at his mind, urging him to surrender. To accept his fate and his certain death. He pushed back on the presence, desperate to maintain some small fragment of what he
once had been.
Movement helped. As did light. He stood up and flicked on the lamp. On his way back to his chair, he passed the wide dresser mirror and paused to study his reflection. Outwardly, he looked the same. Then again, that shouldn’t surprise him. He had witnessed the crafting of this illusion. Hell, he’d given them the prototype.
He turned and looked over his bare shoulder at the two long scars that ran between his shoulder blades and across his ribs. Even this form bore the scars they had put upon his body. Strange, he could no longer recall the pain. He remembered the face. The voice. But how it felt to have claws dig between his ribs, he couldn’t recall.
More evidence he was rapidly losing his tenacious hold on his soul.
A smile crossed his face as the beast latched on to his thoughts. His weakness pleased the demon. With it came power. The complete ability to move as it desired and follow the dark laws that governed its existence.
Julian struggled to smear the smile away. When his efforts only produced a slight downturn at the corners of his mouth, turning his expression into a grotesque sneer, he turned from the mirror and retreated to his chair.
It wanted the relic. Yes, that’s right—he was supposed to convince his sister to give him the relic. That was the reason he’d been implanted alongside the demon. But Chloe and her protocols refused to budge. If she didn’t cave soon, he’d have no control over what might happen.
And if she spent more time with that man whom the demon despised, Julian couldn’t guarantee how much longer he could hold on. Each time the dark-haired representative of the Church drew near her, the demon threatened to break free.
His name is Lucan of Seacourt.
Julian ground his teeth together as the hollow voice mingled with his unconscious. It knew things he couldn’t comprehend. Things that, when it spoke of them, he found himself unable to resist the call of darkness. And now, as the demon conjured an image of Lucan, Julian’s hands began to tingle with the need to kill.
He glanced down at his fingers to witness the dark claws emerge. He let them break through—controlling the demon when it desired its natural form defied his meek ability. Besides, the battle tonight had taken its toll. He’d lost more energy by leaving Chloe and the relic than he had these last several weeks. And he couldn’t deny that at times the thought of giving up completely offered comfort. If he didn’t have to worry about Chloe, he would. But his love for her and all the years he’d protected her forced him to hang on.
Somehow he must make her turn over that trunk.
Declan.
The name whispered into his awareness. Yes, Declan and the Kerzu. He’d been advised to contact the man if Chloe gave him too much trouble. Maybe he would have an idea how to convince her.
He reached across to the table and picked up his phone. The number flashed on his outgoing calls list, but he couldn’t recall ever speaking to the man before. He’d talked to Miranda. That night, he’d never forget. Five years he’d known her. Slept with her. Done everything a man and woman could, except give her his heart, though she had given hers freely. When she’d done what she should have years ago and finally told him to get lost, he’d wanted to weep. The demon, however, rejoiced.
Julian pressed the connect key.
“Aye?” a thick Scottish brogue answered on the first ring. “I dinna expect to hear from you so soon.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Julian confessed.
“Does she ken what you want?”
“I think so. Should I tell her why?”
“Nay!” Declan softened his voice. “My brothers are with her?”
“Always.”
“Then nay, you mustna confide our purpose. If she has listened to their words, she wilna believe naught of yours. She will think you deceive. Take heart, believe in Leofric’s purpose of restoring the Templar code.”
Julian let out a sigh and asked in a quieter voice, “How do I deceive my sister?”
“’Tisna easy, I ken.” Declan’s voice assumed genuine sympathy. “It becomes easier. When the day of judgment arrives, you will be proud of the things you have done. In this, you will find strength.”
Silence passed across the line. Through the receiver, Julian recognized the closing of a heavy door.
“A question for you.”
“Yeah?”
“Does the lass show a particular affinity for either of my brothers?”
Affinity? Shit, he could hardly remember his own name let alone what Chloe did all day. “I don’t know. Why?”
“’Tis curiosity. Inform me if you learn of such.”
“All right. But why?”
“’Twould mean she carries the blood of angels. A blessing to be certain. But if she is to pair with a knight, their joining must be pure. They canna be allowed to sin before oaths are taken.”
Julian squeezed his eyes shut tight and attempted to make sense of Declan’s words. The demon, however, surged to the surface making it impossible to decipher the Scot’s meaning. Julian grimaced with the effort of chaining the beast back. A physical pain burst inside his head, and he dropped the phone. Clutching at his temples, he doubled over, gasping for air.
“Not now,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “Let. Me. Go.”
Slowly, the unholy presence retreated, allowing Julian the ability to reach for the phone. When he brought it to his ear, the line filled with silence. “Declan?”
A rapid beeping signaled the Scot had disconnected.
In a fit of satisfying temper, Julian chucked the phone across the room. It thumped into the wall, then clattered across the wood floor. He stood, went to the window, and pulled the drapes open wide. Outside, snowflakes drifted across a darkened landscape. The trees beyond caught the faint reflection of the château’s exterior lights, illuminating leafless branches into eerie skeletons.
He searched the barren trunks for signs of the creatures that shared his purpose. When he spied a pair of yellow-green eyes, unexplainable peace enveloped him. He knew their presence ought to disgust him. But he couldn’t find the revulsion he’d first known. Those creatures, though they followed a different set of orders, comforted him with the knowledge he wasn’t alone in this misbegotten quest.
Moreover, they marked Chloe. Where she went, they followed. As long as he could locate them, he’d always be able to find his sister. As for the knights—all Julian needed to do was prey upon her fears. Her mistrust of men ran so deep that too seemed easy. A few insinuations. A handful of suggestions about the men’s characters, and Chloe would run from all of them.
If it meant keeping her safe, he’d see to that.
He didn’t give a damn about oaths or sin or any number of the bits and pieces of information that flitted through his thoughts. But he’d fight to the end to keep Chloe out of this hellish game of unholy chess. He would die their pawn. Before he did, however, he’d ensure his sister knew the freedom of a queen.
CHAPTER 11
Chloe woke at dawn, not that she had slept well after the demons threatened entry. With a dull winter sun as her protection, she went to the window and pulled the drapes open to inspect the glass. Frowning, she traced a short nail down a jagged crack that ran from the left top corner to two-thirds of the way to the center. She drew away with a whispered oath and pulled the blinds closed.
Once before they’d attacked with such force, but even then, they hadn’t done true harm. They’d made enough noise to scare her out of her skin and send her on the search for a demonologist to teach her how to ward them off, but they hadn’t broken glass. Now what? Reverend Tobias hadn’t told her what to do if they got through—they’d certainly made it possible to do so. One firm press on the pane, and that glass would break out.
She picked up the phone and punched in the concierge’s extension. When he answered, she forced a smile on her face to hide the quivering under her skin. “Bonjour, Monsieur Léglise, this is Chloe Broussard, room twenty-four.”
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Broussard
, how may I serve you?”
“Something broke my window last night. Would you be able to put in for repairs?”
“Quoi?” He coughed. “Pardon, I mean—my apologies, mademoiselle. I was aware of no disturbances through the night. Oui, I shall put in the request, but it may be a day or two before a replacement can be finished. Do you require another room?”
“No, no, the glass is still intact.” She shook her head and squashed the long line of burned ashes in the basin of the wineglass with the end of the incense stick. “A good storm would ruin it though. I can wait a day or two.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes. I really don’t want to move my things. A day or two will be fine.” She hoped. If her ward held, a day or two wouldn’t make a difference. But much longer, and they’d return. As they always did.
“Very well. I will put in the request. Will it inconvenience you if we enter to take measurements?”
“No, that’s fine. I’ll be working most of today.”
His voice brightened. “Merci, mademoiselle. Again, my deepest regrets. I will have your window restored soon.”
“Merci,” she murmured before she dropped the phone back into its cradle.
She’d have to make sure to take the time today and find a spiritualist in Verdun who could aid her. Someone who really understood magic and could do something permanent. Problem was, she suspected she wasn’t dealing with the same demon. If she were, it couldn’t return again and again, and the magical incantation would hold longer.
She pulled open the desk drawer, withdrew the phone book, and stuffed it inside her leather bag. No one would be open this early. She’d look closer to lunchtime. Meanwhile, she’d shower. The hot water would soothe her nerves and hopefully take the stiffness out of her neck.
Trudging into the bathroom, she flipped on the light and started the water. While it heated, she gathered her robe and brushed her teeth. Then she stepped beneath the spray, sighing as she leaned against the tiled wall. She couldn’t tolerate much more of this. Eight years was long enough—an eternity of running from demons would cut her lifespan in half.
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