But eight years had also told her there wasn’t much she could do. Except, perhaps, find the man who’d somehow cursed her. And she’d tried that too. She’d visited every religious leader she could find, from voodoo priestesses to demonologists to Catholic priests. Every one of them swore she wasn’t cursed, wasn’t possessed, or whatever they personally called it. They offered temporary aid. Helped when it became too much. Gave her the bracelet to keep the beasts off her physical body, and wished her well.
This was her lot. For whatever reason, she’d been doomed to a life of fear.
Gathering her resolve, she stood up and lathered her hair. Maybe she wasn’t doomed. Lucan knew about the glyph. Nothing in the world would convince her he hadn’t recognized it. And for some absurd reason, when he was near, she didn’t feel like at any minute something might leap out of the dark and attack her. This was indeed progress. Maybe he had the answers.
Maybe he was her salvation.
She cringed at the thought. One kiss, and here she was fantasizing about happily-ever-afters. Even if they could get past their professional and ethical differences, even if she could learn to trust him, one night of demons, and he’d take off like a rocket.
Besides, now wasn’t the time to indulge in personal pursuits. The relic put her on the edge of incredible professional success. If she’d found Veronica’s Veil, the next several years would demand a significant amount of her time—public appearances, papers and presentations, meetings with museum curators and a whole list of student applicants, additional job offers, and collegiate lectures.
She couldn’t allow Lucan to distract her. Maybe when they finished in Ornes they could explore this attraction, but not until she had closed up the site and resolved the matter of what to do with the relic. Until then, she’d shield herself behind Julian. His dislike for Lucan would make it easy to keep her distance.
* * *
When Chloe didn’t arrive in the château’s front hall by six, the fist around Lucan’s heart closed more tightly and worry took root. Mayhap she was in trouble. Injured somehow. Or worse …
He took the stairs two at a time, all the way to the third floor, and stalked to her door where he rapped on the thick wood. He counted to five before he leaned closer to listen for sounds of life behind the barrier.
Distantly, he made out a faint rustle.
Lucan knocked more insistently.
“Just a minute,” she called from within.
Relief swamped him like a physical caress. His shoulders sagged as he expelled a long hard breath. Not harmed. Just running behind.
The door cracked open, sending a whiff of flowery perfume through the narrow opening. She peered out with a frown, then drew back as if she had expected someone else. “Lucan?”
“Aye. When you did not…” He hesitated. When she did not what? Arrive in the lobby he had worried? He could not admit such. ’Twould make him look weak. A man who knew a woman only but a few days did not fret like a hen over her safety.
He shook his head. “I thought to drive you to Ornes. That we might take the reliquary together.”
Her amber gaze narrowed for a heartbeat, and he cursed himself for once again sparking her ire. He grasped at words in attempts to sooth her obvious annoyance. “Your car is still at the site. Caradoc went on ahead with Tim and Andy.”
She pursed her lips, then let out an exasperated mutter. Clearly she did not believe him. But she stepped aside and opened the door for him to enter. “Oh, come in. Stop making up excuses. If it means that much to you, we’ll ride together.”
’Twas then he noticed her wet hair. It clung to her face, dripped over the swell of her terry-covered breasts. Droplets of water streaked down her cheeks and lingered on the hand she lifted to push the wet auburn lengths away from her eyes.
In her other hand, she clutched her unbelted robe tight. Her hurry to don the garment was evident in the way it draped off one shoulder. She turned around, and Lucan’s heart seized. A mark on her right shoulder blade stood out against her glistening skin. Small, brownish in color, it took the form of a miniature heart. Not false art, but natural to her birth.
His mark. The emblem that matched the one he despised on his backside and branded her as his seraph.
God’s teeth, his blood rushed through his veins with a typhoon’s power. His heart thundered in his ears. In a hidden portion of his soul, something fierce and wholly indescribable leapt to dangerous life.
He caught himself reaching out to touch her seraph’s confirmation, then jerked his hand away, seconds before he made contact with her skin. His fingers grazed the edge of her robe. Lucan froze. Holding his breath, he waited for her to notice.
She picked her clothes off the foot of the bed and continued into the bathroom.
When the door closed, he sank to the edge of the bed, shaken. If he had needed more proof than Gabriel’s words, he had just witnessed it. Chloe belonged to him. Not Caradoc, not Gareth, not any other knight who suffered the immortal curse. The Almighty chose her for him alone.
As he chose Lucan for her.
Lucan’s hands trembled as he pushed them through his hair. He had known. Had believed. But seeing the evidence with his own eyes robbed him of the ability to take a normal breath. For the first time in his life, duty became meaningless, the oaths of brotherhood insignificant. As he looked around her room, letting her engulf his senses, he wanted naught more than to discover all he could about the woman. What did she drink on waking—water, coffee, something altogether different? When she readied for bed, did she unwind with a hot bath? Or were morning showers her preference?
The squeak of the bathroom door pulled his gaze to her entry. Dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved navy blue shirt, she emerged. Her hair was dry now, and the clean lengths hung to the middle of her back, shining like the angels had kissed it.
Mayhap they had.
His body tensed as she drew nearer to the bed. She poured into his awareness, suffocating all thoughts but those of her. Of what he would like to do to her. Experience with her. His hands itched to slide through her hair as they had the night before. He craved the taste of her sweet mouth. If he could but draw her close, sample the honeyed flavor, take them back to the night before. Here, where her bed sat beneath him. Where he could lay her back against the pillows and slowly peel away those clothes.
God’s blood, he ached to touch her.
Even her melodic voice set him on edge.
“I think I’m ready. If you’ll grab that bag there, I’ll get the trunk.” She gestured at a supple leather satchel carelessly tossed into the chair.
Stifling down the fierceness of his wayward thoughts, Lucan pulled his gaze from hers and looked where she indicated. Work. He must think on work. He could not forget the reliquary. Nor the darkness that surrounded Chloe. Even now, as the first bright sun in days poured into the room, he recognized the subtle presence in the trees beyond the château’s manicured lawns.
He could not allow himself to become consumed with her until he gained the knowledge of what Azazel’s demons meant. Too much lay at risk. The Veronica. The Almighty’s battle.
Chloe’s life.
He pulled himself together and stood. Before he could reach for her bag, she went to the small safe in the corner of the room. Kneeling before it, she punched in the electronic code. As Lucan collected her satchel, Chloe pulled the reliquary—still wrapped in his coat—from within.
A strange sense of pride infused him. She had not even disturbed his makeshift covering. True to her word, she left the relic untouched.
“Would you like me to carry it?”
“I can get—”
She stopped at the lifting of his eyebrow, realizing he knew full well she could carry the artifact and that had not been the intent of his question. A blush crept into her cheeks, and she dipped her chin in a quick nod. “I’m sorry. I’m just used to doing for myself.”
“Aye. I see.” Grinning, he took the trunk from her and tucked it
beneath his arm. He passed her the satchel. “You should allow yourself to enjoy a man’s company.”
At once, he regretted the teasing remark. Her amber eyes flashed to burnt umber. The shared remembrance of the night before passed between them as those rich depths locked with his. Temptation rose with the brief parting of her lips. Intensified as she moistened them with the tip of her tongue. Became intolerable when she swallowed and her gaze dropped to his mouth.
Lucan tamped down an anguished groan and turned away. He strode to the door, unwilling to spend another moment in this room where the most prominent piece of furniture was the queen-size bed. Saints above, how one woman could so distract him, he could not explain. ’Twas not as if he had honored the code of chastity through the years. He took his pleasure as he required. And though brief encounters in the night offered physical relief, fulfillment did not come with the release of pent-up lust. A woman’s embrace did not provide escape. He would enjoy Chloe, aye, but ’twas no reason for this uncontrolled desire.
Holding the door open, he allowed her to enter the hall first, and she proceeded toward the stairs. His eyes betrayed his will and fastened on the trimness of her waist, the subtle sway of her hips. Unbound, her hair danced against her shirt in a matched cadence. Lucan ground his teeth together.
Today he would experience hell. Of that, he was certain. Odd, he had never imagined Azazel’s realm could include a mobile trailer in the middle of a forgotten French town. But as certainly as he knew his own name, he knew the hours that lay ahead would be far worse than any battle against a demon or any strike from a fallen Templar’s unholy blade.
Yet ’twas necessary. He would only discover the demons’ purpose by immersing himself in her. Spending each minute he could in her company. Which meant somehow he must find the ability to concentrate on something other than her supple curves and how he longed to explore each tempting inch of her creamy skin.
Aye, Gabriel had indeed tasked him with a trial. One mayhap more damning than either Merrick’s or Farran’s. They at least did not have to discern whether their seraph already belonged to Azazel.
CHAPTER 12
At the bottom of the stairwell, the scent of bacon hit Chloe square in the gut. Her stomach protested her intention to skip breakfast with a rumble. Her gaze slid to Lucan. Spending more time with this man would be dangerous. Yet he was right, she had no way to get to the site unless she wanted to take a taxi.
He glanced at her, puzzlement written in the slight crease of his brow. He didn’t speak, but the question lurked in his quiet gaze—why were they standing in the middle of the front foyer?
“What time is it?” she asked.
Lucan looked behind her at the concierge’s desk. “’Tis almost six thirty. Why do you ask?”
Chloe gave herself a mental kick. She wasn’t seriously entertaining the idea of having breakfast with him, was she? One meal had caused trouble enough.
On the other hand, she had to work with this man. God only knew when he might decide the site held nothing more of interest to the Church, and so far they’d started out on all the wrong feet. While she was being bitchy and territorial, he’d gone out of his way to be amicable and approachable. Maybe if she opened her mind and met him halfway, as he kept trying to encourage, working with him wouldn’t be so bad.
Last night hadn’t been bad by any measure of the word. They’d actually gotten along … even if things took a drastically unexpected turn.
She tipped her head and caught his gaze. “Are you hungry?”
A flicker of surprise passed behind Lucan’s eyes. It vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by a warm, genuine smile. “I could eat.”
God she loved it when he smiled.
Stop thinking like that. It’s a professional, working breakfast. Nothing else. It couldn’t be anything else—she didn’t trust him enough. Exactly why she needed to do this. She had to try, had to get out of the mindset he was out to usurp her work.
She returned his smile. “Let’s do that. My treat.”
Again, surprise registered for a brief moment before he nodded. “Very well then.” He tucked the reliquary under his arm more securely and gestured at the restaurant. “After you, milady.”
Chloe crossed the hall and seated herself at an empty table. Lucan took the chair opposite, with the reliquary positioned on the chair between them. She pushed down the nagging voice of reason that insisted Julian would be angry over her late arrival and determined to enjoy this morning. What was it Lucan had said? Enjoy the company of a man? She wouldn’t go that far, but she did intend to enjoy a bit of downtime with him. Just for a little while.
The waiter slipped two menus on the corner of their table. “Bonjour.”
“Good morning,” Chloe answered in chorus with Lucan.
“May I start you with some fresh juice this morning? Coffee perhaps?”
“Coffee, if you please,” Lucan replied, catching Chloe’s gaze for a moment.
Her cheeks flushed beneath the warmth in his eyes and cut her gaze to the waiter. “Me too, please.”
“Very well then, I shall bring them right out. Do you need a few minutes?”
“Aye.”
The young man disappeared, his stride full of efficient purpose. Chloe took a deep breath and set the menu aside. The château’s eggs Benedict beat any she’d had in years. She searched the depths of her mind for a conversation topic.
Lucan, however, beat her to words. “Tell me more of your time in Egypt?”
She could. She could go on about the rare pottery they’d discovered, about the absolutely perfect preservation of the mummies, or the incredible colors of the artwork on the walls. She could take the easy way out and fill up an entire thirty minutes or so with fantastic tales about her years in the desert … but she didn’t want to talk about her job. Not right now. Her job always put them at odds.
Instead, Chloe reached across the table and laid her hand over his. Words popped out before she could wrest them under control. “Let’s leave work out of this.”
No doubt about it, those dark compelling eyes filled with momentary shock. As if he had never given consideration that she might actually take his suggestion to heart. As if her attempting to relate to him was the last thought that had ever crossed his mind.
A slow, heart-stopping smile spread across his mouth. He turned his hand over, his fingers loosely weaving between hers. Warmth skittered down Chloe’s spine. Instinct demanded she retract her hand, tuck it into her lap where it was safe. Where he couldn’t threaten her defenses. Try, Chloe, try. Don’t you dare chicken out.
She blinked long and slow, pulled in a steadying breath, and left her palm resting against his. “What was the last movie you saw?”
Lucan laughed as he shook his head. “I do not have much opportunity to view movies. What did you last see?”
Well, that was a terrible place to start a conversation—it had been at least two years since she’d seen a movie. She couldn’t even remember which one it was. Grinning, Chloe shook her head. “Me neither. I was hoping you’d bring me up to speed.”
Those dark eyes glittered with mirth, and ever so slightly, Lucan’s fingers tightened against hers. “Let us attempt this again. Tell me of you, Chloe. Tell me what ’twas like to grow up with Julian.”
A flash memory of Julian hiding a frog in her sleeping bag when they’d gone on a family vacation burst to life, and Chloe laughed. “He was a pain in the rear. Still is. I think he’ll be eternally twelve. It was his life’s mission to make me scream, squeal, cry, and want to pull out his hair.”
Lucan’s grin deepened. “Scream?”
The memory took on vivid color, playing out in slow motion, and Chloe started there. “The last family vacation we took, I was nine and he eleven. Our parents took us camping at Yellowstone. We’d spent the day doing different things. Dad and he went fishing. Mom and I went on a nature hike.”
She closed her eyes, reliving the last true happy summer they’d spent toget
her. When she opened them again, Lucan’s attentive gaze encouraged her to let down her walls. He wanted to know. Truly wanted to hear something mundane from her.
“We ate fish around a campfire. Julian and Dad took a little bit longer to dispose of our trash than they ought to have. Julian came back first, panting and frantic, swearing Dad had been attacked by a bear—he knew I was terrified they’d find our camp.” She laughed again, shaking her head at her brother and father’s antics. “He had Mom and me in a complete fit of worry, scouting the trees, calling out for Dad, chasing after snapping branches. I guess Dad didn’t ever think Mom would take it seriously. I’m not really sure what got into his head, but he and Julian were like two little kids all the time.”
The waiter interrupted her story long enough to set a carafe of coffee down and take their order. When he left again, Lucan squeezed Chloe’s hand. His unsettling dark eyes pulled her into the simple quaintness of a normal conversation with a man she enjoyed. A man who made her heart tap a little too fast. She shifted their hands so their fingers joined more completely and resumed her story.
“Anyway, about the time Mom was ready to hunt down a park ranger, Dad jumped up from behind their tent, growling and doing his best to impersonate a bear. I’ve never seen Mom so angry with him. Julian and I went to our tent while they argued. He was adamant that I trade sleeping bags with him.”
Lucan’s thumb brushed against her wrist. A delightful shiver seized her, and she tripped over her tongue. To cover her startled reaction, she took a long drink of coffee, ordered her pulse to return to normal, and shifted position in her chair. Oh, this was so wrong. She was going down the entirely opposite path than what she’d intended.
But it was so nice too …
“What happened?” Lucan asked, grinning.
“I refused.” She chuckled, seeing the horrified look on Julian’s face as if it had happened yesterday. “I climbed into my own, only to find the biggest, slimiest frog I’d ever seen tucked into the bottom of my bag. I left the tent screaming, which stopped our parents’ argument, and they found a new target—my poor brother.”
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