Immortal Trust

by Claire Ashgrove

  On his knees, he looked up to find Julian wedged between them, his sneer as vile as the odor that permeated the air. But his cruel expression did not hold Chloe’s horrified stare. She looked beyond Lucan’s shoulder, at a figure he could not see.

  The clink of chain told him what she witnessed. A dark knight. Sent to collect her. To exterminate him. God’s blood, Julian had followed them here!

  Lucan rolled sideways, collecting his sword. As he sprang to his feet, he spun to confront his fallen brother and bellowed to Chloe, “Get beyond the fence!” Damnation, he should have insisted they move.

  An onyx blade arced through the air, landing a heavy blow on Lucan’s forearm. Fire sizzled up his arm. Tingled all the way down his back. Gritting his teeth against the hot flow of blood, he took a step back. Without his armor, he dared not make another mistake. Though his brother, whomever he might be, now aided Azazel’s army, he would recall the years of training. ’Twould be foolishness to judge the dark knight as anything less than formidable.

  He ignored the burn in his shoulder and raised his sword to defend another strike. At his left, a howl broke out, drawing his attention to the demon that accompanied Julian and the fallen Templar. He shifted his gaze a fraction, in time to witness the creature lift jagged claws to the gaping wound across his face that Chloe had inflicted.

  Despite her aid, her presence distracted him with worry. Whilst she stood so close, he could not focus on his opponent. ‘Twas not him they desired, but her, and he must protect her at all costs. He backed up again, deliberately placing himself between her and the three unholy creatures. “Go, now, Chloe!”

  Without waiting for her response, he sliced his broadsword across his body. It slid through the demon’s arm as if the limb contained no more substance than a thin sheet of paper. Shadows dropped to the stone beneath their feet, and another ghostly howl rang through the air. Satisfaction burst inside Lucan. ’Twould take little to overpower the unholy shape shifter. He could not slay it first though, for in so doing, when he absorbed its evil taint, he would leave himself wide open for the knight to land a felling blow. Nay, he would cripple it. Devote himself to the larger threat of the knight, then finish them both off before the darkness could affect him.

  Julian, he would deal with last. He remained Chloe’s brother, regardless of the darkness that gripped him. If Lucan could spare the man’s life and somehow restore him to the light, he would. For her.

  The knight moved in, landing another heavy blow to Lucan’s left thigh. Cold steel bit into his muscle. Lucan stumbled, barely catching himself on his good leg, before the demon raked its claws down his back. His bellow held both the sting of pain and rapidly building fury. Anger he allowed to flow through his veins and possess him. It gave him strength. The searing burn fueled his determination.

  He summoned his resolve, blocked out the throbbing of his leg and the sticky wetness that seeped beneath his jeans, and planted his weight on his bad limb, giving him the force required to thrust his blade forward, into the knight’s left hip. As his former brother barked in agony, Lucan took a sidestep that brought him into the knight’s body. He threw his momentum into a downward cut that slashed through the onyx chain to rip open the knight’s shoulder.

  Behind him, the demon recognized advantage. Foul breath washed down the back of Lucan’s neck as the beast dragged its daggerlike teeth across his shoulder. His shirt tore. Acid ran in long veins between his shoulder blades. He cried out. Arched his back to escape the assault.

  Whilst his actions served to do just that, they left him open to a recovery attack from the knight. A ghostly voice rasped, “Victory is not yours to claim.” No sooner had the words left the man’s mouth than the tip of a sword pricked into Lucan’s unprotected side.

  Lucan twisted sideways before the blade could sink in deep. With his attackers once more in front of him, he redoubled his efforts on the demon. Yellow teeth gnashed as Lucan advanced. He measured his steps, kept his approach well out of the path of the knight’s reach. Like a falcon, he swept down on his prey. Blow after blow drove the monster to the stone floor. Claws ravaged the air near Lucan’s shins. Hisses broke through its deadly teeth. Driven by the habits of a lifetime at war, Lucan blocked out the aching in his body and lifted his sword high.

  He brought it down like a guillotine. Aiming at one shadowy arm, he severed it at the shoulder.

  Before he could pull in a breath of recovery, the knight set upon him again. A mistimed blow glanced off the back of his hand and scraped down the length of his blade. He brought his broadsword up to his body with so much force he sent the knight stumbling backward. Advantage claimed, he pursued.

  Nine hundred years of shared battles and enemies gave the two equal ability to anticipate the other’s actions. No doubt he had sparred with this man on more than one occasion. He blocked when Lucan sliced. Evaded when he thrust. And parried with the skill of a soldier who had known a lifetime of victory.

  Lucan’s strength waned. His breath came hard and fast. But though his body tired, he witnessed the same effects take hold of his opponent. The knight’s arm slowed. His timing faltered. When he thrust forward, ’twas with less vigor. Less precision.

  And then he made a fatal mistake.

  Sensing the toll the battle took on the knight, Lucan baited. He feinted to the right, aiming a false blow to the knight’s vulnerable underside of his left shoulder. His opponent bought into the distraction. Seeing Lucan in a weakened position, he dropped his shoulder. His right arm arced against the backdrop of the cliffs. A shadowy blade silhouetted in the moonlight.

  With all the might he likely possessed, he took his blade in both hands and brought it toward Lucan’s chest. Lucan moved faster. He threw himself forward, sinking his sword into the vulnerable area beneath the knight’s arm and out through his back. Bone grated across the edge of Lucan’s blade. Splintered near the point of exit.

  He stuffed his foot into the knight’s gut and shoved. His broadsword pulled free as his opponent careened backward. Chasing after, Lucan swung like a man possessed. His blade sang through the air. Thumped against the links of protective chain around the knight’s neck. Then sank deeper.

  In one swift follow-up slice, he severed the knight’s head from its neck. Before the darkness could creep down the length of Lucan’s blade, he whirled in a half circle. His sword arm swept before his body and slammed into the demon at his feet. The blade dug deep into the creature’s abdomen, spilling its unholy essence. Its grotesque face contorted. Needle-thin teeth snapped together.

  As death claimed the beast, darkness crept over Lucan’s hand to sink into his veins and spread through his body. Fire seared through him, choking off an anguished groan. He staggered under the vile assault that threatened to steal his vision and knock him into unfeeling oblivion. Sword tip braced on the hard stone beneath his feet, he sank to one knee and clung to the pommel, willing himself not to faint.

  He pulled in one shallow breath after another until the buzzing in his head ceased. When he no longer felt as if he might topple over face-first, and strength returned to still the shaking of his arms, he lifted his head, prepared to confront Julian. ’Twould take but one blow, severe enough to halt his retreat, but well placed to prevent his death. Then he would drag the man before the archangels, before even Chloe, and force her to recognize the threat her brother posed.

  But as Lucan lifted his head, he found no trace of Julian.

  Or Chloe.

  No footsteps marred the snow between the side entrance and the garden. No Templar charged through the door as they should have if she had made it inside. He turned in a circle, scanning the gardens for some sign of her retreat.

  At the sight of two pairs of footprints leading away from the garden to the thick trees beyond, his pulse quickened. It could not be. She would not leave with him. Not when she knew the truth and had accepted her predestined fate.

  He squinted to examine the trail more closely. The narrower, leftmost set of
tracks scuffed and blurred, as if she had not gone willingly. As if she had been dragged.

  His heart lodged in the back of his throat. God’s blood, he had failed her completely. What Azazel would do with her …

  Lucan’s veins filled with ice.

  CHAPTER 40

  Lucan ran through the tunnels, oblivious to the blood streaming down his arms and back. His boots pounded a frantic beat that matched the frenetic thump of his heart. Vision of Iain’s seraph, and the horrifying things Azazel had done to her, played over and over in his head. Chloe laid out on a bed, opening her body to the unholy master’s touch. Chloe embracing his seductive words.

  Chloe crumpled on the ground, her heart still warm atop her chest.

  And if she could not find the strength to refuse the lord of darkness, she would suffer a worse fate. Bearer of his evil offspring. Willing partner to all his vile desires. Lilith reborn, to reign at his immoral side.

  Nay!

  Lucan ran faster. He had fought demons, spent a lifetime at war, and had never known true fear. Now, terror coursed through his veins like poison, each clang of his heart spreading the infectious emotion. He burned with it. Broke out in a sweat.

  He passed the mess where his brothers dined, their laughter rich and their conversation rumbling with warmth. Heads turned. A shout ricocheted over the din. “Lucan!”

  Ignoring the call, he rounded a corner and descended deeper into the temple. Two pairs of boots joined the echo of his. He did not look back. Whoever followed would soon learn what propelled him blindly forward. Soon the entire Order would know he had allowed his heart to override sense and opened Chloe to this fate. If he had not entertained her suggestion to go outside, if he had kept her within these walls until her vows were completed, she would not now suffer.

  If he had insisted they move beyond the fence …

  At Raphael’s chamber, he did not stop to knock. He shoved the door open with so much force it crashed into the stone wall, then shuddered on its hinges. “Chloe has been taken!”

  The exclamation burst from his chest, and he doubled over, hands braced on his knees, panting. “Her brother … took her…”

  Behind him, two men skidded to a stop. Their swords clanged against the door frame he blocked. He lifted his head, prepared for the inevitable lecture on his failings.

  Raphael slowly extricated himself from behind a small desk. The journal he perused, he closed and set to the side. His gaze fell on Lucan, flat and unemotional. “Sir Knight, you bleed upon my floor. Take yourself to Zerachiel, then we shall speak.”

  Shock brought Lucan upright. Mend himself? He had not been wounded significantly enough to warrant the healer’s touch. And he would not waste time with such nonsense whilst Chloe’s life was in danger. “Did you not hear me? Chloe has been taken.”

  Raphael lifted a golden eyebrow in reproach. “Did you not hear me? You are to take yourself to the infirmary.”

  “Nay!” He strode forward and thumped a fist atop the archangel’s desk. “I serve Mikhail. You cannot command me thus. Chloe’s fate is of greater consequence!”

  A moment of uncharacteristic anger darkened Raphael’s beautiful face. His blue eyes clouded with sparks. Spots of color stained his cheeks. The air rippled as he undulated his disguised wings. Lucan stood his ground, his own fury equally tangible in the clench of his fingers, the tightness of his jaw. They stared at one another, each unwilling to bend, determined the other would yield.

  Then, as if Lucan’s words connected with Raphael’s mind, the archangel turned his back to Lucan. “Alaric, enter,” he murmured with the beckoning of his hand.

  From the corner of his vision, Lucan observed le Goix step through the doorway. He moved to Lucan’s side, his spine rigid, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Aye?”

  Behind his desk once more, Raphael bent over. When he stood again and turned to face the men, he held the reliquary in his hands. He dropped it on the desk and leaned his weight atop the lid. As he spoke, his gaze remained on le Goix. “Take Gareth and another of your choosing. Escort Sir Lucan to Zerachiel and see that his wounds are mended fully.”

  Anger morphed into fury as Lucan listened to the orders that circumvented the chain of command. He took a step forward, possessed by the urge to drive his fist into Raphael’s teeth. Stuffing a wayward hand against his thigh, he checked himself, aware that to attempt such would be naught but foolish folly. Raphael could steal the breath from his lungs with the lift of a divine finger.

  The archangel’s gaze fell on him, laden with warning. “Do not forget yourself, Sir Knight.” He pushed the reliquary to the edge of the desk. “When you have healed yourself so you can be of use, you will accompany Alaric and his men through the sixty-third gate, where you will exchange the Veronica for Chloe.” Eyebrows lifted, he looked down his nose. “Lest, of course, you should find my orders disagreeable.”

  Chagrin squelched the burn of anger, and Lucan relaxed his fist. In the next heartbeat, the full meaning of Raphael’s offering crashed upon him. Exchange the relic? Give Azazel the power he desired? He fumbled for words.

  Alaric beat him to a cry of disbelief. “You cannot mean to hand over the key to the cipher!” He cast a sideways glance at Lucan. “My apologies, brother, I know Chloe means much to you. But our purpose is to prevent the acquisition at all costs.”

  Lucan nodded. The same conflict waged inside him. Whilst his heart leapt at the one means certain to see his seraph’s return, the idea of surrendering a relic warred with the Order’s very purpose. Sacrilege—’twas as if the archangel sought to play directly into the dark master’s hands!

  Raphael clasped his hands at his waist and rounded the desk to stand before the two men. A dip of his head beckoned Gareth inside. He entered, his expression one of equal disbelief.

  With a pinched frown, Raphael looked between them. “Need I remind you of Chloe’s importance? If the prophecy is broken, the seraphs who remain shall be lost. All of you will fail. The war we wage becomes certain defeat, and the world we have sought to protect for so long will shrivel under eternal damnation.” His gaze lingered on Lucan. “’Tis more than the matter of your salvation or the love you stand to lose. Were you not part of the prophecy, I would turn my back with the deepest of regrets. Chloe, however, is part of a greater fate. Your oaths more important than your personal pleasure.”

  He did not say the words that reflected in his eyes. But Lucan heard them anyway: If you had considered the greater consequence and brought her here the night of your arrest, this would not be necessary. Lucan bowed his head under the weight of the truth.

  “Do you wish to remind me again who you report to, Lucan? Or do you wish to accept my orders?”

  Eyes closed in silent apology, Lucan answered, “I will see Zerachiel.”

  “Good then. I trust you shall wish to depart for the catacombs as soon as possible. Since we are agreed, Alaric will remain with me whilst my brother sees to your wounds, and I shall instruct him further.”

  Dutifully, Lucan turned toward the door and gripped the thick iron handle.

  “One other thing, Lucan of Seacourt.”

  He stilled.

  “You will take care to mind the state of your soul. My men do not suffer the same weaknesses as Mikhail’s. Under my leadership, you will stay your sword, lest it becomes absolutely necessary to engage.”

  Ordered not to fight—again. Lucan squared his shoulders and marched through the door. He would accept many things from Raphael. But even Mikhail could not convince him to stay at the rear and watch others fight. All his life he had lived by the sword. To do naught else defied all he knew.

  * * *

  Chloe huddled in her dark corner, knees drawn to her chest, her swollen cheek gingerly resting on them. She ached from head to toe. The upturned side of her face itched with dried blood. But she dared not lift her hand and scratch, for that might remind Julian—or whoever he was—she was still here. Still alive, despite the fist he had pummel
ed into her temple.

  She watched from the shadowy recesses of a cavern. Dimly, she recalled passing piles of bones. Skulls that leered from stacks of femurs. But her memories stopped at a dead-end in the tunnels, where her brother had turned to her, closed his fingers around her throat, and squeezed until her world went black.

  She’d awakened here. Where she’d remained, God only knew how long.

  The creature who had attacked her wasn’t her brother, despite their identical appearance. No, Julian lay beside her, stretched out on the wet stone, his body frail, his skin the pallor of death. She inched a hand across the short distance that spanned between them and slid her fingers around his wrist. Faint and weak, his pulse still beat. Relief trickled through her.

  Movement on the other side of the small cavern froze her in place. She shifted her eyes to the thing that looked like her brother, sounded like her brother, yet somehow, wasn’t. He spoke with a man in a black robe. A robe like so many others she’d seen in the Templar stronghold beneath the cliffs. It bore the mighty crimson cross that identified the knights, and Alaric had explained the men wore them for prayers. But this figure kept his head cloaked with a voluminous hood, unlike the men who had dropped to one knee and sworn their fealty.

  Low and resonating, their words echoed off the walls.

  “You have done well, Julian. Exceeded Leofric’s expectations. For this you will be rewarded.”

  The false Julian shrugged his shoulders. “It was easy with the knight nearby. Had I realized she was a seraph earlier, this wouldn’t have drawn out so long.”

  Tell no one. Lucan’s words echoed in Chloe’s head. Damn it! He’d warned her. And she, because she’d been so convinced what he confided couldn’t possibly be true, had laughed it off to her brother. Rather, who she thought was her brother. Whatever that thing was—she’d brought this all onto herself.

  If she’d just believed what her heart said. If she’d trusted Lucan, as he’d asked so many times … A tear trickled down her bruised cheek to drip onto her knee. She’d had no reason to doubt Lucan. And yet the one thing she wanted the most, an eternity with a man who loved her, terrified her to the point she’d endangered them all.