Immortal Trust

by Claire Ashgrove

  Now, having accepted her status and purpose, she realized her trepidations caused far more damage than wounding Lucan. She’d risked the Order as a whole. The stench around her told her where she was—in the bowels of the earth, surrounded by evil beings she couldn’t see but that looked on from the crevices in the damp rock.

  The hooded man inclined his head toward her. “You should not have beaten her. Azazel will be most displeased that you have bruised his bride.”

  “It became a necessity. She scalded me.” The creature extended his hand and pointed at something Chloe couldn’t see on the back of his wrist.

  Her eyes widened. She couldn’t remember physically touching him. She’d pried at his wrist, but her fingers didn’t possess half the strength his did. However, she distinctly remembered willing him to let her go. Had the ability Lucan taught her somehow affected him?

  Excitement quickened her pulse. If she’d wounded that thing, that could only mean he was a demon. If he was like those creatures in the trees, she could overtake him. Get out of here, maybe, and get back to Lucan.

  Eyeing the broad shoulders that perfectly impersonated her brother’s, she drew in a shallow breath.

  “Can we kill him now and be done with it? I grow sick of his presence.” The creature jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Julian.

  Chloe paused, her breath held. Reaching within herself as deep as she could, she tapped into the restless energy in her veins and envisioned channeling it into a solid mass.

  “’Twould change naught. He will still be joined with you, even if the body expires.” The hooded man clapped a hand on the impersonator’s shoulder. “’Twill not be long now. His lungs scarce draw air.”

  Gradually, Chloe released her lungfuls of air and slanted her gaze back to her brother’s limp form. Joined with the beast? She blinked. That thing was linked to her brother? Oh, good God! How?

  “Oh, look!” Humor laced the creature’s exclamation. “She’s awake.”

  Realizing he could only be talking about her, Chloe flattened her back to the wall. Instinct ordered her to shrivel out of sight. To somehow blend into stone. But her efforts at making herself as small as possible failed.

  The impersonator took four giant strides across the cavern and loomed over her. He glanced back at the man behind. “She reeks of goodness.”

  “Concern yourself not with that. Azazel will coerce it out of her, as you shall see when he comes.”

  The creature looked down at her, his sneer as vile as the fathomless dark eyes that studied her face. He lowered himself until his gaze leveled with hers and reached a hand out to trace the line of her jaw. “I’ll get to watch him master her?”

  Chloe recoiled as his hand stroked the length of her throat. Grimacing, she squeezed her eyes shut. Master her—oh hell no, not as long as she had anything to say about it. No one would.

  “If you like. Though I expect you shall hear her moans throughout the realm tonight.”

  She swallowed hard, the implication clear. Revulsion balled her stomach into a tight knot, and Chloe twisted her head away from the creature’s cold caress. “Get away from me.”

  He gripped her chin and wrenched her face back to his. “Watch your tongue. Azazel will care less for your insolence than I do.” His thumb stroked her swollen lip. “I’d much rather witness the mating of your body than the shredding of your heart.”

  Possessed by rage that knew no boundaries, she drew back from his hand and spit in his face. “Fuck you.”

  A low, sinister chuckle rumbled through the cavern. The creature stood, his eyes dancing with dark light. “No. I believe, more aptly, it’s you who will be fucked.”

  Before Chloe could unleash the chain of curses that rose to the tip of her tongue, the creature drew his arm back. He snapped it forward with a hoarse laugh. Her head whipped sideways. Pain lanced the side of her face. A dull, unrelenting throb broke out behind her skull.

  The second blow brought darkness.

  CHAPTER 41

  Forced to the rear of the small group of men, Lucan held his sword in one hand and the reliquary tucked beneath his opposite arm. To his eternal dissatisfaction, Alaric took Raphael’s orders to heart and charged him with the guarding of the Veronica, forbidding him the ability to fight except as a last recourse. With the bones of centuries of France’s dead behind them, they stood before a jagged stone at the end of one quarried catacomb tunnel. The fetid stench of death poured through a gaping crack in the rock. Beyond, the pitch black of damnation waited.

  Alaric lifted a gloved hand, motioning for the men to follow. He shouldered through the wide opening. One by one they slipped into a realm forbidden to mortals.

  Within, Alaric struck a match. He set it to a cloth-wrapped torch and light blazed through the corridors. Living shadows shrunk back. A hushed buzz filled Lucan’s ears as those who served Azazel spread news of the invasion.

  In seconds, the foul beasts set upon them. Nytyms poured down the corridor, their high-pitched screams chilling. Forced to stand and watch, Lucan ground his teeth together as his brothers made quick work of the formless shadows. Like rats beat aside with heavy maces, they piled on the floor, squeaking out the last of their vile existence.

  Stillness returned. Waiting. Watching.

  The men moved forward as a collective unit. Their chain armor clinked. Boots echoed. Insignificant sounds that drew more attention than if they had announced their entry with a mighty horn. Lucan felt the presence everywhere, as if the very rock that surrounded them lived and breathed. He strained against the urge to break formation and charge ahead in search of Chloe. She was in here somewhere, mayhap already in Azazel’s hands. He felt her too. A thin line of a substance he could not define wrapped around his heart and pulled tightly against his soul. Mayhap ’twas only his imagination, a product of hope he clung to. Mayhap ’twas something tangible, a bond instilled by the divine. He did not know. Yet he sensed he would know if death came upon her. He could believe naught else.

  They descended deeper into the cavernous network. The air became colder, though it teemed with greater life. Hellfire and brimstone did not exist here. They would not descend to Azazel’s kingdom, but skirt the edge.

  Alaric drew to a stop. He swept the torch toward a mark on the wall, a deeply etched cross haloed by a crown of thorns. The mark Raphael told them to watch for.

  He beckoned for Lucan to join him. Gareth and Tomas parted, allowing Lucan to move to the front of the small formation. As he had been instructed, he placed the reliquary at his feet. “Julian!” His voice boomed into the dark. “You have wanted the Veronica! I bring it to you now. In exchange, I wish to set my eyes upon Chloe one last time.”

  All around them something stirred. Things they could not see. Things they could not hear. And yet the movement rustled Lucan’s hair and his long surcoat. Beneath his chain, the ghostly caress lifted the hairs on his arms.

  An angry wail pierced through the air. In the next heartbeat, shades invaded. Morphed into animalistic forms, teeth snapped and claws raked as they descended on Lucan and the knights. At the forefront of the group, he lifted his sword, prepared to cut the juvenile beasts to shreds.

  Alaric shoved him aside. “Nay!”

  Lucan found himself at the rear once more. “God’s teeth, they are but simple creatures. Their taint will not affect me overmuch!”

  Gareth possessed the gall to laugh. “Then do not feel compelled to aid, for they affect us less.” With an arrogant grin, he surged into the fray, his sword a glint of silver as it glided effortlessly through the air.

  With naught left to do but swear, Lucan cursed Gabriel and the rest of the archangels.

  When the last shade sagged to a moaning end, Alaric lowered his sword. “We wait for Julian.”

  It took mere heartbeats for footsteps to echo in the oppressive black beyond. Lucan cocked his head, listening. One being approached. No clink of metal to identify a dark brother. No scrape of steel to reveal an unsheathed sword. He t
ensed. Where were the mighty fallen? ’Twas not right for Azazel’s most powerful to trail behind. They should have already encountered several, not the failed attempts at powerful beasts Azazel sent their way. The more intelligent demons—they too lurked in shadows. Why?

  He did not have time to debate the matter. At the edge of the flickering torchlight, Julian emerged. Raphael’s wisdom reverberated in Lucan’s head: He is still part man, his follies the same. Appeal to his pride, and he will yield.

  Lucan pushed his way to the reliquary once more. He challenged Julian with a glare. “You have Chloe, but you failed to obtain the Veronica.”

  Julian folded his arms over his chest and flashed a cocksure grin. “An omission Azazel will forgive.”

  “Mayhap,” Lucan allowed. “Would it not be a greater success to present both at the same time?”

  Mistrust flashed across Julian’s brow. His gaze narrowed. “You aren’t here to hand over a relic. What do you want?”

  Swallowing his pride and his warrior’s hide, Lucan allowed true emotion to slip through his throat. “I wish to see her. To take my last breath at her side, if I must.”

  Slowly, Julian shook his head. “If you’d brought the relic by yourself I might believe you. But a man who’s come to yield to Azazel wouldn’t bring three others.”

  Alaric sheathed his sword and stepped forward. “We come only to ensure he is taken to her. We are prepared to leave when you have honored the request.”

  “Leave?” Julian barked out a laugh. “You won’t be leaving here. Azazel knows you’ve arrived. In moments the knights will cut you into bits.”

  Lucan slid his gaze sideways, meeting Alaric’s steely gaze. Behind him, Lucan heard Gareth draw in a sharp breath. So the fallen Templar would come after all. Although they could fight a few, they must hurry. A full regiment of dark knights would quickly bring about their end.

  He looked back to Julian, determined, and besieged the buried portion of his soul. “If we are all to perish here, what is the harm in allowing my request? You care for her as well—would you deny her the opportunity to say good-bye to one she loves?”

  A moment of indecision passed over Julian’s face. He looked between the men, as if gauging the wisdom of honoring Lucan’s plea. For a terrifying moment, when he stiffened his shoulders and shrugged, Lucan thought Julian might walk away. That they would make one final stand here, and lose both Chloe and the Veil.

  But in the next heartbeat, a wicked smile twisted Julian’s mouth. “Very well. It’ll amuse me to hear her grieve her lover’s death.”

  Rage boiled through Lucan’s veins. That a brother could wish such torture on his sister defined the very meaning of vile. If there had been any thought in his mind that decency remained in Julian, it had just shattered. Not an ounce of light remained in Chloe’s brother’s soul.

  He scooped up the reliquary and strode to the edge of the light. As Julian reached for the golden chest, Lucan twisted away. “I will yield the Veil when I set my eyes upon her.”

  With a scowl, Julian strode into the darkness.

  They hustled through the twisting maze of tunnels. Raphael bade Gareth to mark their way—whether he did, Lucan did not look to verify. ’Twas not worth the risk Julian might observe the chalk marks on the wall and see through their ruse.

  Light interrupted the never-ending black. From an offshoot several feet ahead, it illuminated the corridor with faint orange. ’Twas there Julian led them, and there he stepped back to allow them entrance first.

  Lucan’s gaze swept across the far wall, his heart swelling as he spied Chloe in the corner. He dropped the reliquary at Julian’s feet and rushed to kneel at her side. When he looked upon her battered face, fury fisted through him. “Chloe,” he murmured. Gingerly, he reached out to trace the bruise beneath her eye.

  Her lowered lashes lifted. Bleary eyes slowly focused. “Lucan,” she said on an exhale. She grimaced with the effort of a smile. “Oh, Lucan, I’m so sorry.”

  “Shh.” He bent forward and dusted a kiss atop the matted hair at her temple. Near her ear he whispered, “You will leave this place with me. I swear it to you.”

  The heavy clink of metal pushed him to his feet. He spun around in time to witness three dark knights step from the opposing corridor of black. In the distance, throaty shouts warned of the coming of several more. He dropped his hand to his sword, and a fist drilled into his cheek. Caught unawares by the blow, he staggered. A pair of robed arms broke his fall. But as he found his footing, a searing fire knifed into his ribs. Warm sticky wetness trickled down his side.

  “Lucan!” Chloe cried.

  Lucan glanced down his body. The hand that had caught him withdrew, taking with it the glint of a small metal blade. Another burn lanced through his body as the man palmed the ancient dagger. Lucan clutched at the rend in his flesh and gaped in disbelief. As his blood trickled through his fingers, he lifted his gaze to his unexpected attacker.

  The sight of Templar robes and a face he recognized snapped him into sense. Blinded by fury, he drew his sword and lunged at Eadgar the Brave. Eight centuries they had stood side-by-side against Azazel. Now, though his brother did not wear the garb of fallen knights, they stood as enemies. Sworn to the same pledge. Divided by the very oaths that bound them together.

  He ignored the burn along his left side and attacked with vengeance. Why his brother turned his back on the Order, he could not fathom. What drove Eadgar to ally with Azazel before his soul turned irrevocably, he could not explain. He did not care to try. Betrayal from within was worse than any beast Azazel might create.

  As Lucan drove in hard and fast, his sword poised for Eadgar’s throat, Julian set upon him from behind. Claws raked across Lucan’s chain, shredding the shoulder of his surcoat. The distraction was enough to thwart his attack on Eadgar, and Lucan spun to confront his new attacker. His sword glided across his body, one deadly strike meant to cleave the demonic brother in half.

  At the last possible moment, Julian twisted aside. The broadsword slid down his back, landing a glancing blow to his left thigh. Crimson stained through the light denim of his jeans, nonetheless. But the sight of blood was not enough for Lucan. This man would die. For what he had done to Chloe. For what he had done to him. Chloe’s brother or not, his time upon this earth had come to an end.

  He advanced, one eye on the skulking traitorous Templar who hovered near Chloe. Around him battle raged. Steel clanged against steel. Voices comingled in victory and defeat. The sounds drove him onward, blocked out all thought but one—slay.

  He landed a strike to Julian’s arm. Another on his shoulder. A lunge pricked Julian’s opposite knee. Lacking any physical weapon, save for the unholy claws that emerged from his hands, Julian backed away from Lucan’s relentless assault. His back hit the wall with so much force his breath expelled audibly. Defiance glinted in his glare.

  Triumph roared through Lucan’s veins. Gripping his sword in both hands, he lifted it high over his head. He would not only kill this despicable creature, but send his head rolling across the floor to join the one at Gareth’s feet.

  “Lucan, stop!”

  Chloe’s frantic scream filtered into his awareness. He hesitated and threw a questioning frown over his shoulder.

  She clutched a body he had not observed before to her breast. “You’re killing him!”

  ’Twas such an illogical concept, his arms faltered. The moment of indecision gave Eadgar advantage. From Lucan’s right, he rushed in head-first. He shoved Lucan several steps backward, his sword now brandished, his rage equal. The sting of steel at his shoulder pushed Lucan beyond his confusion. Renewed in his purpose, he sucked in a deep breath, braced his weight on his left leg, and waited for Eadgar to strike.

  In Eadgar’s chaotic aggression, Lucan recognized the desperation of a man who cared naught for his own survival and who had become blinded by certain defeat. A caged animal. Strategy forgotten, he opened himself to folly.

  Lucan took full advantage
of the mistake. As Eadgar lunged into the wide arc of Lucan’s blade, Lucan swept his sword from hip to ceiling. The blade plunged into Eadgar’s gut. Momentum carried Lucan’s arm higher, carving out a gaping hole in Eadgar’s flesh. The unarmored knight’s eyes widened. Bloody spittle trickled from the corner of his mouth as he rasped out a gasp.

  Withdrawing his sword, Lucan dragged in a shallow breath. Eadgar toppled backward, where he lay upon the stone unmoving.

  Silence invaded Lucan’s awareness. His body burned like fire. Where the dagger had pricked him, his clothing stuck to his body. He lowered his sword and glanced around the cavern. Gareth, Alaric, and Tomas looked on. Strewn across the floor lay the lifeless bodies of their beheaded brethren. Where he had left Julian, the wall was empty. The reliquary was gone.

  Lucan turned in search of Chloe. He found her in the same place, cradling the same still body to her breast. The aching in his side gave way to the overwhelming need to touch her. To kiss away her bruises and take from her the suffering she had survived. As he sank to his knees beside her, he dropped his sword. Drawing her into his arms, he held her close. Scattered frantic kisses through her hair.

  She tipped her head up, and his mouth descended on hers. He released his fear, his pain, and his love in his kiss. Absorbed hers. As emotion swelled and threatened to overcome him, he slowly withdrew. Her lips clung to his; he savored the salty flavor of her tears.

  “Lucan, we must hurry. Say your oath and be done with this!” Alaric urged.

  As Lucan pulled away from Chloe’s fierce hold, he glanced at the man who’s head lay on her thigh. A face of identical resemblance to the man he had known as Julian twisted with agony, though he bore no visible injury. Her brother. Not the thing possessed with evil, but the real man he had never met. How could such be possible?