Immortal Surrender (Curse of the Templars)

by Claire Ashgrove

  “Yeah.” In truth, ready had nothing to do with anything. She didn’t have a choice. All her agreement accomplished was a little peace and quiet. At the very least, a pretense of cooperation could only work to her advantage when she needed to leverage the Sudarium. The less Farran had to complain about, the more he’d be apt to set her free.

  With a curt nod, Farran indicated the door. He slung a heavy bag she hadn’t observed the night before over his shoulder and eased into the narrow hall. As she followed, she noticed something else she hadn’t seen when they first entered the house—a silver scabbard. It poked out one corner of his black duffel bag and glinted as they passed beneath the overhead light. Where had he come up with a sword? More important … What did he intend to do with it?

  She eyed the back of his head warily. Maybe this was where his virtual kidnapping turned into danger. If he knew how to use that thing, she couldn’t exactly claim this journey to Missouri was harmless. Weapons put her circumstances in a whole new light.

  Then again, given his attachment to his illusions of the Knights Templar, the sword could be just a prop. If he were taking her to a gathering of fellow Freemasons, it could be ceremonial as well.

  Nevertheless, she kept a wide berth as she let herself into the SUV and surreptitiously watched to ensure the sword didn’t land within arm’s reach of the driver’s seat. He tucked it neatly into the back, along with his bag, then slid behind the wheel.

  As they backed out of the driveway, Noelle chanced a cautious glance his way. His jaw still held the tight lines of annoyance, but the overall harshness his earlier anger created had eased. His eyes held concentration, not the sharp glint of fury. Encouraged, she braved conversation.

  “So. What exactly will happen when we get to this … temple?”

  Farran rolled his fingers closed around the steering wheel. With measured words, he answered, “You shall meet Mikhail. You shall meet our commander, Merrick, and his seraph, Anne. We shall exchange our oath, and then you shall be released to your chambers.”

  A frown tugged at her brow. “My chambers?”

  “Aye.” He repositioned his hands and relaxed into the seat. “Gabriel left orders after Merrick’s pairing. For weeks, men have worked to prepare the rooms that belong to you. You will enjoy them.”

  Determined to catch him in a conflict with his stories, she challenged, “I thought you said I would be free to leave when I took this oath?”

  Slowly he dipped his chin in a nod. “Aye, you shall be. But the rooms are yours for eternity. Whenever you choose to return, when you lend aid to our battles, you shall have a bed to call your own.”

  Noelle let out a heavy sigh. The man was unshakable. Either he’d practiced this game before, or he really believed this stuff. Or …

  A shiver crept down her spine. Maybe she wasn’t the first girl he’d dragged off to an abandoned corner of the Midwest. Maybe this was some sick cultish practice.

  She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Farran? Will any portion of this … oath … hurt?”

  His frown scolded as he glanced at her. Returning his gaze to the road ahead of them, he answered, “’Tis words, damsel, not a blood pact.”

  The touch of sarcasm lacing his response sent heat rushing to her cheeks. She hung her head, sank deeper into her seat. But on the heels of her embarrassment, annoyance sparked. He had no right to shame her. Any rational person would be worried about harm. If anything, Farran ought to be glad she hadn’t screamed her head off or done something drastic to get attention.

  She stiffened her spine and returned his scowl. “Why are you doing this? It’s absurd. It’s against the law, for that matter. I don’t know what you intend to do with me, but I swear to you, if this turns into some sick sexual deviancy, I’ll find a way to bring every authority in and gloat when they take your ass to jail.”

  Though he didn’t look at her, his eyebrows lifted almost to his forehead. A soft snort rang out over the low radio. “Must I remind you, I do not wish to bed you?”

  She folded her arms across her chest, ignoring the sting to her pride. “No, I think you’ve made that perfectly clear.”

  “Then we are agreed. I shall not touch you. You shall not expect me to touch you. In return, you may take the lovers you desire.” He paused, then slid a meaningful stare her way. “You will not choose another knight.”

  Unable to resist the taunt, Noelle retorted, “No? Why not? I’m not good enough for them?”

  His eyes narrowed. His jaw worked. He opened and closed his fingers, repositioning his hands. “Only a fool would make the mistake of touching you.”

  Though she longed to be immune to the age-old pain, his brutal honesty cut like a knife. Hadn’t she learned the truth long ago? When Brett Thornbow laughed at her for asking him to the sophomore Valentine’s Day dance, he’d said pretty much the same thing. Her prom date, whom she’d truly believed wanted to attend with her, disclosed she was nothing more than a pity date. The frat boy she’d thought was interested in college echoed similar remarks. Over and over again, she’d confronted the depressing reality that she was an embarrassment. Even Seth, as close as they were, couldn’t help but chuckle when he caught her staring a bit too long at attractive men who entered her lab.

  Biting the inside of her cheek to stop a rush of sudden tears, she looked out the window. When her eyes welled anyway, she tugged her ponytail free to cloak her face. She wouldn’t cry in front of Farran. Just as she’d learned she embarrassed men, she’d also learned tears only made it worse. They laughed a little harder. Goaded a little more.

  She should be used to this by now. Only, for some reason she couldn’t fully explain, hearing the nutcase beside her shared the same thoughts hurt far more.

  Damn it all, she had to get out of here. Back to her lab. Back to the inanimate objects that had stories to tell, but no voices that could speak.

  CHAPTER 11

  Stars peppered the night sky with pinpoints of light. Farran blinked into the darkness, his eyes dry as bone and his muscles as tight as a belt. Before him, the stretch of Missouri highway wove through wide fields, a ribbon of rolling hills determined to plague him with the need for sleep.

  He rolled his shoulders and pulled in a deep breath. The twang of country music filled his ears, turning the knotted muscles in his neck into even tighter belts. Yet he made no move to change the dial. ’Twas his peace offering. A silent apology for the remark he knew Noelle took with offense. Even now, it dominated his thoughts. Screamed inside his skull.

  Only a fool would touch you.

  Only a fool would say such to a woman and believe she would take it as he intended. ’Twas not a slight on her—though he wished, in truth, it were. That she was not quite so comely nor quite so tempting. A knight who touched her would be the fool, for in so doing, he would lose his life. Whilst Farran had no intention of pledging himself to her, he suffered no compulsion to stay his hand should betrayal lurk within his brethren’s minds. He would slice the man’s throat before he could so much as stutter a worthless apology.

  As he should have done centuries ago.

  He let out a soul-deep sigh and forced the memory from his mind. Seeking to rouse his drowsy eyes, he scanned the landscape as he eased off the two-lane asphalt onto the exit ramp. To his right, a twisting outer road wound through tall trees, and he took the turn. Greenish streetlamps faded to black, the neon glow hampered by the thick growth of hackberries and maples.

  His gaze skimmed sideways to rest briefly on Noelle’s sleeping face. A pang of guilt stabbed through him as his stomach rumbled. He had denied her dinner. In his rush to reach the temple as early as possible, he made no attempt to even inquire if she wished to sup. And as twilight faded into night, she drifted off to sleep without a single protest.

  Then again, she had remained silent most of the day. Thanks to his idiot’s tongue.

  A shadow skittered across the road.

  Farran jammed on the brake. Dread rolled around in
his gut as he looked to the scrub. Through the heating vents, the scent of rot infiltrated the vehicle. Demons.

  He shifted in his seat and eased onto the accelerator. Azazel’s fiends had no place on this narrow stretch of road that led to the temple. Barred from entering the temple grounds by the might of the holy hand, there could be only one purpose for their presence—the seraphs. Noelle and Anne.

  God’s teeth, Azazel grew bold. To walk here, within reach of the knights’ swords, would mean certain death. What was his purpose? Surely he must know his minions would fail.

  Lest …

  A shiver rolled down Farran’s spine and twisted his gut into a mass of knots. He swallowed hard.

  Lest they planned to ambush a seraph before she could find safety behind the iron gates.

  Between the sparse boughs, a glint of yellow-green caught his eye. Another, just below the first, turned the uncomfortable heat in his veins to a rush of fiery anger. Row after row of beady eyes lay within the trees, waiting. Lurking.

  From between the trunks, a figure emerged. Tall and lithe, it took the form of a human sentry. In a gnarled fist it carried a thick wooden club. It took two steps toward the driver’s door, and Farran caught the shifting light behind its haunted eyes. A flash of darkness that cloaked the yellow-green glow.

  He stepped on the gas and roared toward the gates. At the SUV’s rear fender, the figure lunged in pursuit. A dull thump echoed over the country-and-western song, telling Farran the beast behind him made contact with the vehicle.

  Reaching above his head, he hit the button on his visor that opened the gates and reached across the center console to give Noelle’s shoulder a violent shake. “Wake up.”

  Gravel spun beneath his tires as he sped across the threshold. He punched the button again, stared in the rearview mirror, and watched as the gates eased shut. When the clang of iron meeting iron rang out, he allowed himself to release the breath he held. Ignoring the ghostly howl of rage that cut through the night, he swiveled in his seat to shake Noelle a second time. In a softer voice he coaxed, “Noelle, we have arrived.”

  He glanced into the mirror again, noticing two figures now stood beyond the protective barrier. Turning to face the wheel once more, he eased closer to the temple’s columned front porch and a parking space near the steps. They could not harm her, but he would not put it past them to coerce her beyond the Almighty’s ring of power. Until she understood the danger, he dared not let her observe the creatures beyond. Her curiosity would place her directly in Azazel’s hands.

  She stirred with a stretch. Balled fists scrubbed at her eyes. Blinking, she dropped her hands to her lap, picked up her glasses, slid them onto her nose, and stared at the building’s abandoned facade. “This is a temple? Surely you could come up with something better?”

  His gaze traversed the weathered brick, the askance shutters, the peeling paint. Aye, disguise served its purpose, if she thought this an abandoned building. He had long ago adjusted to the decrepit appearance of the exterior, and though she could not see it, the backside fared better. They worked steadily to improve the building, to limit the curious who sought to investigate a rumored haunt. Yet winter came before they could address the street-facing walls.

  “’Tis not as it appears.”

  Noelle let out a soft snort of disbelief. “What, you dusted? The sheets on the furniture are clean?”

  Farran stifled his tongue. ’Twould be wasted breath to argue. She would understand within moments.

  He opened his door and motioned for her to do the same. Her heavy sigh made her displeasure clear, yet she did as he requested. Outside, she stretched with catlike grace, then turned questioning eyes on him, and Farran beckoned her ahead.

  Home. He had returned alive … though unscathed remained to be seen. ’Twas time to take the oaths. When they were spoken, he would attend to the creatures lurking in the street. Then, with his sword reinforced as fate demanded, he would take his leave.

  * * *

  Noelle trudged up the steps beneath the curious glow of a hanging lamp. She took in the pitted brick, the peeling columns. More evidence this was some fantastic fiction Farran wanted her to believe. Everyone knew the Freemasons meant money. Hoards of it. If he were part of some branch that descended from the once-noble Templar, she felt certain they wouldn’t hole up in a building that looked like a strong wind would topple it in on itself.

  Farran reached around her to open the door, giving her a good whiff of the woodsy-citrus scent that clung to him. Her heart stutter-stepped, and she stiffened against her natural response. She had no business getting light-headed over this man. Beyond the fact he had issues that would take a team of psychologists years to cure, he’d made his opinion of her more than clear. No, the only choice she had was to go along with this until the Sudarium offered her a way out.

  He pushed open the door, gave her a little nudge forward. Shoulders high, Noelle stepped through the neglected entryway. One foot still lingering in the cold, she came to an abrupt halt and blinked at her surroundings.

  Contrary to the dilapidated exterior, the rooms that opened before her were spotless. A wide central entertainment room sported several plush couches that gathered before a wall-mounted flat-screen television. To her right, a smaller alcove contained four billiards tables, all presently in use by men who matched Farran in size. The hall she lingered in reached toward a second story, its artfully painted ceiling easily twelve feet high.

  Farran’s hand settled into the small of her back. With gentle pressure, he guided her inside and pulled the door shut. “’Tis not what you expected?”

  Noelle gathered her senses with a shake of her head. Before she could find words, the men playing pool jockeyed through the archway into the hall. The scrape of steel rang out as they withdrew swords from scabbards that mirrored Farran’s. As she furrowed her brows, all ten or so dropped neatly to one knee. In the same fluid motion, they laid their swords down in front of their braced feet and bowed their heads.

  She blinked. What in the world? For several long moments, she could do no more than stare. Yet Farran’s none-too-gentle elbow in her side snapped her out of her stupor, and she turned her frown on him. “This really is a bit overboard, don’t you think?”

  His ever-present scowl deepened. With a jerk of his head, he indicated the gathered men. “You must accept their service. Wish them well.” He gave her a hard look before adding, “In the name of the Almighty.”

  Just how exactly was she supposed to do that? If they believed so heavily in God, then surely they’d think her attempt bordered on blasphemy.

  Farran’s low whisper near her ear stirred her hair and sent tingles rippling down her spine. “Do not shame them, and do not test me, damsel. Do as is expected.”

  Instinct dared her to ask, or what. Instead, she swallowed the gut response and searched through the forgotten prayers of her childhood. Bits and pieces gathered, none of which made any coherent sense. At a complete loss, she settled for the parting words her family’s preacher had used to dismiss the congregation every Sunday. “Go and be with God. We will meet again with light in our hearts.”

  The man closest to her extended a hand. His fingers closed around the sword’s pommel, and he slowly lifted his head. Bright green eyes locked with hers, then crinkled with the faintest hint of a smile. He rose to his feet, slid the sword into the silver scabbard that hung at his hip. As he moved, the others shifted in unison. Each offered her a brief nod before they simultaneously stood.

  In a blink, they’d returned to their billiards game, taking up their places as if nothing had transpired.

  Dumbfounded, Noelle looked to Farran for an explanation. The only one she found was the hard light behind his ale eyes and the firm set of his jaw. He looked beyond her, down the hall.

  She turned to follow the path of his stare and cringed inwardly. She recognized Lucan immediately. Flanked by two men, he greeted her with a wide smile. But what set Noelle’s nerves on edge had noth
ing to do with the trio of giants who shook hands with Farran. No, it was the shockingly beautiful redhead who looped her arms around Farran’s neck and greeted him with a fierce hug that made Noelle wish she could crawl into a black hole and never come out. No wonder he didn’t want her. With women like this around, she could never hope to be more than the plain, unexciting little mouse.

  The woman let go of Farran and turned her smile on Noelle. “You must be Dr. Keane. I’m so very glad to meet you.” She extended her hand. “I’m Anne. Lady du Loire—Merrick’s wife.”

  Anne’s gaze drifted over her shoulder, her smile noticeably brightening as she locked eyes with a dark-haired man whose very presence intimidated Noelle further. Unlike Farran, he smiled. But also unlike the grouchy man she’d grown accustomed to over the last two days, Merrick’s handshake lacked the gentleness that lay behind Farran’s fingers. He squeezed too hard. His calluses scraped the back of her hand. This man made it impossible to deny her petite size—or the fact that he could cause her serious harm.

  Instinctively, she edged closer to Farran. She searched for courage, pulled it from a dark corner of her soul. “Yes, I’m Dr. Keane.”

  Farran’s hand wrapped around her wrist. He took one large stride forward and tugged her toward a descending stone stairwell. “Come. You shall make your acquaintances before Mikhail. I wish to have our oath completed.”

  Noelle dug her heels in, but to her consternation, no one attempted to dissuade Farran from dragging her down the dimly lit stairwell. At least none of the men. Anne’s gaze touched hers, sympathy reflected in her apologetic smile. She hurried around Noelle to set her hand on Farran’s forearm. “Farran, maybe you should let Dr. Keane—”

  “Nay.” He shook off her hold and gave Noelle another tug.

  Unable to resist his strength, Noelle fell into step behind him. Their footsteps echoed through the winding corridor of stone. Each step took them deeper into cool air that carried the faint scent of must. As if water had once run through these cut stones.