Immortal Sacrifice: #4 The Curse of the Templars

by Claire Ashgrove

  “Shh,” he whispered. “Shh, sweet Isa.”

  On a hard swallow, she blinked back the unfamiliar tears. In his tender gaze, she found unfaltering strength. Support she’d once had, then lost, only to find it again in some remote corner of Sicily when she most desperately needed it.

  She’d found Caradoc once more.

  I love you.

  It occurred to her then, that was the element that was missing. She’d said a lot of things since she’d stumbled onto him in Shapiro’s great hall four days ago, most of which involved denouncing all the immense feeling she harbored for this man. But amid all the words, all the futile explanations of why she couldn’t stay with him, she had yet to admit the one thing that possessed her heart.

  She needed to tell him. Tonight. Before they left this quiet alcove on the cliffside and returned to all the reality she couldn’t escape.

  The idea of uttering those three sacred words, however, terrified her more than the prospect of confronting that demon in her nightmare. What if he left again? What if September posed too much responsibility?

  Chapter 26

  Isabelle was moving before she could disconnect from her terrifying thoughts. Caradoc’s hands spanned beneath her back, bringing her body flush with his. He rolled over, taking her with him so that she lay draped over his chest, one leg tucked between his. His fingers caressed her back, toyed with the ends of her hair.

  She laid her cheek against his skin, and using one fingertip, drew a pattern of small circles on his chest. His gentle breathing buoyed her. Beneath her ear, his heart thumped strong and hard. Glancing up at his face, she smiled at his lowered eyelashes. His expression was so peaceful she’d swear he was sleeping if it hadn’t been for the faint smile that lingered on his mouth.

  Her heart swelled just looking at him. In his protective embrace, she couldn’t feel the chilly air. His warmth rolled off him, soaked into her, and carried her backward in time, to a similar night spent in an English field, three years ago. A time when things had been simpler, when she’d never dreamed he might walk away.

  “Caradoc?” she asked quietly.

  He opened his eyes and looked into hers. “Aye?”

  “Can I love you again?”

  His smile faded, and those incredible hazel eyes gleamed like burnished brass. He fitted his hands around her ribs, dragged her more fully across his body. Then, he framed her face between his palms and lifted his head off the ground, forcing her to maintain his unsettling stare. “Only if you believe I have never stopped loving you.”

  His words rendered her speechless. She closed her eyes to stop the sudden rush of tears, but they crept from the corners of her eyes to slide soundlessly down her cheeks. She’d wanted to doubt him, wanted to accuse him of being nothing but a player. But the hoarsening of his voice, the emotion that rippled beneath his words, made it impossible to believe in the simpler explanation that she’d been strictly a passing entertainment. That what they’d shared in England had been meaningless.

  “Why?” she choked out through a tightening throat. Three years of heartbreak poured out through her straining voice. “Why did you leave me? Why couldn’t you have at least said goodbye?”

  Caradoc’s sharp intake of air was the only sign he’d heard her questions. He lay still as stone. Not even a twitch from his fingers.

  Rapidly blinking back her tears, she opened her eyes to search his expression for answers. What she saw there twisted her heart upside down. Moisture gathered in the corners of his eyes as well. He didn’t speak because his teeth were clamped into his lower lip, biting back grief he couldn’t contain.

  On an unsteady exhale, he dashed the wetness away with the back of his wrist. She waited, her eyes searching his face as his searched the overhead stars. Finally, he lowered his gaze to hers and breathed deeply. “You would not have understood.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but the shake of his head silenced her.

  “Nay. You would have understood. I believed the opposite.”

  Isabelle pressed her fingertips to his cheek as a rush of compassion swamped her. “Why would you think that?”

  Sighing heavily, Caradoc set his elbows on the ground and lifted up, bringing them into a sitting position. He positioned her sideways in his lap with her knees over one thigh. His discarded jacket served as a makeshift blanket to her exposed skin, and when he finished tucking it around her, he pulled the loose panels of her blouse together to further shield her from the cool night air.

  “I had confessed to no one. You believed I was a man, like any other you might meet, when I was not. I was afraid of your rejection, but worse…” He paused as he hugged his arms around her more tightly and rested his cheek on the crown of her head. “I feared what might happen should you accept all I told you.”

  * * *

  Caradoc fought the tightening behind his chest as the night he had left Isabelle’s side took root in his memory. He could not explain all the reasons that had forced him to abandon her without broaching the subject of seraphs and her inevitable place in his life. He ached to tell her. To draw from her the one oath that would bind them together eternally. But she had resisted his earlier attempts with such determination, he held no hope he would succeed in convincing her tonight. At best, she would dismiss his claims with laughter. At worst, they would fight, and the bridges they had crossed tonight would once again burn.

  He could not return to that desolate place where he fought for every inch of Isabelle’s affection. Where he made believe she was there every time he closed his eyes so he could find the strength to continue another day. Where he prayed for the one thing he wanted least—that some day when he embraced the night, her face would fade.

  “Is there something that might happen? I mean, a lifetime with you was all I ever really wanted,” Isabelle said with a forced laugh that betrayed deeper pain.

  Tangling his fingers through her thick hair, he clutched her close. “All I could see, Isa, was the day I would stand at your bedside and you would depart this world. I would remain, unable to follow you. If I survived the curse that long, myself.” If he should have turned into Azazel’s servant tied to her as such…he could not bear bringing her that horror. But now was not the time to broach the nature of his soul. Not when she needed reassurance to a far simpler thing; his love.

  The ever-so-slight stiffening of her spine voiced the question she kept silent: Are you still afraid?

  Answering, however, was out of the question. The reasons broached too close to the subject he wished to avoid. Instead, he leaned back and caught her mouth with his, choosing a simpler, yet more meaningful response. Her delicate fingers trembled against his cheek. Reaching up, he captured that shaking hand, tucked it between their bodies, and closed his fingers around it. Holding her still, quietly telling her the only way he knew how that he would never turn away from her again.

  As pent up feeling squashed his lungs so tightly he feared he might suffocate if he did not allow it to escape, he eased the kiss to a close and whispered, “I love you, Isabelle.”

  The smile that spread slowly across her face was bright enough to light a starless sky. Her eyes twinkled in the same fashion he could not banish from memory. She dusted her mouth over his. “I love you.”

  Snuggling deeper into his embrace, she tucked her head against his shoulder. Her misplaced chuckle, however, confused him. “What stirs your humor?”

  “I just realized something.”

  “Aye?”

  “You weren’t at Kiddington Hall researching your ancestors as you claimed. You were visiting, weren’t you? Land and people you once knew. Asterleigh—you owned that land.”

  Caradoc yielded to a wistful smile. “Aye. I am of Asterleigh. My ancestors were once great kings. I went to say goodbye.”

  “What is the darkness in your soul that you talk about?”

  ’Twas his turn to stiffen. She was so fragile now, with worry for her daughter. He did not wish to scare her further with
talk of demons and dark knights. Especially not when she feared such a creature and what it would do to her daughter. “’Tis a long story, Isa.”

  “I’ve got all night.”

  He sighed heavily, his choices removed. He would not lie to her. “The creature you have seen in your nightmare—’tis those beasts, and others, I am sworn to slay. Each time I take a vile life, however, I assume a portion of their evil.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath. “Can it hurt you?”

  Enough. He would not discuss this tonight. ’Twas too beautiful an evening to taint. Lifting her, he urged her legs around his waist. With the back of his hand, he nudged her blouse open so he could feel the press of her skin against his. So she could feel him as well. “Nay, no longer,” he murmured against the side of her neck.

  ’Twas as close to the truth as he dared.

  Isabelle tipped her head back in surrender. She rested her hands on his shoulders, her eyes fluttering shut as a tremor vibrated through her body. “Take me home, Caradoc. Home with you.”

  The whispered instruction affected him like current flowing between two metal poles. His gut clamped down hard, and though he had possessed her only moments earlier, his cock swelled with want of her. The warmth of her intimate feminine center called him home as certainly as she ordered him to take her there. He gave in to a lift of his hips, torn between taking her there in his lap, or doing as she requested and making love to her in his bed.

  “There’s a huge bathtub in your room,” Isabelle whispered.

  He needed to hear no more. Reluctantly, he set her out of his lap and reached for his trousers. Like giddy teenagers, they donned their clothes in a flurry, laughing as they dressed. When she held her heeled shoes in one hand, he grasped her other, and tugged her toward the path that led down the mountainside.

  Yet as he set foot on the gravel trail, he came to an abrupt stop, possessed by a need he could not comprehend. He turned to her, knowing only that he must have a deeper promise. “Isabelle.”

  “Yes?” Her eyebrows lifted in confusion.

  “I want morning to change naught. Tell me you have forgiven me? Tell me I shall always have your heart?”

  * * *

  Like a willow in a strong wind, everything inside Isabelle swayed against the storm of emotion reflecting in Caradoc’s expression. The sheer power of feeling there threatened to snap her in half. That he could believe anything less, that this man who was so strong and confident could harbor such a senseless insecurity touched her in ways she couldn’t define.

  She’d loved him since the day she’d met him. When it came to Caradoc, she didn’t know how to do anything else.

  While she struggled for a response that would convey her deep commitment, he rushed to words again.

  “I know there is much still between us to be resolved. I am not so foolish to believe the coming days will be easy. That there are not still wounds that need to heal. But I—”

  She stepped forward, pressing her fingertips to his mouth. “There are no more wounds, Caradoc.” He’d healed every one of them by answering the one thing she couldn’t—why he’d left. Just hearing that he hadn’t cast her aside because he didn’t care salved every cut on her heart.

  Isabelle withdrew her hand and feathered her mouth across his. “I forgive you. Nothing changes when the sun rises.”

  His kiss was fierce and instantaneous. He lifted her off her feet, crushed her against his chest, tangled his hands in her hair. She returned the ardent stroke of his tongue with equal need, matching hunger, until breathing became impossible, and she turned her face aside to gasp for air.

  Caradoc gently lowered her to the ground, his breath equally as hard as hers. “Come.” Grabbing her by the hand, he guided her down the dark path. “As you said, ’tis a bathtub in need of use.”

  The moment of desperation over, Isabelle jogged along behind him. September, and all the difficulties she presented, tugged at the back of her mind. She banished the concern before it could root in and grow. September wasn’t an obstacle between them. Tomorrow Isabelle would win the necklace. Once Paul let her go and Caradoc met his daughter, he’d accept the truth. And Paul would let September go, once he had the diamonds.

  Meanwhile, Isabelle wouldn’t push. Caradoc had all the evidence he needed, and short of immaculate conception, there could be no other explanation for September’s existence. As certain as she was of her own name, she was convinced he couldn’t harbor the foolish thought she’d been with another man. And if he considered their past long enough, he’d remember that she’d confessed he was the first man she’d slept with in a very long time. He’d also remember James, and how James cordially shook Caradoc’s hand with a warm smile at the same time he cautioned Caradoc to look after the woman he considered a sister.

  Time and patience would resolve the questions. Both of which she’d have, tomorrow, once she acquired the necklace Paul had sent her after.

  Quickening her step, she hurried after Caradoc, anxious to begin the promised hope of a life she’d longed for.

  * * *

  Sophie MacPherson stared at the gathering churchgoers through a narrow window in the cathedral that had been her home for the last several months. Not so very long ago she’d have chuckled at those who rushed to confess their sins in hopes a higher power would grant them salvation. Now, she could only wonder what they’d do if they knew the truth of the darkness surrounding them, or how that very power struggled to maintain his hold over mankind’s realm.

  “You’re certain you’re ready?” Gabriel’s smooth voice echoed off the high stone walls.

  She turned around to face him, gave him a short nod. What choice did she have? So she was bound to a monster. Fated to sacrifice herself in the name of the Almighty. Things could be worse. She could have died months ago when Chandler morphed into a hellish beast and attacked her for the armband she now proudly displayed.

  Sophie ran her hand over the brass serpents around her upper arm. “Yes. I’d like to see my sister.”

  “Anne is anxious to see you as well.”

  Sophie didn’t entirely believe that. Anne was busy playing wife and lady of the house. In a strange twist of fate, her twin had stumbled into the one life she’d dedicated herself to as history professor—the life of the Templar. Now she had Merrick, the Templar commander, and Sophie found it hard to believe Anne spent much time missing her.

  Gabriel stepped out of the shadows, hands clasped before him, a warm smile radiating on his face. “You’ve come far, Sophie. Accepted what many could not. I will not lie to you—your journey is more difficult than any other seraph’s. It will test the very strength of your soul.”

  She gave him a perturbed glance. “I’ve heard all this before. Could you just tell me when we leave? We’re wasting time here.”

  He chuckled, shook his greying head. “It is not time yet. But I assure you that you’ll not wait much longer.”

  “Good.” From a wooden rack on the wall, she withdrew a polished broadsword and ran her fingertips along the edge of the blade. Though her touch was light, the blade chafed, warning her another ounce of pressure would make her bleed.

  The scrape of steel rang out at her side. “Shall we?”

  Sophie turned her head to find Gabriel grinning, his own sword poised in front of his body. She let out a light laugh and set her feet apart, assuming a broad stance. “Yeah. Let’s.” Anne might have the loyalty of the entire Order, and she might have achieved everything she wanted, but there was something Sophie had that Anne couldn’t claim. She’d been taught to fight by an archangel, and Sophie would bet her angelic soul she could out-spar her beautiful twin.

  Never mind that according to Gabriel, her proficiency with a sword would keep her alive when it came to her predestined mate. She had yet to understand how her gift of seeing auras would contribute to much of anything.

  Chapter 27

  Caradoc leaned a shoulder against the doorframe between his bedroom and balcony. The bright
light of morning streamed into his suite, lighting the bed where Isabelle slept. Sprawled on her belly, sheets gathered at her trim waist, and her hair spilling over the pillows, she had not moved since he had risen an hour earlier. That she remained in such a state of obliviousness further evidenced the strain she had endured.

  His gaze flicked to the bathroom beyond, where the mirror reflected a solitary wine glass sitting on the edge of the tub. Towels lay in a crumpled heap on the floor where they had shed them when it became impossible to wait another moment. A modicum of guilt tugged at the back of Caradoc’s mind. He had contributed to her current state of exhaustion, even as he had sworn she needed rest.

  Still, he would exchange the vision in his bed for naught.

  He glanced down at his watch and pursed his lips. ’Twas near ten, and the necklace would be auctioned just before the lunch intermission. An event certain to place them at odds once more. He had gone over and over the possible ways he could broach the issue. From saying naught and allowing her to bid against him, to facing the inevitable clash before the event began. Now, as he looked upon the dark circles that lingered beneath Isabelle’s eyes, he found he could not bring himself to wake her at all.

  She would be furious, aye. But he would not allow her to throw herself into work at the risk of her health. She needed sleep more than she needed a commission. And in truth, she needed no commission at all—the Order would see to her needs until the end of time. Money was the last thing Isabelle would ever need to concern herself with.

  Decided, he pushed away from the entry and quietly crossed the bedchamber floor. Entering the attached sitting room, he pulled the door between the rooms closed. Indeed, she would be irate. Then again, she would be no less angry when he, inevitably, won the highest bid. No matter what he chose, today they would clash.

  He grabbed his phone from the interior pocket of his suit jacket, intending to alert Gareth. As his thumb hovered over the auto-dial key, however, he frowned. He had sent Gareth to the Temple. He palmed the phone and paced.