Immortal Sacrifice: #4 The Curse of the Templars

by Claire Ashgrove

  If he left Isabelle here to sleep and attended the auction himself, ’twould look as if he sought to skew the winning bid. Yet, if he remained here, as he desired, he must trust Tane to carry through. Whilst Tane had done well with the lesser relics, Merrick and Mikhail would never forgive Caradoc, should Tane fail to obtain the tears.

  “Damnation,” he muttered as he sank into the high-backed chair. He dropped his elbows to his thighs, holding his phone between his knees.

  In truth, Tane had performed his duty well. Caradoc had never doubted he could—’twas Merrick who remained unconvinced. Even Mikhail showed his approval, else he would not have assigned Tane to Italy.

  Caradoc sat up and jammed his thumb on a button. Nay, ’twas his mission to command. Merrick was not present to override his decisions. Tane would execute the duty, and the tears would reside with Raphael tonight. Tane’s need to prove himself would demand no less.

  “Aye, Caradoc?”

  Feeling more at ease, Caradoc reclined and propped one ankle over the opposite knee. “Good morn, brother. I require your service.”

  On the other end of the line, the television went silent. “What do you need of me?”

  “I am running behind this morn. If I am not at Shapiro’s when the bidding begins, you must handle the acquisition.”

  A long moment of silence passed before Tane cleared his throat. “You are certain?”

  “Aye.”

  “And of…Isabelle? Gareth mentioned—”

  Caradoc glanced at the closed frosted door that barred Isabelle from his sight. A smile played on his mouth. “She is with me.”

  “Indeed.” The volume from the television increased. “I shall do as you request. Shall I take it on to Raphael?”

  “Nay, we will accompany you. Bring it here to my room.” By then, archangels’ willing, Isabelle would have recovered from her temper.

  “Very well. I will see you later this afternoon in that case.”

  “Luck be with you, Tane.” Rising to his feet, Caradoc moved closer to the door, anxious to return to his sleeping seraph. “Keep a watchful eye for those who would wish to take it from us.”

  “Aye.”

  With a touch of his thumb, Caradoc disconnected and eased open the door. He set the cell phone on his dresser as he entered, then placed a knee on the bed. The mattress gave with his weight, bringing Isabelle closer as he stretched out alongside her warm body. The vast expanse of her creamy skin called to his fingers, and he settled his hand in the small of her back.

  Head propped on one elbow, he studied the refined angles of her face, the too-deep hollows of her cheeks, the fullness of her lips. He was avoiding the one conversation they must have. If he were not, he would have traced the delicate skin of her compressed breast where it peeked beneath her arm and roused her with his mouth. Then, when she was caught between that place of wakefulness and slumber where she would be the most receptive, he would confide the last of his secrets and gain her oath.

  ’Twas the fact he was not so certain she would be entirely willing that kept his hand flat against her spine.

  He let out a soft sigh and pushed the thick wealth of her hair away from her shoulder, exposing the armband that marked her as a seraph. Using a solitary finger, he traced the serpent’s body, rested his fingertip on one detailed head. She wore the torc as if she knew the meaning, as if she took pride in the symbol. Thank all that was sacred she did not display it in public; Caradoc could not tolerate the risk that Azazel would learn her status and set his beasts upon her.

  “What are you doing?” Isabelle asked thickly.

  Annoyed that he had disturbed her, Caradoc grunted. “I did not mean to wake you.” He lowered his head to the pillow, brushed her cheek with one knuckle, and offered her a smile.

  Rising to her elbows, she gave in to an expansive yawn. “It’s okay.” Wriggling up the bed, she snuggled into the crook of his arm. Her short nails scraped pleasantly across his chest. “I can think of worse ways to wake up.” With a teasing grin, she skated her hand down the length of his torso and dipped her fingertips beneath the waistband of his lounging pants. “I can think of better ways too.”

  Despite the instinctual tightening in his groin, Caradoc chuckled. He wound his arms around her slight waist and hauled her flush with his body. His heart tripped into his ribs as she burrowed close and rested her cheek against his chest. But now was not the time for pleasures of the flesh. He had kept her awake long through the night. He would not further exhaust her, no matter how his blood might hum. Pulling his fingers through her tangled hair, he murmured, “You need your rest.”

  “Mm.” She pressed a kiss to his skin. “Speaking of—you hate to get up early. What time is it?”

  Caradoc cringed inwardly. ’Twould seem the time for arguments was already upon them. Seeking to distract her, he dropped his hands to her waist and guided her hips into a slow roll that stroked her warm feminine center against his filling cock. “Ten-thirty.”

  As if she had felt nothing, she reared off his chest. “Ten-thirty?” Shock raised her voice an octave. “Damn it! I’ve got to get to Shapiro’s.” Pushing back, she struggled to escape his imprisoning arms.

  With a grin, he used the force of her resistance to flip her onto her back. He lowered himself into her body, using one knee to deliberately nudge her thighs apart. “Shapiro’s will get along without us for a little while, I think.”

  To his surprise, she yielded to his kiss. Her arms wound around his shoulders, and all the fight in her limbs expired with a quiet sigh. Softly, slowly, her tongue slid against his. Where he had felt only the stirrings of desire moments before, he became keenly aware of the numerous places they touched. The way her breasts tightened against his chest. The sudden heat where his hardening shaft nestled against her center.

  Craving that sweet warmth, he shifted his hips and rubbed the length of him against her damp folds. Her low, quiet moan encouraged him to repeat the motion. When he did, she moved in perfect counter rhythm, parting her legs, inviting him to splendor.

  “Mm. What are you doing?” Isabelle whispered huskily. Her hands glided down his back to give his buttocks a squeeze. She arched her body into his, increasing the pressure points of blissful contact.

  Caradoc chuckled. With a shake of his head, he dropped his teeth to the fragile skin at the base of her neck and nipped. “Not what I intended.”

  “Then why are you?” She tugged at his lightweight pants, edging them off his hips, exposing his swollen, heated flesh, then with a graceful foot, tugged the fabric all the way down to his ankles. Smiling at him through lowered lashes, she gyrated her hips against his and sucked in a sharp breath.

  Her breathless exhale came with a shudder that vibrated into him and coursed down his spine. He braced his elbows at her shoulders and lifted his upper body, driving his hips forward, deeper into hers. Sliding through her damp flesh, grazing across her slickened opening. His gaze latched on to hers and he gave her a teasing grin. “Do you wish to protest?”

  “God, no,” she rasped.

  “Nay, I did not think so.” Dropping his head, he swept his tongue around one erect, rosy nipple. He kept his gaze fastened on hers, delighting in the flash of dark indigo that colored her eyes. Her nails raked up his back, across his shoulders, and her hands curled into his hair. Rapture washed across her expression.

  Taking a moment to indulge in the sheer perfection of Isabelle, Caradoc closed his eyes and allowed her to seep into his deeper awareness. Her heart beat hard beneath his lips. The lingering scent of honeysuckle clung to her skin, mixing with the musk of her arousal. He inhaled deeply, knowing no more delightful perfume. She moved her body in time with his, and though he had not yet penetrated her womanly depths, the ebb and tide of their slipping skin held just as much pleasure.

  He explored her gentle curves with a blind man’s caress, recommitting to memory what he already knew by heart. The slope of her waist, the rise of her narrow hip. Her skin was like silk
, and he luxuriated in the simple act of touching her.

  Lifting his head, he let her nipple slip from his mouth. “Isa, turn over.”

  Her eyes opened with the briefest hint of surprise, but she rolled to her side. Guiding her to her belly with one hand, he scattered feather-light kisses against her shoulder, around slowly, ever so slowly, ever so lightly, to the nape of her neck. Down her spine.

  His fingertips followed the path of his mouth, trailing along behind the flick of his tongue, the faint graze of his teeth. Her skin pebbled with goose bumps. To smooth away the chill, he flattened his palms as he wended his way down her body.

  Caught by a moment of devilishness, when he reached the firm rise of her bottom, he gave her a sharp bite. She lifted off the mattress with a yelp, but before she could scramble away, he flattened her into the mattress with one arm, and swirled his tongue over the reddening marks. Traced the faint seam where her thigh joined the toned muscle.

  Isabelle’s sigh filled his ears.

  ’Twas not a single portion of her body he did not cherish, and he meant to show her the only way he knew how. He drew the tip of his tongue across the identical seam at her opposite cheek, then slipped his hand between her parted thighs. Moisture met his fingertips.

  On a soft moan, Isabelle raised her hips, lowered them into his palm. As he treated the backs of her thighs to the same brush of his lips, he stroked her swollen flesh. She gyrated against his questing touch. The mewl that slipped from her throat threatened to obliterate his senses, and his cock pulsed as desire surged through his veins. He sucked in a deep fortifying breath, willed his body to wait, and planted a kiss on the back of each knee.

  She lifted her foot, caressed his shoulder with her ankle. Caradoc captured the delicate limb in one hand. Rocking back to his heels, he massaged the high arch of her foot as he drew each toe, one-by-one, between his lips.

  When he had covered every inch of her body with his mouth, he set his hand on her thigh and urged her onto her back. The way her teeth dug into her lower lip and the shortness of her breath sent another shock of desire coursing through his veins. He shook with the force of it, and closed his eyes to temper his body’s fierce reaction to her bliss.

  “Caradoc… please…” She grabbed for his hands.

  He gave her one, twining his fingers through hers, but denied her the other. With it, he traced the curve of her calf down to her ankle and coaxed her leg to his waist.

  Recognizing his intentions, Isabelle wrapped her other leg around him. With her heels pressed into his back, she guided him forward. Closer to the union his body screamed at him to complete.

  All thoughts of restraint vanished at the press of her slick flesh against his throbbing shaft. Kneeling between her thighs, he grabbed her hips, lifted, aligned her body just so. Then, with one prolonged thrust, he slid deep inside.

  “Isabelle…”

  He had intended to say something, but what escaped him as her flesh clamped around his swollen length. Robbed of thought, unable to breathe, Caradoc sank into her beckoning arms and surrendered to the lift of her hips, the rocking of her body.

  He glided in and out of her, angling his hips in the manner that brought her the most pleasure, oblivious to the fact he was even doing so. He knew her body as well as he knew his own. A matched, interlocking pair. He could feel her everywhere, the rub of her skin, the heat of her womb, the fierce beat of her heart. And as bliss stole over him, he would swear in that moment he connected with her soul.

  Isabelle’s pleasured cry blended with his rough groan, and she arched her back off the bed, clinging to his shoulders. Ecstasy gathered at the base of his spine, spread through his limbs. Climax stormed through him, sparking tiny pinpoints of light behind his eyes. Clutching her against his chest, he captured her mouth and surrendered to the spilling of his seed.

  Gradually, the tempo of their bodies slowed. Caradoc relaxed his arms and sank his weight into Isabelle. He drew their kiss to a lingering close. When he opened his eyes, his heart swelled to three times its normal size beneath the tenderness that glinted in her gaze.

  She ran her fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face. Though she did not speak, she mouthed the words, I love you.

  Weakened by the enormous amount of feeling behind his ribs, he could do naught but offer her a tender smile and nod. He held no concern the lack of words would offend her. She knew him too well. Understood what lay in his heart.

  Utterly spent, he laid his cheek on her shoulder and closed his eyes. ’Twas not how he had intended to spend the morning, but he could fathom no better way to begin the day.

  “I can’t go back to sleep,” Isabelle whispered. “I have to get to Shapiro’s. There’s a necklace there I need.”

  No longer able to prevent their inevitable clash, Caradoc sighed heavily. “Rest, Isa. The necklace is not meant to leave with you.”

  Chapter 28

  Isabelle could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen Caradoc in such a playful mood. Normally, she treasured the seldom seen side of him where he was prone to tickling, biting, and general foolishness. It made her heart light. Left her feeling young.

  This morning she was in no mood for it. Not with September’s fate depending on that necklace. Tomorrow she could play hooky. Tomorrow he could entice her with a luxurious morning in bed.

  Not today.

  She gave him a light smack between the shoulder blades and tried for a laugh. “Let me up. I’m serious. I have to get dressed.”

  Something about the way he slowly pulled himself into a sitting position set off a warning buzz in her head. When he looked at her, and his eyes failed to radiate with the same teasing quality that accompanied his earlier light-hearted banter, she reflexively stiffened.

  He pushed a hand through his thick hair and sighed again. Only this time, there was no mistaking the sound as a noise of contentment. The hard fall of his breath cast a shadow on the bright morning. She braced herself, knowing instinctively she wouldn’t like what came next.

  “So am I, Isabelle. I have limitless funds to acquire the necklace.”

  All the apprehension gathered in her muscles faded as she let out a light laugh. He might have limitless funds—she had Paul. “Don’t be silly, that’s impossible. Paul Reid is my buyer. Everybody knows he has more money than the sheikhs. There’s no way you can outbid me.” Reaching between them, she gave his muscular thigh a pat. “Sorry, babe, this one’s mine.”

  Caradoc latched onto her wrist, the pressure in his grip not painful, but not kind either. It forced her to look at him, to acknowledge his grave expression. “Isa. My buyer is the Church. That necklace belongs to the archangels. Tane is there now, waiting to acquire it.”

  No!

  Panic bore down on her, crushing her lungs. This wasn’t an attempt to keep her in bed and enjoy a quiet morning for two. He was serious. Caradoc stood between her and her daughter.

  Words came out so fast even she couldn’t comprehend them. Protest, disbelief, and pleadings for him to understand. They jumbled together in a frantic mess that matched the equally frantic way she twisted the sheets in her hands. In one explosive rush of air, she put everything together with the outburst, “You can’t have it!”

  Springing from the bed, she snatched up the skirt she’d shed the night before and jerked it up her legs. “You can’t have it. I won’t let you take it. I have to have that necklace. Everything depends on it.”

  “Isabelle, slow down. What is the matter with you? I will pay your commission, whatever it might be.” He reached for her arm.

  She jerked away before his fingers could make contact with her skin. “It has nothing to do with commissions!” Grabbing her blouse, she stuffed her arms inside and hastened to fasten the buttons. “If you do this, Caradoc, I’ll never forgive you. The archangels can go to hell. I’ll have that necklace one way or the other.”

  Jamming her feet into her heels, she stormed to the door that separated the bedroom from
the sitting room. But as she stepped over the threshold, his arm locked around her waist and hauled her backward. Before she could fully make sense of what was happening, she landed on her back on the bed. The air rushed from her lungs.

  Caradoc pinned her to the mattress with his body. “Isa, cease this nonsense. What in the name of the saints is the matter with you? Let me explain—’tis no mere necklace.”

  She thrashed against him, desperate to escape. This wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be. He was right—those diamonds weren’t just jewels. They were the only thing that would keep September alive. Sucking in a deep breath, she summoned her strength and shoved at his shoulders. “Get. Off!”

  When he didn’t budge, she pummeled his arms with her fists. Nothing, no one, would stop her from obtaining that necklace. Not Caradoc, not archangels, not God Himself. “Let me go!”

  * * *

  It required effort, but Caradoc managed to capture Isabelle’s flailing hands. He held them against the pillow, thwarting the sting of her fists. Repositioning his weight, he trapped her legs before she could think to use them in her defense. “Isa!”

  His harsh voice stilled her for a heartbeat. She looked up, and ’twas then he noticed the panic in her eyes. But with a blink, she was struggling again, and it took all of his focus to restrain her without harming her. Finally, frustrated beyond all means, he gave her a none-too-gentle shake.

  She stilled, with a whimper.

  Caradoc softened his voice. “Isabelle, listen to me. The necklace holds Christ’s tears. ’Tis no ordinary chain of diamonds. There is power in it. Power Azazel needs to overthrow the Almighty. It must return to the archangels.”

  “It can’t,” she whispered.

  For the love all things sacred, could she not comprehend his words? He frowned at her, his own frustration pushing his patience to the limit. “You cannot fathom what would happen should Azazel claim the tears.”

  She let out a derisive snort. “I’m sure your archangels are capable of dealing with the fallout. Let me up, damn it!”