“You’ve got to be kidding. I can’t be an angel, Caradoc.”
“Aye, this armband marks you as such.” He tipped it into the light and tapped one of the tiny snake’s head. “’Tis marked with the Templar cross, and is as old as time. ’Twas given to the Nephilim who chose to forfeit their power and become simple man. They would be called again, the serpents to return when the Almighty most needed their service.”
He paused, his voice thickening. More quietly, he added, “When the Templar most needed salvation.”
Isabelle struggled to grasp Caradoc’s words, but the increasing buzz inside her head made it impossible to focus on anything he said. Seraphs, immortality, Templar salvation—all she could see was September’s lifeless body crumpled at that sightless angel’s feet.
“I don’t understand,” she confessed in a small voice.
“You are my seraph, Isabelle. We were fated before time began. And when we say the oath we must, you will gain my immortality. Bonded thusly, we can save September.”
The air fled her lungs in a rush.
Chapter 30
His. Fated. Eternity. Isabelle sat dumbstruck, unable to do more than blink while he picked up his sword and eased the brass armband down the long blade. It came to a stop at his hand, the unadorned leather pommel just barely visible between his grip.
“’Tis written in the scrolls most sacred to the Order, a promise from the Almighty himself. When the Templar are at their weakest, light shall return to our damaged souls and the curse we suffer shall lift.”
His eyes held hers, radiating sincerity. And affection—she’d never seen so much genuine feeling pour from him. Even when they made love, when he confessed his feelings for her, those orbs of green-gold hadn’t glittered as fierce as they did now. The warm light soaked through Isabelle’s dizzying thoughts and pulled her focus to what he was saying.
“This curse…The beasts I am sworn to slay eat away at my soul. At my brothers’ souls. In time, without the Almighty’s promised healing, we shall all perish to evil. We shall become the very things we hunt, and our purpose will be to aid Azazel.”
Her breath caught, the full meaning of his words punching her in the gut. Dying. Caradoc was slowly being eaten away by the evil he combated. And she…She somehow held the power to stop his death. Suddenly her lungs felt too small, the room too narrow.
“The prophecy we were taught—and had quite forgotten until Merrick discovered Anne—declares you as the jewel. The one who digs in dust precedes the finding of the jewel. I should have known this, mayhap, but ’twas impossible to see what lay before me when all I knew was heartache and regret.”
His free hand moved to collect hers. Slowly, reverently, he brought the back of her knuckles to his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss to her skin. Chills rolled up her arm, through her shoulder, down her spine. She struggled to sit still, to stamp down the need to squirm. Never, in all her life, had she felt so…cherished. That one simple gesture went beyond all the incredible intimacy they shared.
“There can be only one seraph for each knight. Only you, Isabelle, can stand as my mate, my wife. You fill my heart, and ’tis my honor to offer you my oath of loyalty.”
Before she could fully digest his meaning, he laid his sword at her feet and shifted his weight to one knee. Head bowed, he squeezed her hand. “Isabelle Speranza, I shall honor and defend you until the Almighty sees fit to call us both home. Naught will sway me from this purpose. Naught will alter my unending love for you.”
A rush of fierce emotion swamped her. I love you, held meaning. Deep meaning. But though she didn’t fully understand the depth of his intentions, she understood what he’d offered ran deeper than the simple sentiment so many used frivolously. He was offering her more than love. More than a life together. Something she didn’t know how to return, but would search the ends of the earth to find that answer. “Caradoc,” she whispered through a roughened throat.
Lifting his head, he picked up his sword once more and repositioned the armlet so the two heads faced a tiny golden cross embedded in the steel near blade’s point of balance. He looked to her, and a touch of apprehension clouded the warm light in his gaze.
“As with all things, you have a choice. You may choose not to accept this calling to duty. I shall not lie to you—immortality is not a gift. ’Tis a certain curse. You will outlive those you care for. You shall spend nights combating evil more horrifying than you can imagine.” He paused, inhaled deeply, and his features hardened. “The beast you see in your nightmare is a demon. They are not the worst of Azazel’s creations, by far. They can shift shapes into that of a human, unlike nytyms who can only assume the form of simple animals. Compared to my fallen Templar, those who are now Knights of Azazel, a demon is no more dangerous than a fly.”
Uncomfortable with the idea that there could be something worse hunting September, Isabelle gave in to a shudder. Caradoc’s firm grip on her knee, however, drew her back from the dark hole that threatened, refusing to allow her to dwell on possibility.
“I do not want you to choose this oath for my sake, Isa. I do not desire an eternity with you if ’tis not what you wish. You would be miserable, as well as I. I would rather—”
“Yes.” The word came out in a breathless rush, empowered by the torrent of emotion that overflowed her heart. “I choose you.”
For the passing of one quick heartbeat, Caradoc’s expression reflected surprise. Then, with the next, serenity returned, the faint hint of a smile uplifting the corners of his mouth. “The Villa Valguarnera is a gate to Azazel’s realm. I recognize now the statue you described, the mausoleum you have touched in dreams. Bound as a seraph and knight are meant to be, we will keep September safe.”
Isabelle forced herself to cast aside the fog in her head that jumbled everything into a twisted mass of disbelief and shock. She nodded, swallowed hard. “Tell me what to do?”
Caradoc lifted his broadsword, pointing the blade to the ceiling. He lowered his voice, closing his eyes as he recited a Latin phrase. “Meus vires, meus mucro, meus immortalis animus, fio vestry.”
As Isabelle watched the flutter of his long lashes, the room shifted to a time she’d long forgotten, a dream from her teenage years. Though she hadn’t moved, and everything surrounding her looked the same, she looked on as if seeing through someone else’s eyes. Caradoc kneeling before her. Opening his eyes to look into hers. Unspoken emotion flowed between them, so strong she could almost reach out and feel the ribbons that bound them together.
His voice rang hollow, like he spoke from another realm, an eerie whisper that she already knew would come, and exactly what he would say. “It means, my strength, my sword, my immortal soul, becomes yours.” Taking her hand, he set it over his. “Now you must…”
She didn’t need him to elaborate—she already understood her role. It had been taught to her; she’d seen herself sitting here. And though she’d forgotten the long-ago dream, it came back in full force, as if she’d witnessed this event while she slept in Caradoc’s bed, only hours before.
“Meus vita, meus diligo, meus eternus lux lucis, fio vestry,” she whispered. My life, my love, my eternal light, becomes yours.
As it had fifteen years or more prior, a blinding light flared through the room. Pristine in its brilliance, intimidating in its magnificence. Where their hands joined, a blue-white luminescence radiated, slowly spreading down the length of the unadorned blade. Against Isabelle’s fingertips, the brass serpents moved of their own volition. She stared, mesmerized, as one tiny snakehead elongated, separating from its partner, lifting to look at her, then Caradoc. Then, its twin shifted, pulled apart as well, until one synchronized undulation of its scaled body shook off the deep patina and uncoiled it completely.
To her amazement, miniscule fangs emerged from both jaws. The first head reared back, struck forward as if it intended to sink poison into the fleshy part of her palm. Barely missing her skin, the viper’s teeth embedded into the golden cross a
t the base of the broadsword’s blade. A fraction of a second later, the second head struck out and clamped into another golden cross inlaid in the circular pommel.
Magic, miracle—Isabelle suspected the action was both. But as the light receded, returning the blade to a polished length of metal, the serpents came to rest, their singular body forming uneven quillions where none had been before. Using her free hand, she ran a fingertip down the polished bar. Awe prevented her from speech.
“’Twill keep the darkness at bay,” Caradoc murmured.
“I know.” She looked up through lowered lashes. “You told me that before. The summer I learned to drive.”
A wry smile wove its way across his inviting lips. “Another dream?”
Before Isabelle could answer, an unfamiliar sensation burst inside her chest. Heat, cold, and something in between—something not all together unpleasant, and yet nowhere near comfortable—built, forcing her to suck in a gulp of air. She pressed her hand to her breastbone, winced as the feeling crept outward, through her veins, beneath her skin.
“Immortality,” Caradoc whispered.
Isabelle could only manage a tight nod. And then the odd sensation vanished, leaving her feeling as if she’d been caught by a fierce winter breeze. Robbed of breath, uncomfortable, invigorated, and altogether undamaged. “Wow.”
“It has passed?”
“Yeah.”
Pulling on her forearm, Caradoc guided her into the sweet haven of his embrace. His mouth feathered across hers. Unwilling to let him slip away, she caught his retreating lips and wound one arm around his neck. At the hungry tangle of their tongues, her entire body sighed with contentment. His. The one thing she had yearned for, the only dream that had ever mattered, she held in the palm of her hand. She belonged to Caradoc, and he belonged to her. Eternally.
Caradoc drew the kiss to a lingering close. “Come. We must leave.”
September. In the magic of the moment, she’d almost forgotten about the necklace. Spurred on by his gentle reminder, she leapt out of his arms and to her feet. “So what’s the plan?”
Dragging fresh clothes from his dresser, Caradoc tossed them on the bed and stripped out of his cotton sleeping pants. “We will go to Shapiro’s together. We will both bid on the necklace, but I shall allow you to win the auction. Then, tonight, we will take it to this demon, but we shall not turn it over. ’Tis likely we shall have to fight, but we will return with September.”
She didn’t like it. Not one bit. The proof of everything he’d claimed he was and the cause he fought for lay right before her eyes, staring up from tiny eyes that wound around a sword’s hilt. She’d witnessed the impossible, believed it in the core of her being. But gambling with September’s fate battled every mothering instinct she possessed.
“You’re certain this will work?”
Caradoc chuckled. “He is a demon, Isa. They are powerful, but they are not yet smarter than man. Even if this Paul is possessed by him, the greed of evil overrides sense.”
“So, it’s pretty much a done deal?”
“Aye.” He stuffed his arms into his suit jacket and hastily fastened the buttons at his waist. “You said the being did not have wings. ’Tis naught to fear. I have been slaying demons for centuries.”
Falling into step behind him, she grabbed her purse and followed to the door. He sounded so convinced. Unshakeable. Maybe she ought to give him credit for knowing more about this than she did. Still, if it was such a simple task, why had her vision shown September dead?
“Out of curiosity, what difference would it make if that creature had wings?”
Caradoc came to an abrupt halt in the hall. His confidence faltered beneath a tight frown. “If such a creature appears, Isa, you must promise me you shall leave immediately.”
The all too familiar feeling of foreboding that she’d suffered since the nightmare began crept into her veins and left her shivering. “Why?”
“’Twould be Azazel. He will see my sword and know you are my mate. Be certain of this—he will stop at naught to claim a seraph as his own.”
Isabelle tried to swallow around the lump that wedged into the back of her throat. A prisoner in Azazel’s realm—the very possibility sent a chill straight to her bones. She didn’t know what kind of hells would await her there, but she damn sure didn’t want to find out.
Caradoc reached for her hand. With a weak smile, she slid her palm into his, gaining strength from the firm grip of his fingers. “He can’t hurt me, can he? You’re sure the bond is intact?”
The elevator doors dinged open, and Caradoc ushered her inside. When the panels rolled shut, he jammed his thumb on the stop button. “Isa, hold out your other hand.” Reaching inside his lapel pocket, he withdrew a small pocketknife.
Isabelle lifted a wary eyebrow. But when he remained unmoving, open palm extended, she realized he didn’t intend to offer an explanation. Reluctantly, she outstretched her hand.
She’d barely managed to extend her fingers before he drew the miniature blade across the base of her thumb. A jolt of pain shot up to her elbow, making her jerk away. “Ouch! What are you doing?” She stuffed the cut against her mouth, grimacing at the coppery tang of blood.
Oblivious to her scolding glower, Caradoc gestured at her hand. “Look at it. See the proof you require.”
Hesitantly, Isabelle looked to her injured palm. Where she expected to see a neat slice and a steady trickle of blood, only a streak of new pink skin marred her hand. No blood, although she’d swear she could still feel the pinprick of the initial cut. Healed. She took a deep breath, absorbing both the reality of the healing and her newfound immortality. She’d live forever. Year after year at Caradoc’s side. No more worries about what would happen to September if she ended up in a car wreck, or if her plane went down while traveling to a remote part of the world to fulfill a client’s needs. She would not die.
As if Caradoc had read her mind, he nodded. “’Tis naught that can take your life, except a blade infused with divinity. But as you are certain to withstand the gravest of wounds, you are equally susceptible to an eternity of torture, should Azazel capture you.” He pushed the lobby button, setting the elevator into motion. “As you have observed, you are not immune to pain. Trust that each wound you suffer you shall feel. Do not be unwise and take your immortality for granted, my sweet.”
Dutifully, Isabelle nodded. “And you? Has my…light…done what it was supposed to?” The concept still felt odd against her tongue. She—an angel. Astounding.
He shook his head. “’Tis not as quick for us. There is much evil to overcome, and ’twill take many months before I know the full glory of an untainted soul.”
He must have seen the dismay that rolled through her, for he gave her a reassuring smile. “’Tis not unnoticed, this healing you’ve begun. The ache in my joints does not pain me as much. And for once…” He paused and took a step closer. Bending his head, he nudged aside her hair with his nose and nuzzled the side of her neck. “For once, my love, I do not know despair.”
Resisting the warm wash of his breath was impossible. The flutter of his mouth against her skin stirred to life the ever-present craving in her heart, and she turned her head, in search of his kiss. He gave it to her freely, tormenting her with deep possessive strokes of his tongue. In the brief moment, time stood still, the worries about her daughter slipped into the background. The elevator’s motion vanished, and Isabelle drank in all he had to offer. All he gave.
But it ended all too soon, and the chime that accompanied the opening doors yanked her back to the present and the nightmare she had yet to confront. Caradoc might have given her an immortal life with him, but that life would be meaningless if she failed September.
Chapter 31
Caradoc’s thoughts churned as he jogged up Shapiro’s front steps alongside Isabelle. He had promised her this plan could not fail, and the warrior inside him protested mightily against such strong convictions. More than once he had been equally cert
ain his men would reign on the battlefield, only to be left with devastation when the sun descended on the bloody ground. ’Twas a mistake to promise such absolute victory.
Never mind the other consideration he must make, that of Tane. His brother deserved the truth. To fully execute the plan, Caradoc would further need Tane’s assistance. Aid Tane may not be inclined to give should he assume the tears faced real risk. Though Caradoc had no intention of surrendering the priceless relic, that he intended to take it to the fifty-seventh gate, well within Azazel’s scope of power, might garner Tane’s immediate refusal.
’Twas no easy way to broach the subject, never mind opportunity. Already they were late, the great hall filled to near capacity. Caradoc could not begin to explain the matter of September before the auctioneer would start.
He spied his brother’s dark head near the middle aisle seats and sighted four empty chairs to his left. Taking only a moment to stop in the doorway, he gathered Isabelle’s hands in his and gave them a gentle squeeze. He lowered his voice to ward off any listening ears. “We should part here. Continue as if we have not spoken about a thing.”
She answered with a short nod and pulled her hands free. “Right. I’ll see you back at the hotel.”
Despite her brave words, apprehension made her smile tremble and dimmed the light in her eyes. Caradoc’s heart twisted with the need to reassure her. ’Twas plain she put great effort into remaining courageous, and even plainer that she clung to strength by mere threads. He glanced over his shoulder to insure no one had observed their arrival then quickly took Isabelle by the elbow and pulled her into a shadowy corner. Obscured from view, he wrapped his arms around her slight shoulders and drew her cheek to his chest. His hands glided over her back.
Immortal Sacrifice: #4 The Curse of the Templars Page 25