The Immortals I_Lucas

by Cynthia Breeding

  She lowered the cup to catch the reflection of a moonbeam and felt the calming influence of the Goddess wash over her. Unfocusing her eyes, she gazed into the water and her breath caught in her throat.

  A warrior, mounted on a powerful golden destrier, charged across rough terrain. He was turned from her and she couldn’t see his face, but long, golden hair streamed out behind him. He guided the horse only with his thighs, for in one hand he held a shining spear and in the other, a white wooden shield with a square red cross painted on it. She glimpsed a similar cross sewn unto the white mantle that he wore. A Knight Templar.

  And then a cloud of darkness mottled the picture, causing the warrior to grow dimmer until all was swirling darkness. Her throat constricted as a man dressed all in black, riding a black horse, charged toward her. His face was swarthy and hidden by a beard. A patch covered one eye. As he came closer, Sara could sense evil and chills invaded her bones, her hands growing stiff with cold. In his hand a spear threw bolts of lightening that destroyed everything in its path. Closer he came, his eyes flashing red fire, his lips bared in a feral grin, showing deadly fangs.

  Sara gasped for air and collapsed on the ground. When she came to, Michael was holding her, the women gathered around with worried looks on their faces. Only Morgan hung back, looking petulant.

  “Are you all right? What happened?” ten voices clamored.

  Sara shook her head weakly and reached for Brianna’s hand. “Did you See?” she whispered. Had her friend experienced the vision…

  Brushing back her golden hair, Brianna nodded and leaned down. “A Templar,” she whispered back. “And he was overcome.”

  “Let’s get you home,” Michael interrupted. “Brianna, would you drive Sara’s car? You can follow me.”

  Morgan stood at the edge of the group, silently staring into her own small glove of fire as Sara was belted in the front seat of Michael’s car. As they drove off, she lifted her head, her face hard.

  Michael was silent for most of the way back. As they neared the city lights, he glanced at her. “Want to talk about it?”

  Slowly she nodded and told him what she had seen in the cup, then she told him about the manuscript, and the appearances of Alan Caldwell and Lucas Ramsey.

  “So you trust these guys?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she answered. “Alan Caldwell has not even mentioned the manuscript. It could be a coincidence that he showed up to do an article on medieval weaponry. In spite of my boss using the name “Mr. Smith”, his collection is known to certain sectors of society.”

  “And the other guy? Ramsey?”

  She hedged. Instinctively, she wanted to trust Lucas, but she didn’t know how much of that was governed by her lust for him. And, Goddess help her, even after numerous lectures and admonishments to herself about her lousy track record for picking the wrong men, she was incredibly drawn toward Lucas. Lust was a part of it, but not all. She just couldn’t put her finger on what the other part was.

  “He was honest about saying why he followed me to Dallas,” she finally said.

  “Hmmm. Could be a red herring.”

  “Why?” She hoped her voice didn’t sound bristled.

  Michael gave her a quick look, but his voice was calm. “What could be more beguiling than saying someone’s out there who wants to destroy the world and you want to save it? Sounds a little much, to me. Let’s suppose Ramsey has a personal reason for wanting the Hallows. After all, power corrupts and total power—“

  “He’s not like that!”

  Michael raised an eyebrow. “Personal interest?”

  “No,” she said quickly and tried to push away the earlier picture of Lucas’ bared broad chest and well-muscled arms. Arms that she would love to feel around her, holding her tightly, pressing her breasts against him, relieving the achy need that was building just from thinking about him. “No,” she said again and changed the subject. “You called the east quarter last tonight. How did you know about the Spear of Lugh before I even told you?”

  He grinned at that. “I’m a warlock, remember? Your psychic shields were down. I just tapped in.”

  Sara mentally raised a shield regarding Lucas and Michael stopped smiling. “Maybe I should meet this guy,” he said as he pulled over in front of her apartment.

  There were problems with having mind-reading warlocks for friends. He’d sensed the shield and now his curiosity was hooked. And he could be tenacious, if nothing else.

  “Whatever,” she said with a shrug and hoped she looked nonchalant. “So…back to the Spear thing?”

  He gave her a tight smile that said he’d go along for the moment. “Well, when I saw the image in your mind, I just put the symbols together. Spears—wands in the Tarot—are symbolic for Intuition. Their element is Air. The quarter for air is east. It’s spring. Spring’s direction is also east, signifying beginnings. If you’re starting a search… I just thought having the god of Air and Light might be more powerful for your scrying if he came in last.”

  “You outdid yourself there,” she said wryly as she opened the door and stepped out. “I could have done without that black monster riding at me.”

  “Sorry about that,” he said and then grinned. “Do you want me to stay the night and make sure the bogeyman doesn’t bite?”

  She shook her head, glad that he was back to light-hearted teasing. Or maybe he wasn’t. Sometimes she wasn’t sure. But she was saved from finding out with the arrival of her car and several of the ladies.

  “We decided to stop and get some wine,” Brianna said as she handed over the keys. “You looked a little haggard back there.” She glanced at Michael. “Sorry, this is a girlie thing.”

  He acknowledged her with a nod of his head, but his eyes were on Sara. “I’ll be by to meet your other friends tomorrow.”

  She sighed as he drove away. Just what she needed. A suspicious warlock, a smooth-talking jock who wanted her help and a roguish Highlander who looked an awfully lot like the Templar she’d seen in the cup.

  * * * *

  After last night’s talk with Michael, Sara needed to spend some time alone to think. Away from Mr. Smith and Alan Caldwell and Lucas Ramsey. Especially Lucas. He haunted her dreams, and last night, after the vision, he’d been dressed in the Templar mantle, a slow grin on his face as he disrobed and stretched out naked beside her, his impressive cock showing her how much he wanted her… Goddess, she was probably defiling some ancient religion seducing a Templar. Even if it were only a dream.

  She slowed the Mustang and turned off of U.S. 180 and headed north on S.R. 4. In a few miles she turned west onto a small, one-track gravel road that led to a ranchette nestled in the hills and canyons of Palo Pinto county.

  Sara stopped the car in front of the rustic cabin and got out, taking a deep breath of clean, country air. This had been her parents’ getaway before they’d been killed in a car accident right after she had graduated high school. She’d had to sell their comfortable three-bedroom rambler in Ft. Worth to pay for her college, but she’d managed to hang onto this.

  She took another deep breath. The silence was amazing. No traffic snarls, no wailing sirens, no humans. Even the vast expanse of sky looked bluer. Probably because of no smog, she thought as she became aware of the small sounds of nature around her. Something—probably a rabbit—rustled softly in the undergrowth of sagebrush nearby. A cardinal, his red coat brilliant against the thin green leaves of a mesquite tree tri-whistled, calling his mate. A mockingbird swooped low, settling on the wooden frame of the well near the kitchen.

  Passing the old hitching post that still stood in the yard, Sara climbed the porch steps, unlocked the door and stepped inside. To the left stood a sturdy oak table and four high-backed wooden chairs, the kitchen behind them. To her right the small living room held a sofa with one of her mother’s hand-knitted afghans draped over the back and an overstuffed leather chair that her father had loved. A small hallway led to the back where two bedrooms shared a bath
. No television. No computer. No phone. Simply furnished for a simple life that didn’t involve cars careening around corners nearly killing her or ancient documents with mysterious clues. She needed a break.

  She frowned. When she had been here just before Christmas, she had lit a fire in the stone-walled fireplace that filled most of one side of the small living room. The ashes still lay on the hearth. Her mother would have been horrified to leave such a mess, but then, Sara hadn’t been in a particular frame of mind to care. If she remembered correctly, she’d finished nearly a whole bottle of Grand Marnier—a small bottle, to be sure, but a whole one—while she used every cuss word she could remember to erase the memory of the adulterous fraud that had forgotten to mention he was married. He was just lucky she hadn’t landed a curse on him that made his penis fall off. But even in a drunken stupor, she hadn’t wanted that curse to reverse itself on her!

  She set her backpack down and went outside to bring in the sack of groceries she had brought and then opened the windows to let the air blow through. Even though her parents had conceded the need for electricity, her father had balked about installing air-conditioning. The Comanche hadn’t needed it when they roamed these hills, so why should he? Out of respect for him, Sara had not installed it either. Anyway, this was spring; the heat wave had passed and the wind was pleasantly cool. The thick adobe-plastered walls were insulating.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone. Chiding herself for not remembering to turn the thing off, she dug through her purse.

  “Hello?”

  “Sara. Where are you?” Mr. Smith asked in a petulant tone.

  She sighed. She had left a message on his machine that she wouldn’t be in, but she should have known he’d want more details. Being nosy was one of his quirks.

  “I’m at La Ranchita,” she answered. It was silly calling this small cabin on its two acres of land even a little ranch, but her father had always liked using Spanish words.

  “But, dear, that’s absolutely in the middle of nowhere! And you don’t have A/C. How will you ever survive?”

  She could almost see him wiping his forehead for imaginary sweat with his expensive linen handkerchief. She bit back a grin. “I’ll survive. I got the paper back from Professor MacDonald and I want some time to study it.”

  “Oh.” There was silence for a moment and then, “I’m sure Mr. Ramsey would like to be included.”

  She couldn’t tell him that Lucas Ramsey was the real reason she was here. “I’ll be back tomorrow. I’m sure he can wait.” She could hear muffled voices in the background. Mr. Smith was obviously relaying the message.

  He came back on the line. “Mr. Caldwell has some questions about the swords.”

  She hoped he hadn’t been able to hear their exchange about the manuscript. “Tell him I’ll be happy to help tomorrow. I really must go.” She hung up before Mr. Smith could start complaining about her absence further.

  She stretched. I’ve got to clear my head. Get outside and enjoy nature. She looked around and noticed the woodbin was empty. It might be cool enough for a fire tonight. Chopping some wood is just what I need.

  Whistling lightly under her breath, she picked up the small ax and headed outside. Ah, it felt good to be totally alone in wild country!

  * * * *

  “She’s alone,” Caldwell said on his cell phone in his car. “Alone in the country and she has a copy of the manuscript. I can take care of it tonight.”

  “You have the exact location?” Baylor blew a smoke ring from his cigar in his hotel room.

  “Close enough. When I get within range, the GPS will bring me to her doorstep. Do you want me to break and enter or do you want me to finish her off?”

  Baylor thought. The little bitch deserved to be tortured first. She’d upset his plans to purchase the manuscript and then he’d had to chase her half-way across the world and here he was, stuck in a hotel room instead of his own well-appointed and well-serviced quarters in London. Even if the room cost $500.00 a night, the food didn’t rival his own French chef. Yeah, the girl definitely needed to suffer. And he hadn’t really had an opportunity to experience the wide open spaces that made Texas bigger and better than anywhere else in the world. Or so the advertisements said.

  “Neither. I don’t want her seeing you. She might still be useful. I’ll take care of this little matter myself.”

  There was a moment of silence at the other end. Then, “Did I do something wrong?”

  Baylor almost smiled. So, even the con-man was a little bit afraid of him. Good. It would keep him on his toes. He wished he had been able to bring his whip. Cracking it over the air might have been the thing to do.

  “Not at all,” he said benignly. “But I do want you to stay on the assignment. It won’t do any good to have suspicions aroused if you don’t show up tomorrow.”

  “Right. Got you. Oh, and Boss, a hot little number dropped by this afternoon. Said she was a friend of Sara’s, but the look she gave her was anything but friendly. The girl’s name is Morgan. We might be able to use her.”

  “Good work.” Baylor hung up the phone, poured a neat Bourbon. Perhaps he’d get to know this Morgan better.

  * * * *

  Sara made a sandwich later that afternoon and curled up on the sofa with the copies of the manuscript spread in front of her, but she found she couldn’t concentrate on the verses or where a good place would be to start looking. A tawny-haired Scotsman with amber eyes kept intruding on her thoughts.

  Could Michael have been right? After all, Lucas had followed her back to the States on the same airplane. But then, he’d admitted he done that. How had he appeared out of nowhere at the auction? Could he really have an ulterior motive? What proof did she have that he was as altruistic as he said? What if HE were the one who wanted to yield the power for evil?

  And what about Alan Caldwell? It seemed awfully suspicious to her that he would show up right after the manuscript had been purchased. But truthfully, he had not mentioned the document at all or even shown any sign that he knew it existed. And his credentials as a free-lancer writer had checked out. Maybe she just mistrusted him because he was one of those good-looking jocks who looked smirky when they smiled at women. She’d had quite her fill of handsome men who thought they were superior. The last cad had even managed to look affronted that she was upset to find out he had a wife. “But you like my body,” he’d said. “We make beautiful music together.”

  Sara gathered the papers together and stuffed them back into her backpack and then stretched out on the couch. She did some deep breathing and tried to meditate, but always, Lucas hovered in her sub-conscious. Even now, it seemed as though he were in the room with her.

  He settled beside her on the sofa, his thigh pressing against her hip as he bent over her, one hand lightly cupping her face while the fingers of the other slowly stroked downward from her shoulder to her breast, flicking the nipple lightly. It hardened immediately and Sara instinctively thrust her chest out, letting the silk of her blouse draw tight against the other one, creating friction that fueled her need.

  Lucas laughed softly and mouthed the bud gently through the material, the heat of his breath spreading flames deep into her belly.

  Sara groaned and then his mouth was on hers, claiming her in a way that was neither soft nor gentle. He slanted his lips across hers, hot and demanding as his tongue plundered her mouth, thrusting deeper as his body pressed against her, his erection prodding her...

  With a gasp, her eyes flew open. By the Goddess, what was he doing to her? How could her body want him so badly—had she not learned her lesson about charming men?—when she didn’t even know if she could trust him? Talk about sleeping with the enemy…

  “I must have been more tired that I thought,” she muttered as she got up to turn on a lamp. Outside, the sun had set, leaving streaks of pink and violet and burnt gold—the color of Lucas’ hair, her mind mischievously reminded her—across the western sky. In the di
stance she could hear coyotes singing. Or at least, she had always thought of it as song. She was probably one of a few native Texans who liked coyotes.

  Sara took the papers back out and moved closer to the lamp. They had already established the spear’s element was air and the quarter for it was east, which was backed up by “the dawn’s gate” thing. But roses climbing to heaven? Did the writer mean on a trellis? Or along a wall?

  A wolf howled suddenly, so close and clear that Sara jumped, scattering papers across the floor. It sounded like it was at the front door, certainly not further than the yard. She glanced uneasily at the open windows. Wolves normally avoided humans and she’d never heard of one attacking a building… Still, it might be good to close the windows. She moved toward the one near the front door. Twilight lingered, maybe she could get a look at the area.

  She wasn’t prepared for the crash as the animal leaped through the fluttering curtains near the kitchen. Its fangs were bared, its ears flat and its eyes feral. It stopped and shook itself and then sighted her. With a low menacing growl it began to stalk toward her.

  For a split second, Sara stood paralyzed, thinking oddly that this must be how a deer felt caught in the headlights. Then instinct took over. Her hand felt for the knob of the door. Goddess, don’t make me have to take a step… Wildly, she tried to remember…was she supposed to stare the animal down or was she supposed to avoid challenging him? It didn’t really matter. With the wolf’s lip curled, those deadly fangs were exposed. She found she couldn’t look away.

  She groped frantically. The animal was circling now, closing in. How many seconds did she have before he’d make that final leap?

  Her hand struck metal. She hardly allowed herself a breath of relief as she turned the knob and swung the door open. The wolf’s head snapped up, scenting the air, momentarily distracted from its prey.

  Sara took advantage of the moment and ran out the door, pulling it shut behind her as the wolf’s heavy body landed solidly against it. She heard its howl of rage and sprinted toward her car, praying she had left it unlocked. She could hear the wolf scratching at the wood as it pulled itself up toward the kitchen window. Her hand trembled as she reached the car and gave the handle a yank. It didn’t budge.