Michael was watching her with the intensity he only showed during rituals. Then she felt him nudge at her mind. She brought her shield up. Too late.
His head jerked back in surprise. “You suspect me?”
“I don’t know. I’m so confused,” Sara answered. “You accuse Lucas of wanting sole power, he accuses you of being controlled by Baylor—“
Michael took her hand. “The third eye,” he said as he pressed her fingers to his forehead. “I’m open. Enter and see for yourself who controls me.”
Sara closed her eyes and concentrated, her senses slowly fading until there was only intuitive sight. Michael’s aura was pale gold, edged in white. No traces of darkness there nor did she detect anything ominous surrounding him. His thought forms flowed smoothly in swirls of blue and green, intermingled with light corals. One bright orange form suddenly flared up and was quickly extinguished, but she recognized it as the lustful thought it was. Definitely Michael’s, and not interference from another source. She went deeper. Underneath the thought forms, in the very essence of his mind, no angry browns or burgundies lurked, only the steady pulsating of the blood-red Kundalini. His own spirit.
She broke the contact. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” he said, “I wanted you to be sure.” He gathered the plates and took them to the sink. “You did catch the one that was definitely me?”
Sara packed up the containers to avoid the sensual look he was sending her, the heat of which would have nearly any other woman unbuttoning her blouse.
“You’re still sleeping on the couch,” she said.
* * * *
Lucas parked his rental beside Sara’s Mustang the next morning and checked to make sure the shield was fully covered in the backseat. He had meant to give it to her yesterday, but her friend, Morgan, had shown up unexpectedly and Sara had left to attend to some business.
The woman was supposed to be part of the Circle, but he didn’t trust her. He knew her type. She had a cold, calculating beauty that used men to her own ends. Even as she brazenly flirted with an obviously besotted Caldwell—he should give her credit for that, he supposed, since it took the guy’s mind off Sara—she continued to give him hot, heated looks while licking her lips and then pouting when he pretended to misunderstand. With the long red hair and alabaster skin, she reminded him of Arthur’s sister. And that was one witch everyone gave a wide berth.
Lucas knocked on Sara’s apartment door. He’d have brought the shield over last night, but Smith had kept him and Caldwell bent over some medieval artifacts that he’d brought up from the vault until well past midnight. By then, it was too late to go to her. He didn’t want her panicking and shooting through the door. But he had sat in his car across the street and watched the apartment the rest of the night just in case. Then he’d gone back to Smith’s for a quick shower and shave.
“Good morning, lass,” he said as she opened the door.
“Lucas! What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he answered. “Mind if I come in?”
She seemed to hesitate and be uneasy, but then she stepped aside and swung the door wider. “Sure.”
He felt her body heat as he brushed past her and stepped inside. The soft scent of roses seemed to float from her hair and he wanted to fist his hands through the silky strands and tilt her head back to give him access to her full mouth.
“I’m about to put some pop-tarts in the toaster,” she said. “Care for one?”
“No thanks. Coffee, though, if you have it.” He followed her back to the kitchen, fascinated with the way the silk kimono slid across her tight bottom as her hips swayed. If he could only trust the beast not to rear its head and use its fangs, he’d reach around and pull the delicate sash that held the thing together. He’d bet a Roman coin that she was naked beneath it. Just the thought of cupping her breasts and pressing her back against him made him hard instantly.
“You’re out of toothpaste,” Michael said as he came through the doorway and then stopped.
Lucas turned. The warlock was wearing jeans and no shirt or shoes. The guy had no fat on him and a lot more muscle than was obvious when he wore loose shirts. Suddenly the idea of Sara’s being nude under the robe lost its appeal.
Michael met his look levelly and then allowed the corner of his mouth to quirk up as he moved past Lucas and pushed the handle up on the smoking toaster.
“Burning pop-tarts takes your cooking expertise to a whole new level,” he said teasingly to Sara as he dumped them and put in two fresh ones.
She appeared not to hear him as she stared at Lucas. Her hand was shaky as she held out the coffee cup. “Let’s sit down.”
Lucas remained standing. He wanted nothing more than to feel the satisfying jolt of his fist making contact with the warlock’s handsome face and wiping that smirk off of it. Bel’s Fires! While he had been sitting in a car all night with his legs cramped, the man had probably been buried deep inside Sara, holding her warm flesh next to him. He balled his fists as the wolf growled menacingly and then forced himself to stay in control. The bottom line was that Sara had made her choice and it hadn’t been him.
“I don’t think I’ll be staying for coffee,” he said and walked away.
It took every ounce of his tremendous will power not to slam the door hard enough to shake if off its hinges.
* * * *
For the thousandth time, Sara stole a glance at Lucas from beneath her lashes. They were in the library, him working on the computer while she wrote notes searching for more clues of the spear in the verses.
He hadn’t shown up until after lunch and when he did, he had been coldly polite. Even now his sensual mouth was set in a grim, determined line as he Googled more research.
Sara put her notepad down. She had been doing nothing but doodles on it for the past hour. “We need to talk.”
“Nothing to talk about,” Lucas said and kept working.
She took a deep breath and forced her rising temper under control. “What you saw…what happened—“
He looked up, his eyes burning gold. “I really don’t want to hear about what you do with overnight male guests.” He turned back to the screen as Mr. Smith walked in.
“You have a phone call, Sara.”
She gave Lucas one more look, but he ignored her. Fine, then. She went into the adjacent room and picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“It’s me,” Michael said.
Right now, he was the last person she wanted to hear from. He hadn’t been any help at all this morning. The least he could have done is explain that he’d slept on the couch instead of letting Lucas draw his own conclusions. But no, he had to enjoy his own little ego thing. Men.
“Just wanted to tell you that Morgan called,” he said, obviously not at all concerned that she hadn’t answered him. “She says she needs to see me.”
“No doubt,” Sara said sarcastically. “Why don’t you spend the night at her place? I’m sure she won’t mind.”
“Ouch,” he said mildly. “You still mad?”
“Why should I be mad?” Sara asked. “Lucas refuses to talk to me and we do have a project that we’re supposed to be working on.”
“Okay, I get the picture,” Michael answered. “Here’s your chance to make it up to the guy. I can’t be at your place until I find out what Morgan wants—“
“You know what she wants,” Sara interrupted. “Have fun.”
“Come on, Sweetheart, don’t be like that. Just ask Ramsey to take you home and be sure the apartment is secured. I don’t much like the guy, but you obviously do.”
“Don’t start,” Sara said. It irritated her that her feelings were so open. Dear Goddess, did Lucas know how attracted she was to him? Was that why he was acting like he was? A little male dominant control???
“What I meant,” Michael said in a voice of an adult reasoning with a stubborn child, “was that his honor will win out over his pride. He’ll escort you h
ome. You’re on your own from there. If I see his car, I won’t stop.”
“I’ll think about it,” Sara said and hung up.
There was no way she was going to beg Lucas Ramsey to help her. If he couldn’t be mature enough to at least listen to her explanation, then she could ignore him too.
* * * *
An hour later, when Sara pulled up to her apartment, a wave of uneasiness washed over her. She didn’t want to admit it, but it had been comforting to find Michael waiting last night.
She looked around the parking lot. One of her neighbors was leaving and waved. She didn’t see anyone else. No one sitting in a car either. A new Yukon SUV was parked several doors down in front of the apartment that had been empty. Maybe new people had moved in.
A sense of wariness came over her as she put the key in the lock. She pushed the apprehension aside. It was silly to be afraid to come home to a solidly locked apartment while it was still light outside. She turned the key, opened the door and stepped inside.
She saw a fragile glimmer of light pulsating near the ficus by the window. Nim! Usually the faerie greeted her at the door with an impish grin. She hurried over to where the transparent figure clung to the bark of the tree. Her wings drooped and her essence seemed to be fading in and out. For her to have spent so much energy meant either some psychic force had drained her or that she had exhausted herself with the small fanged Scorpion bites she could give.
“Nim, what happened?”
But before the faerie could complete a weak “danger!”, a burly arm wrapped around Sara’s throat, nearly choking her.
The last thing she saw, as a foul-smelling cloth was pressed over her nose, was the faerie attempting one last Scorpion bite to no avail.
Chapter Ten
Lucas cursed as he forced himself to focus on the computer’s screen in Smith’s study. It was after ten o’clock in the morning and Sara still hadn’t surfaced. Visions of her having a lazy morning in bed with the warlock blurred the website in front of him.
He had been a fool. And, he had to admit grudgingly, his pride hurt, too. No woman had rejected him in centuries. In any instance, he didn’t let himself get emotionally attached to one and made sure any woman he took to his bed understood that. It was too dangerous for the woman, since the beast became unleashed when Lucas wasn’t totally in control of his emotions. Besides which, watching a mortal woman age and die while he remained young was too painful. Memories of Gwenhwyfar growing old in the convent still plagued him.
But the fool in him had begun to care for Sara. He wanted to protect her and strangely enough, even the wolf had responded without aggression toward her the night Balor had sent in the other animal.
Mr. Smith interrupted his wretched thinking and for once, Lucas was glad.
“Any headway on where to search?” he asked as he sank into an overstuffed chair.
Lucas shuffled some papers. “Not sure.” He picked one up. “There are some interesting theories out there.”
“Oh?” Mr. Smith asked and folded his hands, a sure sign he was prepared to stay.
“Well, as you know from the Grail legends, the spear is often referred to as the one which the Roman soldier, Longinus, used to pierce the side of Jesus at the crucifixion. According to this, that spear was sighted not that long ago.”
Mr. Smith leaned forward happily. “Go on.”
“They’re calling it the Imperial Spear in this article,” Lucas said as he scanned it. “Just before World War II, Hitler found it in the Hofburg Museum in Vienna.”
Mr. Smith’s eyes grew round. “My God. Is that what made him so powerful?”
“It’s a chilling thought, isn’t it?” Lucas replied. “The spear’s power can be used for good or evil, depending on who yields it.” If Balor gets a hold of it, he will make the Holocaust look like fraternity prank.
“But Hitler lost the war.”
Lucas nodded. “With all the bombing going on and moving from underground bunkers, there must have come a time when he lost the spear and the war turned.” He glanced at his notes again. “Supposedly, American soldiers unearthed it digging through rubble at Nuremberg Castle. General Patton saw it.”
“That would explain the turning point in the war,” Mr. Smith said softly. “What happened to it?”
“No one knows. That’s where the story ends.” Lucas frowned and picked up the sheet with the verse on it. “If it actually was the Hallows spear, then searching for buildings or sites three hundred years old wouldn’t make sense. The manuscript would have had to been written much more recently.”
His host looked worried. “You’re saying the paper is a fake?”
“I don’t know. The cylinder that held the manuscript was from the 16th century as were the other artifacts. The medieval Gaelic was authentic. It’s possible, I suppose, for a present day scholar to have written it.” Or a general who believed in reincarnation and was well-versed in the classics. Had Patton been a Templar in another life? Lucas couldn’t remember meeting him, but he did remember suddenly that the trees surrounding the dig had been smaller than others nearby. If someone had buried the manuscript there fifty years ago…
“Oh, dear.” Mr. Smith wrung his hands. “That means that none of the Hallows are probably here in the United States. I had so wanted to find the Holy Grail.”
“Not necessarily,” Lucas said. “The spear has a way of resurfacing on its own.” He couldn’t very well tell his host that was because the spear, of all the Hallows, had been fashioned from a branch of the Tree of Life by himself when he had still been Lugh.
“I still think the Sinclairs, as Guardians, removed the relics to a safer place during the Scottish Inquisition. If the pit at Oak Island were built as a decoy, no one would think to travel on to America. My guess is that the Spear might have been found somehow and when the right person recognized it, he or she buried it and left the note in medieval script to make it look authentic.”
His host stared at him. “But who in the last half-century would have knowledge of such a thing?”
Besides Balor and me? “The Sinclair family has heirs,” Lucas answered, “and the Templars are still around, although many of the traditions have been lost. Then there’s the Prieuré de Sion.”
Mr. Smith looked startled. “Like in The Da Vinci Code? They’re real?”
“They’re real,” Lucas answered and wondered again if Patton had been a member. “And that inner circle would have enough esoteric knowledge to recognize a Hallow. They’d also have the expertise to produce the manuscript and leave an encrypted message.” He remembered now that the anonymous message left at the museum in Glasgow, alerting them to the location of the dig, had been written in very formal English reminiscent of the late Renaissance period. It should have been a clue.
Benton knocked on the open door and both men looked up.
“Excuse me, Sir,” the butler said, “but there’s a young man on the phone inquiring about Miss Kincaid. When I told him she was not here, he asked to speak to Mr. Ramsey.”
Lucas picked up the phone on the desk. “Hello?”
“Michael here,” the warlock said without preamble. “Where’s Sara?”
The back of Lucas’ neck began to bristle. “I thought she was with you.”
There was a short silence. “I talked to her yesterday afternoon. I was running late and told her to ask you to take her home.”
The guy was cocky, Lucas thought. So sure of himself that Sara might not be tempted? What was I supposed to do? Wait until he got there and then leave? Still, Sara didn’t say anything. Then he remembered he hadn’t exactly been civil yesterday. A pang of guilt shot through him. He hadn’t even given her the shield he’d brought back.
“She didn’t say anything,” he said and endured another pause on the other end.
“So you two had an argument?” Michael asked.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Lucas answered.
“Right. But I guess she didn’
t tell you then.”
“Tell me what?” His wolf was beginning to pace restlessly.
“Nothing happened, man. Not that I would have minded, but I slept on the sofa.”
The guilt twisted in Lucas’ gut like a sharp knife. She had tried to tell him, but his wounded ego hadn’t let him listen. Now she appeared to be missing. He could already feel the wolf trying to break out.
“Did you go over there?” he asked and willed the wolf back down.
“Yeah. I drove by last night, but the place was dark and her car was there, so I figured you had taken her somewhere, maybe to eat. Then this morning, I called and there was no answer, so I drove over. The place was locked up. I just got back.”
Every nerve ending was screaming for the beast to be released. Lucas sensed danger and its name was Balor. There had been no forced entry the other night either. How could he have been so stupid to let damn male pride get in the way of protecting her? Centuries of Templar discipline and he’d let jealousy overcome him. No more. He and the warlock would have to work together if they were to find Sara.
“We have a problem,” he all but growled. “Get over here.” He could have sworn the rumble that preceded Michael’s voice sounded like a panther.
“On my way,” he said.
* * * *
Sara sat huddled on the floor of her own cabin on the La Ranchita in Palo Pinto County. Somehow the thugs who had kidnapped her knew of this place. She tugged at the ropes binding her wrists and then winced as the bonds bit deeper. Her ankles weren’t in much better shape and she wiggled her toes to keep her feet from getting numb. At least they’d taken the gag out of her mouth.
She studied her captors as she leaned against the wall near the sofa. They were sitting at the table throwing dice that one of them had brought. They looked like brothers, one in his early twenties, the other about her age. They both wore jeans and T-shirts. A white slash on the lower arm of the older one carved through an intricately scrolled tattoo. Probably an old stabbing wound. The younger man’s nose was crooked and flattened on one side. Both of them wore backward baseball caps over somewhat stringy brown hair. Street fighters.
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