Immortal Sacrifice: #4 The Curse of the Templars (29 page)

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

I
sabelle 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!”

“Nay.”

At his firm refusal, Isabelle bucked. Her leg slipped free of his, connected with his groin, and jammed his testicles into his body. Stars blistered behind his eyes. Reflexively, his fingers clamped more tightly around her wrists. An oath hissed through his teeth.

Isabelle went utterly still.

Mayhap ’twas some act of divine intervention, Caradoc could not be certain—and if ’twas some deliberate doing of the archangels, he would strangle Mikhail the next time they spoke—but whatever the cause, his inability to do naught more than gasp for air ceased their physical fight.

“I’m sorry,” Isabelle whispered.
“I didn’t mean—”

He dropped his head to her shoulder, grateful for the momentary respite from her struggles.
Teeth clamped, he fought the sudden violent need to vomit and swallowed down the bitter taste of bile. He was going to die. Mayhap he had. Nay, he lived, his heart still beat… God’s teeth, he ached
everywhere
.

Useless now, unable to tolerate even the slightest scrape against his skin, he rolled off Isabelle, onto his back, and stared at the ceiling.
He suspected guilt kept her from leaping from the bed, and he was more than willing to let her tread through its heavy weight whilst he struggled to form rational thought.

He wet his lips, swallowed, gingerly drew in a breath.
He had suffered critical blows, but he could not recall the last time he had endured such a felling strike. Words came, drifted away into the oblivion his mind had become.

Gradually, the throbbing in his veins subsided to a tolerable level and breathing became easier.
He closed his eyes, inhaled deep, and reached for his center. At the same time, Isabelle sat up.

“I’m sorry.”

Caradoc answered with a jerky nod. “I know,” he answered hoarsely. It required great fortitude to slide his hand to hers and grasp her fingers, but he forced himself to hold onto her before she took advantage of his weakness and fled. “This is…the only way…to stop Azazel.”

He felt her stiffen, but he could not yet manage to turn his head.
He swallowed again, wetting his dry throat. “If he holds the tears, he can activate the Spear of Destiny. All he will need then is the Crown of Thorns to claim the Almighty’s throne.”

“I don’t care about all that,” she answered in a meek, quiet, voice.

How could she not? He struggled with the concept. Not once had he ever considered that Isabelle could be so selfish. That she would welcome evil for a simple coin. He tightened his grip on her fingers and forced himself to turn his head to look at her. “You will, Isa. When demons rule the earth and kill those you love, you will care. Paul Reid will have to live without the necklace.”

* * *

For several heavy heartbeats, Isabelle could only stare at him, crushed beneath the weight of reality. Azazel…bent on claiming power. Archangels that could do nothing, despite their legendary power. It all sounded so ridiculous. And yet, all she had to do was look at Caradoc to know he was telling the truth. His gaze begged her to understand. To accept all the incredible things he revealed, along with her place in the scheme. He’d been correct the night before, hadn’t just made a veiled suggestion she was an angel for the sake of argument. He knew. Angel or not, she was being called to a higher duty.

And yet…how could she allow Caradoc to win the necklace?
How could she willingly forfeit her daughter’s life? She already knew she was being watched. If she backed down in the bidding at all, Paul wouldn’t hesitate to retaliate. Before she could even explain to Paul—let alone attempt to convince him
why—
September would be dead.

What kind of mother sentenced her child to death?

Mankind be damned, she couldn’t do that.

Tears pooled in her eyes.
The racket in her head made it impossible to hear what Caradoc was saying. Something about shrouds and seraphs, his duty…She pressed her fingertips to her temple to drown out the noise. She didn’t care. Couldn’t shoulder this kind of burden. The only thing that mattered was saving September.

“Sweet, Isabelle,” Caradoc murmured.
Grimacing, he eased himself upright. “Please try to understand I do not seek to stand in your way. You have clients you have made promises to—I accept that. But this is larger than you could have conceived. More important.”

Clients?
Damn it, she didn’t give a damn if she ever worked again. She just wanted September home. Safe. Away from that bastard.

She opened her mouth to explain, but the words lodged in her throat, blocked by a lump she couldn’t swallow down.
The tears that had gathered in her eyes streamed down her cheeks. Trying again, she managed, “It’s not…about money.”

Caradoc’s warm palm caressed her back.
“Then what, Isa? Tell me so I might understand why this necklace is so important to you. Tell me why you would sacrifice millions to appease one man.”

Tell him, when he couldn’t comprehend the deep-rooted need to protect that parents felt.
Hell, he couldn’t even accept September was his. He’d probably tell her one life was expendable. That September was some divine sacrifice. It sounded nice, but as far as Isabelle was concerned, it was nothing more than a load of crap.

Still, what choice did she have?

The faint glimmer of hope that Caradoc might find a bit of compassion and let her win the auction gave her the courage to lift her head. In his inquisitive stare, she found concern, not the hard light of righteousness she’d expected. That gentle light, tenderness that begged her to explain, only made her cry harder. Around a rising sob, she choked out, “He’s got my daughter.”