Immortal Hope (15 page)

He had a point. But that sounded a bit fantastic. Azazel was just a fallen angel, according to doctrine. A demon. Not a being capable of claiming supreme power.

“’Tis so much to tell you, Anne. I shall try to simplify. Bear with me.”

“Of course.” Anything to make sense of this. To understand how it tied into the Church’s desire to sabotage the Order—if it even did. If it didn’t relate, all her father’s research, and her thesis, would be blown to bits.

“I, along with my men, was punished for digging where it was forbidden, for unearthing the sacred writings, for they revealed truths the archangels sought to keep from men. For that knowledge, we were punished with immortality.” Hesitating, his eyes searched her face.

Anne gazed at him, seeing the pain within his dark eyes. Though he told his story simply, he had suffered. Greatly.

The same compassion his scar had aroused surged through her veins. Instinctively, she reached a hand between them and set it on his thigh. He had been through so much. So many years of fighting, of watching those he knew die. How he managed to drag himself out of bed without surrendering to the heartache that touched his eyes, she couldn’t imagine. But he had, and that inner strength did something she couldn’t explain to her heart. Made it topsy-turvy, nudged it open more than she’d like.

His larger hand covered hers. Strong fingers squeezed as he took a deep breath. “The nytym you witnessed. Those, and others, we must fight. This is my curse, to guard the gates of hell and keep Azazel’s minions from mankind. Your house—our adytum—offers sanctuary for those who battle far from this temple. I had come from such a battle the other night.”

His gaze shifted to the bookshelf, and he studied it with sudden interest. His throat worked as he swallowed, and she observed him stiffen ever so slightly. There was something he wasn’t telling her. Something he skimmed over.

She didn’t press for more. In time, she’d learn the secrets he was reluctant to share. The information he’d given was enough to make her wait for however long that took. Not to mention, she didn’t care to consider the implication of what his story did to her thesis. To her career. What he referenced made everything she understood about history into virtual fiction. This was life changing, and she couldn’t process it all at once.

“Abigail Montfort guarded the adytum and the sacred crucifixion nail within, until her death. ’Twas the same with Maggie. Gabriel saved both women from a time when witches were burned and he used their knowledge of spirits to guard certain relics the Templar have sworn to protect.”

“Relics? You mean like holy relics?” Here it was, the information she’d been waiting for. Possibly, as legend suggested, they harbored the Holy Grail or the ark of the covenant. Those two items alone would be enough to threaten the Church.

“Aye.”

Oh this was too good to be true! Unable to disguise her excitement from her voice, she asked, “The shroud of Turin? The Holy Grail? The holy chalice? Do you really guard their hiding places?”

His gaze jerked back to her, his frown firmly intact. “Anne. I told you we guard the gates of hell and keep Azazel’s minions from mankind.”

“But you also said you protected relics.”

“Protect, not guard. ’Tis the archangels who do the hiding. As for the three you mentioned, one does not exist. ’Twas created as a great fable to distract certain people who came too close to the truth.”

She knew she must look like a gaping monkey, but she couldn’t help herself. She’d spent too many years tracing dead-end trails. If they’d created a false relic, that would certainly spur the Church’s fury, particularly if those clergy members who backed them discovered the duplicity and faced humiliation at the possible discovery. “Which one?”

“I shall allow your intended to tell you that secret…” He trailed away, looking out the window.

She resisted the overwhelming urge to cry out in frustration. He couldn’t just leave her hanging. Yet if she let him see her desperation, he might get suspicious and draw this out even longer. Hell, he might refuse to tell her anything.

With a heavy exhale, Merrick continued, “All you must know now is that Azazel desires eight relics. Each one he claims gives him power that shall, if they are all acquired, allow him to ascend to the Almighty’s throne. He has obtained the sacred nail used in Christ’s crucifixion that was ensconced in your house’s walls, and now he possesses the one in Maggie’s. He will try for the third. Soon.”

“Which is where I come in?”

“Aye. You possess the ability to stop him from overtaking the Almighty.”

She tried to swallow, but the lump of foreboding that lodged in her throat made the task difficult. Visions of spirits long ago, she could handle. Hell, in some of them she’d seen some horrible things. But she was certainly not equipped to stop a regular demon, much less one powerful enough to overthrow the Almighty. She shuddered. “How is this even possible?”

“Enough tonight. ’Tis plenty for you to consider.” Merrick’s gloominess evaporated. He slipped his hand around her upper arm, and through the fabric of her shirt, he fingered the armband. “Gabriel told you naught?”

The heat in his touch made her want to squirm. His gentle hold, the stroke of his thumb, so casual, yet so intimate. In less time than it took to draw a breath, she was thrown right back to when he’d decided McDonald’s was a better option, when she’d kissed him like she might never kiss another man again. She quickly averted her gaze before the intensity in his eyes made her give in to the urge to touch her lips to his, to discover whether the same all-consuming pleasure could occur twice. With a nervous laugh, she answered, “Not a word. Just that he’d picked two up, one for me and one for—” She stopped, aware she’d said too much. She hadn’t intended to involve Sophie until she’d learned all she could.

“For who?” His gaze hardened. When she hesitated, those onyx eyes glittered like glass. His fingers tightened around her arm. “Who, Anne?”

Oh damn. She bit back a disgruntled mutter and let her shoulders sag. “My sister.”

Where she’d hoped his expression might relax, it took on more intensity. His mouth pressed into a firm line. For two heartbeats, he remained silent, and then he turned her loose with a contemptuous snort. “’Tis no wonder you stared at Caradoc thus. She bears his mark. You sought to keep this from me.”

“No!” The exclamation tumbled off her lips with vehemence. “Sophie doesn’t have tattoos.”

“You heard Mikhail—the mark may be any kind, not just ink put into skin. ’Tis anything that is unique, significant, not a mere scratch or freckle.”

She shook her head violently. “Caradoc showed us the griffin as his mark.”

He stared at her, his gaze shifting with suspicion, accusation, and doubt. “If you withhold the truth from me, damsel, Mikhail shall have to cut me down to stop my leaving. I shall withdraw my oath of loyalty to you, no matter the cost.”

A sliver of fear needled its way down her spine and froze her heart. She’d already lied and couldn’t afford to lose the one person possibly willing to help her. “Um.” She shifted position and set her sack of food on the coffee table. Leaning back, she opted to talk about her sister. “Sophie’s a former model. She’d never get a tattoo. And you’ll certainly never get her out of California.”

“Her choice is not her own. You shall contact her tomorrow.”

Seraph, light, salvation—whatever these damn armbands meant, she would not sit back and watch Merrick throw himself at Sophie like every other guy did when they realized the other twin was better. Let Farran have her. He’d have an outlet for his anger at least. For if anyone could manage to really piss off these knights, it was her sister. They wouldn’t know what to do with a prima donna.

Shocked by the fierce jealousy that rushed through her veins at the thought of Merrick with Sophie, Anne struggled to maintain her cool. “I think Gabe can handle when she’s supposed to be here, just fine.” Deftly, she changed the subject. “I need a radio—I can’t sleep without music. And I need a change of clothes. Underwear. My toothbrush too. My fuzzy socks.” Since she’d decided to stay the week out, and Gabe had given her all her research materials, she might as well be comfortable.

Merrick’s shoulders shook with his soft chuckle. “Fuzzy socks?”

She sighed in exaggerated pleasure. “Oh, they’re the best. It’s chilly in here. They’ll keep my toes warm. Will you take me back to my house so I can get some things?”

He lifted one dark eyebrow. “You have decided to accept your fate and stay?”

That was a little more complicated. She couldn’t accept that her life could be decided by a prophecy, by fate.

Hesitantly, Anne nodded. “I have Thanksgiving break I can spend here.” Reaching to her right, she plucked a folded piece of paper off the end table and offered it to Merrick. “I need to get this to Dr. Knowles, the head of the History Department at Benedictine, so he doesn’t worry. I’m expecting him and his wife for dinner tomorrow night.”

“Nay.”

Firm, succinct, he left no room for argument. She gritted her teeth together.

“’Tis not safe for your return. Not until your intended is found. I shall retrieve the things you wish tomorrow night, and I shall speak to Mikhail about seeing your letter delivered.” He took the note and shifted position so he could shove it into his back pocket.

The air fled her lungs with a
whoosh
. Anne stared, certain she’d heard him wrong. But the longer she held his gaze, the brighter his eyes shone. He’d offered, and he didn’t look a bit put off by having to make an hour-long drive just for her belongings.

Overjoyed, Anne gave in to impulse. She let out a squeal and flung her arms around his neck in a fierce hug. Two days ago, no one could have told her she’d find the prospect of clean underwear so exciting. Now, the simple necessity felt as if Merrick had offered her the world.

His arms came around her hesitantly. But as the stiffness in his posture gave way with his sigh, he held her close. So close, she could feel the beat of his heart against her breast. As one hand rubbed the small of her back, Anne breathed in the spice of his cologne and settled her cheek on his shoulder.

The angled planes of his face, the sharp line of his jaw, fascinated her. Power lurked there, strong lines that spoke of hardship she’d never known and triumph she could only imagine. This man, this
knight,
killed without hesitation. And yet there was a gentleness beneath the surface, one he showed only when he thought she wouldn’t notice. Like now. The way he closed his eyes. The way he nudged aside a stray strand of her hair with his cheek and slid his hand up her spine, as if he too enjoyed the stolen moment of comfort.

The way he had revealed a moment of hesitation when he feathered his lips across hers.

She pulled away to study him more closely. Dusky lashes lifted. Confusion passed across his gaze before it morphed into complete stillness. A spattering of freckles lined the tops of his cheeks, so light and faint she’d have never noticed them if she weren’t mere inches away. Creases around the corners of his eyes said this man had laughed once, and often. So unlike the rare occasion he let her see his humor.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, and Anne’s heart thumped hard. Her thoughts slammed together, her pulse leapt to life. Would he kiss her again? Did she dare kiss him? God above, she wanted to. But a tiny portion of her mind ordered her to wait. He’d been the one who’d run. He should be the one to make the move a second time. She licked her lips and swallowed, suddenly hot in the chilly room.

Merrick’s eyes lifted to lock with hers. In those dark depths, desire glowed like hot coals. And just as coals would burn, his gaze seared beneath her skin to warm her blood. To hell with the voice of reason—what could kissing him hurt? He’d already expressed his interest earlier. She’d gone so long without a man’s touch that she deserved a little self-indulgence. She was a grown woman, able to take a lover as she wished, and he was hers, after all.
For a little while at least.

It didn’t matter if he knew her tattoo matched his or not. She could keep hers hidden between the combination of darkness and her socks.

Yes—a grown woman. She wanted this. Wanted him. She leaned in and feathered her mouth across his.

CHAPTER
10

Merrick did not dare move. He was too afraid to find himself dreaming and too afraid good sense would crash upon him. Anne’s breath mingled with his, her seeking touch laden with unspoken questions. Questions he could not begin to answer.

She suckled at his lower lip, and something deep inside his gut ground down so tight he ached. The heat of her tongue, as she trailed the tip of it along the seam of his mouth, warmed his blood. He parted his lips, touched his tongue to hers. A jolt of fire shot through him, and he could not silence a gasp. Though he had already experienced the headiness of her mouth, it affected him with equal power, if not more, the second time.

Releasing her arm, he slid his hand up her shoulder, spread his fingers along the side of her neck. He did not know who moved first, who changed the angle of their body, but as he released a shuddering exhale, the kiss deepened. Her tongue tangled with his, slowly, leisurely. Her sweet flavor soaked into his awareness, erasing all sense of time and place. Aye, indeed she tasted of honey, and something far richer, a heady flavor he could not describe but left him craving more. Unbearably feminine.

He twined his free hand into her hair, becoming lost in the kiss. It intensified, took on more demand, and Merrick’s body responded with frightening ferocity. His cock swelled. His heart thundered against his ribs. The hollow ache in his gut became intolerable. On a low groan, he dragged Anne into his lap, desperate for the feel of her softness.

She straddled his thighs, settled herself atop him with such perfection he nearly spilled himself right there. He sucked several sharp breaths through his nose and fought the rush of ecstasy back. As he trailed light kisses across her cheek, he tugged on her hair, tilting her head to expose her throat. He traced the throbbing vein there with the tip of his tongue and dropped his hand to her breast. Her fullness filled his palm, her nipple puckered beneath the pad of his thumb.