Immortal Hope (20 page)

Mikhail spun on him, his features chiseled with fury. “And what of our men? What of Merrick who is the last of the original nine? What of the five who follow him? I am losing them, Raphael.”

“You think I do not suffer the same concerns?” Raphael shot to his feet. His palm slapped the top of Mikhail’s desk, the force strong enough to make Anne cringe. “My men are only marginally stronger than yours. Take Gareth—he has watched four brothers turn into unholy things. I am forced to offer you reinforcements, yet I pray each night he fights that he returns. Do you think I do not wish I had the answers for him?”

Mikhail shook his head and his shoulders slumped. “Nay. I know you do. But what of Anne? Can we not press her to disclose her mark? She defies Merrick.”

Anne’s heart lodged in her throat at the possibility. It was her mark, her tattoo, her body. She alone had control over who saw it. Mikhail’s logic bordered too much along the lines of Merrick’s attitude for her comfort.

She flattened her back to the wall, knowing she ought to leave. If two archangels found her eavesdropping, nothing good could come of it. Whatever punishment Merrick felt obliged to execute for the simple act of leaving his room would certainly be doubled. Except, her feet refused to move.

“You cannot force the maid to do anything, Mikhail. ’Tis not our way. She was given the freedom of choice. We must rely on Merrick to convince her.”

A heavy sigh gave Anne pause. She glanced at the crack to find Mikhail in the chair, his head clutched in his hands. “I suppose I should be grateful she has not said a word. Should she identify her mate, I shall have no choice but to send him to defend the final nail.”

“Aye, he must lead the others.”

She turned away, her blood cold. Merrick would lead the men to protect the third nail. She didn’t need to hear how that would end. She’d seen enough of the vision to understand he wouldn’t come home. If her vision wasn’t enough, Mikhail had just proclaimed all who went would die.

Oh dear God.

As her stomach pitched, she fumbled against the wall for support. Her oath meant death. Drawing in deep breaths, she summoned her strength and shook off the wave of dizziness.

The vision haunted her as she made her way down the corridor, retreating to the safety of her rooms. Merrick laid out. Merrick’s strong hands clutching his simple sword. His handsome face, still in death, never again to light with his incredible smile.

No matter how tempting it was to disclose their matching tattoos, no matter that Merrick might give her the answers to her thesis, she couldn’t be the cause of his death. Arrogant jerk or not, he was too special. Too … noble.

Her earlier realization that her visions were the key to someone’s safety rose to argue with her decision to immediately leave. She couldn’t bail on that. Though she’d only been here a short time, she owed it to whoever that person was to discover what her second sight had to share. The noble men here didn’t deserve to suffer.

No, she’d stick to her original plan—play along for the week, learn about the Templars. She’d also make damn sure that Merrick stayed out of battle. Then, if her visions hadn’t returned and told her something useful, she’d put this whole mess behind her. Nothing and no one would make her reveal the snakes on her ankle and doom Merrick to death.

Dazed, she wandered through the temple, completely lost in the deep maze. The doors all looked the same, the walls identical barriers she didn’t have a hope of navigating. Yet as she scoured for the stairs that led upstairs, she stumbled into the alcove she’d wanted originally. Standing less than four foot away, the dark, recessed doorway marked the entrance to the inner sanctum.

It taunted her. As quiet as the halls were, the chances of getting caught were slim. She could sneak down those stairs, look around to her heart’s content, and leave before anyone ever suspected. A quick look would be invaluable for her research. Plus she could drop the plan of seducing Merrick and simply revel in the way he made her feel.

She shook her head. No, she couldn’t. It sounded good, but felt too devious. If something obscure lurked down there, she’d need Merrick’s assistance. Shattering his trust would ruin any chance of that. Seducing him felt sneaky enough, but at least that way he’d
offer
to give her a tour.

Then again, if she found what she needed, she wouldn’t have to spend the full week after all. Merrick couldn’t crawl any further under her skin, couldn’t come anywhere close to her heart, and she’d stop being preoccupied with the well-being of men she barely knew. Her life would return to … normal. Boring, routine, normal. But safe. Absolutely safe.

With a surreptitious peek over her shoulder, she checked the hall. Her pulse jumped in excitement as she found it empty. Scarcely able to breathe, Anne approached the descending stairs and stopped at the top, listening for the sound of footsteps below. Heart jackhammering against her ribs, her palms turned clammy, and she wiped them on her thighs. This was it. Centuries of secrets opened up in welcome.

Hearing nothing, Anne took a deep breath and descended.

Careful to keep her steps light enough that her boots didn’t echo, she climbed down ten, fifteen, maybe twenty stairs, and still they went on, a never-ending path into complete darkness. The air changed the farther she went, assuming a cool, heavy moistness.

“Well, well, what have we here? Merrick leaves the comely maid.”

From behind her, the harsh masculine voice brought her to an immediate halt. She cringed inwardly, scrambled for a likely excuse, and slowly turned around to face certain punishment. Wearing a sneer, a man she didn’t recognize folded brawny arms across his chest and blocked her path. “Ranulf, look what I found.”

Ranulf. Anne stiffened, the name prompting an unwanted memory of the man who’d glowered at her during dinner.

He emerged behind the first. His frosty blue gaze fell to her, full of the same malice it had conveyed before.

She backed up, taking another step into the shadows. Her eyes darted past them, a futile search for a means of escape. But the intimidating pair filled up so much of the stairwell she could hardly see the light beyond. “Ah. I—I got turned around.”

“Did you now?” Ranulf asked with a smirk. “We can show you where you belong, wench.”

“I ah—” Anne stepped down another stair. One more, and she’d turn around and run. Surely there had to be more than one exit out of the inner sanctum. Or maybe so many rooms down there she could get lost in them. “I’ll just be going now. I think I can find my way.”

“I would not be so certain of that.” A deep bass washed over her shoulder, full of dark foreboding.

Whirling around, Anne gasped as a third man, far larger than the others, blocked her only means of escape.

Merrick’s voice rose in her memory.
’Tis not safe for you in these halls.
Why, oh why hadn’t she listened?

With a lift of her shoulders, she swallowed down a shiver and boldly met Ranulf’s jeer. “Let me by.”

“I do not believe so. There are three of us, all wondering if we bear your mark. If anything, you will come with us.” He reached for her, pudgy fingers clamping around her wrist.

Anne jerked on her arm with a soft cry. She dug at his hands. “Let me go.”

A hand settled into her shoulder blades and pushed her forward, forcing her up a stair and closer to Ranulf. Appearing at her side, a fourth giant effectively boxed her in without room to do so much as turn sideways. The anxious beat of her heart turned frantic.

Ranulf spoke again. “Merrick is not here to save his whore. You give him your favors, why should we not take ours?”

“I do no such thing! Let me go!” She drew an arm back and blindly struck out, not caring whom she attacked. Nails raked down the fourth man’s face.

He drew back, his oath a violent hiss that came between splayed fingers. “You bitch!”

“Let me go, or I swear to God I’ll scream my head off.”

For the first time since Merrick stormed into her house, Anne knew fear. It coursed through her veins like big icebergs bent on stilling her heart. She could fight, yes, but it wouldn’t take much to overpower her.

A scrape of steel from the shadows behind her made her heart twist. She flinched, anticipating a prodding prick in her back.

The flash of a blade cut through her vision. Slow, precisely timed, the broadsword descended, coming to a harmless stop on top of the hand that held onto her. “Take your hand away, Ranulf, before I remove it for you.”

Cold and menacing, Anne recognized the voice long before she looked.

His features tight and dark, Farran held the man’s furious stare. Her captor’s jaw worked as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, and his fingers clamped down tighter, his intent to refuse crystal clear. When Farran’s sword didn’t move, the man let out a disgusted snort and flung her arm back at her.

Farran cut through the men, opening a passage for her. The glare he gave her held deadly meaning. “Take your leave. Now.”

Anne didn’t wait to be told twice. She raced up the stairs, down the corridor. The doorways passed in a blur. Her heels pounded out a frantic rhythm against the stone.

Out of nowhere, a hand wound around her waist, knocking the wind out of her as someone dragged her to a halt. Kicking and clawing at her captor, she tried to escape his suffocating hold.

“Still yourself, milady. ’Tis I, Lucan. On my way to collect you for our evening meal.”

Anne collapsed in his arms. Relief coursed through her body, giving way to trembles. She held onto his forearms in search of her faltering courage. Her pride wouldn’t let her show him her gratitude, or how terrified she’d been. No, not Lucan, not any of the knights. Not even Merrick. If she wanted these men’s respect, she couldn’t let them know she felt anything but courage.

As she relaxed, his hold loosened, and her heels touched the floor. Her emotions once again under control, she pushed free of his arm and turned around with a smile. “Thank you, Lucan. I don’t think I’m hungry, though.”

Not after that encounter. The idea of sitting in a room full of strange men, any one of them capable of the dishonorable actions of the four on the stairs, made her stomach churn. She tried for a smile. It faltered as her chin quivered, but she covered the trembling up by hurrying to add, “I would prefer to return to my room.”

Lucan dipped at the waist, a slight gesture but still enough to stir her unease. “Then allow me to escort you, milady.”

It took all Anne’s self-control not to cringe as he reached for her hand. The sugary words, the chivalrous gestures—the guy was really too good to be true. Compared to the churlish Farran, unyielding Merrick, and the handful of crude men she’d just encountered, Lucan was plain odd. But she’d rather have Lucan nearby than those four jerks.

He settled her hand atop the back of his forearm in a courtly gesture and offered her a stiff smile. Anne braced herself for the rush of energy, anticipated the fuzziness in the back of her mind that came with her second sight. When it didn’t come, she furrowed her brow. What was wrong with her gift? For it to fail completely … She gnawed on her lower lip as she fell into step beside Lucan, the oddity entirely unsettling.

They made their way to her chambers in silence. As they set foot on the main level of the house, Anne averted her eyes from the men who turned to stare. A blush crept into her cheeks, Ranulf’s insinuation about her intimacy with Merrick too fresh to dismiss. Even if she was doing something unethical—not to mention dangerous to her heart—by seducing Merrick, she wasn’t a whore, and the fact even one man might think of her that way, left her mortified.

Maybe because she
had
thrown herself at Merrick. Maybe because, in the depths of her heart, she wanted far more than his kisses, or the too-brief touch of his hands. Whatever the case, perception or truth, she felt the sudden need to hide.

How her sister managed to go through life without feeling this kind of humiliation, she’d never understand. Always a flirt, always accustomed to men’s attention, Sophie flaunted her affairs without regard. Somehow, she never suffered for it either. In some weird way, it seemed to boost her reputation with the elite.

Anne bit back a self-directed oath. Good grief, she’d almost forgotten she needed to phone her sister. It would be late afternoon in California, and if she didn’t get ahold of Sophie now, her sister’s ever-demanding nightlife would ruin the opportunity.

“Lucan, do you have a phone?”

He cocked his head with a puzzled crinkle of his dark eyebrows. “Aye, I do.”

“May I use it?”

“I see no reason not.” He stopped at her door, nodded at the handle.

Anne opened the door and beckoned him inside. “I’ll be just a few minutes.”

Lucan fished in his jeans pocket and produced a slim, black phone. He handed it to her, the lines of curiosity in his expression deepening.

Dismissing his probing look, Anne snatched the cell phone out of his open palm and wandered into her bedroom. She pulled the French doors shut before she sat on the edge of the bed. He could wonder, but she’d already told one knight about her sister. The rest would wait. No way would she have another man hounding her for information about her beautiful twin.

She punched out the number and waited.

The line rang once … twice … Four tones later, Sophie’s bright and cheerful voice greeted her. “Sophie here! I’m busy right now, but I’ll call you back.”

Damn. Tamping down a frustrated grunt, Anne willed her voice to remain calm. “It’s me. Look I need to talk to you.”

*   *   *

On the other side of Anne’s door, Lucan leaned against the wall, attempting to show interest in the shelf of books. Scanning the titles out of rote habit, he listened to her one-sided conversation.

“I’ve ah, gotten myself into a mess. I need to pick your brain for what I should do, and I have limited time to do it in. This is important. I’ve got to find a way out.”

Lucan drew back in shock. As a fissure of suspicion worked its way down his spine, his body tensed. Clearly, Merrick had been displeased with Anne when he left, but Lucan had suspected it came from more of the maid’s willfulness than any real bone of contention. So convinced of that theory was he, that he had given Merrick’s admonishment to watch her only cursory consideration. Yet her words implied something of more substance came between them.