Immortal Sacrifice: #4 The Curse of the Templars (32 page)

Falling into step behind him, she grabbed her purse and followed to the door.
He sounded so convinced. Unshakeable. Maybe she ought to give him credit for knowing more about this than she did. Still, if it was such a simple task, why had her vision shown September dead?

“Out of curiosity, what difference would it make if that creature had wings?”

Caradoc came to an abrupt halt in the hall. His confidence faltered beneath a tight frown. “If such a creature appears, Isa, you must promise me you shall leave immediately.”

The all too familiar feeling of foreboding that she’d suffered since the nightmare began crept into her veins and left her shivering.
“Why?”

“’Twould be Azazel.
He will see my sword and know you are my mate. Be certain of this—he will stop at naught to claim a seraph as his own.”

Isabelle tried to swallow around the lump that wedged into the back of her throat.
A prisoner in Azazel’s realm—the very possibility sent a chill straight to her bones. She didn’t know what kind of hells would await her there, but she damn sure didn’t want to find out.

Caradoc reached for her hand.
With a weak smile, she slid her palm into his, gaining strength from the firm grip of his fingers. “He can’t hurt me, can he? You’re sure the bond is intact?”

The elevator doors dinged open, and Caradoc ushered her inside.
When the panels rolled shut, he jammed his thumb on the stop button. “Isa, hold out your other hand.” Reaching inside his lapel pocket, he withdrew a small pocketknife.

Isabelle lifted a wary eyebrow.
But when he remained unmoving, open palm extended, she realized he didn’t intend to offer an explanation. Reluctantly, she outstretched her hand.

She’d barely managed to extend her fingers before he drew the miniature blade across the base of her thumb.
A jolt of pain shot up to her elbow, making her jerk away. “Ouch! What are you doing?” She stuffed the cut against her mouth, grimacing at the coppery tang of blood.

Oblivious to her scolding glower, Caradoc gestured at her hand.
“Look at it. See the proof you require.”

Hesitantly, Isabelle looked to her injured palm.
Where she expected to see a neat slice and a steady trickle of blood, only a streak of new pink skin marred her hand. No blood, although she’d swear she could still feel the pinprick of the initial cut.
Healed.
She took a deep breath, absorbing both the reality of the healing and her newfound immortality. She’d live forever. Year after year at Caradoc’s side. No more worries about what would happen to September if she ended up in a car wreck, or if her plane went down while traveling to a remote part of the world to fulfill a client’s needs.
She would not die.

As if Caradoc had read her mind, he nodded.
“’Tis naught that can take your life, except a blade infused with divinity. But as you are certain to withstand the gravest of wounds, you are equally susceptible to an eternity of torture, should Azazel capture you.” He pushed the lobby button, setting the elevator into motion. “As you have observed, you are not immune to pain. Trust that each wound you suffer you shall feel. Do not be unwise and take your immortality for granted, my sweet.”

Dutifully, Isabelle nodded.
“And you? Has my…light…done what it was supposed to?” The concept still felt odd against her tongue. She—an angel. Astounding.

He shook his head.
“’Tis not as quick for us. There is much evil to overcome, and ’twill take many months before I know the full glory of an untainted soul.”

He must have seen the dismay that rolled through her, for he gave her a reassuring smile.
“’Tis not unnoticed, this healing you’ve begun. The ache in my joints does not pain me as much. And for once…” He paused and took a step closer. Bending his head, he nudged aside her hair with his nose and nuzzled the side of her neck. “For once, my love, I do not know despair.”

Resisting the warm wash of his breath was impossible.
The flutter of his mouth against her skin stirred to life the ever-present craving in her heart, and she turned her head, in search of his kiss. He gave it to her freely, tormenting her with deep possessive strokes of his tongue. In the brief moment, time stood still, the worries about her daughter slipped into the background. The elevator’s motion vanished, and Isabelle drank in all he had to offer. All he gave.

But it ended all too soon, and the chime that accompanied the opening doors yanked her back to the present and the nightmare she had yet to confront.
Caradoc might have given her an immortal life with him, but that life would be meaningless if she failed September.

Chapter
31

C
aradoc’s thoughts churned as he jogged up Shapiro’s front steps alongside Isabelle. He had promised her this plan could not fail, and the warrior inside him protested mightily against such strong convictions. More than once he had been equally certain his men would reign on the battlefield, only to be left with devastation when the sun descended on the bloody ground. ’Twas a mistake to promise such absolute victory.

Never mind the other consideration he must make, that of Tane.
His brother deserved the truth. To fully execute the plan, Caradoc would further need Tane’s assistance. Aid Tane may not be inclined to give should he assume the tears faced real risk. Though Caradoc had no intention of surrendering the priceless relic, that he intended to take it to the fifty-seventh gate, well within Azazel’s scope of power, might garner Tane’s immediate refusal.

’Twas no easy way to broach the subject, never mind opportunity.
Already they were late, the great hall filled to near capacity. Caradoc could not begin to explain the matter of September before the auctioneer would start.

He spied his brother’s dark head near the middle aisle seats and sighted four empty chairs to his left.
Taking only a moment to stop in the doorway, he gathered Isabelle’s hands in his and gave them a gentle squeeze. He lowered his voice to ward off any listening ears. “We should part here. Continue as if we have not spoken about a thing.”

She answered with a short nod and pulled her hands free.
“Right. I’ll see you back at the hotel.”

Despite her brave words, apprehension made her smile tremble and dimmed the light in her eyes.
Caradoc’s heart twisted with the need to reassure her. ’Twas plain she put great effort into remaining courageous, and even plainer that she clung to strength by mere threads. He glanced over his shoulder to insure no one had observed their arrival then quickly took Isabelle by the elbow and pulled her into a shadowy corner. Obscured from view, he wrapped his arms around her slight shoulders and drew her cheek to his chest. His hands glided over her back.

“’Twill not be much longer, Isa.
Believe in me. Believe in what the Almighty has given us. I will not allow September to be harmed.”

Her shoulders expanded as she drew in a tremulous breath.
“I’m scared.”

Caradoc smoothed her long hair and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.
“I know. Have faith, my love. We have but a few hours left. When you have obtained the tears, do not wait for me. Go back to my room as we discussed. I will meet you there.”

She nodded.

Pushing her out of his embrace, he framed her face with his hands and tipped her gaze to his. He willed her to absorb his resolve. “Trust me, Isa.”

Slowly, she swallowed and gave him another nod.
“I am.”

“Very well.
Let us do this; the auction is about to begin.” Clasping her hand in his, he led her out of the alcove and into the great hall, where he gave her fingers an encouraging squeeze before releasing her completely.

She surprised him with a bright, confident smile, her false courage once again intact.
“Good luck then, Caradoc. May the deepest pockets win the day.”

“Aye.”
He could not contain a conspiratorial wink before he stepped aside, leaving her to find a seat and play the role she must.

As he watched her walk away, from the far corner of his field of vision he caught a glimpse of long, red hair and powerful shoulders.
Leaning against a marbled column, Declan made no attempt to hide the way he studied Isabelle. Anger simmered in Caradoc’s veins, a slow burn that spread through his body and made his fingers twitch with the desire to storm across the hall and tear out his brother’s throat. To know that a brother, who he had once been closer to than any familial relation, worked against the Templar was a more vile treachery than even the wrongs Tane had committed. Declan breeched all the binding vows. And the distress he was causing Isabelle, whatever his motive, deserved no less than punishment by sword.

A punishment Caradoc would have willingly executed, despite the fact the right belonged only to Mikhail.
For the first time in his life, Caradoc knew fury that ran deeper than any urge to spill blood. Death could not be punishment enough for Declan. Death would be too swift, too painless.

Nay, Declan deserved to suffer.

But the auction demanded Caradoc’s immediate attention. If he did not soon join Tane, the plan Isabelle and he had crafted would fail before it ever began. Declan’s time would come—very soon. And whilst he would like naught more than to carve bits of flesh from Declan’s body, he would set aside his rage and leave Declan’s fate unto Mikhail. Caradoc would see his brother stand before the archangels. He would look on whilst the Almighty hand punished the traitor. Besides, with September’s fate still in jeopardy, Declan still had usefulness. They needed him to report Isabelle’s success to Paul. Little would Declan know, he played right into their plans. Certainly the vileness that led him to betrayal would be enraged, a fact Caradoc found a measure of satisfaction with.

Navigating Tane and the complications of this auction took priority.
He moved to claim the seat at Tane’s side.

Tane glanced up as Caradoc’s shadow descended on his bowed head.
Surprise widened his eyes. “Caradoc. I did not expect you.”

“Aye.
Things have changed.” He stepped around his brother’s knees and took the vacant seat at Tane’s left. Just in time, for no sooner had he settled into the chair, the auctioneer assumed the podium.

“Changed?”
Tane asked in a hushed voice that barely registered over the din of anxious mumblings accompanying the auctioneer’s presence. Doubt fringed his frown, suspicion glinted in his eyes. “You do not trust that I can fulfill this duty?”

Caradoc shook his head.
“’Tis not that, brother. There is not time to explain. Trust in me. There are greater things in motion.”

Tane acquiesced with a brief nod, though the darkness in his expression did not lift.
He would not object, though Caradoc sensed he would like to. Too long had the chain of authority and orders been ingrained in their persons.

Caradoc seated himself, determined to ignore the guilt that churned his stomach.
The next few minutes would push Tane to his limits, and the resulting confrontation he did not wish to endure. He looked to the high mosaic ceiling, silently uttering a plea for aid.

A high-pitched buzz rang through the speakers as the auctioneer turned the microphone on.
“Next on our agenda is item 1277, an exquisite piece, possessing the finest diamonds known to mankind.” He lifted the necklace to his shoulder, whilst on the wide screen behind him a projected image zoomed to life. “Two strands, containing a total of one hundred and fifty-four, quarter-carat stones that link together in a central pendant.” Knobby fingers lifted the weighty centerpiece of a teardrop cut jewel, framed on each sloping slide by three smaller, emerald-cut gems. “The centermost stone is an astounding seven carats. Each side adornment weighs in at 3.5 carats. Making the total carat weight sixty-six and a half.” A sly smile made his bushy mustache twitch. “I need not remind you that the centerpiece is comprised entirely of FL flawless stones with a true D colorless rating.”

As the auctioneer set the necklace back in its velvet display case, Caradoc sucked in a deep fortifying breath.
Nerves disrupted the quiet in his belly. His gaze slid to the back of Isabelle’s head. As if she sensed the weight of his stare, she looked over her shoulder. Her smile was brief, hesitant, and he dared not return it for fear someone would catch on to their act.

“Appraisal value is eleven million.
Who would like to start the bidding at thirteen?”

Caradoc’s index finger touched his brow at the same time Isabelle lifted a dainty hand.
Several other movements indicated they were not the only ones willing to part with such a paltry sum for a piece of gemstone history.

“Very well then, ladies and gentlemen, it seems we have an auction.
I have thirteen-million, thirteen-million, who will make it 13.5? And 13.5 to number 4351, 13.5 to 4351—do I hear fourteen? Fourteen. There!” His arm shot across his body, indicating a man in the corner. “246, I hear you. Fourteen to 246. Who will give 14.5?”

* * *

“Twenty-four and a half Euros? Do I hear twenty-four and a half for this exceptional necklace?”

Tane stared at Caradoc’s unmoving hand.
Bid. You must bid, brother.
Yet there it stayed, at rest atop his knee, no more inclined to twitch than to lift to his brow. Why, Tane could not fathom. Although he need not look beyond the first row of chairs and the woman seated there to suspect the answer.

As he glanced over the heads of other bidders at Isabelle’s long, brown hair, she raised her hand, countering the remaining bidder in the back of the room.
Anger stormed through Tane. They had been sent here to acquire the tears. Only the greatest of fools would disobey such an important directive. Fool Caradoc had never been. How could he allow a woman to steer him so off course?

“Twenty-five.
Who will give twenty-five?”

Tane drove an elbow into Caradoc’s ribs.
Through clamped teeth, he hissed,
“Bid.
”

Caradoc answered with a stiff shake of the head.

That his commander could not even make eye-contact heightened Tane’s mounting fury. When a man chose to turn away from an order, he should at least possess the courage to look his men in the eye and face their condemnation. Caradoc’s behavior spoke of cowardice. Worse, it suggested whatever power Isabelle held over him had turned him soft. If he were willing to cast aside the duty they were sworn to, just to win the heart of a fair maid, it spoke ill of what else he might sacrifice.

“I have twenty-five.
Who will make it twenty-six?”

Again, Isabelle lifted her hand.
Again, Caradoc remained as still as stone.

Damnation!
Tane curled a hand into a fist. He had accepted this assignment to
prove
to Merrick and Mikhail he was worthy of assuming his position in the temple once more. He would not return once more, as a failure.
Could not.

Worse, the brother who walked in shadows, Declan whom they all mistrusted, looked on from his position on the far wall.
He would return from Sicily and broadcast the way Caradoc yielded to Isabelle. Seraph or not, she could not acquire the tears. Allowing her to was akin to sitting idly by and
handing
Azazel the power to activate the spear. She could not thwart his minions, particularly if their oaths had not been spoken. She was weak, the precise link Azazel would need to steal away the relic when she left this villa.

Unable to tolerate Caradoc’s resignation, Tane lifted his hand.

Before his wrist could breech his ribs, Caradoc clamped his fingers into Tane’s forearm. A cruel grip forced Tane to lower his hand.