Mikhail sank into his high-backed chair and folded his hands across his lap. “You are certain you had the correct room?”
Raphael inclined his head in the positive. “I followed your directions to the letter.” A glimmer of his typical good humor reflected in his blue eyes. “I knocked. When no one answered, I looked inside. Her perfume lingers in his chambers.”
It took every bit of self-control Mikhail possessed to keep the agitated hiss behind his teeth. The news Caradoc brought about Tane concerned him enough. If word reached Tane about this, only the Creator would know what might happen. Further, whoever was meant for Anne, should he learn of Merrick’s trespasses against her, would have grounds to duel the matter. Seraphs were sacred. The edicts regarding their foretold appearance left no room for misinterpretation. No man would come between the intended pairing. Should one lack the discipline, the wronged man may, if he so desired, call the other unto arms.
Given the entirely chaotic state of Mikhail’s knights, Merrick could not have made a poorer decision.
“Send Caradoc to the main entry. Instruct him to bring Merrick here upon his immediate arrival. Anne did not belong to your Gareth?”
“Nay. Nor to my Tomas. But I daresay my men are in better health than yours.”
A certain fact Mikhail hated to admit. Though it did not surprise him to find the European members robust. For a reason the Maker chose not to reveal, the European knights suffered less. Even the small congregation in South America, which saw far less of Azazel’s vile creations, did not receive such good health.
“I will push Merrick to locate her intended more quickly. Though I must admit, Raphael, I have never known Merrick to behave so foolishly. Whatever hold the maid has on him must be of significance. I may have to assign the duty to another man.”
“Aye. ’Twas my suspicion as well. Although I doubt the lady will be pleased.”
Another time, another place, Mikhail might have argued. But with the modern woman’s views, he found it difficult to believe Anne did not carry equal responsibility for this. If the pair developed feelings for one another, convincing her to swear her vow to another man would prove impossible.
He raked a hand through his hair and let out a heavy sigh. “I will deal with it. Though you cannot imagine how I wish the Master’s plans did not involve a woman. As it was at the dawn of time, she tempts greatly.”
“’Tis as it is written, my brother.”
Mikhail nodded thoughtfully. It would be far easier to navigate these stormy waters if Gabriel would simply share his knowledge. But that was a hope Mikhail gave up an eternity ago. God’s messenger relayed only what the Almighty wished. Naught more, naught less. “What I would do for a bit of peace. Are you aware the gate in Georgia has seen far more activity? I have not sent the men to repair Maggie’s house. I dare not risk them.”
Raphael moved across the room and seated himself in an overstuffed chair. He tossed an ankle atop a velvet-cushioned footstool, reclining as if he had not a care in the world. “I sense him. Though ’tis far too still in this portion of the country.”
Too still indeed. The dark presence Mikhail recognized nightly came in the form of shades, simple creatures that lacked the basic ability to think for themselves. Created only to follow Azazel’s commands, even they did not roam in the packs they preferred. One or two slipped through weakened gates. Gone were the more intelligent shifters. The nytyms, and the demons capable of the same intelligence man enjoyed, wandered far from here.
Azazel’s knights, men Mikhail had once depended on, were nowhere to be seen.
“He will try for the third nail, Raphael. We dare not move before he does, for we run the risk of revealing its location. In waiting, however, we give Azazel the upper hand. He will have time to prepare.”
Raphael ran his hands down his face as he nodded. “Do you believe he knows the location? He has made no attempt to invade the territory.”
Mikhail longed to believe they had successfully hidden the third. Centuries ago, when they had brought the crucifixion nails to America, it had seemed sensible. The land bustled with activity, newfound territory, men who cared little for the ways of old. Compared to Europe—where thousands searched for buried treasure, lugged out and sold mummified remains, and created a black market based on falsified artifacts—America was safe. With the loss of the first two nails, however, Mikhail could not hope the third would say untouched.
“He toys with us. ’Tis my fear that in possessing our former knights, he has gleaned information. Whilst we archangels have taken care to keep the secrets among ourselves, bits and pieces have been revealed. Yet our fallen brother is no fool. He will attempt to distract us, spread our men thin, and strike beneath our noses.”
Raphael’s scowl matched the darkness of an angry sea. “He cannot find that nail. If he succeeds…”
He trailed off, but Mikhail needed no conclusion. If Azazel joined the three nails, he would possess the essence necessary to begin the unholy ascension. While he would still need to obtain the remaining five relics, the blood on those bits of iron were the first components necessary. Naught would stop him from pursuing the others that Mikhail and his brothers had hidden. Unless the seraphs like Anne arrived soon, the Templar knights, the Almighty’s chosen protectors, would be overrun.
Mikhail sat forward in his chair and rubbed his thumb across the back of his hand. “Once Anne announces her intended, I will send men to guard the nail. Meanwhile, send word to Gabriel that he must return. Perhaps he can speak with her and urge her to reveal her mark. He has her trust.”
“I will contact the rest of our brothers and ensure all are aware of the circumstances here. The other relics should be moved.”
“Nay. They must stay put. If you do too much, Raphael, Azazel will notice. We must move with stealth. If our numbers were larger, it would not be a problem, but we cannot afford to be careless.”
Raphael’s blue eyes sharpened like glass. “The time is upon us, Mikhail. Since the dawn of time we have prepared for war. ’Tis here. Now. We must—”
Mikhail cut off his brother with a crisp lift of his hand. “We must bide our time. We must be careful. As you said, ’tis written. Our hands are bound. Go and find Gabriel. The seraphs control our destiny.” He leaned back once more, closed his eyes, and recited the Almighty’s ancient prophecy that no archangel dared forget, though many of their knights had.
“Whence comes the teacher, she who is blind shall follow. The one who digs in dust precedes the finding of the jewel. And she who understands the sword precludes the greatest loyalty. When darkness—”
“—rapes the land, the seraphs shall purify the Templar and lead the sacred swords to victory,” Raphael finished in a hushed voice.
With a sagely nod, Mikhail opened his eyes. “Aye. We wait. Fight only as necessary. ’Tis our only option.”
CHAPTER 23
Wearing a smile she couldn’t contain, Anne reclined in the silver SUV’s passenger’s seat. Almond-encrusted salmon and wild rice had never tasted as good as it had with Merrick for company. They’d talked, mainly about her, throughout dinner. She didn’t dare ask much about him, or his life, or even his former life, for fear someone might overhear their conversation. Now, though, in the quiet of the car, as he held her hand atop the center console, her mind ran amok with questions. There was so much she didn’t know about this man. So much he kept hidden that she yearned to understand. Curiosity that went beyond simple craving of the Templar secret history and the Church’s eradication.
Sitting forward, she turned to study his profile. His strong jaw spoke to the power of his body and of his spirit. A slightly offset nose told a tale of a long ago battle where surely he’d broken it. Rugged features carried a distinct mark of pride and grace. Handsome. Every time she looked at him, her breath hitched and her heart stuttered. He was all man. Down to the annoying arrogance that strangely pleased some buried, all-too-feminine part of her soul.
He glanced at
her, those hard features softening with his smile. “You have grown silent.”
“Yeah. There’s so many things I want to ask you.”
“Ask, damsel. My secrets are yours.”
Though she knew he spoke of her tie to the Order, his remark sent a thrill sliding through her veins. While he would only share what he felt she needed to know, she couldn’t help but hear something more intimate. As if he’d just given her a cherished freedom.
“The nails Mikhail mentioned—why does a lesser demon want them?”
Merrick chuckled long and low. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and shook his head. “Azazel is no lesser demon, and the nails are not any kind of nail. They are the three spikes that held Christ to the cross. Driven through his body, they carry his blood and the last of his living essence. There is power in those bits of iron.”
“But why would he want them?”
“You will not believe the truth if you should hear it, Anne.”
She scrunched her eyebrows together and gave him a frown. “Try me.”
“Azazel rules all darkness. He alone—”
“Wait,” Anne interrupted. “That’s not what I was taught in church. Satan has that job, last I checked.”
Shaking his head, Merrick explained, “Nay. Again an error of man’s. The scribes misinterpreted doctrine. Such can be expected when languages differ, when words are not common for others, and when time passes. Satan is a thinker. He plots. He plans. He wishes ill and guards the depths of hell. But Azazel holds the power. He acts. He solicits souls to work his evil.”
“Merrick, you can’t expect me to believe that. All the major religions in the world reference the devil as the greatest evil.”
“Let me illustrate the linguistic issues, as most of this occurred in the years following my birth. The name differs in Hebrew. ’Tis not a proper name, but rather a description of an adversary. In Judaism, the prince of all evil points such evil out to God. He does not create, nor act on it, and is powerless.”
Anne considered with a short nod. Truthfully, she didn’t know Scripture well enough to make much of an argument. Merrick continued before she could comment.
“In English, the word Satan descends from the Greeks, which translates loosely as one who slanders. Again, ’tis a nondescript word, not a proper name. The word devil appeared in the thirteenth century. This too began with actions, not as a proper name. ’Tis only in modern understandings of the original Hebrew that all three have become the same and have transformed into one being.”
“Okay,” she replied hesitantly. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”
“Beelzebub is used as a synonym. He was in fact an ancient Philistine god. Leviathan, Metatron—all names used to signify the same. Each, however, are different entities. Leviathan was correctly described as a sea monster. He sits now in the depths of the waters, waiting to sink ships. Metatron is the highest of the angels according to some Scripture.”
Anne furrowed her brows, his circular references difficult to follow. She held her tongue, waiting for him to make his point, though the urge to interject and argue made her want to squirm in her seat.
“Is it not possible that in translating acts, in describing deeds, names were used interchangeably and some of the accuracy has become lost?”
“Well…” She paused, glanced out the window in thought. “I suppose it isn’t impossible.”
“Then consider, for this I can personally attest to. Morning Star—would you agree ’tis a reference to the prince of darkness?”
“Of course.”
“In my family’s era, the bright light in the heavens we believed as such was proven in your family’s era to be Venus.”
In the silence that followed, Anne tipped her head to the side and watched Merrick’s features. Through the light of streetlamps, his expression filled with animation, a testament to his convictions.
“If this could be proven false, can it not also be possible the rest of what is written today is the result of different cultures attempting to understand, and relate, the basis of a truth?” He glanced at her briefly, lifting his eyebrows before he returned his stare to the road.
She shrugged her shoulders. “I guess.”
“Regardless, Anne—is the name particularly relevant? The principle is the same. A great evil bent on destroying man. One who covets the kingdom on high. ’Tis Azazel who has the power. ’Tis he who has the ability and fortitude to ascend. Satan is but his counselor.”
He had a point—they were arguing semantics. Who did what, who held what name, was insignificant.
“Ask Mikhail. He will tell you the same. They are brothers, after all.”
“Okay, okay.” She held her free hand up in a gesture of surrender. “Go back to this ascending.”
Merrick flashed her a grin as bright as the moonlight outside. He nodded toward the windshield, and Anne’s gaze drifted where he indicated. They’d parked, sat now in front of the temple’s exterior house.
“Let us go in, and we shall talk some more. I will tell you more of the relics that so fascinate you, when you are seated at my side where I may kiss and touch you as I desire.”
Her cheeks flushed with color, and she dipped her head. This new side of Merrick would take some getting used to. She’d become accustomed to his distance, but now he didn’t hesitate in voicing his wishes. All night long, he’d sneaked in a comment or two that had her remembering their afternoon together, along with a few that made it clear he intended to pick up where they’d left off before dinner.
He got out of the vehicle before she did, and as she reached for the handle, her door opened. Taking her elbow, he helped her out of the SUV, then threaded his fingers through hers and shut the door. He caught her chin with his other hand and tipped her face to his. Slowly, he took her mouth. The tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lips, nudged them apart. When it danced against hers, the heady flavor of Merrick soaked into her soul. Masculine richness, fringed with the spice of desire, stirred warmth through her veins. She gave in to a murmur of delight and settled her free hand on his shoulder to keep her weak knees from giving out.
Merrick drew back, breaking the kiss. “I have waited all night for that,” he whispered. “I hunger for you, damsel.”
She stood up on tiptoe and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “Take me inside.”
Grinning like he’d just brought home the spoils of a great battle, Merrick escorted her to the door. He opened it, ushered her inside first, then turned toward the stairs.
“Merrick.”
The curt, masculine call brought him to an immediate halt. Not particularly in the frame of mind to share him with his buddies, Anne groaned inwardly as Merrick turned them around. Her gaze settled on a very serious-looking Caradoc who leaned against the entryway to the large common room.
“Caradoc,” Merrick acknowledged.
His friend didn’t smile as he folded his arms across his chest. “Mikhail sent me to retrieve you upon your immediate return.”
At once, Merrick stiffened. The same tense line Anne had become so familiar with settled into his jaw, and he turned to her. Yet instead of annoyance flickering in his dark eyes, they shone with warmth. He took a step closer, bent his head near her ear. “Go on upstairs. I will join you soon.”
With little room to argue, she nodded. “Can I use your phone? I’d like to call my sister while you’re gone.”
Merrick brushed his lips across the top of her head and fished his cell phone out of his back pocket. “Stay in your chambers, damsel.”
Anne didn’t bother to respond. Twisting free of his embrace, she jogged up the stairs. Though she no longer needed Sophie’s advice, her twin was probably worried sick. She’d understand, however, when Anne explained she’d been studying the Templar legends. She wouldn’t mention a word about the chain of recent events, but Anne intended to find out if Sophie’s armband had brought her any surprises.
Inside her room, she dialed her sister’
s number. The line rang four times before her voice mail picked up.
Anne hung up. No sense in leaving messages when her sister hadn’t bothered to return the others. Instead, she dialed her own phone, certain Sophie would have left a dozen messages or more. But as she pressed the button to transfer into her system, her empty mailbox greeted her.
Frowning, Anne pressed the disconnect button. Strange. Damned strange. They talked every night. Under any other circumstance, Sophie would be worried sick. Her voice mail should be full of hysterical questions.
Where in the world was her sister?
A feeling of unease churned around in Anne’s stomach. Desperate to settle a rise of nausea, she dialed Sophie again.
* * *
As Caradoc eased Mikhail’s office door closed, Merrick stood in front of the archangel’s massive wooden desk. Hands clasped behind his back, he stared at the ornate sword above Mikhail’s head. Fashioned similarly to the Templar blades, the broadsword bore the same golden cross in the pommel. But in stark contrast to Merrick’s plain blade and unguarded hilt, Mikhail’s sword had a golden guard, and intricate etching adorned the flattened length of steel. Beautiful, yet deadly.
“I am glad you are both here. I needed to speak to Caradoc about Maggie’s adytum in Georgia.”
Merrick slid his gaze down to Mikhail’s face. The archangel looked between them both, his gaze resting on Merrick a fraction longer than necessary before he turned his focus to Caradoc.
“I had intended for you to take the men to Georgia, Caradoc.”
“We are ready for your command, Mikhail.”
Mikhail shook his head. “You will not be going. Raphael’s men will tend to the repairs.”
“Sir,” Caradoc cut in. “We are more than capable of—”
“’Tis not a matter of capability.” Standing, Mikhail moved across the room to a large, comfortable chair and sat down on an overstuffed arm. The formality in his voice vanished as he continued. “There is increased activity at gate twelve. Too much for our men here. Raphael’s visiting knights shall handle the repairs. I require my strongest men present, as I anticipate Azazel shall strike again.”
Immortal Hope: The Curse of the Templars Page 23
