Lucan had the grace to be chagrined. He ducked his head in deference. “Apologies, Merrick. But ’tis Anne I wanted to speak of.”
Anticipating another lecture on the folly of his ways, Merrick asked through clenched teeth, “What of her?”
“I did see her that afternoon. I have not had the chance to speak with you about what I observed. She asked to use my phone.”
To contact her sister, most likely. Merrick continued down the hall, unconcerned by the notion Anne had made a call.
“I cared little for her conversation, Merrick. The things I heard…”
He hesitated long enough that Merrick stopped and had to turn around. The way his brother’s features contorted spoke to his discomfort with his news and set off horns of warning inside Merrick’s head.
“I fear she plans to leave with our secrets.”
Merrick blinked. Once. Twice. Three times before he could find his tongue. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly as I said—I believe she intends to leave with the Templar secrets. I cannot recall her precise words, but what I heard made her intentions clear.”
Merrick’s heart did a slow roll, and the breath he attempted hitched in his throat. Anne leave? She could not. She had a duty to fulfill. He furrowed his brows. She could not think to leave. Mikhail just informed him she had negotiated the kitchens. If she did not intend to stay, she would not go to such trouble … Would she?
Nay, she would not. Lucan’s mistrust clouded his reason.
Anne was upstairs, waiting. He had seen the light in her room, glimpsed her silhouette against the window. She worried for him. She would not leave.
“Have you found her intended?”
Merrick bristled at the second insinuation in less than ten minutes’ passing that he neglected his duties. He needed no one to point out he delayed her discovery for his own means. The knowledge plagued him as it were. “Nay,” he snapped.
Taking the hint that Merrick did not want to discuss Anne further, Lucan gratefully fell back. “I shall see you on the morrow, Merrick.”
Merrick did not bother with an answer—his thoughts had spiraled too far into guilt to try. Selfish. He was naught but a selfish bastard bent on gratifying his own desires. She would not leave, yet Anne could no longer stay with him. Saints’ blood, he had denied two of his closest friends the ability to learn whether she belonged to him. He had no cause to deny the salvation of those who had never once broken loyalty with him.
Grinding his teeth, he abruptly changed direction.
Tane he would not find—he rarely spent the night within the temple. But Declan … Declan Merrick could locate with little effort. He would learn Declan’s mark, and then speak to Anne.
CHAPTER 29
Merrick pushed open the infirmary’s door and let himself inside. From a bed across the spacious room, Declan turned his head. On seeing Merrick, he attempted to sit, but the effort required was too much, and he collapsed back into the bed.
Merrick approached the bed. “How do you fare, brother?”
The big Scot answered with a weak grin. “My arm feels afire, and my belly protests the broth Uriel feeds me. How do you ken I fare?”
“Aye, you are well enough.” Merrick laughed low. “Your lazy arse has slept through much.”
The humor slipped from Declan’s expression as he raised himself on his good arm. “How fares the Lady Anne? Have you located her intended?”
“She is well and still without a mate.”
Hope lit behind Declan’s eyes, so bright and desperate Merrick could not stand to look upon it. He turned away, casting his gaze to the window. His gut cinched tight against a wash of guilt. A better man he did not know. Anne would do well to have Declan as her intended. “Tell me, brother, what is the mark you bear?”
Declan eased into the bed and shook his head. “Nay. ’Tis meant for her eyes alone.”
Merrick pulled in a long breath. He had been so consumed with his own attraction for Anne, he had ignored the desperation of his friends. All looked to her as their salvation, and only one man would know the light she carried within her. The others, including himself, would look on, outwardly happy for their brother, while inwardly they would die a little more. If all had acted as he had, the Order would break to pieces.
Casting his gaze to his boots, he let his shoulders slump in defeat. He must surrender her. “I will bring her to you. ’Tis my hope you match.”
Declan squeezed Merrick’s forearm, a silent gesture of thanks. He closed his eyes, the smile once again pulling faint across his face. “She enjoys my company. ’Tis all I have ever asked for.”
Indeed, and exactly what Declan needed. He would never accept a woman on the simple basis their marks paired. Not after surviving the horror of his first wife.
Merrick clamped his hand over the Scot’s burly knuckles. “Rest, Declan. I will bring Anne here.”
At Declan’s acquiescent nod, Merrick turned toward the door. From the darkened corner behind the wooden portal, Uriel’s gaze settled on him, silent judgment written in his stare. He ignored the archangel’s reproach and let himself out, knowing there was but one thing he could do to right the wrongs he had indulged in.
On heavy steps, he made his way through the stone corridors to Anne’s stairwell. There, he braced himself to tell her their time had come to an end. He would resume his chambers, take his leave of her tonight. For in his heart he knew, should he spend one more night lost in her heavenly embrace, he would never leave.
Silence greeted him at her door. He eased it open, let himself into the darkened rooms. When she did not call out to him, disappointment he had no right to feel tightened his chest. He had not realized how he looked forward to her greeting, how he had become accustomed to her hello.
Ah well, ’twas better this way. He could crawl beside her in the bed and hold her close. Tell her in the morning.
He opened the French doors and looked to the bed.
Rumpled covers greeted him.
Fear, as Merrick had never known, surged through his veins. His insides turned to a quivering mass. “Anne?” The tremble in his voice shamed him, and he swallowed to restore its strength. “Anne?”
When she did not answer, he charged to the bathroom, convinced he would find her in the tub.
The empty bathroom sent his heart clanging into his rib cage.
Merrick rushed to the window, pulled the drapes aside and stared down at the line of vehicles the Order used. In the far corner, one empty spot stood out like a gaping chasm.
Lucan’s words rang in his ears. She intends to leave.
Merrick closed his eyes to the noise. Nay, she could not have left the grounds. Someone would have seen her, would have alerted Mikhail. Would have alerted him. Likely, she had wandered off, used his absence to her advantage, and ventured into the inner sanctum. When he found her there, he would follow through on his punishment no matter how she protested.
Only something did not feel right.
His gaze swept across her room. Shoes near the door, her clothes in a pile beside the bed. On her nightstand lay the book she had been reading, and her bed looked slept in. Whilst Anne was not a particularly neat person, she would not leave her bed rumpled if she intended to …
Everything inside Merrick ground to a standstill as his eyes skimmed across a dagger lying on the mattress. Polished steel peeked from beneath the thick down quilt.
He lunged toward the bed and snatched the blade into his hands. As he held it, inspecting the tiny scars embedded into the polished steel scabbard, footsteps sounded behind him. He spun around to find Gareth in the open doorway. Merrick whirled on him. “You were with Anne today. Did she speak of leaving?”
Gareth’s eyebrows lifted into his hair. “Leaving? Nay. She was anxious for your return.” He nodded to the blade Merrick held. “I gave her the dagger so she would feel safe until you arrived. She was quite worried about the men.”
“You gave her this?”
&nbs
p; “Aye, Merrick.”
The bitter taste of bile rose in the back of his throat. If Anne had been genuinely worried about the knights within these halls, she would not leave her only means of defense behind. He glanced once more at the bed, the twisted covers, the askew pillows. ’Twas then he noticed the barren post at the foot of her side of the bed. Where she usually hung her robe, the thick wood column stood empty.
His gaze darted to the narrow bookshelf, full of her precious research materials and reference books. He knew then, she had not left. Not of her own accord.
Merrick palmed the blade and bolted from the room. He barreled down the stairs, rounded the corner, and descended into the stone corridors. Racing through the twists and turns, he blindly drove forward, oblivious to those he passed and the curious stares that followed. He did not stop until he reached Mikhail’s chamber.
Barging in without so much as a knock, Merrick slammed a fist down on Mikhail’s desk. “Someone has taken Anne.”
* * *
As Tane navigated southbound down the highway, a war waged in his head. He could not tolerate Anne’s voice, for every time she spoke, the protests of his heart made it impossible to concentrate. He had sought only to speak with her. To engage her in a conversation safe inside her chambers. When she had looked at him in fright, however, the darkness forbade him decency. Azazel’s taint declared he had a right to her and refused to let him walk away.
He hated the fact he had scared her. Despised his inability to remain noble.
Yet he could not conquer the black stains within his heart.
The last fragments of his once-noble soul demanded he explain, and he sucked in a fortifying breath. Tightening his fingers on the wheel, he stole a glance at her, grimacing inwardly at the stark terror that turned her delicate features white.
“Do not be afraid, milady. You are safe with me. You will always be safe at my side. We shall talk in a few moments, and you will learn ’tis I you are intended for.”
She shook her head violently, opened her mouth to speak. Thinking better of it, she clamped it shut and pursed her lips so tight he caught the gleam of bloodless white.
“I know you care little for me now, but in time, you will learn I am quite generous. I would lay down my life for you, Anne.”
Silence came easier than words. Her protests only added to the doubt that plagued his thoughts. Mayhap he had been wrong. Nay, he argued vehemently. He could not be wrong. She had not discovered her intended. The fact they had yet to speak marked the truth for what it was. She was his eternal light, he her immortal blade.
The high-rises of Kansas City grew skyward around the truck, and he steered through a maze of one-way streets into the heart of the old warehouses, the crumbling fixtures near the old stockades. Beneath a tangle of bridges, the warm glow of fires illuminated the painted concrete. He nosed into a shadowy corner, his agitation lessening as he joined the dregs of the city. They embraced him here. Never questioned why he came, never asked about the long blade he wore at his side. To the homeless of Kansas City, he was their strange equal, and their acceptance soothed his darkened soul.
Shutting off the engine, Tane twisted to face Anne. “I will carry you to the fire. ’Tis too cold for you to walk, and you already shiver. There you will warm yourself, and I shall prove myself to you.”
To everyone.
He jumped out of the cab and hurried around to her door. Opening it, he scooped her into his arms and carried her toward the distantly gathered homeless. As he trekked beneath the overpass, a breeze gushed around the cement pillars. On it rode the rotting stench of death.
Tane slowed to a standstill, his senses on alert, his gaze scanning the thick surrounding shadows. Stillness settled around him. Ominous silence. He eased Anne to her feet, and his hand crept over the pommel of his sword. Jerking his head toward the SUV, he whispered the insistent order, “Go back. Run.”
Anne’s chin lifted in defiance. Sharp refusal made her eyes glitter. But as the breeze once again brushed by, stirring her long hair, her eyes inched wider, and apprehension morphed her expression into stone. She glanced at him, seeking confirmation of the stench she could not have missed.
“Go!” Tane demanded.
Anne had barely turned her back when the shadows surrounding them came to life. Pulling free from the natural darkness, vile forms took shape, elongating into creatures of nightmares. A low hiss echoed off the concrete retainers. Deathly claws scraped down the hardened stone.
Tane drew his sword with lightning speed. He scrambled to place himself between Anne and danger, feet braced apart, broadsword at the ready. Azazel’s minions would not have her. If fending them off claimed the faltering bit of light he harbored in his soul, Anne would reach safety.
Flanked on one side by three demons, and on the other by four nytyms, Tane drew in a deep breath. He shifted his grip on the leather-wrapped pommel, holding it tighter, letting nearly a thousand years of reflexes take command of his body.
Behind him, Anne let out a shrill scream.
He looked only long enough to discover his error before he swore beneath his breath. From the opposite side of the SUV, two demons loped toward her, their gangly humanoid forms caught in midtransition from a body of shadows into false replicas of man. Yellowed fangs snapped as one taloned hand snatched at Anne. As one passed the silver vehicle, a strong fist slammed into the windshield, shattering it. It clutched a jagged shard of glass and advanced on Anne.
An angry battle cry broke from Tane’s throat. Charging blindly, he reached her side a heartbeat before those deadly claws connected with her slender arm. In one arcing sweep of his sword, he cleaved the offensive arm from the creature’s body. It dropped to the ground, writhing, before folding in on itself and dissolving into a pool of shadows.
Anne flashed him a brief look of gratitude. Then her long hair whipped into her face as she swiveled and ran toward the SUV. He heard the slam of the door, but did not have time to confirm she made it inside. A heavy chunk of wood thumped him in the gut, doubling him over, stealing the very air from his lungs.
Stumbling, Tane struggled to remain upright. He lifted his head, forced his arm to move before his body and defend the next strike. The demon swung again. Wood met polished steel, and the sturdy collision vibrated all the way to Tane’s shoulder. His clamped lungs let go at the same time, granting him the ability to breathe. He sucked in air like a drowning man. Throwing his weight forward, he thrust the long blade deep into the demon’s gut, not stopping until bone met the razor-sharp tip.
With a fierce backward yank, Tane freed his broadsword. An agonized scream filled the night. As it died into a high-pitched whine, the demon collapsed in a useless heap.
Yet total victory would not come so easily. The creature’s death blanketed Tane in darkness that dealt his soul a heavy blow. His vision faltered, and he stumbled. God’s teeth, it had been too long since he had fought so many on his own. Once he would have disposed of these nuisances in minutes. Now, he could only pray he would survive.
Forcing back the encroaching darkness, Tane blinked several times to clear the black spots from his vision and gritted his teeth. He had only just lifted his head to assess his opponents when two pairs of claws raked down his unarmored back. A groan tore free, the sound giving him much-needed strength. He sidestepped, ignoring the sticky feel of blood that ran beneath his shredded shirt.
Through the windshield, his gaze connected with Anne’s. Before him, Azazel’s creatures converged, now recognizing they must remove him if they were to have the seraph. In that moment, Tane knew he could not risk the possibility of his damaged soul. She was too priceless, too worthy to the Order, too much a weapon for Azazel to ever claim. Mayhap he would never know the salvation she offered as his mate, but he would risk eternal damnation to fulfill his vow to protect her.
He thrust his arm across his body at the empty street behind the SUV. “Go! Take yourself from here!”
* * *
Fr
eedom.
Bound hands hovering over the keys, Anne stared at the shattered windshield. Escape from Tane, from those horrifying creatures rested beneath her fingertips. All she had to do was turn the key, back out of here. Return to Merrick … go home.
She wasn’t a prisoner anymore, didn’t have to confront the damning circumstances of her fate. Of Merrick’s fate. Heck, she could bypass Atchison and keep going, assuring Merrick could never find her, force her into an oath, and doom himself.
She could go all the way to California and check on Sophie. She would miss Merrick beyond belief, and she’d sacrifice every professional opportunity she’d worked so hard to build. But she could prevent him from discovering their pairing and being sent to protect the third nail.
Anne keyed the engine.
As it purred to life, polished steel glinted beyond the windshield. Her gaze focused on the bright gleam, her body recoiling as Tane arced his sword from shoulder to thigh and sliced deep into a fiendish chest cavity. The disgusting smell of decaying flesh poured through the SUV’s vents. Her measly dinner churned violently.
Farther down the dark back alley, figures gathered near a glowing trash can, the noises outside drawing their attention. Instinctively, she knew the archangels would be furious if news of this attack spread. They might be homeless, people not often given much credit, but wagging tongues could still damage, no matter the source.
Tane evaded a blow aimed at his head, then lunged forward, spearing the smaller, less coordinated thing. Coalesced shadows spewed forth, rolling down his deadly blade, pooling against his hand. He faltered again, the effort of combating so many taking a significant toll on his body.
Come on. Stand up straight.
Catching herself praying for Tane’s safety, Anne closed her eyes on the scene, acknowledging why she hadn’t yet moved the SUV out of gear. He’d taken her. Sworn he wouldn’t hurt her, but kidnapped her all the same. Now he was fighting to protect her.
Immortal Hope: The Curse of the Templars Page 28
