“Then they are mine as well. Go back.”
“I will take you to Anne’s, then—”
“No. I’m going with you.”
Return, with her, where he could not guarantee he could watch over her. In a thousand years, nay. He shook his head. “’Tis not safe, Cath—”
“It’s not safe for you, either,” she said more emphatically. “This may be all the time I have with you. Don’t divide us, Iain. Not now. We’re either together or we aren’t.”
The words she spoke filled him with a warmth he could not define. He knew only that he had never felt so much a part of something as he did in this moment. That if he separated himself from this, from her, he would never recover. And the twisting of his heart as he realized the truth in her declaration they may not have much time, only reinforced his decision to give up all for her.
Though his concern for Catherine was great, he turned the truck around and reached across the console for her hand. Her fingers slid comfortably into his, offering reassurance.
“Go into the sanctuary, Catherine. Stay with your friends inside, until word arrives from one of us ’tis safe to exit. You will have to explain something, without saying much at all.”
Her quiet laugh was a welcome sound to his ears. “They are nuns, Iain, well versed in the faith. They will not balk at the word demon. But tell me, how am I to explain the abbey ground is not sacred?”
He chuckled then as well. “Mademoiselle, I do not have the faintest idea.”
“Guess I’ll wing it.”
Iain pulled into the lot and parked beside the endmost SUV. “Do tell me what you concoct so I may repeat the same.” Grinning, he leaned across the console and kissed her softly. Emotion hit him then, like a sharp boot to the sternum. He allowed his lips to linger, then eased away, all too aware of the precious seconds ticking by. “I love you, Catherine.”
Before she could feel as if she were obligated to respond in kind, he climbed out of the truck and began to don the heavy chain mail that would protect him from fiendish claws.
Seventeen
I love you, Catherine.
Iain’s soft voice reverberated in her ears long after they’d parted, he jogging to the trees on the heels of another knight, she trudging up the main stairs to the darkened abbey and frantic sisters within.
Those four words kept her going even as hellish screams erupted in the surrounding woods. They kept her hands steady as she lit candles, contained the tremor in her voice as she comforted terrified women. Iain Donnelly loved her…and she loved him.
She hadn’t said it, but she’d sensed he didn’t want her to. She intended to rectify that the minute he returned. Here, in front of the entire community, if that’s where he found her.
“I’ve heard legends of the Almighty’s warriors. Ferocious men, led by the mighty Mikhail, who live by the sword.” The prioress joined Catherine at the long, candlelit altar. “I never dreamed I would live to witness one. But your Iain . . .” Her eyes finished what she didn’t say: He’s one of them, isn’t he?
Catherine held her gaze, a strange sense of pride seeping down her spine. The elderly woman smiled a knowing little smile and dipped her chin in a short nod. “It’s no small wonder then why you’d choose life with him.” She paused and scanned the whispering sisters with a narrowed gaze. “The war has landed on our doorstep, hasn’t it?”
“Yes.” Catherine didn’t bother to question how Prioress Mary Suzanne knew. She had come to accept long ago that she occasionally had an ear for divine messages. “They’re asking questions I don’t know how to answer. They know enough to disbelieve my lies, and I know too much.”
Watery eyes twinkled as the prioress turned and rested her lower back against the altar that served as a table. “Yes, but I know nothing, and they will believe me.”
Not giving Catherine a chance to ask her meaning, she grabbed a lighted candelabra and wove her way through the buzz of panic, to the far side of the room, where a tall cross hung on the wall. “Ladies,” she called over the noisy din. “Ladies!”
An instantaneous hush fell over the room. Every head turned her way.
“Catherine’s young man is a detective, and I had a chance to speak with him.”
Catherine’s jaw dropped, then catching herself, she snapped it shut before anyone could notice. Lying? She had no idea the prioress was capable of such.
“It seems we were the victim of a vandal’s sick joke, and unfortunately, Helen Margaret paid a dear price. Mourn for her, pray for her soul’s journey, but do not worry yourselves into a frenzy. The police are looking for the criminals. I’m sure they will find them.”
“But what happened, Prioress?”
Only one lone voice protested from the back of the dim room. Catherine couldn’t make out the face.
Mary Suzanne hesitated only long enough to clear her throat. “It was a homemade bomb. They suspect the idea was to scare us, given nothing is missing. A prank that had a most grievous end.”
Ingenious! In a thousand years, not one of these women would have listened to Catherine if she tried to excuse a gaping hole in the wall and a literally shredded door to vandals. But they soaked up the lie from the one they considered most pious, and Mary Suzanne had known they would. She supposed that was what made the elderly woman so fit to lead—knowing what to say, and exactly when, even if it skirted the truth for the greater good. If the community knew what had really happened tonight, or the truth of the men whose shouts echoed off the tall trees, there’d be no end to the resulting panic.
“We’re quite safe in here,” the prioress continued. “But until we regain electricity throughout the abbey, we need to stay put. The detectives will want to check the premises, I’m certain, and I don’t want anyone tripping and falling in the dark.”
Another eerie howl reached Catherine’s ears. She shivered at the sound, her thoughts jumping to Iain.
“But what is that noise?” the objecting voice in the back of the room asked.
“What noise, Sister June?” Prioress Mary Suzanne asked. “I hear only the wind in the trees. Do you have your hearing aids turned up too high again? They say it might storm tonight. You better turn them down. You know how sensitive you are to thunder.”
A grin tugged at Catherine’s mouth, but her chills lingered. Iain was out there, fighting God only knew what. He’d been gone so long, too long, for her straining nerves.
Working in pairs, the knights combed through the trees and surrounding gardens, chasing down the creatures that lingered. Their death cries echoed through the hills, bringing satisfaction to Iain as he trudged alongside Nathaniel.
“’Tis the last of them, Iain,” Nathaniel observed as a high-pitched wail filled the trees. “I sense no others. Not at least near us. Leopold and Richard have already turned back.” He turned to the direction they had come from, when another sound joined the dying shriek.
Iain flattened a palm again his companion’s sternum, halting him in place. “Shh.” With the tip of his sword, he pointed at a nearby cluster of bushes.
From within the rustling leaves, came the sound of gnashing teeth. A guttural sniggering rumbled, followed by a short snarl. Then branches swayed and snapped as something heavy moved.
Nathaniel’s understanding gaze met Iain’s briefly, before he turned in the direction of the sound. They moved quietly, taking a wide berth around the fallen debris, to approach on the opposite side and take the creatures by surprise.
Iain reached the break in the clearing first and dropped to one knee, peering out through wiry branches. Two dark shadows hovered together, their grotesque forms caught somewhere between the appearance of a man and that of a demon. Iain held up two fingers to Nathaniel. Demons Iain could easily overtake, though Nathaniel faltered heavily beneath the black plague of his curse. He was not long left for this world. Another night of fighting and he would be lost, as they had lost James the Red, no doubt tonight.
The unholy beings moved, and Iain caught
a flash of white on the ground before their feet. He cocked his head, alarm rushing through him. Shifting quietly, he strained to make out more. He need not have moved, however, for the demons shuffled down the path, heading for the place where he and Nathaniel waited. A human arm flopped to the side.
He debated. If they sprung out now, they would put themselves straight in the line of combat. Yet he could not guarantee the frontal assault would work to Nathaniel’s advantage. The demons would suffer an initial blow of surprise, but it would pass quickly. If, however, they waited for the vile things to pass, they could attack from the backside, slicing their heads from their foul bodies before they could formulate a counter.
Aye, they would wait.
Iain ignored the press of Nathaniel’s hand against his shoulder and braced his weight, making his intention clear without words. The weight on his shoulder lessened. Nathaniel shuffled forward to crouch at Iain’s side.
The slobbering sounds that escaped that foul flesh made Iain’s stomach curl. As they neared, the stench that assaulted his nose closed his throat. No creature was more disgusting than a demon. They knew only the most rudimentary of higher thought processes, able to formulate basic strategies and use their ability to assume a mortal form to lure their prey. They gloried in the kill. So much so that their thirst for bloodshed made it impossible for them to hold their disguised shapes when their lust for battle consumed them.
They trudged by, their steps weighed down as they dragged the body that they had been feeding upon. Bare feet slid across the ground just beyond their shadows. Blood coated the toes. Iain grimaced, steeling himself for the carnage that would soon slide past their place of hiding. Though he had witnessed much death in his long life, it never ceased to affect him.
But no amount of reminding himself that the soul had long passed on could have stopped the sheer rage that roiled through him as the demons passed, dragging a woman by her long brown hair.
Possessed by fury, he sprung from the bushes and charged at the closest creature. His sword sank deep into the beast’s side, sending shadows spurting forth. A ferocious snarl bubbled in its throat, but the sound died off as it choked on its own faltering life. In one swift movement, Iain spun on his inside foot, dislodging his blade. On the backside of his spin, he pushed momentum into his arm, and with a reversed slice, neatly severed the second demon’s head from its shoulders.
Nathaniel had not yet fully emerged from the bushes.
The dead creature’s poisonous spirit slid down Iain’s sword as he moved to crouch beside the woman. The foulness soaked into his hand, slid like arsenic through his veins. His breath faltered as pain launched through his heart, leaving it shuddering weakly, and he struggling against the pull of unconsciousness.
Unlike those who had fought longer than he, he overcame the invasion of Azazel’s dark spirit quickly, and his blurry vision smoothed. Gasping, he steadied himself on his sword, and waited for his heart to assume its natural rhythm. While he waited, he gazed upon the unfortunate woman who had somehow found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her brown hair was missing in patches where the demons had used the long lengths for handholds. He could not make out the true definition of her face, for from the top of her forehead to the base of her chin, a long gash freely bled. At her mouth, it divided into two deep cuts, one side of which carved deeply into her lips. Her right shoulder bled profusely, one bite mark having gouged out a deep hole. The rest of her body bore scratches and cuts, none of which were severe, but gave her white shirt and tan shorts the appearance that she had been placed within a meat grinder.
For an instant, Bianca rose in Iain’s memory. Her heart still beating atop her chest. Her pretty face angelic in death. But even as the vision surfaced, the old pain remained behind. The guilt, the feeling of failure neglected to rise.
“Is she alive?” he rasped as Nathaniel knelt at her opposite shoulder. If she were, she would hate her existence.
Nathaniel stripped off his heavy gauntlet and pressed his fingertips to her throat. “Barely,” he murmured.
As the moonlight shifted, Iain glimpsed the gleam of stark white against Nathaniel’s skin. Nay…Impossible! He snatched at Nathaniel’s hand, startling his companion, who tensed. Impatient, Iain twisted Nathaniel’s arm over and stared at an old scar that identically matched the shape of the gashes across the woman’s face. His gaze locked with Nathaniel’s.
Wonder widened the man’s dark eyes, before he lowered his disbelieving gaze to the damaged face beside his knee.
A small sense of satisfaction slid through Iain as he rose to his feet, allowing Nathaniel to take the woman into his arms. Ironically, he found he did not envy the man who had stumbled onto salvation. Instead, he thought only of Catherine, the sudden vision of her breathtaking smile spreading contentment through his veins. On the heels of the extraordinary warmth, came the pull of remorse that he would be denied the same eternity. He grimaced and struggled to hold onto the sense of contentment.
“Take her to the sanctuary,” Iain instructed quietly. “Let the nuns dress her wounds before you take her to Mikhail.”
But Nathaniel was already retreating to the abbey, murmuring soft words of encouragement to the unconscious woman he carried.
Iain followed behind, fighting down the urge to break into a run. If he had ever questioned his decision to leave the Order, he knew now he had made the right choice. Catherine might not possess the heavenly light that ran in the blood of seraphs, but she had saved him. She had quieted his soul, brought peace into his life, and gave meaning to his purpose. He might leave her, but he would not regret a moment of it. And he would find a way to make her understand how she had freed him, not damned him further.
When they emerged from the trees, one of the last pairs to return, Iain found Catherine on the front steps, standing on her toes, scanning the shadows. Her gaze drifted over him, then snapped back to his. The smile that spread across her face as she burst into a run, flying down the steps and across the lawn, swelled his heart.
She plowed into him, threw her arms around his neck, and clung tightly. Iain stumbled a step under the force of her impact, but crushed her close, chuckling. “Mademoiselle, your worry flatters me.” Heaven. He held heaven in his arms.
“I love you too, Iain.” She burrowed her face into the side of his neck, and squeezed hard. “I love you too.”
Saints help him, her words reduced him to a woman’s tears. He sniffed back the profound emotion before it could slide down his cheeks and nudged her head aside to capture her in a kiss that began in the depths of his soul.
Eighteen
Darrin sat across from Catherine, skipping through the pages of King Lear. While he ordered the passages he intended to use on his test—which he would take here, in Tane’s shelter, tomorrow during her lunch break—she replayed in her head the early morning hours Iain had spent showing her exactly how deep his love ran. They had come to many agreements in the wee hours of dawn. She understood Iain’s decisions, accepted that his fate would be bleak if he returned to the Order. There would be no more life for him there than here, with whatever time they were granted. They would part, and it would rip her heart to pieces, but for Iain, he would know true peace and happiness. She could give him that much. Without hesitation. For now, they would take one day at a time, live it to the fullest, and deal with consequence when it arrived.
In accordance to that, with lighter hearts, they’d crafted a future, he teaching self-defense here, while she would manage the literal classroom beginning at the start of the next school year. Her car—well, they still had to work out that one. He refused to give up his adamant stance that she’d be safer in a truck or SUV, while she was resolutely determined she would drive something cute and red. She would win this battle—his stubbornness waivered when, following the disagreement, he agreed to lie still on his back and submit to the wicked wanderings of her fingers.
“Catherine?”
As if she had summoned h
im by name, Iain’s voice pulled her out of her reverie. She looked up as Darrin stopped turning pages to find Iain poking his head into the room. “Hm?”
“Do you have a moment? There is someone here to see us.”
Her stomach bottomed out. The emptiness in Iain’s stare, the flatness of his expression spoke her worst fears. Raphael.
She gave Darrin an apologetic smile and forced herself to remain casual, despite the racket of her racing heart. “I’ll be right back.”
“Nah, it’s okay. I’ll go up to my room and look over this some more.”
He slid away from the table, making his way out of the room in front of her. As she stepped through the doorway, Iain leaned down and brushed a kiss across her cheek. “Prepare yourself.”
Prepare herself? A wave of nausea engulfed her. She grabbed Iain’s outstretched hand, hung on so tight her fingers began to tingle, and followed him down the hall to Tane’s office. Not now. Please, God, not now. Let me keep him a little longer.
Inside, standing just behind Tane, who sat as rigidly as if someone had jammed a rod down his spine, stood a man more beautiful than any of the depictions that hung on the walls of the abbey. Long blond hair flowed past Raphael’s shoulders. His face surpassed handsomeness, bordering on such perfection tears pricked her eyes. And the bright blue stare that penetrated beneath her brave facade left her lightheaded. Catherine stopped abruptly, unable to take another step into the room. This was real, not some nightmare she could wake up from. Raphael was here to take Iain.
“Catherine.” Raphael’s voice filled the room like a heartwarming melody. His gaze shifted to Iain. “Sir Iain. Do sit.”
His warm tone caused Catherine to lift an eyebrow. This was certainly not the same sort of archangel she’d encountered yesterday. Mikhail had been all harsh condemnation. Yet in Raphael’s quiet command she sensed something very close to affection. She lowered herself uneasily into a chair. Iain declined to heed Raphael’s instruction and stood behind her, his warm hands resting on her shoulders.
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