He loosened his embrace, desperate for a bit of distance. “I am not the saint you seem to think I am, Chloe.”
“No,” she murmured against his chest. “I know you aren’t. You’re a man.” She trailed a fingertip down the center of his chest to his abdomen, then slowly retraced the path before settling her hand over his heart. “All man.” More quietly, she whispered, “And I like you.”
“Chloe,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “I am warning you, cease. Else I will forget I desire something more than a mindless fuck. Which I could have twice-now had.”
As he desired, she jumped at his harsh language and tucked her hand safely beneath her cheek. “Good night, Lucan.”
He breathed a bit easier, but the roaring in his head left him silently swearing at the ceiling. God’s teeth, if Picardie did not break down the last of her walls, she would break him into bits.
CHAPTER 23
Lucan’s warrior’s instinct demanded he open his eyes. He lay still, surveying his surroundings with naught more than the movement of his eyes. Thick and foreboding, the unmistakable presence of Azazel hung in the air. It lifted the hairs on the back of his neck. The same tightness that infused his body each time he lifted his sword against the creatures of darkness crept into his muscles.
In the corner of his vision, he observed Chloe lay on her back, clutching the small red satchel she had brought from her room. Eyes wide, she stared at the ceiling. Her chest rose with shallow breaths, testament to her fear.
The stillness set off great horns of warning in his head. Something lurked. Watched. Waited to strike.
He inched his hand from beneath the covers, dropped it over the edge of the bed, and closed his fingers around cold, hard steel. Barely breathing, he lifted his sword atop his chest.
The door shuddered beneath a thunderous blow. As if some terrific beast held fast to the handle, it banged and clattered on the hinges.
Lucan bolted from the bed. He drew his sword before his feet hit the floor. He charged around the foot of the bed, one hand out instructing Chloe to stay put. But as he opened his mouth to issue the order, she jumped to her feet and raced toward the deafening racket.
An icy blade of fear pierced his chest. “Chloe, stand back!”’Twas not her fight. Whatever lay beyond that door would shred her to pieces. “Chloe!” He barked more loudly. God’s teeth, he could not allow her to risk her life. Charging forward, he grabbed her elbow and hauled her away.
Tiny slivers of wood splintered off the door and peppered the floor.
Chloe twisted free with a fierce jerk of her head. “Let go!” She evaded his seeking fingers and rushed to the shivering slab of timber.
Anger took fear’s place in Lucan’s heart. He ground his teeth together and stalked after her. He had one hand on her shoulder and was seconds away from jerking her behind him when she dropped to her knees.
“For the love of the saints, Chloe, get back before you are harmed!”
When she refused to budge, he did the only thing he could think of. He placed himself between her and the door and lifted his sword, prepared to defend her should the barrier yield.
Behind him, a flame flickered in the dark. He glanced over his shoulder to find her with two sticks of incense in her hands and a lighter applied to the tips. “Damnation, Chloe, ’tis no time for perfumes. Get away.”
She glanced up, perturbed. “Stop distracting me.” A shaking hand fanned the smoke toward his legs. Beyond to the door. To Lucan’s immense frustration, she stood and took a step closer to the shivering wood.
As if whatever lay beyond sensed her nearness, the quaking intensified. On the nearby desk, the glass lampshade rattled on its brass supports. Lucan cast a wary glance at the doorknob. It held, but barely, each blow loosening the steel in its casing. He tightened his hold on his sword, lifted it a notch higher.
Chloe joined him at his side and held the incense toward the weakening barrier. In a strong voice that defied the wide whites of her eyes, she called, “In the name of the Almighty, I banish you from this place. Go now, you cannot bring me harm. Mighty Gabriel, hear these words, protect me with your sacred might.” The words tumbled off her lips, fast and furious.
Beyond, a ghostly howl echoed.
Silence descended on them. The door stood motionless, as if it had never been touched. Lucan took a step backward, not trusting the stillness. When nothing happened, he slowly lowered his blade. For several heavy thumps of his heart, he stared at the wood, anticipating a renewed attack.
It did not come. Would not, he began to realize as he turned to witness Chloe closing up her satchel. The incense burned in a glass near the door, and Lucan hit the light switch.
Rage and fear warred for dominance over his confusion. She had foolishly risked her safety. Had her stunt failed, only the Almighty knew what fate she might have suffered. If Lucan would have conquered the beast, or if in attacking it, his soul would absorb the last bit of darkness to transform him into an equally horrific creature intent on sacrificing her to the unholy master’s plan.
With an outward calm that disguised the trembling of his innards, he laid his sword on the back of the couch and lifted his gaze to Chloe’s.
’Twas then he noticed she too attempted to disguise her emotions with a false hesitant smile. Her face paled to the color of death. Her wide eyes watered with unshed tears. Torn between offering her comfort and scolding her within an inch of her life, he tempered both urges with a deep, controlled breath.
Until he knew how she came by the knowledge of what lay beyond, and the adytum-keepers’ words, he would do naught.
He gestured at the bed. “Sit. ’Tis time to talk.”
* * *
Chloe bit down hard on her lower lip to stop her tears and sank onto the edge of the bed. Feeling exposed in only her bra and panties, she wrestled the quilt loose and pulled it about her shoulders. They’d come for her here. They’d interrupted her safe haven and forced her to admit no matter how she longed to believe Lucan could protect her, they could find her anywhere.
Would find her anywhere.
Shivers coursed up and down her spine, driving her deeper into the soft patchwork quilt’s shelter. Lucan sat on the couch, elbows on his knees, his gaze firmly fastened on her. What would he say? When he finished laughing about demons and curses, would he toss her out on her ear with claims that someone merely wanted the Veronica?
She shifted, wanting more than anything to avoid this conversation. But she owed him an explanation. She’d brought the danger to his door, hadn’t bothered to warn him his own safety was in question, and tonight could have turned into a disaster.
The way he’d placed himself between her and the threat spoke of chivalry. Even that massive sword, however, couldn’t protect him from the things beyond. He’d risked his life. She didn’t dare belittle that daring gesture by telling him anything but the truth.
“Chloe,” he urged with impatience.
“I’m sorry.” She plucked at a loose string between a cream and lavender quilt square. “I should have said something. I’m sorry.”
“Aye, you should have. So now you shall.” His voice hardened with a touch of annoyance.
Unable to tolerate his certain ridicule, Chloe flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything you wish to explain.”
“And if I don’t want to explain anything?”
“’Tis not an option.”
Of course not. She wouldn’t get off that easy. But where to begin? With the declaration demons had just attacked his door? Or with the man in Egypt, the tiny little man with the odd-colored eyes?
“Start with how you know the adytum-keepers’ words of warding.”
Her brows furrowed. Adytum keepers? No keeper of anything had taught her the phrases. That wasn’t the place to start anyway. Lucan might want to know, but without the beginning, any explanation about demonologists and priests amounted to nothing.
The couch creaked as Lucan shifted position. Footsteps on the wood floor made her investigate. She tipped her chin to discover him standing at the dinner table and refilling both of their wineglasses. Before he could turn around, she fixed her gaze on the ceiling again.
“Six weeks into what would become a full year of excavation, a man approached me in the oasis. He had the oddest bicolored eyes. One green, one a cloudy white. He swore to me I’d find something meant for me that day.”
“Aye, you found the glyph you showed me earlier.” The mattress gave as Lucan sat down next to her hip.
Chloe lifted her head. With a nod of thanks, she accepted his offered glass, scooted upright, and sipped. “What I didn’t tell you…” She took a deep breath, hating what came next. Swirling her wine, she studied the tiny ripples on the surface. “I found a tunnel that day. It branched off from the fourth chamber and was partially hidden by a large urn. I couldn’t resist the chance of finding something truly my own and crawled inside. The glyph was on the wall above my head. I wouldn’t have noticed it if I hadn’t heard that man’s voice telling me to look up.”
She shot him a furtive glance as she added, “Only no one was in the tunnel with me. My team was still working in the second chamber.”
Anticipating his smirk, she braced herself for the sarcastic retorts. Lucan merely stared at his wine, the tightening of his brow the only sign he’d even heard her fantastic claim. Otherwise, his impassive expression offered no hint to what he might be thinking.
Chloe continued, uncertain what to make of his silence. “Something followed me out of the tunnel. Things have been following me since. I can’t see them. I don’t know exactly what they are, but they aren’t friendly. The night before my break-in, they tried to come through the window. Pretty much the same way they tried to come through your door.”
She curled her free hand into the quilt and took a long drink. Her stomach twisted in on itself, the fermented fruit not sitting with her nerves. Setting the glass aside, she pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “I’ve talked to every spiritual leader in every religion I can think of, and no one has the answers. They all say the same thing—I’m not cursed. Not possessed. Yet I can’t get rid of these things. The ward I used tonight was given to me by a demonologist in Tucson. It fends them off for a while.”
At that, Lucan’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. Wordlessly, he lifted his glass to his lips and finished off his wine. He set the empty glass on the nightstand and swiveled to face her. “’Tis all the story?”
She nodded. He hadn’t laughed. Hadn’t done so much as smile. Why? Why couldn’t he be like everyone else? She knew how to deal with them. But this … This quiet lack of response disturbed her.
“I swear I’m not crazy.”
“I would not presume such. You sought to send the attacker away then?”
Again, she answered with a short nod. His question, however, reminded her of his sword. “What did you intend to do?”
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. With a nonchalant shrug he answered, “Kill it.”
“Somehow, I don’t think that will work,” she murmured.
“Nay?”
Chloe stretched out her legs, relieved that she hadn’t yet faced justifying herself. “Just a feeling I have. Like ghosts—I don’t think you can really kill them.” Hesitantly, she searched his gaze. She couldn’t take the wondering any longer. Had to discover whether his reaction was politeness or whether he was truly receptive to the truth. “Do you believe me?” she asked quietly.
Lucan stretched out on his side and braced himself on one elbow. He laid his free hand atop her exposed foot. “I have no reason to doubt you.”
Stunned, Chloe blinked. Her own brother cried off her claims as imaginings of her mind. Blake had done the same. Yet the man she’d known only a handful of days didn’t attempt to discredit her story. “Why aren’t you laughing?”
Repositioning himself so he lay diagonal across the bed, Lucan pulled his pillow beneath his head. “I work for the Church, Chloe. I have seen things that defy explanation.” He dragged her pillow close to his and beckoned her to join him. “Share the quilt, ’tis chilly in here tonight.”
Tears pricked Chloe’s eyes as she stretched out alongside him. She’d never dreamed she might find someone who could understand. Someone who wouldn’t condemn her or ridicule her fears. It was too good to be true.
He was too good to be true.
She snuggled close, inhaled the lingering spice of his cologne. He slid his arm around her waist and snugged her against his warm body. His fingers traced a lazy pattern across her skin.
“Were you really going to fight something with a sword?”
“Aye.”
Curious, she peered up at his handsome face. “Where’d you learn that?”
* * *
Lucan’s hand stilled at the small of her back. He should tell her now. With the proof she did not work for Azazel, he should confide all the secrets of his purpose and her fate. She gave him the opportunity, a perfect lead-in for the conversation they must inevitably have.
Yet he could not bring himself to tell her the truth. If she took it poorly, if she swore off his company, he could not protect her from the demons that plagued her. Next time, an attack might find her not so lucky. Worse, if he presented her with the seraphs’ torc, and she dismissed his explanation and further revealed his words to anyone else, Azazel would strike like lightning.
Moreover, Chloe was not ready to accept him. Until she could open herself to the simple man, he would not ask her to embrace the not-so-simple immortal knight.
“’Twas a habit I picked up in youth.” To veer her off the subject, he leaned over her to twist off the light near the bed. Sliding back beneath the quilt, he hauled her onto his chest and wound an arm tightly about her waist. Her contented sigh engulfed him. The splay of her fingertips against his skin stirred the ever-present warmth in his blood. ’Twas a mistake to hold her so close. To consume himself with the light fragrance of roses that clung to her hair and the feel of her silken skin sliding against his.
Yet ’twas the only way he knew of to silence her questions. This closeness distracted her as significantly as it distracted him.
He pulled his fingers through her long hair, enchanted by the way it tickled across his flesh. So soft. So glorious. Certain proof the blood of angels ran in her veins.
“Lucan? I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Nay. Do not be, my sweet.”
’Twas he who should apologize for even considering Chloe could be aligned with Azazel.
CHAPTER 24
Morning brought the song of a lark and the first true signs of spring. Lucan opened his eyes to sunlight brighter than he had witnessed in many days. It streamed through the drawn curtains, peeking from the edges and illuminating the room with the promise of a beautiful day. Mayhap the Almighty chose to aid his plight, for ’twas perfect weather for a trip to Picardie.
Chloe was still draped atop his upper body, and her warmth soaked into him. She slept peacefully, as she had the night before. So deeply he hated to disturb her. But if he did not escape the temptation of soft breasts flush against his chest and long lithe legs tangled through his, he would indeed forget all the reasons he had not already indulged in the promised pleasure of her body.
Careful not to disturb her, he lifted her off and away, and slid from beneath the twisted quilt. He quietly pulled a shirt on and tightened the waistband of his cotton pants before retreating into the bathroom to shave away his whiskers. Whilst he attended to his morning routine
, he stepped through his plans for the day, deciding what he would, and would not, tell her as they walked amongst the chapel ruins.
First, however, he must convince her to go. He could plan to show her the Seven Wonders of the World and ’twould do no good if he could not lure her away from the excavation in Ornes.
He turned the water off, patted his face dry, and returned to the bedroom where Chloe had not moved. Six in the morn—two hours to Picardie—he had time to retrieve a small breakfast.
With a backward glance over his shoulder, ensuring she still slept, he abandoned the room in favor of the small restaurant downstairs and its vast array of pastries. In the great front hall, he discovered Caradoc at a table near the window, coffee in hand, a plate of eggs and sausage before him. Lucan pulled out the chair and took a seat. “Morn.”
“You seem in better spirits since yesterday,” Caradoc observed.
“Bonjour, monsieur.” A waiter greeted Lucan with a smile. “You shall join Monsieur Caradoc? What may I bring you?”
“Bonjour.” Lucan felt the first true smile he had known in days cross his face. “I shall not be staying. But if it does not trouble you, I would like two cinnamon custard Danishes, two blueberry Danishes, and two coffees.”
The waiter scribbled across a small tablet in his palm. “You will be taking them with you?”
“Aye.”
“Oui, monsieur. I will have these for you shortly.”
“Merci,” Lucan answered as he pushed the laminated menu aside. He folded his hands together on the table and answered Caradoc. “Aye. Much better spirits. Chloe is not a puppet of the unholy.”
At the curious lift of Caradoc’s eyebrows, Lucan explained the attack and Chloe’s intent to ward off the demons. As he recited the tale, however, an unsettling discovery surfaced—Julian. In seeking to avoid her room, Chloe had not turned to her brother. And that brother, in fact, displayed more evidence he might be in league with Azazel than Chloe ever had. Lucan had not realized the obvious until Chloe’s innocence became clear.
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