“My brother slaughtered my family to ensure he could obtain the woman, and the property, he wanted, though they were both beneath him. He was to inherit the larger, more prosperous lands, and upon our father’s death, I would receive the smaller Seacourt. She was my betrothed, and her dowry pitiful compared to what my brother would receive with his agreed-upon pairing.”
Lucan paused to draw in a breath. He frowned as the past played within his mind. “I would have surrendered the woman and Seacourt if I had known they meant so much. He chose a night when I was away to kill our father, our mother, and our youngest brother to ensure his desires could not be overruled. I returned, and he intended to see me to the grave as well. The last I saw of him was at the end of my sword. I went then to the Holy Lands and swore myself unto the Templar.”
Memories rose to the surface, as vivid as if they had occurred yesterday. His introduction to Merrick. Time spent learning the Code and devoting himself to the purpose. The night he had learned the true calling of the Templar and stood before Gabriel willing to receive the curse of immortality, and along with it, the first touch of darkness that would torment him the rest of his days.
As the images scrolled through his head, he recited them to Chloe. Minutes passed, turned into hours. Beside him, she sat still as stone, taking in what he said, asking no questions and providing no further commentary. He showed her their matched birthmarks, told her of Gervais’ death. Spared no detail as he described the horrific dark knight that had attacked his brother, and how he had witnessed the life drain from his eyes.
All of this, and more, she listened to. ’Twas not until he returned to the present, and the reason he now sat at her side, that she participated in the conversation.
“You are a descendant of the Nephilim, Chloe. In your veins, the blood of angels flows. In your soul, you harbor the light that will heal the taint inside mine. We were fated before the beginning of time. ’Twas not until Gabriel demanded I come here that I knew ’twas you I would spend eternity with.”
“What?” she softly cried in disbelief.
“’Tis true, I swear to you. But the oath of loyalty I gave to you last eve has naught to do with any preordained pairing. It came from my heart. Although my soul needs you to survive, I, the man you see before you, cannot draw breath without you.”
“Angels? Immortality? Lucan, you can’t be serious!”
“Why else do you possess the ability to wound demons with mere thought? It is a seraph’s gift—each of you possess specific, unique abilities.”
Her frown returned, sharp creases that marked her inability to explain the supernatural talent. He gave her silence to process the explanation. Sat with bated breath and waited for the furrows in her brow to smooth and acceptance to touch her eyes.
It did not come.
With a violent shake of her head, she abruptly stood. “Leave. I can’t believe you expect me to buy into this.”
“Chloe—”
“Go! I’m done being lied to!”
The determination in her face made further argument futile. His heart as heavy as if it had been cast in stone, he stood. “I will go. But ’tis one more thing I must tell you.”
“What?” she snapped with impatience.
Lucan steeled himself against her certain fury and delved into the one subject she would never believe. “Your brother knows Azazel’s touch. I will swear my life on it. You must say naught of this to him. To anyone. If you feared the demons, you do not wish to meet what will come if your status as a seraph reaches Azazel’s minions.” He added in a lower voice, “Not even I can protect you from the unholy one.”
Chloe gritted her teeth so hard a tick pulsed at her temple. She glowered at him, her chest heaving with unspent fury. “Get. Out.”
With naught else left to convince her, Lucan pulled the bronze arm torc from his pocket and set it on the table. “Show this to no one. When you are ready to wear it, you know where to find me.” He gave her one last meaningful look, then quietly left the room.
CHAPTER 36
Chloe’s hands shook as she reached for the ringlet of bronze Lucan had left on the table. She sank into the couch, afraid her legs wouldn’t hold her any longer. Immortality. Unholy beings. Angels?
Damn it!
How did anyone expect someone to believe that story? Because she had been haunted by demons and possessed an ability to keep them at bay? Good grief. Demons were one thing. What Lucan claimed was straight out of a sci-fi movie.
She turned the heavy armband over in her hands. He couldn’t be over nine hundred years old. She’d made a playground out of his body, and there wasn’t a wrinkle on any inch of that taut skin that would mark him a day over thirty-five.
And yet he knew things he shouldn’t. Nothing would convince her that the secrets he shared in Picardie were anything but the truth. Or the facts about the engravings on le Goix’s toppled wall. He couldn’t glean all that from stories passed down through ancestors. They were too specific. Too detailed.
Too obscure.
Nine hundred years old.
She ran the tip of her nail over the double-headed serpent’s scales. A greenish-red patina glimmered in the dim light, accenting the bright glint of each snake’s ruby eyes. On their tiny heads, she found the one symbol she could go the rest of her life without seeing—the Templar cross.
How else do you explain …
How else did she explain? She’d gone her entire life without knowing she had a supernatural gift. Had consulted with countless religious leaders about the curse. Lucan came along, and he immediately knew the solution to the demons. He’d flat-out forced her to believe in him, and when she’d taken a leap of faith, he’d been right.
No everyday ordinary man would jump to that kind of conclusion. For God’s sake, Blake and Julian laughed at her fear of the dark, and they were about as ordinary as a man could get.
I cannot draw breath without you.
Shivers gripped her as his voice echoed in her memory. Anyone could say I love you. Lucan took it further. Though he had admitted the simpler version, twice now, he had said so much more without the actual mention of love. Exactly how she felt about him, for love didn’t encompass all the intense emotion. The word she had once feared now seemed far too ordinary.
As she toyed with the armband, the rubies winked like they shared some great secret and mocked the turmoil in her head. She ran her thumb over the roughened circumference. Old enough to rival some of the pieces she’d collected in the Egyptian tombs. And yet the crude artistry spoke of an even older age. Maybe this was just some piece that someone believed in. Like the ankh. A relic ancient people believed held power because of the symbols that it bore.
Maybe it wasn’t.
What if he was right, and she was descended from the cast-out Nephilim?
She laughed softly. Good grief, she couldn’t really be considering that possibility. It was absurd! Thirty years ago, she’d entered this world on the night of October 28, in a hospital in Tucson, Arizona. Her parents were Regina and Matthias Broussard, second-generation French Americans. They certainly hadn’t been timeless or immortal. Unless cancer and heart attacks didn’t apply to those two states of being.
But what if Lucan was right and she’d been chosen to spend eternity at his side?
She held the torc to the light and squinted at the serpents. Chloe of Seacourt—it had a nice ring. She’d never be the fairy-tale princess she’d yearned to become as a kid, but she could be Lucan’s queen … at least figuratively. Tentatively, as if she tried the idea on as well as the trinket, she pulled her left arm out of her sweater and pushed the armband on. It fit snugly, just above the top of her bicep.
Lucan’s bride … Lady Chloe.
A soft knock on her door made her jump. Embarrassed to be caught fantasizing about the impossible, she blushed and stuffed her arm back into her sweater. “Coming.” It better not be Lucan. She’d kick him in the shins this time. Or Gareth. She couldn’t deal with him
either.
Her brother waited on the other side, concern etched into his expression. She swung the door wide, inviting him to enter.
“Are you okay? I saw Lucan in the hall.”
“Oh God, Julian, I feel like such a fool.” She fell into his outstretched arms and hung on tight. He held her, offering the familiar comfort she needed. If she’d listened to her brother, she wouldn’t be in this predicament now. Thank heavens he wasn’t the kind of person who’d rub in her lapse of judgment. He hadn’t cared much for Blake either, but when Blake showed his true colors, Julian had never once made Chloe feel like she’d invited the heartache with her inability to see Blake for the bastard he was.
“I gave him everything. Fell in love. For this! God, I was so stupid.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about it.” He patted the small of her back. “It’s not your fault you’re dumb about men.”
Her cheek plastered against his shoulder, Chloe frowned. Dumb about men? Maybe she made mistakes, maybe she lacked clear judgment, but dumb? Not what one said to a heartbroken sister who needed comfort. And while Julian was a little rough around the edges, even he knew that.
She edged out of his hug and peered up at his face. Though he held her close, and made a good show of offering comfort, his expression held the blankness of boredom.
Boredom! Annoyance seeped into her veins, making her blood fizzle and pop. The fine hairs along her arms lifted in apprehension. Something was most definitely not right about her brother.
In the next heartbeat, however, his gaze dropped to hers, full of all the compassionate warmth he’d shown moments ago. The endearing smile he gave her, along with the tightening of his arms, erased her apprehension. “Sorry,” he apologized quietly. “I was just wondering how best to help you.”
She stepped back, grateful she had at least one person in this world she could count on.
“Tell me everything.” He led her to the couch where he urged her to sit.
She leaned back against the cushion. “I was saying I bought into everything he said. And when he’s been caught, what does he say? Not, I’m sorry. Not, please forgive me.” She let out a soft laugh. “No, he comes back with some ridiculous story about immortal Templar knights and seraphs.” Leaning her head back, she looked up at her brother. “Can you believe that? He actually came back here and tried to tell me I was some descendant of an angel. Guess that explains your good looks, huh?”
“What?” Julian snapped forward to stare at her. “What did he say?”
His questions lacked the disbelief she’d given Lucan. His gaze bore into her in the most disturbing way. As if he looked all the way through her.
Or not at her at all.
She glanced over her shoulder, curious what captured his attention. But as she looked, his body followed hers. His expectant gaze set off the jangling of her nerves.
“What did he say?” Julian demanded more forcibly.
“H-he said I was…” Tell no one. Probably because they’d all realize he was crazy. She shrugged off Lucan’s warning and her grin returned. “Some descendant of the Nephilim and could live forever.”
When Julian reached between them and urgently grabbed her hands, Chloe nearly jumped out of her seat. His grip was firm and tight. Painful where he pinched her knuckles together. “Hey, ease up. You’re going to break my fingers.”
“Did he give you anything?”
The anxiousness in her brother’s voice gave Chloe pause.
Your brother knows Azazel’s touch. Show this to no one.
For the umpteenth time she asked herself, what if Lucan was right? Pulling on her hands, she chose to play ignorant. “Give me anything?”
Julian tightened his grip and tugged on her arms so fiercely she had to lean in inches away from his face to ease the twist of her skin. “Ow, you’re hurting me. Let go!”
“I asked you if he gave you anything.”
“No, it was just some stupid story.” She twisted with a grimace. “God, Julian, let go. What’s wrong with you?”
Julian’s uncharacteristic reaction did more to justify a stupid story than all of Lucan’s carefully executed words.
He thrust her hands from his and abruptly stood. The blankness returned to his eyes. Though he looked straight at her, he didn’t focus. Adding to her unease, the usual soft blue color of his eyes darkened to near black.
“Make sure you have the trunk tomorrow. Don’t let him spend another minute with it.”
Chloe blinked. The reliquary? Of all the goddamn things. Here she was in the middle of a crisis, and Julian wanted her to think about a relic they had yet to officially date?
With the measured precision of a formal guard, Julian turned crisply on one toe. He glanced down the length of his shoulder. Summoned an unnatural smile. “Good night, Chloe.”
As the door firmly closed, icy fingers trailed down the length of her spine and curdled her blood. She huddled into the far corner of the couch, her arms wrapped around her knees, and stared wide-eyed at the drawn curtains. What the fuck was wrong with her brother?
Touched by Azazel.
Suddenly, the idea of being two floors away from Lucan seemed so very wrong.
Damn it all, she didn’t know whom to trust anymore. Lucan came with fantastic stories. Julian was a different man from the one who’d left Tucson at her side.
No matter where she turned, big screaming, angry sirens of warning blared. No one was safe. No one offered security. Her rug had been ripped from beneath her, and the world she thought she understood tipped sideways on its axis.
* * *
Pain infiltrated all other awareness. It ravaged Julian from inside out, or maybe outside in—they’d become the same thing. Hadn’t they? He could hardly keep his thoughts in line, let alone exercise the enormous amount of force required to override the beast that clawed at his soul, intent on ripping him into oblivion.
He let go, retreating to the safety of recessed shadows where the demon couldn’t sense him. Stopping the thing from attacking Chloe had weakened him beyond the point where he could maintain control. For now, he would watch. Listen. Store what little energy he possessed for the next encounter. If he survived that long.
Looking out through eyes he no longer focused, he watched as his body entered the room he vaguely recalled renting when he’d arrived in January. Lights extinguished, he moved through the darkness with ease. But then, darkness was everywhere now. He no longer needed light. Shadows were second nature.
A man sat on his couch. The same man who had been here before. Eadgar. Declan’s man. Or did Declan work for him? It didn’t matter. They all commanded what he had become, and they all represented a threat to the only person worth the never-ending agony—Chloe.
Eadgar stood. “Julian, where is the Veil?”
“With the knight.” Julian heard his voice answer, though he hadn’t commanded it. No, the days of the beast requiring his presence to speak were long gone. It did as it desired, except for the rare occasion, like moments earlier, where Julian sensed Chloe was in danger and fought for control.
“I warned you before, if you did not produce it, I would.”
“I have learned something you would find of interest.”
Eadgar’s harsh frown smoothed, his interest keen. “Do speak.”
The beast sat, crossed one ankle over a knee. Julian looked down on the perfect facsimile of legs he knew by heart and choked back another pinprick of pain. What he would give again to walk. To know the freedom he’d once taken for granted.
“She’s a seraph.”
Though the response was short, and Julian didn’t fully understand the meaning—he couldn’t access the beast’s mind as it could access his—what remained of his senses rose to high alert. Something deeper lay in the heavy words. Significance. And along with the utterance, he sensed the beast’s unquenchable urge to kill.
Eadgar stalked to the small table near the window and turned on the lamp. The jerk of his arms, the snap
of his wrist, all suggested he too shared the knowledge Julian lacked. He spun around, pinning the beast with a sharp squint. “Why did you not send for me upon immediately discovering this?”
“I only just learned it. Tonight she admitted Lucan confessed his immortality and her place amongst the Templar.”
Julian had listened to Chloe’s story. He’d wished like hell he could comfort her. Had tried for a few seconds before he’d been thrust aside and slammed into the corners where he could only watch and listen. Forced into mute idleness. Now he understood why. His sister’s story, as absurd as it had sounded, was true. Why it mattered, he couldn’t explain. But her status held importance.
It also put her in great danger.
Harm he not only felt emanating off the beast, along with its vile thirst for death, but also witnessed in the hard set to Eadgar’s jaw and the beady glint of his eyes.
For several seconds, Eadgar did nothing but stare. His jaw worked soundlessly. His hands clenched and relaxed at his sides. Then, he expelled a harsh breath, and his voice cut through the thick silence. “I want them both. You will bring her, and the Veil. I will ensure you have aid.”
No!
Julian surged forward, throwing every last ounce of strength he possessed into dominating the beast. Not Chloe. Never his sister. He must stop this nonsense. Urge Chloe to go far from here. Back to Lucan if he could keep her safe.
He fought against the dark presence that engulfed him, striking out with blows that pummeled through him as much as they damaged his captor. The beast howled with rage, retaliated with the fury of a hundred men or more. And though they didn’t battle physically, the stakes were the same. One of them would die tonight.
He gained control long enough to shout, “Stay the hell away from Chloe!”
Eadgar gave him an indifferent look and walked out the door.
As if someone had hurtled him into a stone wall, the beast grabbed hold and shoved Julian’s spirit aside. Agony knifed through him. Blinded him. With sheer determination, he struggled toward the surface, desperate to emerge the victor and control this facsimile form. Chloe depended on him. He had to warn her. He knew what this creature was capable of, and if he did not stop it, his sister would believe he brought her harm.
Immortal Trust Page 31
