“Chloe Broussard.” Raphael stood from a rich mahogany chair, hands outstretched to take hers. His lyrical voice resonated through his chamber, as if he had mayhap sung the greeting. “How I have waited for this day, when a seraph would stand within my temple. Mikhail quite gloats that he has seen the coming of two.” A smile broke across his regal features to light his blue eyes with the crystalline sparkle of a deep tranquil pool. “Blessed am I to welcome the loveliest.”
Chloe flushed so deep and hot, Lucan nearly laughed aloud. She dipped her head, her shyness setting in. But she allowed Raphael to take her hands, and as she found the courage to lift her gaze to his, Lucan knew the moment she had opened her mind to her seraph’s status. She looked not on Raphael’s face, but behind him, at the wall where the shadow of his majestic wings could be seen. With a gasp, she took a step backward and bumped into Lucan’s chest. He set a hand on her shoulder to steady her resulting forward stumble and to offer his silent support.
“Thank you for returning to me the Veronica.” Raphael paid no heed to her reaction and bent his tall frame to set a kiss upon her cheek. “I understand you have questions concerning why we allowed it to remain in the ground for so long and how it came to be there in the first place?”
“Y-yes. I think.” She tugged her hands free, turned away from both Lucan and Raphael, and distanced herself by standing at the opposite end of the room, closer to the door. As if she sought to flee, should the conversation become too uncomfortable.
“I think, ’tis best suited for you to hear it from the man who was charged to protect the Veil originally.”
Lucan stiffened, knowing this might well push Chloe to the limits of her cooperation. Too much too soon, and she had a habit of retreating to the safety of what she believed she understood. Yet he could not argue with Raphael. ’Twas his charge. His relic to guard, and his man to command. So Lucan waited. Stiff as a board, jaw clenched and fists tight against his thighs as the office door opened and Alaric le Goix stepped inside.
At once, Alaric drew his sword and dropped to a knee before Chloe. He set the long blade before his prostrated foot, laid his elbow on his bent knee, and bowed deeply over it. “Milady. I am Alaric le Goix, commander of the European Knights Templar, and I pledge myself unto your service.”
Chloe’s eyes jumped to Lucan. In them, he read the combination of disbelief, wonder, and confusion. But ’twas not his place to offer an explanation. Instead, he encouraged her with a subtle nod of his head.
Tentatively, she reached down and picked up the heavy broadsword. Shaking arms extended, she offered him the weapon. Alaric wasted no time in collecting it, standing, and quickly sheathing it. As he did, he gave her the smile that had won over many a fair maiden in their earliest days, including his long-ago wife.
In that instant, Lucan came to understand Raphael’s decision to introduce her to le Goix. No other man could present himself, nor their circumstances, with such grace. If anyone were to lift the burden of unease from her shoulders and make her feel at home, ’twould be the eloquent commander.
“I understand you have been exploring my home. I do wish you could have seen it in its glory. ’Twas a grand place to rear children once. The forest full of a day’s adventure and the grounds safer than any keep within the province. We did not want for much there. Now, I fear ’tis naught but a ruin.”
To her credit, Chloe smiled. She glanced at a nearby chair, then to Lucan once again. He gave her permission to sit with a slight gesture of his hand. He, however, remained with his back to the wall, one booted ankle crossed over the other.
Alaric pulled a stool out to sit across from her. “I would like to apologize for the trouble my ring created. You see, when I took the Veronica from Rome, to protect it from the brigands of Charles’ barbaric army, I was injured.” He extended his hand, palm up and splayed his fingers wide. Using the index finger of his opposite hand, he traced a deep scar that ran between the inside of his third and fourth fingers. “I foolishly grabbed a blade meant for my head. My hand swelled, and I left my ring with the reliquary, intending to return for it. I did not make it back before the castle toppled in an attack by troops from Lorraine, and I quite forgot about my ring over time.”
He chuckled. “Listen to me go on. I am sure you have no desire to hear about my follies. Milady, may I offer you a tour of this temple? There are all kinds of things I am sure would catch your interest within.”
“Um.” Chloe twisted her hands in her lap.
“We have many other relics in these chambers of stone, equal to the Veronica. Has Lucan told you the importance of it and why Azazel covets it?”
For the first time since they had left the château, her eyes sparked with interest. She shook her head. Leaned imperceptibly forward.
“Azazel challenges the Almighty’s throne. With eight relics, he will obtain the power to ascend and claim that holy station. He possesses the nails from the crucifixion. They bear the power of the blood. He possesses the Sudarium of Oviedo.” He stood to open the reliquary and withdrew the cloth. Gingerly unfolding it, he set it across her knees so the dark stains were visible, and tapped one large splotch. “If the Veronica is joined with the Sudarium, it reveals not the face of Christ as many would have you believe, but instead, the language of Raphael and his brothers. The words unleash the power to set Christ’s tears into the Spear of Destiny, which grants Azazel the right to claim and hold the holy crown.”
Chloe squeezed her eyes shut tight. Shook her head as if she tried to shake off the news le Goix delivered. When she opened them again, she frowned so deeply her brows became one. “Maybe that tour would be nice after all.”
“Aye. As you wish.” Alaric collected the cloth and passed it to Raphael. “Let us start then in the inner sanctum. We shall talk about this curse we all suffer, and the fates of those who crafted the walls.”
As they headed for the door, Lucan stepped forward, intending to join them. But Alaric thwarted his designs with a halting lift of his hand. Chloe stepped through the doorway, and Alaric shook his head at Lucan. “I will look after her, Sir Knight, as if she were my own.”
Every last particle of Lucan’s being revolted at the idea of leaving Chloe’s side. ’Twas his fate they discussed. His place to teach her the role she must fulfill. Yet, in his heart, he knew he was too close to her to succeed. He cared too much for her, and what they shared alone was enough to give her hesitation. Hating that he must accept what he did not wish to confront, he gritted his teeth and backed away.
CHAPTER 39
Darkness had fallen by the time Alaric escorted Chloe back to Raphael’s office. With the heavy walls of stone around her, she couldn’t see the night sky, but the hearty aroma of meat, potatoes, and fresh bread drifting through the corridors announced sunset.
Her hand tucked into the crook of Alaric’s elbow, she followed along wordlessly. Silence fell between them, though he had talked most of the day. He explained the purpose of the Templar, much the same as Lucan had. He explained the seraphs, but where Lucan had shared only the most prominent information, Alaric told her of Anne and Noelle, of the threats they had overcome, of the fate that awaited the knights who weren’t yet paired.
Her mind reeled with the knowledge he imparted. The facts that seemed so fantastical but could be backed by artifacts and documents he’d shared with her as well. Written accounts no mere human had seen, or ever would. Journals crafted by the archangels that held so much power, she felt the might within seep into her skin.
The final evidence she needed to be convinced of everything came with a brief phone call to Noelle. Alaric left her to talk in private, and though Noelle had been called away, Chloe heard enough to realize her wrongs.
And she’d been so very wrong.
Now, armed with the knowledge of centuries, she understood her purpose. Lucan’s purpose. It was a bit surreal to think she’d descended from angels. That the Almighty chose her for this role long before she had ever taken her first br
eath. But the revelation also gave her strength she’d never before experienced. Beyond all the battling of demons and dark knights, she existed for one reason. Sure, Alaric could talk about how her oaths would aid the Templar cause, but all the justifications stopped with one. Lucan. She alone could heal him.
He’d known it from the day they’d met. He had bent over backward to prove himself to her, and she’d shoved him aside at the first rocky road they encountered. She’d allowed Julian to interfere with what her heart understood, and she’d wronged Lucan. Maybe even more so than his murderous brother had. At least he had possessed reason, no matter how thin it might have been. All she possessed was a handful of excuses and a whole lot of spinelessness.
Alaric knocked on the door to Raphael’s office but opened it before anyone could bid him entrance. She stumbled in after him, feeling Lucan’s presence and yet unable to look at him for fear, now that her eyes had been opened, she might see the hurt she’d caused. She looked to Raphael instead and gave herself a swift mental shake. An archangel. Good Lord. If someone had told her she’d stand in the same room with one of the angels of creation, she’d have laughed until she wet her pants. Today, however, she’d met two. Raphael, and the healer, Zerachiel. Incredible didn’t define the experience. It came close, but …
A hand settled on her shoulder, the pressure familiar, the gesture one she knew by heart. Her pulse ratcheted up a notch as she caught Lucan’s masculine scent. Hers. His. She’d been so afraid of getting hurt that she’d seen what she wanted to see. Heard what she chose to hear. He ought to be thoroughly disgusted with her by now.
Raphael’s smile touched her seconds before he looked behind her, presumably at Lucan. “I believe ’tis time for me to dine.” He stood from his chair and grabbed a thick cloak from an iron spike embedded into the wall. “Alaric, come and share with me your news.”
“Aye, sir.” Alaric caught her by the wrist. Bending at the waist, he slid his fingers down to clasp hers and lifted the back of her hand to his lips. “A pleasure, milady. I shall look forward to our next meeting.”
It struck her then, as his eyes held hers for the briefest of heartbeats, how similar Alaric and Lucan were. Like le Goix, Lucan had treated her with charm, chivalry, and manners more refined than any fraternity boy’s housemother could ever think of teaching. Lucan changed though, as they’d spent more time together. He became more bold, more assertive with her. A bit more … primal.
She liked the change in him. As much as she liked the change he brought to her. And although Alaric made the afternoon pleasant, she much preferred Lucan’s self-assured smirks and mocking grins.
The door closed, and they were alone. Tension filled the empty spaces Alaric and Raphael left behind. What to say? Where to start? She still had questions, specific things she’d deliberately left unasked because she wanted Lucan’s answer, not Alaric’s. She had oaths to say, vows to make. But before she could just turn around and spit out the words Alaric taught her, she needed to smooth things over. Somehow make up for the last day and a half.
Slowly, she turned. Gray eyes regarded her cautiously, as if Lucan also suffered the same doubt over what to say first. Chloe looked around, suddenly claustrophobic, despite the spacious enclosure. Too much stone. Cold, unfeeling rock. For this talk, this pledge of eternity, she needed something less constricting.
She gave Lucan a weak smile. “Do you think we could get some fresh air?”
“Aye,” he murmured absently. “I could use a bit myself.”
The bronze armband weighed heavily around her arm as Lucan led her through the torchlit passageways. Each echoing step made her more jittery, until they at last exited onto the street outside the château, her insides shook like a leaf on a blustery autumn day. Like that leaf, she held onto the last bit of normalcy with a fragile grip. In a few moments she’d surrender her hold. Tumble off the branch of security to begin anew. With luck, Lucan would still be there to catch her.
As they passed a stone bench in the public garden, Chloe dragged him to a stop and took a seat. Frowning, he glanced at a bench farther away, beyond an iron fence, as if he considered moving there. After a moment, he lowered himself down beside her and clasped his hands together in his lap. Staring off into the distance, he made no attempt to ease the crackling tension with conversation. Which meant she’d have to broach the subject.
She took a deep breath, fixed her gaze on an opposing fir. “You didn’t tell me you were dying.”
“Would it have made a difference? ’Tis more likely you would have dismissed it along with all else.”
Okay, so she deserved the brittle edge in his voice. But if he really thought she wouldn’t have given pause to a claim of death, he had to be stupid. She resisted the brimming smart remark and let her gaze slide sideways to study his profile. “How long do you have?”
* * *
Lucan clenched his hands together more tightly. ’Twas not the way he had envisioned her adventure through the temple would turn out. Pity, he did not desire. Nor would he have her give her oath for such. “Long enough.”
Whether ’twould be long enough to gain her eternal favor, he could not be certain. So impassive was her expression, he could not guess at what thoughts ran through her head. Had Alaric made a difference? Did she now regret the fate he had brought her to? Mayhap even their meeting?
In all his existence, Lucan had never known such apprehension. Far greater than the worry of any battle with the heretics of old was his worry she would turn away. That her hours in the temple would not lead her into his arms, as he desired, but that Alaric had pushed them further apart. She possessed the right to refuse. ’Twas her choice as a mortal. But beyond the price he would pay with his soul, he could not bear the thought of a day spent away from her. One already pushed him to the edge of madness. He ached to fold her into his arms, taste the sweet honey of her kiss, and he ached for the feel of her, wrapped around him, holding him in the intimate way that only lovers could know.
He shifted uncomfortably, the stone bench as cold as the night air surrounding them. His gaze drifted again to the bench that sat on sacred ground behind the protected fence. Chloe kicked a toe into the hard earth and twisted it. Between them, silence hung like a thick, dark curtain. Seconds passed, turned into minutes. Unbearable, silent moments that filled Lucan with restlessness. He rose to his feet, unable to tolerate another breath of idleness. “We should move beyond the fence. ’Tis not—”
“I owe you an apology,” Chloe murmured in a near whisper.
He halted, one foot in front of the other, ready to lead them to where they could talk safely. He stared at the ivory statue of a cherub and answered in an equally quiet voice, “You owe me naught.”
From the corner of his eye, he observed the way she hung her head and twisted her hands. He took a step closer to the protective barrier. “Come, Chloe, we are not—”
“What is my role?”
Her question came so softly he almost did not hear her. Certain he had heard incorrectly, he turned around with a puzzled frown. “Pardon?”
Chloe looked up, her eyes full of quiet acceptance. “My role. My job. If I am this seraph, what am I supposed to do? Beyond this oath I’m required to say.”
His heart drummed to a standstill. She believed. God’s teeth, she believed.
He returned to the bench and clasped her hand. Her fingers fit daintily against his larger palm. She made no attempt to withdraw. Though she did not tighten her grip either.
Lucan dropped to one knee. Held her gaze so there could be no mistaking his sincerity. “I do not know what the archangels might ask of us. Of you. You possess the gift to fight demons with your mind, and I expect you will be called to use that talent.”
Her chin dropped, and her gaze returned to her feet. He closed his fingers around hers, lowering his voice. “If I were to write the rules, ’twould be only one, Chloe.”
Hesitantly, her eyes lifted to his. “And it would say?”
E
motion clogged his throat as he ran his thumb over the back of her hand. “That every day passed as the one we shared two days hence, and every night, I would spend in your arms.” He swallowed hard, cleared his voice. “I love you, Chloe. ’Tis all I wish from you as well.”
Beneath the light of stars, her eyes glistened with a rush of tears. She choked out a laugh and tugged her hand from his. “You have that, Lucan of Seacourt. I couldn’t take it back if I wanted to.”
With a smile that made his heart take wings and soar, she shrugged out of her heavy wool coat. Sliding one arm up the large sleeve of her sweater, she fiddled with the armband beneath. Lucan’s heart swelled to painful limits, and for a moment, he knew the fierce rush of nerves a groom experienced before his bride walked down the aisle. He had cared naught for Enid beyond the matter of fulfilling family duty. The wedding their families planned, though simple in comparison to the modern ceremonies, brought no anticipation. He had felt more excitement over the battle he would depart for the morning after than for the marriage itself.
But as Chloe eased the torc from beneath her clothing, a tremor ran down his spine. Though there would be no lavish ceremony, no church, the words they would speak to one another produced so much feeling he feared for a moment he too would weep. He reached for his sword. The scrape of metal as he pulled it free from its sheath rang in the quiet. Reverently, he laid it at Chloe’s feet.
Bowing his head, he said naught. He had already pledged his loyalty in a way far more meaningful than this ceremonial offering of his blade.
Her fingers touched the polished steel. She picked it up, extending it toward him. “Meus vitri, meus—”
A boot flashed in front of Lucan’s face. Steel clattered against the stone as his sword hurtled sideways. Another kick planted one heel in his chest, and Lucan toppled backward. As he scrambled to gain his footing, Chloe’s scream pierced the night.
Immortal Trust Page 33
