Immortal Surrender (Curse of the Templars)

by Claire Ashgrove

  Rustling on the other end of the line indicated Lucan used his map. Farran returned to Noelle. He pressed his fingers to her delicate throat. When he found her pulse intact, he breathed deep.

  “I am not certain, Farran. There are so many places…”

  “For the love of the saints, phone Merrick,” Farran barked. “Have him locate the vehicle. My ward is injured. Get here.” He snapped the phone shut and jammed it into his pocket.

  He must get Noelle warm. And yet he feared moving her. If she had injured her neck, he could damage her further. Still, he could not risk the chance she bled someplace he could not see.

  With the gentleness he would give an infant, he removed his coat from her body and slid his hands beneath her. Taking care to keep her head from bouncing too greatly, he eased her onto her back. A faint moan tumbled free, a noise so soft and anguished, Farran’s heart twisted.

  “Noelle, can you hear me?”

  When she did not do so much as twitch, he moved to her feet. Sliding his hands along her legs, he checked the alignment of her bones. Pressure on her left hip provoked another throaty protest. The sound gained strength as he examined her ribs.

  Frowning, he moved to her exposed shoulder where the blood ran in a thin stream. She lay still as he pressed her collarbone. He pushed aside her sweater’s shredded sleeve, following the trail of blood, and froze.

  In the moonlight, the torc glinted with subtle color. A decoration he could not hope to ignore, no matter how he might wish to.

  “Jesu,” he swore softly.

  A rush of fiery rage surged through his blood. A seraph! Gabriel sent him to guard a seraph and failed to include that important bit of information.

  God’s teeth, ’twas a wonder the demon had not killed her.

  He slammed a fist into the snow and ground his teeth together until his jaw hurt. He did not want this responsibility. ’Twas bad enough she was a woman. A seraph, the promised salvation for the weakened Templar knights, would mean trouble tenfold. Anne’s arrival had proved that. And yet he could not escape this duty. Not as long as they remained away from the temple. Once he returned her there, however, he would gladly pass her safekeeping to Lucan.

  Scowling, he tossed his coat over her body. As his gaze fell to her face, something deep inside him rolled around like a ball of lead. He had failed her. As well as his brothers. The most sacred gift to the Templar, and he had neglected to even consider Gabriel might have cause to keep her safe.

  He tucked a strand of her wet hair behind her ear and brushed his thumb over her cheek. “I will get you someplace safe,” he murmured.

  Headlights flashed across the snow, accompanied by the squeal of tires. Farran snapped his head up, instincts on alert. Too late, he remembered he had left his sword in the upside-down vehicle.

  Looking to the road, his gaze settled on a silver SUV. He expelled a long breath, and fitted his hands beneath Noelle’s shoulders as Lucan jumped out.

  “I was not far away,” Lucan supplied. “How does she fare?”

  “I do not know.” Farran glanced down at her delicate face, his frown deepening. “Help me get her into the back. I shall take her to Louise’s adytum. ’Tis nearby, is it not?”

  “Aye, brother. Within a half hour from here.”

  Lucan reached for Noelle’s feet, but before he could touch her ankle, Farran scooped her into his arms. “I will attend her. Fetch the things from the truck.”

  Though he tried to be careful, he stumbled as he rose. The jostle brought another faint groan from her lips. Farran grimaced. Saints’ blood, he should have allowed Lucan to carry her. Lucan possessed more grace, a gentler nature. He would not have aggravated her wounds.

  As Farran made his way through the snow to the running vehicle, he glanced down at Noelle’s pretty face. Without her glasses to cover her eyes, he noticed tiny freckles adorned her high cheekbones. Faint sun marks placed there to make her appear more youthful. A smile tugged at his mouth, but he squelched it before it could transform. ’Twas naught to smile about. He had contributed to her injuries, and lest he managed to keep the archangels uninformed, ’twould be hell to pay.

  Under his perusal, her lashes fluttered. Farran paused, less than a yard away from the SUV’s rear door. He drew in a sharp breath, held it whilst he waited. They stirred again, dusting the tops of her cheeks like butterflies wings. She opened her eyes. Closed them. Then with an airy exhale, she tried a third time. Those fawn-brown eyes lifted to his, and for a moment, his heart stopped.

  “Farran,” she whispered.

  The hand she kept in her lap lifted. Her fingers curled into his shirt as if she clung to a safety rope. Ever so slightly, she shifted, bringing her cheek closer to his chest. Somewhere deep inside him, buried in some forgotten portion of his soul, something did a long, slow roll.

  “Aye,” he murmured as he cradled her closer.

  “I’m so cold.”

  Protective instincts he had thought long dead rose like a fierce tide. He fought them back with clenched teeth. Yet ’twas futile. They stormed through him, awakening every particle of his body to the woman in his arms. He swallowed with effort and trained his gaze to the open hatch door. Too many years had passed since he had held a woman this way. Too many centuries. Once he had believed ’twas his purpose to protect the fairer sex. Once he would have died to uphold that fabled notion. Brighid changed all that. Changed everything. He could not allow himself to forget, no matter how helpless a woman might appear, beneath the surface they were as deadly as any man.

  Choosing silence, Farran eased Noelle into the truck. He leaned against the wheel well, his legs stretched before him. Still she clung to him, her shivers now strong tremors. They vibrated into him, making it impossible to hold on to his resolve. With a defeated sigh, he wound his arms around her more tightly and pressed her body flush with his.

  Lucan shut the door, extinguishing the light. In the darkness, the fall of Noelle’s breath against Farran’s neck taunted his senses. Heat rushed through his blood. Against his thigh, he felt the stirring of his shaft. On a silent mutter, he shifted.

  “When I was little,” she said on a soft chuckle, “I used to dream of being rescued.”

  Wincing, Farran tried to ignore the sensations her words stirred. He had not rescued her, he reminded himself. He had, in fact, injured her. Whatever misplaced thoughts she entertained, they were naught more than a product of the injury to her head. “You should rest, damsel.”

  To Farran’s relief, Lucan climbed inside. He flipped on the overhead light and looked back at Farran. “Do you not think we should take her to the hospital?”

  “Nay, ’tis unnecessary.”

  “Farran, she is but a woman. She may bleed inside. Uriel is far from here.”

  Farran answered with a shake of his head. “To Louise’s, Lucan.”

  Noelle’s hold on his shirt lessened, and he glanced down to find her once again at rest. He lifted his gaze to Lucan once more and lowered his voice. “She is a seraph. She will heal when her mate is found.”

  Lucan’s eyes widened like saucers. In the rearview mirror, his gaze dropped to Noelle, and then he turned around. “Does she know?”

  “I do not think so. Let us go to Louise’s. Lady Anne has catalogued the marks of our men. I shall contact her and ask for the list.”

  With a slow dip of his chin, Lucan faced forward and dropped the SUV into gear. “How did you learn of this?”

  “She wears the serpents.”

  Farran leaned his head against the window and allowed the discovery to settle in. A second seraph. Gabriel foretold of their coming, as much as the prophecy did. It made sense now—Whence comes the teacher, she who is blind will follow.

  Anne had been the teacher. Noelle’s sight marked her as the next.

  Would she belong to Lucan? Mayhap Caradoc? Mayhap someone else all together. Whilst Lady Anne’s journal documented all the Templar in America, it only catalogued the few knights who had visited from Europe.
Noelle could belong to one of them. Or another much farther away.

  The Sudarium leapt to life within his mind, and he jerked his head up. “What trouble did you encounter at the airport?”

  Lucan’s low chuckle preempted the amused shake of his head. “’Twas one demon. A young one at that. He took no care to conceal himself and ’twas over before it began.”

  “And the cloth?”

  Extending his arm above the seats, Lucan held up the small bag Noelle had given him earlier. “’Tis here.”

  “My sword?”

  “Open your eyes, brother. You nearly sat on your belongings.”

  Farran frowned at Lucan’s good humor. Looking down at the collection of things from the wrecked vehicle, he inventoried what he remembered—her purse, her glasses, his sword, the tube of lipstick.

  “She is pretty,” Lucan remarked.

  “Aye.” As lovely as an English field.

  “Mayhap she is mine.”

  “Mayhap,” Farran murmured. Though the thought tightened his gut so fiercely, he could scarcely breathe. She was too pretty to belong to Lucan. Too delicate for Caradoc. Too quiet for Declan.

  Damnation, what was the matter with him? He did not want a seraph. He much preferred the inevitable death that loomed ahead. For feeling naught would be a greater freedom than learning to feel again.

  CHAPTER 4

  With Lucan on his heels and Louise leading the way, Farran carried Noelle up the adytum’s old mahogany staircase to a small room on the second floor.

  “Set her here, Farran.” Louise patted the tall four-poster bed. “I’ll fetch my robe. Get her out of those wet clothes. Lucan, you go down and fix some tea.”

  Farran laid Noelle in the bed and backed up a step. Undress her? He could not. Though he was more than familiar with the hidden treasures of a woman’s body, she belonged to a knight. What lay beneath those soaked clothes he had no right to see.

  “Come now, sir knight.” Louise’s smoky voice carried a note of laughter. “Do you expect me to believe you’ve never seen a woman naked? More than once, I’ve heard the whispered murmurings of your brethren and their maids beneath these rafters.” She gave Lucan’s shoulder a push and nudged him out the door.

  With a frown, Farran stared at the tiny woman in the bed. He could excuse witnessing her nakedness to duty. He fished his cell phone out of his pocket and punched in Merrick’s number.

  Lady Anne answered on the second ring. “Farran, are you all right?”

  Uncomfortable with the concern in her voice, Farran bristled. “I am well. Allow me to speak to Merrick.”

  “He’s right here. One minute.”

  It took less than three seconds for Merrick’s voice to ring in Farran’s ear. “What happened?”

  “A demon ran us off the road.” He glanced back at Noelle, remembering the shrill cry she had let out moments before the impact. Approaching footsteps in the hall announced Louise’s return, and he tucked the phone against his shoulder to ease Noelle’s boots off her feet.

  “Is the Sudarium safe?”

  “Aye. ’Tis still with us. Mikhail shall need to send word to Phanuel.”

  “Phanuel has been informed. Will you be returning?”

  Farran set Noelle’s boot on the floor near the bed and reached for the other. “Aye, soon.”

  Drawing in a deep breath, Farran dropped her other boot to the floor and let his gaze settle on the torc around Noelle’s arm. He picked up her right hand and plucked off one soaked glove. He held her fingertips against his palm, admiring the slender lengths. Short nails bore no trace of polish. Soft skin disguised her line of work. Reluctantly, he laid the hand across her belly and announced, “Dr. Keane is a seraph.”

  A heartbeat of silence passed through the line. Wariness fringed Merrick’s voice as he asked, “Are you certain?”

  Farran pursed his lips against an exasperated retort. Was he certain? ’Twas not a claim he would loosely make. “She bears the serpents. I am not blind, Merrick. Send me the document of our brethren’s marks.” He picked up Noelle’s left hand and tugged on her glove. “I shall have her paired before—”

  A scar on the back of Noelle’s hand choked off his words. He stared, dumbstruck, at the meaty flesh between her thumb and forefinger. There, spanning up to her wrist, the whitish mark formed a perfect replica of a dagger, complete with a ringed pommel.

  “Jesu,” he whispered.

  The phone clattered to the floor, closing as it fell. Farran backed away, scalded by the sudden heat in Noelle’s palm. Reflex brought his hand to his belly in a vain attempt to cover the identical scar beneath his shirt. Surely his eyes deceived him. He did not want a seraph. Not now. Not ever.

  “Damnation,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

  He stalked back to the bed. No longer concerned for her injuries, he snatched up her fingers and inspected the scar once more. Nay, his eyes did not play tricks. She bore a dagger on her hand. It matched his as if someone had miniaturized the eighteen-inch-long weapon and scalded it into her flesh.

  She belonged to him.

  The door opened, and Farran’s head snapped up. He returned Louise’s pleasant smile with a glare. “You may undress the wench.” He shouldered past the aging caretaker, ignoring the way she spluttered.

  So Gabriel sought to pair him with a maid, did he? ’Twas no wonder the archangel did not forewarn him of her nature. Gabriel well knew Farran would rather swallow his own sword.

  He took the stairs two at a time, in desperate need of fresh air. His fingers twitched with the need to pummel something. A seraph! His seraph! God’s teeth, would he be allowed no mercy? Could he not just leave this world and be done with life?

  In the wide front room, Farran braced his hands on the table and squeezed his eyes shut. Duty bound him to accept the pairing. With the oaths they were fated to take, the Templar would gain much needed strength. Much as he would like nothing more, he could not walk away from the woman in the bed upstairs.

  And yet … he did not have to stay either.

  “Brother? Is something amiss?” Lucan’s voice drifted down the stairs.

  Farran turned around and raised his glower to Lucan’s face. “You will go to her apartment. Fetch her cat. Fetch her things. Deliver them all to Mikhail.”

  Lucan’s gaze narrowed with suspicion. “I trust you do not seek to have the maid to yourself?”

  “Nay!” God’s teeth, nay. He would no more touch her now than he would touch a snake. He would say his oath, deliver her to the temple, and leave with the first light.

  Cocking his head, Lucan studied him. Slow dawning filtered into his expression, and he answered with a thoughtful nod. “You recognize her mark. I shall have her mate sent here.”

  Farran exhaled through his teeth. At his thigh, he clenched a hand into a tight fist. “There is no need for such.”

  “Farran, you cannot be serious. She must be paired at once. ’Tis written—”

  “She is mine, Lucan.” With the vile truth exposed, Farran stormed out the door.

  * * *

  Noelle stirred inside her warm cocoon. Snuggling deeper into what felt like a pile of down, she savored the last fragments of the dream where Farran had held her. Such wonderfully strong arms. Hard and gentle all at once. And he smelled good too. Like wet woods and oranges. All man.

  Eyes still closed, she smiled and rolled over to cuddle with her pillow. As she moved, the dull throb of pain cut through her early morning bliss. She winced and opened her eyes. Instead of the muted blue of her room, warm yellow covered the walls. Frowning, she searched for the explanation as to how she got here.

  “Good eve, damsel.” Low and rough, Farran’s voice washed over her.

  In a flurry, reality crashed into her. Not a dream—he’d saved her after the SUV flipped. He’d carried her to another vehicle, and he’d rescued her from the cold.

  The heavy blanket covering her slipped as she sat up. It caught on her breasts, exposing bare skin to chilly
air. She clutched at the brushed cotton, desperate to cover herself, and felt the heat of embarrassment crawl up her throat. Naked. How absolutely mortifying.

  “There is no need for modesty, Noelle. I have seen it all before. ’Twas I who undressed you when you proved too difficult for Louise to shift.”

  The heat in her cheeks intensified, and she dropped her head to hide her humiliation. He’d seen her naked. No one had ever seen her naked. God, he’d know how small her boobs were, discover her bra was padded. Covering her burning face with her hands, she groaned. “You were supposed to be my hero, not my humiliator.”

  Heavy footsteps approached the bed. “I am no one’s hero, damsel. How do you fare? Your head, does it pain you?”

  Fingertips moved through her hair, pushing it out of her face. A strong hand cupped her chin, tipped her head toward the light. He brushed his thumb over her temple, and she winced. “Ouch.”

  “’Tis no wonder. You have a baseball of a knot.”

  She stared at his abdomen as he inspected her wound. This close, the scent she’d remembered so vividly engulfed her. Memories of how comfortable his arms had been swamped through her, and she resisted the overwhelming temptation to lock her hands around his waist and rest her cheek against his massive chest. How this giant of a man could possess such a gentle touch mystified her. Yet his fingers were nothing less than tender.

  With a satisfied nod, he stepped away. His gaze lingered, probing her with unsettling ale-brown warmth. “Your ribs. Can you breathe without pain?”

  She nodded. “They hurt, but I’m okay.”

  He reached for the blanket, as if he meant to inspect them as well, and Noelle scrambled backward into the pillows. Consternation creased his brow. The light in his eyes sharpened. “God’s teeth, woman, you cannot be that innocent. Let me see your injuries.”

  Noelle blinked. For half a second she debated blurting out the truth. But for some unexplainable reason, she didn’t want Farran to know she’d only been kissed a handful of times. At twenty-nine years old, she should be more experienced with men. And this man clearly had no hesitancies around naked women. Besides, the last man she’d told had laughed so hard it had taken her weeks to confront her reflection in the mirror. She couldn’t stand the thought of Farran laughing at her.