Immortal Surrender (Curse of the Templars)

by Claire Ashgrove

  She wanted nothing to do with wherever he intended to take her. Visions of a solitary room without a window played with her imagination. Trays of meager food. Days without showers. All in some vain quest to prove his ludicrous claims. At best, he’d only prove his mental instability.

  The compassion he’d shown her was the only thing that kept her from being truly terrified. He’d saved her twice, a blunt truth she couldn’t overlook. Not only that, but from what she assumed, he’d looked after her while she recovered. True, behavior like that could go hand in hand with psychopathic madness, but she didn’t think so. He’d had ample opportunity to bend her to his wishes. For that matter, he could have taken her to this temple while she slept, skipping the explanation all together.

  Besides, he worked for Gabriel—Farran’s one, ultimate saving grace. Gabriel was meticulous enough that he’d surely conduct background checks on people he hired to protect a holy relic. If Farran were truly psychopathic, something would have shown up. Gabriel wouldn’t trust the Sudarium to someone he didn’t implicitly trust.

  Which must mean he knew Farran well. Which must also mean Gabriel thought Farran’s post-traumatic stress disorder wasn’t terribly threatening.

  Noelle took a deep breath and reclined in the seat. Post-traumatic stress disorder—Farran exemplified that in triplicate. Their accident threw him into memories, and he reacted with the only defense he knew—a fictional story that masked over the horrible reality. If she needed any proof he’d served with the military, his physical strength and his no-nonsense demeanor provided plenty. Not to mention the nerves of steel he’d exhibited when they had a yellow Camaro running up their ass.

  Opening her eyes again, she caught his silhouette bounding down the old staircase behind the glass. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. She needed to think of something quick. Any minute now, he’d be out here. Behind the wheel, ready to take her to some place she’d never heard of. A place she had no intentions of ever seeing.

  Too late.

  Farran hurried out of the house. He jogged down the porch and to the driver’s side, her meager things in hand. As he slid behind the wheel, he tossed her purse into her lap. “Indeed, you do have wits.”

  Anger sparked at the insult, and Noelle gripped her purse between her hands, resisting the urge to swing it into the side of his head. She hadn’t become a recognized expert on radiocarbon dating by being an idiot. “You could benefit from the lesson my mother used to preach—if you can’t find anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

  Hands on the wheel, he sat still, his gaze trained on the house they’d just left. Slowly, he nodded. “Aye. Then silence ’tis. Nice is not a part of me.” With a press of his boot to the accelerator, they reversed out of the drive.

  A traitorous portion of her subconscious rose up screaming in protest. He could be nice. She’d seen that more than once. He didn’t have to come up the ladder after her. True, he might still be waiting for her to come down, but he came up and coaxed her down not just with niceness, but with that same damnable gentleness he gave her injuries. What was with this guy? He had to be an anomaly of science. All hard and calloused on the outside, but down there where he didn’t want anyone to see, he was as sweet as a kitten.

  Something she doubted he’d care to hear.

  “Where are we going?”

  Farran turned the corner, still not bothering to look at her. “The temple is in Missouri. ’Tis the middle of the nation, suitable for a central stronghold for our defenses.”

  Missouri. Noelle’s pulse jumped. Just south of Iowa, and what remained of her family. This might not turn out so bad after all. She’d be within hours of help.

  She slid her gaze sideways, hoping her excitement didn’t show in her words. “What part of Missouri?”

  “’Tis just north of Kansas City.”

  Not just hours away from help—four hours away. Noelle bit back a smile. She couldn’t ask for better luck.

  “When we arrive at the temple, you and I will take our oaths. Then we shall part ways. Mikhail shall see to the Sudarium’s return. ’Tis safer. I am quite certain Phanuel will support this change in arrangements.”

  Noelle blinked, the obvious staring her in the face. The Sudarium. Regardless of what Farran thought of her, he and Gabriel believed in the cloth. Farran also believed the cloth was with his friend. She didn’t need to run. She’d leverage the Sudarium for her freedom. When they made arrangements to return the cloth to Father Phanuel, they’d discover her bag held nothing but clothes. All she had to do was tell them she knew where the Sudarium was and refuse to help return it until Farran agreed to let her go.

  She might be his prisoner, but that damned cloth was about to become her hostage. All she needed was a suitable hiding place. Someplace a bit more secure than the bottom of her purse.

  Careful to keep her excitement out of her voice, she asked, “Are we driving through the night? It’s twenty-three hours or so, isn’t it?”

  Steely ale-colored eyes held hers for a heavy heartbeat. He glanced back to the road, tightened his hands on the wheel. “Nay. We shall overnight at the adytum in Ohio. Should you try to run again, Noelle, I warn you I will not hesitate to deliver you to Mikhail in ropes.”

  * * *

  Farran kept his stare fastened on the road. He refused to witness the certain anger his warning had aroused in his seraph. He mused over how Gabriel liked to provoke. It came as no surprise that Gabriel chose a woman more difficult than the willful Anne as Farran’s mate. ’Twas not the first time God’s messenger saw fit to destroy his life. Nay, the first came when he granted the gift of immortality.

  Yet Gabriel showed no mercy this time. Where the promised hell of immortality came with the salvation of a possible death by a Templar blade, this pairing doomed Farran to eternal existence. The darkness that seeped into his soul with each demon he killed would no longer guarantee an execution. Nay, instead, he would walk the lands timelessly, tied to a woman he did not desire and consumed by memories of one he once had. Branded forever as a traitor.

  He had come so close. A few more fights and the darkness would claim him. With that transformation, his Templar brethren would still his foul-beating heart. And he would at last know peace.

  Now, peace was as distant as the homeland he once loved.

  He tightened his grip on the wheel until his knuckles turned white.

  Noelle held power over him already. Tremendous power. The way her soft curves provoked unexpected hunger was dangerous enough. The way her fawn-colored eyes struck the deep need to protect her increased her danger tenfold. Yet all those things he could exorcise with one phone call to Leah. Nay, Noelle’s charms lay in something deadly.

  She possessed the ability to make him laugh.

  One moment he wanted naught more than to wring her dainty neck. In the next, he found himself disturbed by the most ridiculous of things—the tirade with the shoe, her unique name for her cat, and most of all her clumsiness. Graceful deer she was not. On her, however, the fumbling awkwardness that garnered her the most precarious of positions gained her uniqueness. A special kind of elegance that enhanced the pert upturn of her nose and those damnable eyes.

  Why could she not have proved to be as he first assumed—plain as a mouse? Were she, ’twould be an easy task to accept this preordained fate and the coinciding oaths he must swear.

  He sighed inwardly. Much as he might not care for his predicament, he must do what the archangels expected. With their fated joining, he would be one more knight capable of fighting off Azazel’s fallen Templar. The power the dark lord amassed warranted nothing less than Farran’s full cooperation. If he turned his back on his brethren, he would become exactly what his black-hearted wife branded him. A traitor. To the Templar, to the archangels, and to the Almighty himself.

  From the corner of his eye, he caught Noelle’s movement. She leaned forward and flipped the dial on the radio. The quiet twang of a male country voice seeped through the speak
ers.

  Farran cringed again. She did not even know how to appreciate music.

  Unable to tolerate the steel guitar and the nasaly voice, he nudged her hand aside and retuned the station to his preferred. Boosting the volume, he kept time against the wheel with his fingers. Angry guitars screeched. The low sultry tone of bass accompanied by insistent drums sank into his simmering blood. A scratchy voice screamed the cold notes of solitude.

  “Metallica?” Noelle asked incredulously.

  “’Tis far better than the whining song of a broken heart.”

  Noelle let out a soft snort. “Spoken like a true guy.”

  With an eyebrow lifted in reproach, Farran asked, “I beg your pardon?”

  “Nothing.” She winced as the guitar hit a drawn-out soprano chord. Leaning forward once more, she turned the volume down. “That’s a guaranteed prescription for a headache.” She pressed her fingers to the side of her head. “Not that I’d gotten rid of mine anyway.”

  Farran’s brows drew together, and one corner of his mouth pinched. ’Twould be just like a woman to play to a man’s sympathies with claims of ailments. He pushed aside the twinge of sympathy that tugged at the edge of his thoughts. Soon enough they would reach their destination and she could rest.

  The silence between them carried the weight of leaden mallets. Twelve hours stretched before him, a time more agonizing than the days he had spent under the Inquisition’s brutish hand. He would gladly suffer a day of coals beneath his feet in exchange for this intolerably small space. At least there, in the pits of the Inquisition’s foul prison, his nose would take comfort in the smell of death, as opposed to suffering the heady lightness of Noelle’s subtle perfume. It clung to her like a veil, despite her clothes having been washed. As if it came from within, as opposed to a mere scent lathered upon her skin.

  He shifted against his growing awareness of Noelle’s presence. As much as he despised the thought of conversation, he could not tolerate another moment of this infernal silence. He glanced her way once more and found her staring out the side window.

  He cleared his throat. “The adytum we shall stay at this eve is smaller than the one we left. Bethany, the keeper, feels her years more than Louise. We shall be responsible for our meal.”

  She cocked her head with a quizzical crinkle of her eyebrows. “These women, these houses—are they family? I mean, you come and go at liberty?”

  “Nay and aye. They are women who Gabriel has offered to care for in exchange for their accommodations. We come as we are needed. When we work within range of the adytum. We are given rest and reprieve. In turn, they are protected, their lives are extended, and their needs are met.”

  “Gabriel? I never knew he did shelter work. You said you protect them—are they from abusive situations?”

  “They possess gifts that make them targets for Azazel’s vengeance. All this you shall come to understand in time. For now, you need only know if you should travel, you have safe passage in these many halls.”

  Her delicate eyebrows arched. “I can travel?”

  “When our vows are sealed, you have complete freedom. The only time you need put aside your outside duties is when we are called to battle. We shall be required to fight together.”

  “I see.”

  He caught the rolling of her eyes before she turned her face to the window. With a heavy sigh, he stared at the road. Convincing her to believe the truth would be far more difficult than he had ever imagined. The Templar prophecy marked the second seraph as one who was blind. He had taken that expression literally. Whilst Noelle’s glasses told of her vision’s suffering, her eyes held not the problem. ’Twas her complete lack of faith. Never would he have believed he would have to teach someone to believe in the Almighty. Especially not a woman who descended from angels.

  And he did not desire the chore.

  Nor did he believe he could emerge the victor without help. ’Twould require the temple’s entirety to bring her misguided thoughts around.

  Noelle bolted forward in her seat as if someone had shoved her to the edge. “Farran, what happened to Seth? I’m positive that was his car—it had his vanity plates on it. Yet you said Lucan had the Sudarium still. Seth should have flown over with it.”

  Farran’s throat seized at the question. So far, he had avoided the subject of her friend in hopes her injury would keep the memory locked away. She did not believe in the holy hand. She would never believe in demons, nor that her associate was the same.

  Choosing his words carefully, he answered, “Seth was not present when the plane boarded.”’Twas truth. The juvenile demon had never made it to the airport’s front doors. Mayhap he misled her, but in his heart, he understood that should he tell her Lucan had killed the creature, what little cooperation she exhibited would vanish. She did not appear to fear her circumstances, and he would do naught to give her cause to bolt again.

  She chewed on her cheek, picked at her thumbnail. Her expression carried the weight of worry when she lifted her head and turned her gaze on him. “That wasn’t an accident was it? He ran us off the road on purpose.”

  The tightness in Farran’s throat spread to his chest. On a shallow breath, he answered, “Aye.”

  “Why? I mean, I’ve worked with him for two years. I gave him equal credit on the report, and this would have cemented his future in our field. Why would he do something so stupid?”

  The answer came easily. “He wanted the Sudarium.”

  Dismayed, she shook her head. “That’s just silly. There’s no gain in that. What did he think he’d do—sell it? Like that wouldn’t land him in jail.”

  “Mayhap he intended to give it to a greater power.”

  Noelle chuckled quietly. “Yeah. Like Israel. For that matter, the Palestinians. Hamas would pay a pretty penny for it.”

  He refrained from comment, sensing any remark about Azazel would restore her sarcasm. She would learn in time.

  In a sudden change in the course of their discussion, Noelle exclaimed, “Oh, crap! My cat! Farran, no one’s watching Scat!”

  A satisfied smirk broke free. He could not help himself, the opportunity to gain his hand over her taunted too much. Flashing her a quick grin, he answered, “Your cat is with Lucan.”

  She blinked once. Twice. “Scat Cat? Really?”

  “Aye. Whilst you slept, I instructed Lucan to retrieve your cat.”

  Her hands caught his arm, her grip firm and uncomfortably pleasant. Joy filled her words, her exclamation breathless. “Oh, Farran, I could kiss you!”

  His blood ran cold at the thought. Another kiss he would not survive. The first still haunted him. Something wholly unique hid within that tantalizing mouth of hers, a sweetness he had never before experienced. On the heels of the icy shudder that rolled down his spine a distasteful warmth filtered into his veins. Visions of her thick lashes dusting her cheeks as she closed her eyes in surrender leapt within his mind. He pushed them aside, determined to keep the memory of that damnable lapse in judgment locked in a far corner.

  He shrugged free of her grip and fished in his pocket for his cell phone. He needed a distraction. Anything to avoid this gratitude of hers.

  Flipping it open, he punched in Merrick’s number. On the second ring, he reached Anne.

  “Hey, Farran.” Her bright voice rang through the line, making him cringe.

  He grunted in answer. “Where is Merrick?”

  “In the training yard with Declan. Do I need to get him?”

  “Nay. I need to know if Lucan has arrived, and if he bears Noelle’s cat.”

  Light laughter filtered through the receiver. “Only just. He’s waiting on Merrick too. I’ll tell them you called.”

  “There is no need. We arrive tomorrow.”

  “Wonderful! I can’t wait to meet her. It’ll be nice to have another woman around here.”

  Muttering, Farran hung up. Aye, ’twould be nice for her—another cohort to plague him. If Anne had her way with Noelle, no doubt she
would teach Noelle how to wield a knee so sharply a man felt the reminder at the mere sound of her voice.

  God’s teeth, why could Noelle not belong to Lucan? He was far more suited to the needs of women.

  “Was that a woman?” Noelle asked.

  “Aye. Merrick’s troublesome wife.”

  “There’s women where we’re going?” Her voice lifted with disbelief.

  Farran nodded. “Two. You and she.” Unwilling to admit it, he mumbled, “You will like her.”

  “And Lucan has Scat Cat?”

  Saints’ blood, every time he heard the feline’s name he felt amusement bubble. Tamping it down by gritting his teeth, Farran answered, “Aye. He has only just arrived.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Lucan set his elbows on his knees and bowed his head with a heavy sigh. Merrick’s expectant stare bore into the top of his skull. At his left, Anne waited, hands folded in her lap, a barely contained smile tugging at her lips. At his right, Caradoc hunched into the overstuffed chair, his rigid posture conveying that the ache in his bones plagued him more than usual.

  Lucan should have been elated to bear the news of a new seraph. With the second discovered, the prophecy proved undeniably true. More would come. One for every tainted knight who managed to survive long enough. Mayhap more.

  Yet the discovery of Noelle stirred questions he did not wish to consider. Her assistant, Seth, had known her well. What manner of things had she inadvertently revealed to Azazel? Gabriel had briefed him and Farran on both Noelle’s responsibilities and her team. Only the archangel left out the important fact Noelle’s direct second spawned from Azazel’s unholy power. Why? Had Gabriel sought to challenge them? Mayhap force one into an untimely death?

  He squeezed his hands against his temple to block out the unwarranted suspicion. These days, he could do naught to stop it from crawling into his thoughts. God’s messenger had always behaved most strangely. The fact he omitted the danger that Noelle trusted a demon should not surprise him. Gabriel had his reasons. He and the Almighty were the only ones to share the purpose.