But the pleasant friction of her palms overwhelmed him. He moved with her, unable to cease the press of his hips even if he had wanted to. Sensation surged through his veins. He trembled with the effort of holding himself back. His chest contracted, denying him air.
“Noelle.” His protest was feeble, a mere whisper he could scarcely hear.
At the touch of her tongue, Farran’s world ground to a halt. He sucked in a jagged gasp, braced against the dizzying rush of heat that threatened to consume him. As she pumped, she teased his throbbing flesh, swirled that tantalizing tongue over his sensitive tip. The close of her lips as she took him into her mouth pushed him over the edge. On a hoarse bark, he grabbed her shoulders and dragged her upright as ecstasy ricocheted through him. He crushed her to his chest, spilling himself against the palm she refused to remove with a fierceness he had never before experienced.
Her hand slowed in time with his body. She let go slowly and wiped her palm on the hem of her shirt. Farran held her close. Head buried in her silky hair, he struggled to catch his breath and floated down from the otherworldly heights she had taken him to. He pressed a soft kiss to the side of her throat. The strong vibration of her pulse against his lips revealed something else he had not anticipated—shared arousal.
Lifting his head, he met the bright sparkle of her eyes. A smile made the corner of his mouth twitch. What surprised him more was the swelling of his heart. It felt too tight, too large for the small space behind his ribs. He brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek and traced the pad of his thumb along her delicate jaw. “Let me make love to you, Noelle. As a man should. As we were fated.”
He waited for her refusal. Hated the sound of the words long before she spoke them.
Instead, she pressed a kiss into the meaty flesh of his hand and whispered, “Please.”
CHAPTER 26
Farran knew he would soon visit a paradise many men would give limbs to glimpse. Slowly, reverently, he scooped Noelle into his arms to carry her to the bed. She nestled close, her long hair tickling the length of his arm. The gentle press of her palm against his chest turned his heartbeat into the low, resonating beat of a death knell. Only when this short trek came to a halt, he would not find himself strung from high ramparts and left as carrion fodder. Nay, only the crumbling walls that kept Noelle at a distance would perish.
How he would fare against their destruction, he did not care to consider. All that mattered was that she had said yes. Had welcomed him into her bed, her fears a thing of the past.
He took a step forward when something caught his ankle. Glancing over her shoulder, he found his shirt tangled around his foot. He gave it a shake to dislodge the cloth, only to find it wrapped tighter. Failing to consider how Noelle’s slight weight might throw him off balance, he stepped on the shirt with his other foot and tried to pull himself free.
Noelle’s giggle made the chore more difficult. He scolded her with a false frown. Chagrined, she bit down on her lower lip, but the humor lingered in her bright eyes.
With a derisive grunt, he shook his foot again. When it pulled loose, he could not quell a satisfied smirk. As a bit of the man he had once been broke free, he winked at Noelle. “I will not be deterred from honoring the damsel’s request.”
He regretted those words with his next step. Where he thought he had freed himself, he soon discovered his error. Trapped by the weight of his other foot, the material snagged midstride, pulling tight to halt the forward motion of his leg. He stumbled.
All sense of grace and poise shattered as Farran fell forward. ’Twas all he could do to hold Noelle tight and prevent her from tumbling out of his arms. The floor rose to meet him, and in a vain effort to cling to some of his dignity, he twisted to keep from crushing Noelle beneath the impact of his body.
His shoulder crashed into the carpeting, jarring the wind from his lungs. Pain shot through his arm. With a grimace, he released Noelle and rolled to his back. Humiliated, he stared at the ceiling. Christ’s toes, he could look no more foolish if he tried.
Spread across his chest, Noelle lifted her head. Laughter brimmed behind her eyes, though she tried to temper a smile. “And I thought my feet got in the way.”
He pursed his lips and scowled. But when he opened his mouth to tell her how much he disproved of her amusement, a foreign sound rumbled in the back of his throat. A sound he had not heard in the passing of hundreds of years. His laughter.
Rich and hearty, it burst free to vibrate his chest. Shake his shoulders. With the noise, the soul-deep tightness he bore each day unwound. The pain of betrayal shook loose. The weight he had carried through centuries rolled away to give him freedom he had believed he would never know again.
* * *
Noelle stared spellbound. The smile that lit Farran’s features dazzled brighter than any star. His eyes gleamed, radiant with the first glimpse of utter happiness she’d seen in this man. Those dormant crow’s-feet took on new life and deepened. And the sound … The husky velvet of his laughter swathed her like rich fabric.
She luxuriated in the strength of his arms as they wound around her waist and he fastened her in place. The giggles she’d tried so hard to silence slipped free. She laughed with him, at him, at the irony of it all. In between great gulps of air, she teased, “You should give me pointers on how to fall with so much class.”
On a playful growl, Farran rolled her over and pinned her beneath his powerful body. He nipped at her nose before he grinned. He swiped at the tiny teardrop that crept from the corner of his eye. The effort it took to control his amusement showed in the warring lines of his mouth. They tensed, twitched, then smoothed as he laughed more softly. “It requires much practice.”
She smirked. “I’m sure it does.”
“Aye. If you were truly practiced, you would have never caught yourself on the stool at the adytum. You would have crashed to the ground.”
At the reference to her embarrassing moment in the kitchen, she gave his shoulder a push. But his wince spoiled the playful punch. He tried to hide his reaction with another chuckle, but the effort fell short. He couldn’t hide his hurt.
Noelle traced her fingertips over his warm skin. “I think you need the ice now.”
“Nay. ’Tis a mere bruise.”
The magic that bringing him to orgasm conjured disappeared, replaced by a far more enjoyable comfort. Laying in his arms, feeling the comfortable weight of his body against hers, sharing laughter with this handsome enigma satisfied in a way Noelle couldn’t remember ever experiencing. She liked it here. Liked this side of Farran. Too much, if she wanted to be honest with herself. He had changed tonight somehow.
And truth be told, he had changed her. Beyond introducing her to sex, he’d changed her perceptions, made it impossible to believe he was anything less than sane. The man in her arms knew the full spectrum of human emotion, and while she’d wager every penny she owned he’d never want her to witness his sensitive side, he’d exposed her to too much. Tonight he held nothing back, made no pretense about what he wanted, how he felt. That kind of raw honesty, even if his actions revealed more than his words, couldn’t exist if everything else was a web of lies.
She lifted a hand to trace the faint scar near his temple. Mystified by the wound that had healed so quickly, she whispered, “Tell me the story again?”
His gaze clouded with confusion. “Which story?”
A portion of her mind seized against the idea of inviting him to retell the fantastic impossibilities he’d spouted in the adytum. She didn’t want to hear them. All they would do was wreak havoc with what she thought she understood. Yet she knew if she intended to make sense of this at all, she had to hear them once more.
Holding his gaze, she forced the words through her tightening throat. “About what you are.”
For a moment, Farran went rigid. His shoulders stiffened, the light faded from his eyes. He searched her face for the certainty that she knew what she requested. She encouraged him with a short
nod, and the tension in his body dissipated with his quiet sigh. “Aye. Let us move to the bed. ’Tis a more comfortable place to talk.”
Easing himself to his feet, he reached down for her hand. She accepted the aid and allowed him to pull her upright. He kept his fingers twined with hers as he led her the short distance to the bed, then pulled her in beside him. Stretched out on his back, he guided her head to his shoulder. A bounce of the mattress announced Scat Cat’s intrusion.
Noelle snuggled in close. Beneath her cheek, his heart drummed a steady beat. She splayed her fingers across his chest, slipped one ankle between his legs, and smiled despite herself. Ignoring the tiny voice that insisted she stay silent, she instructed, “Okay. Go on.”
* * *
Farran skimmed his hand down Noelle’s back, beyond the cotton hem, to rest on the firm cheek of her bottom. Her nearness stirred his body’s natural response, and his cock flinched against his thigh. Although something feral and untamed rumbled quietly in his blood, a greater gratification soothed the agitation. That she had brought him to laughter satisfied more than any physical need. The inner peace she created was enough to still his roaming hand and savor the way she burrowed into his arms.
He rubbed his cheek against the crown of her head and tightened his embrace. “I am an immortal member of the Knights Templar. I spoke my oaths of service to Merrick in 1129. From that day forth, I have existed for one purpose—to protect mankind from Azazel’s evil.”
As he had anticipated, she stiffened. “That’s impossible, Farran. Merrick just waved a magic wand?”
His brow tightened, but the lightness of his spirit prevented the customary burn of annoyance. He scolded by giving her bottom a light slap. “’Tis you who wished to hear. Now allow me to speak.”
“Sorry.”
“Ten years earlier, Merrick rode with Hugues de Payens to the Temple Mount. There, where they were forbidden to explore, they discovered ancient scrolls. You would know one as the Copper Scroll.”
She tipped her head, dislodging his chin and met his gaze with wide eyes. “The Copper Scroll? Who doesn’t know about it? It lists Jerusalem’s lost treasure.”
Farran caught her slip, her failure to qualify her words with legend or myth about those who might believe. He said nothing, choosing not to call her lack of hesitation to her attention. That she listened showed progress. Mayhap the afternoon in the relic room brought her closer to the truth of the Almighty. Mayhap the pliant nature of her body reflected a supple mind. He forged on. “Nay. Whilst scholars believe such, they do so because Azazel planted the thought within their minds. The scroll identifies the gates to hell. Azazel disguised it to tempt man into his clutches.”
“Farran—”
“Hush.” He softened his harsh command with a light chuckle. “Because we were forbidden to touch that scroll, the archangels cursed us with immortality and the duty to guard those very gates, to slay Azazel’s vile creations. Spread through the world, our purpose exists as it has from the start, to protect and guard the holy purpose.”
“And you don’t die.”
He paused, unwilling to lie and yet unable to find words to explain how the darkness from the creatures he slayed crept into his soul. He did not want her to fear him. If she should believe the truth—that soon he would become as evil as what he hunted—the fears she had confessed would deepen.
At the same time, if she understood her oaths would give him back his light, she might be more inclined to take them. Assuming she cared if he lived or died.
Nay, he could not leap to such conclusions. Though tonight transformed them into lovers, it spoke naught of what she felt for him. Pleasures of the flesh had little to do with stirrings of the heart.
On a deep breath, he compromised with a half-truth. “I weaken over time. I can be killed by a Templar blade. Raphael infused our swords with divine light, and the weaker I become, the more I am at risk.” The explanation omitted the fact his taint made him vulnerable, that the blade was designed to eradicate darkness, but ’twould suffice. When he knew fear did not haunt her, he would supply the rest.
When she said naught, he waited. In the silence, her fingertips drew a lazy pattern on his chest. Her hair tickled his face. And though the shirt she wore prevented him from experiencing the full warmth of her skin, his body flushed where they touched. Saints’ blood, he could become accustomed to this. No woman had ever fit so neatly into his arms, nor had one evoked such a fierce desire to cast all else aside.
A hollow screech beyond the window stiffened her spine. As the sound drew out into a yawning howl with the brittleness of breaking glass, her fingers dug into his shoulder. She jerked her head up and struggled to rise. “What was that?”
Farran tucked her back into place. He looked over the top of her head at the window as he answered, “A nytym.”
“A what?”
“A creature of Azazel’s. Smarter than shades, they possess some ability to change shape. Unlike more intelligent demons, they cannot speak.”
’Twould only complicate matters to tell her the creature should not be so close. Distantly, he recognized the sound of a slamming door, the rush of boots through the entryway below. Beyond the thin pane of glass, mail clinked and swords clattered. He reached behind him to extinguish the light, then gathered Noelle in both arms and maneuvered her onto her side. “Sleep, damsel. They cannot hurt you.” Brushing his lips across her shoulder he murmured, “You are safe with me.”
The knock he expected resonated through the outer chamber. In answer, her cat meowed. He slipped his arm around Noelle’s waist and tucked her back against his chest.
“I should get that,” Noelle commented on a yawn.
“Nay,” he whispered. “They shall fight without me tonight.” Inhaling the sweet jasmine scent of her hair, Farran did something he had never once given consideration. He ignored the call to duty.
* * *
Noelle stared out the window and listened to the noises outside. The clink of steel, a faint bellow, another chilling scream. Down deep in her core, the chill the first grotesque howl created spread. It filtered into her veins, seeped through to prick her skin with goose bumps. Shivering, she huddled closer to the sheltering wall of warmth behind her. Farran’s arm lay across her like a protective shield, heavy yet comforting. She ran her palm down the hard perfection of his forearm and slipped her fingers through his, over the back of his hand.
He answered with a light squeeze, but the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest betrayed his exhaustion.
Demons. Immortality. Alternate theology. How could any of what he’d said be true? Yet she couldn’t think of any reason so many people would go to such fantastic lengths to maintain a fiction. While she’d like to believe they were all nuts, two hundred or more people couldn’t be that committed to make-believe. The cults she’d heard stories about—even at the height of their popularity, they didn’t twist everything. They focused on specific points, exaggerated portions of truth. Actively solicited members through condemning the accepted beliefs and offering utopian paradise. Children, and the need to train the young, played a prominent role.
Farran didn’t criticize. He didn’t offer her an escape from persecution. Hell, he hadn’t really mentioned the vow he wanted her to speak the last day or so. And no animal she knew of made the horrific noises outside, even if the people in this building were missing a screw or two.
Anne spoke of a prophecy. One where she was a teacher and Noelle was blind. Could it be possible that everything science could prove was only evidence of something more divine? All the theories, all the postulations, all the math … Until today, everything had a place, a pigeonhole to fit into. Artifacts had precise properties. Chemical compounds, carbon footprints, and exact atomic mass. Men didn’t find her desirable. Her father had been the only one to ever call her beautiful, and sex was something she’d written off to movies.
Now she confronted objects she could touch and hold, and yet by all scientific reas
on, they didn’t exist. She lay in Farran’s arms, the heat of his half-mast erection nestled against her bare bottom evidence he desired her even in sleep. He hadn’t only told her she was beautiful, he’d made her feel that way. And she knew, without being told, he’d give up his last breath to protect her.
But protect her from what? Whom?
She closed her eyes on a heavy sigh and took a deep breath of the woodsy-orange that ebbed off his body. Another haunting moan beyond her window had her edging backward into his body as far as she could go. She trembled as the sound died off on a high-pitched whine, and another memory of Anne’s words resonated in her mind.
You will die.
CHAPTER 27
As sunrise turned the heavens into lavender, Lucan sheathed his sword. He bent down to collect the onyx blade at his feet. Beside it, the broken remains of his brother, William, lay in a headless, bloody heap. Three dark knights had come. Three they had conquered, but with great loss. Five Templar gave their lives. One returned to Azazel’s lair with the retreating demons. The others perished at the end of holy blades, before the darkness turned them on their brethren. Including William, who met the angels’ songs at the end of Lucan’s sword.
He stepped back from the lifeless body as strong hands hefted it off the ground. His gaze lifted to the curtained window beyond the iron gates where Farran slept. If any were to know the extent of darkness that descended on Farran, ’twould be the man himself. Mayhap his soul suffered enough he dared not lift his sword. If indeed such were true, however, Noelle faced greater risk.
Each day they spent together placed her in greater peril. She grew to trust him, and as long as Farran resisted the oaths, he came closer to fulfilling Anne’s prophecy.
“Lucan, join us inside. James shall see to William and informing Mikhail. Your watch is soon to start.” Caradoc hollered from the open gates, his arm raised to beckon Lucan inside.
Aye, his watch. Though he delayed assuming his position, he had not forgotten. ’Twould be another shift of minding a closed door. Another opportunity lost to warn Noelle of the danger she faced.
Immortal Surrender (Curse of the Templars) Page 23
