Immortal Hope (21 page)

“I know things I shouldn’t. Secrets I’ve got to tell you. Above all that…” Anne let out a heavy sigh. “I think something terrible is about to happen. I don’t want to be here when it does.”

Nay, of course she would try to flee. Merrick had suspected as much. Christ’s toes, Merrick should have been more forthright. Should have made his concern clearer. She had come from the inner sanctum; the Almighty only knew what she may have found or overheard.

“I gotta run. I’ll call you when I can.”

Lucan moved to the far side of the bookshelf as the mattress creaked. He pretended not to hear the doors open, studied one spine in particular. A copy of their written history stood separate from the other titles, and surreptitiously, he pulled it free. He would not chance further secrets to this woman, no matter what Mikhail claimed she was.

Struggling to keep his expression amicable, he turned to her with lifted brows. “May I borrow this from your library?” He took the risk, hoping she would not inspect the book, and flashed it beneath her nose.

In answer to his silent prayer, she gave the book a brief, dismissive glance. “Sure. Thanks for the phone.” Extending her hand, she offered his cell phone.

“Of course, milady.” Lucan stuffed the device into his back pocket and tucked his book beneath his arm. “Did you wish anything else of me this eve?”

Distracted, Anne shook her head as she chewed on her bottom lip.

Though he knew it was rude, he did not wait for her to reconsider. With little more than a respectful dip of his chin, he strode to the door and let himself into the hall.

Merrick would be most extremely displeased when he heard the lady had become lost beneath the house. He would rile and rant, curse and swear when he heard Lucan had disregarded the direct order to watch over her. But when he learned the woman he protected intended to spill their secrets to an outsider, Merrick would see red.

They had all sworn loyalty, and a small part of Lucan longed to believe Anne’s conversation was innocent. Yet try as he might, he could not convince himself she would not become an unexpected threat. Gabriel relayed that Azazel had heard Abigail’s dying command to unveil the seraphs. It would not be beyond the lord of darkness to use the tidbit of knowledge to his advantage and create the perfect lie to fool them all into revealing the sacred hiding places. He had used greater trickery to accomplish lesser victories.

If he succeeded, if the maid was indeed some sort of dark trap, Lucan refused to be the outlet to his brethren’s fall. Nay, he had no choice. Despite his vow of loyalty to her, he must inform Merrick of the woman’s plans to leave.

CHAPTER
15

As nightfall descended, Merrick eased the truck to a stop in front of the temple and looked up to the window on the second floor. For seven hours, he had sat by the river, contemplating all manner of things. From the futility of the Templar cause, to what sort of belongings Anne might desire; from the hopelessness of his soul, to whom Anne might match, his thoughts continually returned to her.

His solitude served no purpose other than to remind him he wasted time attending to her. Each night Fulk became more dedicated to his evil path, each passing minute he moved farther away. The days of tracking him would be meaningless if Anne did not find her intended soon. Fulk’s trail grew cold as the time passed.

Were it not for Mikhail’s admonishment that Fulk would find salvation when the time was right, Merrick would beg to be released from Anne. However, Merrick could speak until he ran out of air, and Mikhail would not grant the freedom to pursue his transformed cousin.

Merrick dared not reveal his attraction for the maid either. Should he, Mikhail would confine him in the solitary cell for the inability to curtail his lust. Particularly when such desire involved another Templar’s seraph.

A shadow moved beyond the second-story window, and Merrick’s pulse bounced. He glanced at the clock radio sitting in his passenger’s seat, anxious to present the gift. ’Twas a small thing, a token really, that he hoped might light her face with the same joy McDonald’s brought. He could have left it behind—should have, knowing Uriel’s distaste for modern music. Yet pleasing Anne soothed the gnawing in Merrick’s spirit. Her bright smile eased the ever-lingering sense of despair. And so he had grabbed it as an afterthought, having spent far too long sifting through her clothes.

Which presented a whole new set of frustrations. Rummaging through Anne’s closets and drawers exposed him to a far more intimate side of the woman he guarded. Her underclothes created vivid images he felt quite certain the archangels would find sacrilegious. Wispy panties, bras of such fine lace he feared he would ruin the delicate things. All of them carried that same enticing aroma of lavender and sugar. By the time he had stuffed the entire drawer in his bag, he felt awkward and embarrassed, and he had yet to discover the things she slept in.

When he had, he had to leave the drawer in favor of her closet before he could recollect his thoughts enough to dump her lingerie drawer into his duffel.

All told, he packed his bags so full he had trouble zipping them. And now, he could not wait to present them to her.

At the same time, he dreaded the moment. His strength of will would crumble should he witness that ecstatic smile again. The one that made him feel more victorious than any battle won with swords.

As the light upstairs flickered, the television dimming before flashing bright, he realized he could not put off the inevitable. With a muffled mutter, he let himself out of the truck, went around to the other side, and hauled out her belongings.

He would not linger. He would deposit the bag on the floor, bid her good night, and retreat to his chambers. Come morn, he would seek out Lucan, for he did not wish to hear anything that would force him to confront Anne again tonight.

Shouldering his way inside, he nodded to a trio of men gathered around the billiard table. The band of crimson around their left shirtsleeves branded them as members from Europe. They answered with sharp nods, a lift of a hand, a murmured hello.

Odd, he thought as he mounted the stairs. At least fifty years had passed since he had spoken with any of the European knights. The men under Mikhail oft clashed with these—as many claimed rights to properties Mikhail’s knights once owned. Men like Caradoc.

Strange they would come so far. Mikhail must have sent for Raphael and reinforcements. Which meant the situation with Azazel worsened.

More things he would consider come morn.

He took a deep fortifying breath at Anne’s door. A small portion of his soul demanded he let himself inside and take the liberties he would have enjoyed had she wandered into his life nine hundred years ago. Whilst he shared the residence with many others, the simple fact remained, she resided in his house. Once he had dreamed of such a circumstance. Now the fantasy only created a bitter taste in his mouth.

Resigning himself to reality, he knocked twice upon her door.

She answered as he lifted his hand for the third, concurrent rap. Briefly, she stared, bewildered. Then, her gaze fell to his armload of supplies, and her porcelain features lit with such delight a fist clamped around Merrick’s heart.

“My things,” she murmured as he moved past her. “Oh, Merrick, you brought my radio.”

The whimsical quality of her voice, the gratitude that turned her words into music, swelled his chest. Damnation. She had turned him as soft as butter. This trial of loyalty would surely be the death of him.

He set the bags down, unwilling to look at her for fear she would see how deeply she affected him. “I brought what I thought you might desire. Should you find something missing, we shall discuss it in the morn.”

“Oh. You’re leaving again?”

His back to her, he closed his eyes. The touch of disappointment that fringed her question disturbed the accursed hollowness in his gut. “Aye.”

Before he could fully shrug off the thick straps digging into his shoulder, her hand settled against the small of his back. “I’d hoped you might stay with me for a while,” she murmured.

Her fingertips slid up his back, warming his skin. As he righted himself, she ducked under his elbow and looped her arms around his neck. Stepping in close, Anne pressed her body to his.

Everything inside Merrick coiled tight. Her warmth, the feel of her breath upon his neck, the perfume in her hair, she overwhelmed him in a heartbeat. He battled with the urge to slide his arms around her waist and draw her even closer. The longing to capture her mouth and drink from her honeyed lips assailed his senses with the force of a battering ram. Like a strangled man desperate for one gulp of fresh air, he disentangled himself from her embrace and took a step away.

He knew only one way to combat the fierce desire she awakened. “I must fight tonight.”

*   *   *

The air slowly left Anne’s lungs as her heart crept to a stop. Fight? Merrick couldn’t fight. As he dropped his bulging bags to the floor, her gaze flicked over his body in a frantic sweep. Black long-sleeved shirt, dark jeans—had she seen white or black beneath all his chain in her vision?

Damn, oh damn, he couldn’t be going after the nail.

She clutched at his hand and squeezed her eyes shut tight, willing the vision to come back. Her mind refused, her second sight blocked by an unseen barrier.

“You can’t fight,” she blurted out.

He gave her a look that said she’d be better off locked away in a remote tower. “Why not?”

“I—ah…” She what?
Think, Anne, think!
She couldn’t tell him she’d seen him in death. Whether he believed her or not, that just wasn’t the sort of thing she could relay without the ability to explain how, when, or why. “Because…”

With a perturbed grimace, he started for the door. “I will see you on the morrow.”

“No!” She ran after him. Grabbing onto his elbow, she set her heels into the rug, trying to drag him to a stop. “You, ah, have to help me put these things away.”

Merrick shook his arm free and frowned at her. “Do not be ridiculous. I am not a servant. I shall see you in the morn, Anne.”

Darting in front of him, she flattened her back against the door and spread her arms across it. “Merrick, you’ve got to stay. Please.”

“God’s teeth, woman, my purpose is to fight. Move yourself.”

Anne shook her head. Desperate to find any means of preventing the future she’d foreseen, she swallowed her pride and tried the one thing she felt certain would change his mind. “I disobeyed you. I left and I tried to get into the inner sanctum. Farran had to rescue me.”

That did it. His face clouded over with fury, his dark eyes shifted into hard coals. As he set his jaw, the scar along the side of his jaw pulled tight. “You will tell me no more falsehoods. Remove yourself. Now.” Low and menacing, the warning in his voice made her shiver.

In defiance, she tipped her chin up and held his gaze. If she had to, she’d antagonize him to the point he forgot all about the demons—or detain him long enough that Mikhail sent someone else. “I swear it’s true.”

“Nay.” He shook his head. “I would have heard. Lucan watched over you this night, and he brought no news of this. I know not what game you play, but it ceases here. Move, Anne.”

He reached under her arm and turned the doorknob. Despite the fact she threw her weight into the door, he opened it with relative ease. When she stumbled sideways, the steady pressure throwing her off balance, he stomped past.

The door slammed in his wake.

Anne scrambled after him. “Merrick, wait!”

He didn’t slow down, didn’t even glance over his shoulder as he started down the stairs.

Time for a little more honesty. A different kind. The kind that galled her to admit.

Anne sucked in a breath, and in a voice just loud enough he would hear it but it wouldn’t carry down the stairs, she called, “I’m scared you’ll get hurt.”

One foot a step lower than the other, Merrick came to a standstill. Her heart drummed a heavy beat as he looked over his shoulder. Pain, bewilderment, and something else Anne couldn’t recognize reflected in his features, before he masked the emotion with the grim set of his jaw. Two slow steps brought him around fully. Another four determined strides, and he stood in front of her.

Her eyes followed his hand as he settled two strong fingers beneath her chin. Tipping her head up, he brought her gaze to his. His eyes searched her face, the crease between his dark eyebrows deepening. “Aye,” he murmured. “You do mean it.”

Anne nodded on a hard swallow.

Merrick’s thumb brushed her cheek, and his expression softened. “’Tis my duty, Anne. You must not worry. I vow I shall see you in the morn. Now go inside before you wound me more deeply.”

Wound him? All she’d done was tell him the truth. She didn’t want any of these men hurt. Yet as he cupped her face in his palm, and she held her breath wanting nothing more than to feel his mouth against hers, she knew it went deeper than the simple desire to protect someone from harm. It was Merrick. Merrick whom she worried for above all else. Merrick whom she cared for.

He dipped his head and dusted a kiss across her cheek. “Go,” he whispered.

Anne caught his shirt in both her hands, curled her fingers, and buried her nose against his chest. For several long moments, they stood unmoving, then Merrick slid his hand through her hair with a heavy sigh. “Anne…” His mouth feathered against the top of her head.

She pressed a soft kiss to his heart. “Is it the nail, Merrick?”

“Nay, little demon, ’tis just another hunt for Azazel’s minions.”

Tipping her chin up, she searched his dark gaze for the truth. “Nothing too dangerous?”

He closed his eyes for a heartbeat. When he opened them again, sadness filled the fathomless dark depths. “I cannot promise you such.”

She curled her fingers tighter.

Merrick took her by the wrists and gently pried her loose. With a gentle push backward, he held her at a distance and gazed into her eyes. The same look of longing passed across his face as it had moments before he’d kissed her both times, and Anne inched to her toes, hungry for the feel of his mouth on hers.