Immortal Hope (43 page)

Reaching behind her, she pulled the door shut and lifted her chin. Quick, determined steps brought her to Merrick’s side where she set her hand on his shoulder and pressed a kiss to his battered cheek. “You came back to me,” she whispered.

Merrick’s lashes fluttered up. His gaze locked with hers. A flicker of confusion passed over his eyes before they welled with emotion. He closed them, licked his lips, then tried to lift his hand. The effort provoked a grimace that tore at Anne’s heart. He dropped his arm back to his side. “Aye,” he answered on a hiss.

His fingers free from the pommel of his sword, Anne fitted her hand in his. Though she didn’t want him to see her tears, she felt them slip down her face and laid her cheek against his shoulder. His fingers tightened around hers.

The gesture spilled her heart to overflowing, and Anne cried harder. “You can’t leave me. I won’t let you. You already ran away once before I could tell you I love you.”

Merrick’s grip turned into a vise. Beneath her cheek, his shoulder shook.

*   *   *

To Merrick’s shame, he could not order the wetness from his cheeks. Hours now, he had lain here, wanting naught more than to leave this world before Anne discovered they had lugged him home. When he learned he had turned on Caradoc, Merrick had fought Farran about his return, insisting they put an end to him on the field. Weak as he was, however, he had no means to enforce his words. Against his wishes, they brought him home to die by Mikhail’s sword so his soul would know purity, and he could join those who found salvation at the Almighty’s feet.

Now Anne had found him. The words he had longed to hear but could never accept tumbled off her lips. She loved him. He whom she could not have. Bitterness filled his throat, the impossibility of their circumstances too much to bear. He did not want her to remember him this way. Could not tolerate the idea of knowing she grieved.

“Anne, stop,” he ordered thickly. “Let me remember you as hopeful.”

She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. The feel of his armor could not be comfortable, but the gesture had him wishing she would never stop. What he would give to find the strength to wrap his arm around her, hold her close one last time. Yet even as he imagined the feel of her soft body against his, the darkness rose to torment him. A sliver of rage needled through his veins. ’Twould not be so difficult to take her with him in death. If he dug deep enough, he could find the strength to choke off her air. Then she would never leave his side.

Merrick snatched at the remaining shards of light in his heart. Nay. He would never hurt this woman. He had to make her leave before Azazel’s poison touched her. “Anne, you must go.”

With a sniffle, she lifted her head and shook it in defiance. “I’m not leaving you.”

He grimaced at her resolve. ’Twas the thing he loved the most about her—her courage. Yet now he wished she would be meek. “Mikhail will be here soon.”

“Then let him come.” She let go of his hand and slid her armband off.

Through a wary stare, he watched as she reached for his sword and pried it from his hands. “What are you doing?”

She lifted the pommel away from his body and dropped the armband around it. Then she leaned across him, gathered both his hands, and looked into his eyes.
“Meus vita, meus diligo, meus eternus lux lucis, fio vestry.”

Merrick’s heart drummed to a stop.
My life, my love, my eternal light becomes yours
—the oath of seraphs. What in the name of the saints was she doing?

With the last of his strength, he lifted his head and frowned at her. “’Twill not work, Anne.”

She gave his hands a shake. The tears trickled harder down her cheeks. “Just say it. Say it, damn it.”

Too weary to fight, he let out a sigh. It could hurt naught, and if it made her happy, he would do it. If ’twould make her smile, make her
leave,
he would say whatever she desired. He closed his eyes, wishing with all his might the words were not just a meaningless recitation.

“Meus vires, meus mucro, meus immortalis animus, fio vestry.” My strength, my sword, my immortal soul, becomes yours.

A warmth unlike any he had ever experienced slid through his veins. Through his closed eyelids, a white light burned, and Merrick opened them in disbelief. His sword shone bright, the light coming from the armband. Before his eyes, it morphed, elongated. Then moved.

The double-headed serpent wound around the pommel of his sword, forming warped quillons. One golden head opened to reveal tiny teeth that latched on to the golden cross in the center of the pommel. The other affixed itself to the inlaid dagger at the broadsword’s point of balance. With one undulation of its body, the serpent shook the blackened patina between its scales free, then moved no more. A perfect barrier against Azazel’s evil.

The light extinguished like a snuffed candle.

As the heat spread through Merrick’s body, all but the ache within his thigh disappeared, and new strength flowed. On a gasp, he lifted to his elbows. His gaze searched Anne’s face, his vision blurred at the sight of her radiant smile. “How?” he asked in wonder. “I have seen your body, Anne. Where is your mark? Why did you hide it from me?”

She pulled her hands free and wiped at her face then stepped back to set her bare foot high upon the table, beside his thigh. With a lift of her skirt, she revealed her ankle for the first time. “When I touched you, I saw a vision of you like this and overheard something Mikhail said that made me believe if I told you, you’d die.” Her gaze filled with anguished remorse. “I didn’t know how wrong I was, Merrick. Forgive me, please.”

Merrick traced the outline of the tattoo that matched his own with a shaking finger. Forgive her? When she had sought to protect him? Nay, ’twas naught to forgive. Overcome, he dropped back on the table. “Come here so I may hold you.”

Gently, she laid herself against him, and Merrick gathered her into his arms. His mouth found hers, his kiss full of all the emotion that welled in his heart.
His
—’twas too incredible for words. He lost himself to her sweet taste, unashamed of the tears that crept from the corners of his eyes to blend with hers.

The door crashed open, jarring them apart. Anne’s eyes widened, and she whispered, “Uh-oh.”

Lifting his head once more, Merrick found a very furious Farran standing in the doorway. His face filled with color, his eyes burned dark. Merrick needed no one to tell him the anger that clouded his brother’s expression had everything to do with Anne, but for some reason he cared not. “Leave us,” he ordered.

A look of such surprise filled Farran’s features that Merrick could not stop a laugh. As the doors pulled shut once more, he set it free, and looked to Anne. “What have you done, little demon?”

Her cheeks stained with bright color and she dropped her eyes from his. “I, uh. Well. He wouldn’t let me in. So I made it impossible to keep me out.”

He did not want to know. In truth, he did not care. He had everything he needed right here in his arms. Whilst he could not lose himself in her supple body the way he longed to, he could enjoy the pleasures of her mouth before exhaustion snuffed out his newfound strength. He dusted light kisses across her cheeks, over the bridge of her nose, then lower, in search of her honeyed lips.

Unfortunately, the Almighty seemed determined to make him wait for the privacy he craved. As the doors opened once more, Merrick pulled away from Anne with a groan. His little demon muttered beneath her breath, expressing the same displeasure, before she twisted around to investigate the cause of their interruption.

With a squeak, she slid back to her feet, exposing Merrick to Mikhail’s look of consternation.

“Merrick, you are not to have visitors.”

He opened his mouth to explain, but Anne stepped forward and spoke first. “Mikhail, we’ll need men to move Merrick to the rooms upstairs.”

The archangel studied first her, then Merrick, then Merrick’s sword. Understanding crept into his stiffened features, and Mikhail clapped a hand on Merrick’s shoulder. “You may have begun the healing, but ’twill be many more days before you are well enough to walk. The wound upon your thigh will require Uriel’s attendance.”

“I can look after his leg,” Anne declared.

“Milady, I have no doubt of your talents, but ’tis to the infirmary he must go. ’Twill not be for long.”

Anne squeezed Merrick’s hand and lifted her chin. “Then put a cot beside his bed. I will stay with him.”

Unable to take another moment of his helplessness, and possessed by the deep need to hide Anne away from the rest of the world until he was quite finished telling her just how much he cared for her, Merrick found the strength to sit upright. Slowly, he swung his legs over the edge of the table, ignoring the flames that surged up his injured thigh. His back to Mikhail, he pulled Anne between his knees and set his smile free.

Sliding one hand through her silken hair, he murmured, “I will stay with the Lady du Loire.”

“Merrick, ’tis not possible.”

With a distracted shake of his head, Merrick continued, “Send my men to take me up the stairs. Uriel may tend me there.” His eyes never left Anne’s. Their bright blue depths drew him in, sucked him down until he drowned. She gazed back up at him, and in her softened features, Merrick read her love. It burned fierce, and strong, a holy flame that naught could extinguish. Their vows were said, no one could ever tear them apart. For the rest of time, she would stand at his side … and he beside her.

His heart swelled to painful limits, and he pulled her closer. In the back of his mind, he recognized the closing of the door, yet it mattered little. He had words he needed to say, regardless of who watched, or who waited.

Framing her face between his hands, he stared into her mesmerizing blue eyes. His thumbs brushed against her cheeks, and for a heartbeat, Merrick did not know the words. Yet as her lashes lowered in a slow blink, they came back in a rush.

“I love you, Anne,” he whispered hoarsely.

She offered him a soft smile. “I love you.”

He took her then, claimed her mouth, and kissed her thoroughly. He had lost friends, brothers he loved, and the battle had been a complete defeat. Yet here, in this tiny scrap of a woman, he found life. In time, the darkness would leave him completely. Their union would give the Order hope. He would be required to share her attention now and then, but for the moment, he selfishly let the world fade and basked in the infinite glory of her love.

Epilogue

Sophie kicked a dusty wooden crate in front of a grime-covered arched window and sat down heavily. The wide pane of glass would have overlooked the cathedral’s manicured rear courtyard, but with the layers of neglect, all she could see was a thin white film that turned the world beyond into a dreary landscape.

She sighed as her sister’s worry filtered through the bond that only twins could claim. It wasn’t often she could sense Anne, but the more time Sophie spent locked away from the world, the once-faint bond strengthened. Not really a surprise given all the suffocating quiet Gabe forced her to accept. If she could talk to Anne, explain what had happened with Chandler, why she hadn’t called in days …

Sophie sighed again. Wishing would get her nowhere. Gabe made his expectations clear. In exchange for the archangels’ protection, Sophie was bound to this dreary attic until she mastered her metaphysical gifts. Gifts that evidently had very little to do with her affinity for ghosts, and focused on auras—something Sophie had never once witnessed before. Not only that, she had to learn to use a sword.
A sword.

The idea was ludicrous.

Then again, everything else Gabe said bordered on insane. Demons overtaking the world, Templar Knights born centuries ago, her
sister
the reigning lady of the North American Templar stronghold? Little Anne, who loved her books, her research, and threw-up at the sight of blood, bound forever to a man who lived by the sword. Who
killed
things. Creatures like what Chandler morphed into.

Creatures like the man Sophie was fated to join.

A shudder gripped her. Rubbing her arms to ward off goose bumps, she rose from the crate. Pacing helped. With Gabriel on the other side of the country in D.C., doing whatever it was he did and unable to keep her occupied, the endless treks across the cathedral’s attic eased Sophie’s nerves. But when the silence set in, all she could hear was his warning words:
Prepare yourself, Sophie. You must
survive
your mate’s need to kill.

Sophie stopped in the middle of the wide-open expanse and slid the bronze serpents from her arm. Since she’d been here, she could remove the armband at will, and she turned it in the dim light, watching the tiny onyx eyes sparkle. A handful of days ago, her biggest concern was finding an emcee for the charity auction this coming weekend. Now, the fate of the world rested in her hands. Gabe hadn’t exactly said
that
, but everything else he explained implied the meaning.

If only this little trinket had been a regular old antique with one of the usual ghostly presences attached to it. Life would be a hell of a lot easier then.

As she pushed the armband back over her elbow, the other emotion she regularly sensed from her sister seeped into Sophie’s subconscious. Contentment. Happiness that Sophie had never felt from Anne. She knew, innately, that peacefulness came from Merrick, that this commander of the Templar knights healed all the empty places inside her sister’s soul. And knowing her twin was happier than any woman had a right to be made it easier for Sophie to accept her own waiting fate.

She walked to the weapons rack on the far side of the room and withdrew the heavy broadsword Gabe had introduced before he left. It weighed down her shoulder uncomfortably. The leather-wrapped pommel chafed her palm. Yet this awkward weapon was her salvation, the only hope she would have of avoiding death.

If Anne can do this, so can I.