Immortal Surrender (24 page)

Remembering himself, and his purpose for bringing her here, Farran cleared his throat. He nodded at a darkened corner where an array of modern metal waited. “I presume you find this to your liking as well?”

She let out a little squeal of delight and hurried to the assembled flasks, vials, holding tanks, and computer equipment. “A lab! Oh!” Her hands clasped tightly beneath her chin, she turned pleading eyes on him. “May I?”

“Aye. Gabriel asked that you might.”

“Gabriel and his trinkets,” she murmured with a light laugh. “Now I understand.”

He was not so sure he did. The power of the room and the objects within it pressed down on him hard. Light-headedness teased him with thoughts of what it might be like to let go and embrace his fated future. A sense of calm acceptance, of utter peace, swelled his chest. He closed his eyes, torn between the deep-rooted need to flee and the unacceptable rise of hope.

One thing he knew for certain—if he did not escape, in another moment he would forget his earlier vow to leave her untouched and take full advantage of those smiling lips. He backed away, edging closer to the door. It must be the room. Outside, all this feeling would cease.

“I take my leave, damsel. Enjoy your treasures.”

He refused to give her opportunity to object and rushed into the spacious room beyond. Yet even with the door shut firmly between them, he felt her presence as keenly as if she stood at his side. Everything inside him called out for her, begged him to crush her close and mend the wounds that gaped and bled. He lifted a hand to the bump on his head. She had helped to heal his wound. Mayhap she could …

Nay. She could not. The passing of ten centuries had not sewn closed those jagged caverns. No woman could accomplish what time itself could not. What had transpired a moment ago was nothing more than pent-up lust produced from waking beside a woman. If he could trust Noelle’s safety to another, he would rid himself of this unwanted desire in one short hour with Leah.

Sucking in a deep breath, he steeled himself against the storm that roiled within his mind and strode for the stairs. Declan. He must find Declan. Discover what that scene with Leofric was about. The Scot would serve as a much-needed distraction.

He took the stairs at a brisk pace and rounded a corner. The walls spanned out alongside him, identical to every other narrow hallway. Habit led him to the unremarkable door Declan claimed, and he gave the ancient timbers a heavy rap. “’Tis I, Farran.”

Silence answered.

Farran tried again, using more force with his arm. The steady drum of his fist echoed down the hall. At the far end, another door opened and a dark head peeked out. A grunt accompanied the curious inspection, and the door closed once more, leaving Farran to confront Declan’s silence alone.

He hesitated, cocking his head and listening for movement beyond. When he heard naught, his frown deepened. He had but seen the Scot moments ago. By all rights, he should have caught up with Declan on the stairs. Where had he wandered off to?

Turning away, Farran returned to the stairs and took them to second floor. His gaze strayed to Noelle’s chambers, but determined not to allow the tugging memory to take hold, he trained his focus on Merrick’s room. There, he knocked with a light rap of his knuckles.

Anne pulled the door open in an instant, her smile just as quick. “Farran. Come in.”

Damnation, her friendliness ground at his nerves. If she did not cease, he would truly come to like her. “Is Merrick about?”

He did not need to ask, for as he stepped inside, he found Merrick lounging on the couch. Much like Noelle’s fat cat—belly up and eyes heavy with sleep. Farran marched to his commander’s side, pulled the pillow from beneath his head, and thumped it against his belly. “You grow fat and lazy.”

Chuckling, Merrick sat up. “I find matrimony suits me.”

“Aye, as it suits a woman. Soon you shall be wearing skirts.” Farran dropped into the empty cushion.

“Imagine that—Farran’s grumpy,” Anne teased from behind him. “I think I’ll go lock myself in the bedroom where I don’t have to hear you.”

“Nay,” Farran conceded on a grumble. “I shall not stay long. I look for Declan—have you seen him?”

’Twas Merrick’s turn to frown. As Anne perched on the arm of the couch beside him, he let out a heavy sigh. “Has he disappeared again?”

“I saw him speaking with Leofric. I was not aware the two had become close.”

Merrick lifted his head, his dark eyes sharp. “Nor was I. What did they speak of?”

“I do not know.” Leaning back in his seat, Farran tossed an ankle over one knee. “Caradoc is concerned about him. ’Tis you and I who Declan chose to follow, and yet he says naught to us.” He lifted his gaze to Anne. “Do you see his fate?”

She shook her head. “No. He’s distanced himself from me since Uriel released him.”

“’Tis my fault.” Merrick stood and moved to the window. He gazed out at the late afternoon light, his back to Farran and Anne. “He believed Anne was his. ’Twill take some getting used to, I suspect. Caradoc is right to concern himself with Declan—I fear Declan will not come to me again. ’Tis best he report to Caradoc now.”

Tapping his fingers on the upholstery, Farran considered Merrick’s explanation. ’Twas indeed possible. Anne had changed many things within the temple, the least of which the menus. Many had yet to adjust to the discovery of the seraphs. Many more resented theirs had not been found.

But simple jealousy had never been Declan’s fault. ’Twould not explain his sudden distance. For centuries, the six had fought side by side. Brothers beyond the immortal ties that bound. He would have, as Merrick suggested, turned to Caradoc for guidance. Instead, he kept them all at arm’s distance and consorted with men he had never given a second thought.

“What does Mikhail say of it?”

Merrick turned around and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Mikhail says naught.”

Farran grumbled beneath his breath. ’Twould figure Mikhail kept his thoughts silent. The archangels delighted in their mysterious ways.

“Come now,” Anne chided. “Mikhail might legitimately know nothing. He’s said more than once only Gabriel knows the Almighty’s plans.”

A spark of annoyance brought Farran upright. “Aye and ’tis beyond time for Gabriel to share his knowledge. How are we to overcome Azazel if we are but pawns to the Almighty’s game? We know not when Azazel will strike. Even his most trusted he leads around by the nose. We know not where the seraphs are. Yet we are told on their coming, the tides shall turn.”

Anne’s gaze slid to Merrick’s, uncertainty playing on her porcelain features. He held her gaze as if weighing his options, then answered with a nod so brief, ’twould have been unnoticeable, had Farran not been staring.

The hair at the nape of Farran’s neck lifted, his senses on sudden alert. “What secrets do you share?” He focused on Anne, his eyes accusing as they narrowed. “What have you seen?”

“I haven’t
seen
anything,” she answered, her voice merely a rustle of wind. Sitting taller, she continued in a stronger voice. “Which is the problem. I cannot find my sister. She won’t answer the phone.”

Farran blinked, dumbfounded. They spoke of seraphs and the Order’s purpose, of the fate of all mankind, and Anne worried about a few unanswered phone calls? God’s teeth, ’twas no wonder he had avoided tangling with women. They stewed over the most confounding things.

He dropped his foot to the floor and let out a disparaging snort. “If she is as headstrong as you are, I should worry not. She is probably—”

“She is a seraph.”

Merrick’s low interruption cut Farran’s retort short. For a moment, he doubted what he had heard. No one knew the seraphs’ identities. Even the prophecies stated the blood of siblings proved naught. One could be divine, the other uninspired. Yet Merrick’s confident posture, the reassuring hand he set on Anne’s shoulder, left no room for argument. Farran rolled the questions around on his tongue before settling on the one most likely to explain them all. “What do you mean?”

“They are not just siblings, Farran. They are twins.”

“But the prophecies—”

Merrick lowered his voice as if confiding a great secret. “And on the day Anne received the serpents, Gabriel sent identical ones to Sophie.”

Sophie. The seraph’s name was Sophie. Farran’s jaw dropped, and he fell back into the couch, speechless. A third seraph. One already known.

“I haven’t been able to reach her for several weeks,” Anne explained in a rush of emotion. “She lives in Malibu, but her cell phone’s been disconnected and the apartment manager said she disappeared several weeks ago. Not moved out.
Disappeared.
And she said the apartment looked like someone had broken in.”

Her emphasis was enough to restore Farran’s ability to speak. Seraphs did not just disappear. They came to the temple or Azazel found them. “Gabriel says naught?”

“He changes the subject every time I ask.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she brushed a knuckle beneath her eye, smearing a stray tear. “I’m afraid something happened to her and he’s afraid to tell me.” She breathed deeply, struggling for control over her emotions. When she tempered them, she looked between Farran and Merrick. “I’d like to find her.”

Merrick pulled Anne back against his chest, offering silent comfort. “I told her I would go.”

What Merrick did not say, Farran heard all the same. The request lingered in his gaze,
Come with me, brother.

Farran stood, torn between the oaths of brotherhood and the oaths of service. To go would defy Mikhail’s order to stay near the temple. To refuse would shatter the promise to always stay at his commander’s side. Worse, another troublesome thought rose—Noelle. Whilst the opportunity gave him ample freedom from her, a damnable part of his soul wanted to explore the giddy woman he had left in the belly of the temple.

He pushed a hand through his hair and went to the door, avoiding Merrick’s heavy stare. He cloaked his indecision with the truth. “I swore to protect Noelle.”

“I understand,” Merrick replied.

Somehow, Farran doubted that he did. Merrick could not possibly comprehend the torment Noelle caused him. He turned the handle to leave, but Anne’s sudden pleasantry stopped him short.

“Speaking of which, I told Merrick I’d see if she fits into my padded armor. Is she down in the relic room?”

“Aye.” Farran almost shouted with relief. Unwittingly, Anne had given him a few more hours to absolve himself of the conflicted emotions. Hours he could spend exhausting himself with Leah. Once he had, he would return a sane man.

“Then I’ll go get her.” She hesitated as she slid off the couch. “Unless you had plans together?”

“Nay.” A self-satisfied smirk tugged at Farran’s mouth. “Though I am about to have plans with Leah.”

Ignoring the sudden gray pallor to Anne’s features, Farran entered the hall. His step felt lighter as he descended the stairs, the constriction in his chest not quite as tight. Relief lay around the corner. Freedom from the constant taunt of ill-fed desire. He had fed Noelle, he had introduced her to her private sanctuary, and now he would see to his own needs. God bless, Anne.

“Farran.” From the landing, Anne’s authoritative call echoed down.

He turned to find her bounding down the stairs. She caught his elbow, her blue eyes wide. “I beg you, don’t do it. Don’t do that to
her.
She’s too innocent.”

Annoyed, Farran shook his arm free. “Her innocence is precisely why I take my leave.”

She reached for his arm, then thought better of it and dropped her hand to her side. “Don’t. You’ll taint her.”

“Taint her?” he asked, incredulous. “What I do shall not affect her, I assure you. Do you think I intend to return and announce my whereabouts? Lest you inform her, she shall not know.” He took the rest of the stairs in double time, anxious to be free of the condemnation that lurked in Anne’s pleading gaze. Naught could convince him out of the drive across town. Two hours, no more, and he would find the man he had known only a few short days ago. The wild beast that strained for freedom he would chain no more.

“She will know.”

Though her words were as soft as a whisper in the wind, Anne’s proclamation followed him out the front door.

CHAPTER 22

Beneath the bright intensity of the overhead industrial light, Noelle turned a curved slat of wood over in her hands. Time had worn splinters smooth where the thick coating of amber-colored pitch peeled away. She squinted at the exposed fibers and flicked off a bit more pitch with one nail. The faint, but distinct aroma of cedar drifted to her nose.

At her side, machinery that bore no manufacturer’s labor whirred at twice the speed of her lab equipment. Another something she couldn’t make sense of, but one she was grateful for, as its rapid output allowed her to skip the precious hours required to wait on carbon-dating test results. For this odd gift, she owed Gabriel a thank-you.

As she turned the wood in her hands once more, her mind worked at the discrepancies, snatching at bits and pieces, putting them together like a jigsaw puzzle that lacked the photo to illustrate the picture. Nothing delighted her more than anomalies, and this foot-long piece of wood contained dozens.

She glanced at the printed readout beside her and scanned the long column of figures. Her eyes jumped past the last line, the line she usually rushed to read. Once was enough to eternally etch the approximated date range into her mind. She didn’t often encounter objects from the early Bronze Age, and what she did predominantly linked to the Egyptians. Moreover, the irony that this piece, dated from 2400 to 2000
B.C.
, paired too neatly with Farran’s claims made her stomach uneasy.

Let alone all the other conflicting data.

Peering through the microscope, she squinted at the tiny piece she’d extracted from the object. Miniscule fibers separated with the evidence of water saturation. Evidence that supported her theory its curved nature and the heavier pitch along the horizontal edges saw water. Classic craftsmanship early fishermen would have used. Strangely, though, the final data included no trace of salt.