Immortal Surrender (35 page)

Her words strangled to a yelp as a shadowy fist shot through the gaps in the fence and wrapped around her throat. The demon jerked her backward, slamming her back into the metal posts. Terror leapt to her eyes.

Farran’s heart lurched to a standstill. Though he drew his sword with a barbarian’s frenzy, he could not move fast enough to stop the vile claws from sinking in. A trickle of blood rolled down Noelle’s fragile neck.

She clawed for freedom, kicked a leg out behind her. Another hand snatched at her foot, binding her in place.

Enraged, Farran let out a bellow. Fear so great his blood turned to ice and consumed him. He charged forward, driven by the instinctive need to stop her pain. Hacking his sword through the narrow opening, he brought it down on the unholy hand, neatly severing it.

Noelle lurched forward gasping. But the claws that held her ankle toppled her to the ground. Another hand snaked out, determined to catch her free foot and drag her through the gate. A second set of claws crept through, waiting to capture what other parts of her they might touch. She let out a hoarse scream. Digging her fingers into the cold hard earth, she tried to crawl to freedom.

“Nay! You cannot have her!”

Like a madman, Farran swung. His sword struck the ground, jarring his arm all the way to his shoulder. He shook off the stun and sliced again. They would not take her. Not Noelle. Not the woman he had bared his soul to.

The hand around her ankle broke off with a sickening squish of vile flesh. Before the other could grab Noelle’s freed foot, Farran lobbed it off as well. Freed from her restraints, Noelle scrambled several feet away. From the corner of his eye, he caught her watchful gaze as he quickly disposed of the remaining set of claws and swiped his blade on the leg of his jeans. He stuffed the sword into his scabbard and rushed to her crumpled form.

Scooping her into his arms, he cradled her trembling body close. She turned her face into his chest with a soft cry. He dug his fingers into her hair and held tight, uncertain whom he sought to comfort more. Though the danger had passed, the ghastly scene replayed in his mind. He had almost lost her. If she had been out here alone …

He shuddered and tightened his hold. Brushing a kiss against the top of her head, he murmured, “Shh. You are safe. ’Tis over.”

He knew not how long he held her, but the quaking of her body ebbed. As did his. When she rubbed her cheek against his shoulder and touched her fingertips to her neck, he eased her far enough away he could inspect the wounds. She tipped her head, allowing him the freedom.

Three jagged tears marred her delicate flesh, but the wounds were shallow. The puncture of claws had missed her vital veins. But already he could see the rise of deep purple where the viselike fingers strangled.

“Come. Let us take you inside.”

He helped her to her feet, but her legs refused to hold. She wobbled into him, her fears having exhausted her strength. Farran lifted her into his arms. As if she were grateful for his aid, she laid her head on his shoulder and expelled a shuddering breath. With quick, purposeful strides, he carried her through the front entry where he gently deposited her at the foot of the stairs.

“Anne!”

The door upstairs thumped at his bellow. Footsteps pounded down the stairs, a matched pair of boots and sock-clad feet. “Oh God, what happened?” Anne’s question blended with the scrape of Merrick’s sword.

Farran lifted his gaze to Merrick’s knowing stare. “Merrick, rouse the men. The demons attacked Noelle. We must clear the trees once and for all.”

Noelle snatched at his arm. “Please don’t leave me.”

He gazed into her wide eyes, wanting naught else but to stay at her side and offer the comfort she needed. But ’twas his fault this had occurred. Mayhap if he had fought the night before, none of Azazel’s creatures could return to his foul realm and solicit reinforcements. He reluctantly pried her fingers free and bent to press a chaste kiss to her forehead. “I must go. Anne shall see to your wounds.”

He looked away before her pleading gaze could deter him and nodded at Anne. “If you must, take her to Uriel.”

“Of course, Farran.” She assumed the place he had abandoned at Noelle’s side.

*   *   *

In the privacy of Anne’s room, Noelle let the tears fall. Holding them back had become too much effort, and with Farran unable to witness her absolute failure of strength, she gave in. They rolled down her cheeks in silent rivulets that dropped into her lap.

Anne grabbed for a Kleenex and pressed it into Noelle’s hand. “Hold on, almost done.” She dabbed a bit of salve on a finger and smeared it down Noelle’s throat. “There. You’ll be fine.”

While the ointment soothed the burn, it did nothing for the scald in Noelle’s throat. She swallowed with difficulty and managed a short nod.

Anne’s soft gaze pled with her. “Please don’t be upset with Farran. This is what they do.”

“I’m not.” The effort of talking made her throat ache even more. And truth to tell, she didn’t want to speak. What had happened moments ago shattered all her illusions. She couldn’t pretend to understand anymore. To continue to swear the extraordinary events could all be explained by science.

Demons
had attacked her. She’d seen the shadowy hand, the horrific claws. Felt the icy touch of death. Smelled the fetid breath.

Anne gave Noelle’s knee an affectionate pat. “I’m going to go down to the kitchen and get you some tea.”

Noelle nodded in thanks. When Anne left, she sank into the overstuffed couch and stared out the window at the unseen noises beyond. Her hand moved absently over the torc. If demons existed, everything else Farran claimed existed too. Immortality. Seraphs. Archangels. Anne could see through the veil.

Which also meant that silly cloth she’d hidden wasn’t just a meaningless scrap of fabric. She’d hidden the Sudarium of Oviedo, and the things that wanted her, wanted it. She’d almost died over that shroud. How many more car wrecks would it take to drive that point home?

She groaned to herself. Blind—she’d been absolutely blind. But then, Anne had said she was. Some prophecy marked her as such.

The same prophecy that dictated she should pledge herself to Farran. The man who couldn’t bring himself to offer the same loyalty to her.

Her brows furrowed as she considered another possibility. Anne had said taking that vow would save his life. How? Maybe she did descend from angels, as hard as it might be to believe, but how could saying a few words in Latin save an immortal’s life? He could still take wounds. By his own words, the sword he used could kill him. So what difference would this oath make?

And then there was tonight. She’d have wagered her very soul Farran felt something for her. Maybe he had. Whatever it was, though, it wasn’t enough to overcome the things he hid from her. The secrets Anne knew.

Another tear fell to her lap as reality settled in. She didn’t mean enough. He might have opened up, but she was still just a tool. She’d given him everything she had to offer someone, and now he had her faith. He, however, was still as distant as the life she’d known in D.C.

Damn it all, it shouldn’t bother her. Yet no matter how she tried to fight it, she couldn’t avoid the fact she cared. About him. About this silly oath that was supposed to bind them for eternity. She didn’t know exactly when she’d fallen in love with the grumpy, arrogant, jerk, but God help her, she had.

*   *   *

Voices comingled in the night. Dead. Demons. Templar—shouts clashed as severely as their natures. Above the din, the song of striking steel rang a clear, eerie note. Farran gripped the leather-wrapped pommel of his sword tighter. The darkness from his kill roiled in his veins, burned through his limbs. At his side, Tane, who had happened on the battle moments after it began, neatly hacked his way through a pair of confused shades. Heads lobbed off shoulders, rolled to the ground. Tane also staggered under the infusion of unholy taint, but he recovered with a sharp upper cut that sank his borrowed blade deep into a nytym’s soft underbelly.

A flash of yellow-green drew Farran’s attention on the trees. He kicked aside the pile of shadows near his feet and shouldered past Tane. The pinpricks of pain on his face did not deter him. If anything, they pressed him harder. He had attained that sacred place where survival dominated all thought. Where instinct honed by years of training narrowed his focus on his foe alone. Save for the fleeting picture of Noelle’s stricken features that flashed in his memory and hardened his resolve.

Sword in hand, he elbowed aside a thatch of thorny foliage and stepped into the underbrush. It snapped back into place, lashing across his face. He expelled an annoyed hiss. Squinting into the dark, he searched for the hidden creature.

A rustle to his left spun him in the direction of the sound.

As he took another step into the starless copse, the rush of wind behind him whipped his hair. In the next instant, pain split through his skull. Darkness infringed on his vision. He tottered forward, catching himself on a thick tree. His mistake shot into his awareness. In his blind chase, he had left his brethren behind. Walked right into what could be a deadly trap. Christ’s toes! Only a squire would suffer such a foolish error in judgment.

Above, the trees quaked with the vile presence. The birds had long fled, and even the crickets fell to silence. Evil pressed down upon Farran like a heavy fist intent on smashing through his chest. Cold. Oppressive.

Nearby.

With a violent shake of his head, he cleared the blackness from his vision. He dragged in a deep fortifying breath and adjusted his grip on his sword. He heard the hollow cackle long before he saw the creature. Filled with the aching sorrow of a thousand lost souls, the chilling sound filtered through the overhanging branches to caress him with a promise of slow death.

He had only enough time to bring his sword in front of his chest, and the trees broke. A pair of snarling demons, too enraged to hold their human forms, hurtled toward him. With no way to retreat, Farran did the only thing he could. He flattened his back to the hulking oak and prepared to defend.

The first struck out like the lash of a whip. Claws raked down his chest, tearing links of mail apart. Then ’twas gone, and the second lunged forward. Farran blocked the blow to his left side, prepared to counter, but the creature retreated before he could do so much as twitch his arm.

’Twas a favorite game of demons. Pick off pieces until naught was left but bone. They worked in pairs to overwhelm their opponent. When they finished toying with their prey, they would share the spoils.

Farran studied their movement, attuned his mind to the rhythm of their coordinated strikes. Lunge, retreat, lunge, retreat—he counted off the paces. When the beast on his left rushed in, he swung his right arm in a wide arc across his body and cleaved the ghastly head in two. The demon’s body fell to a shadowy heap, and its vile spirit quickly did its damage.

Agony wrenched through Farran’s body. Through clenched teeth, he let out a strangled cry. But the expulsion did naught to lesson the blinding strike of lightning that set his blood on fire. His knees gave out, and he buckled to the ground.

A hideous battle cry deafened him as the remaining beast lumbered closer. Farran struggled to right himself, to see past the blearing of his vision. He squinted through the beads of sweat that rolled into his eyes, but the sting made focus impossible. In the time it took to swipe his forearm across his eyes, the demon struck home. Claws cut through Farran’s clothing where his mail had been torn. He felt his flesh tear. Screamed at the scrape against his bone. Blood poured forth, oozing down his ribs into the waistband of his jeans.

Panting, he doubled over, trying to squeeze the rent flesh back together. He fought for the strength to rise. Between great rasping gasps, he eyed the evil predator. He would not give up the fight. If he were meant to die here, he would do so with his blade stuffed in the creature’s gullet.

’Twas then he noticed his attacker’s hand. Where claws should have curled in synchrony with the other mangled fist, naught but rent flesh dangled from the useless limb. A fresh new bout of rage erupted within Farran’s soul, and as the demon lunged for him again, he threw his weight into his sword.

The blade sank deep into the creature’s gut. Beady yellow-green eyes went wide with shock. On a grunt, Farran pulled his sword free to plunge it in once more. He jerked his arm up, widening the wound. A gargled noise burst from the demon’s throat, and then it collapsed.

As the shadows pooled into the barren ground, Farran yielded to the darkness he was to become.

CHAPTER 32

Merrick surveyed the men around him, counting his brothers. All were present, save for one. Lucan bled from a wound to his head. Caradoc favored a wrenched knee. Tane cradled a cracked wrist. Even Declan left the field holding his arm, his former injury not yet healed. But Farran was nowhere to be found.

Not wanting to call attention to the matter after last night’s bickering, Merrick limped to Caradoc’s side, his own wound aggravated in the fight. He set a hand on Caradoc’s shoulder, gaining the younger man’s attention. “Where is Farran?”

Caradoc’s expression turned to ash. He straightened to his full six-foot height to look over the gathered heads. His gaze stopped on the same faces Merrick’s had, then canvassed the remaining knights gathered near the gates. With a slow shake of his head, he conveyed he did not know.

Merrick nodded at Declan, indicating Caradoc should inquire. When he started for the Scot, Merrick turned for Lucan. Distracting Lucan with the same unobtrusive gesture, he asked, “Have you seen Farran?”

Lucan’s frown was as harsh as the man’s they sought. “Nay. He is not present?”

A deep dark foreboding settled into the base of Merrick’s spine. He had witnessed Farran in the midst of battle. To leave the field was not in the hardened warrior’s nature. That he did not gather with the rest of them spoke ill. Of possibilities Merrick did not wish to consider.

“He passed me not long ago,” Tane supplied as he stepped up to join the pair.