Immortal Hope (6 page)

Beneath the ground, torchlight illuminated high stone ceilings and cast shadows through the corridors. His boots echoed dully, blending with the distant murmur of prayer. He recognized the chant as one of mourning, and a dull ache settled in his heart as he realized they had lost another brother. The deaths mounted. Brave men who did not ask for this fate gave their souls to a cause that had no hope. Azazel’s power grew stronger. Soon there would be too few Templar to defend the crumbling gates between his unholy realm and the mortal world.

Merrick let out a heavy sigh and shoved an iron-studded door open. Inside, he found Declan, Farran, and Mikhail assembled, along with three other faces he had not seen in far too long. The ache in his heart lessened as he nodded to Tane, Lucan, and Caradoc. United against the mighty hand of William, together they had spilled their first blood and saw a young knight’s first victory.

“Merrick, put the lady down.” Mikhail’s voice held a touch of censure that matched the creases in his brow.

Merrick guided Anne to her feet, a mistake he realized too late. Every soft curve of hers slid down the front of his body. Her knee slipped between his, and she inadvertently glided down his thigh. A sudden, fierce rush of desire slammed into him as the contact set every nerve ending afire. His blood warmed. He felt his cock rise. He clamped his teeth together to silence a gasp and sucked in a sharp breath through his nose.

Thank the saints Mikhail took charge, for Merrick could not speak if he tried.

Mikhail bowed over Anne’s hand. “Milady. Do forgive my knights their rudeness. They have been away and evidently forgotten their manners.”

Anne flashed Mikhail a smile that made Merrick’s lungs feel small. “Excuse me a minute?” Her dainty eyebrows lifted with the question.

At Mikhail’s nod, Anne whirled on Merrick. Wrath replaced her breathtaking smile, and her glare shot daggers meant to kill. He braced himself for a verbal assault. Instead, she drove her toe into his shin.

*   *   *

Satisfaction poured through Anne as Merrick grunted. The sound made the dull throb that worked its way up her ankle tolerable. “You’re an ass!”

In the back of her mind, she knew she ought to be wary of the sudden fury that filled his features and his stoic silence, but she’d had it with his behavior. “What the hell is
wrong
with you? This is America. I get a say in what you do with me! I thought knights were supposed to be chivalrous.”

She cocked her foot again, but Mikhail stepped between them, thwarting her attack. “Milady, I am certain Merrick is deserving of a beating, but please, put aside your anger. The both of you will need to learn to work together.”

In slow motion, both Anne and Merrick’s heads swung toward Mikhail. “What?” they cried in unison.

“Indeed,” Mikhail confirmed on a nod. His gaze slid to Merrick. “If Merrick had seen fit to return to the temple last month when I summoned him and his men, he would not have made an ass of himself today.”

If it were possible, Merrick’s features grew even harder. He didn’t look at Anne, but kept his stare fixed on Mikhail. At his thigh, one hand clenched into a fist so tight, his knuckles turned white. The muscle along his jaw began to twitch, and the faint scar on his cheek pulled as he clamped his teeth together.

So the mighty knight couldn’t handle a bit of criticism. Interesting.

“Have you told her what you are?” Mikhail asked Merrick.

“Nay.”

Mikhail’s steely silver eyes settled on Anne. She blinked in surprise at his warm smile, at the beauty revealed. He didn’t possess the kind of rugged good looks Merrick and the other men did; he was more like a work of fine art. A living, breathing Michelangelo.

Though they weren’t touching, his energy poured into her. A strange feeling of peace and contentment soothed her frayed temper, and though she tried, she couldn’t remember why she’d been so incensed with Merrick.

“I believe…” Mikhail began in a thoughtful tone. He moved behind a massive desk and pushed aside a stack of tattered papers to uncover a thick, leather-bound book. Tapping the cover, he lifted his gaze. “We will begin here. I am Mikhail. You will know me better by words men wrote long ago. Gabriel, or as you call him, Gabe Anderson, sent you to me.”

How did he know her boss? She didn’t remember telling any of them his name.

Mikhail turned the book around. Etched in gold, two words shone against the darkened binding:
Holy Bible.

A subtle shift in the lighting gave Mikhail an ethereal appearance. His brown hair assumed a rich brilliance and glinted with shots of red. Against the stone wall immediately behind him, the ever-so-faint outline of a pair of majestic wings stood out like someone had traced them there. Certain the effect came from a trick of lights, Anne glanced around in search of the projector, but there weren’t any overhanging lights. In fact, she couldn’t see a single lamp—or for that matter a candlestick. For all intents and purposes, she should be standing in a cave as black as pitch.

Impossible,
her mind protested.

Real,
instinct countered.

Oh God.

Anne’s knees went weak. The floor rushed up to meet her, and the room took a drastic spin to the left. Struggling to breathe, she stumbled, but strong hands caught her from behind. Planes of hard steel pressed against her back. Bewildered, she looked over her shoulder to see who’d caught her, and for the first time since she’d met him, Merrick’s eyes softened.

“I think I need to sit,” she whispered.

CHAPTER
4

Mikhail regarded the young woman thoughtfully. Her face was washed with white, her blue eyes wide. Gabriel had said she possessed spirit, informed them she was strong. But the things she must hear required far more energy than she now possessed.

His gaze shifted briefly to Merrick. Whatever nonsense the weakening knight engaged in, Anne certainly put him in his place. In all of creation, Mikhail would have never believed he would witness a woman take Merrick to task. Or that Merrick would stay his hand and accept the punishment.

Perhaps Gabriel was right. Perhaps Merrick would make a suitable tutor for her.

Mikhail frowned.

Regardless, Merrick had no choice. Gabriel had relayed the Almighty’s orders that Merrick would educate Anne on the Templar purpose. He would lead her on the path she had been born to take.

Best to keep this conversation at a minimum. Tell her only the basics and save the rest for Merrick. He would learn when she was ready to understand. Presently, Merrick had things to learn himself.

“Caradoc, Lucan, Tane.” Mikhail turned to the three beside Declan and Farran. “You will inform Declan and Farran what I omit when the five of you leave, as you have already heard what I have to say.”

All three nodded in understanding. A surge of pride rushed through Mikhail. These six rarely questioned duty. Of all the knights under his command, Merrick’s men embodied Templar honor. Yet a wave of sorrow followed on pride’s heels. Whether they would survive these coming trials remained to be seen. Darkness infringed upon them all. Not a day passed when Mikhail did not pray for their tainted souls.

He cleared his wandering thoughts with a brief shake of his head. “Lady Anne.” She blushed at his address, and he let out a soft chuckle. “Become accustomed to the title, for my dear, you are the truest lady these men will ever know. Do you know where you are?”

She swallowed. Her gaze shifted to an ancient shield mounted on the wall, and she took in the four legs of the crimson cross emblazoned on its scarred surface. Quietly, she answered, “I believe so. But it seems impossible.”

“Rest assured, ’tis not impossible.” Mikhail moved around to the front of his desk and leaned against it. Folding his arms over his chest, he offered her a smile. “You sit in the North American Temple, the stronghold of the Knights Templar. The men you see around you have fought Azazel’s evil for centuries. But the battle has turned in Azazel’s favor, and you, dear lady, are the key to their victory.”

He held in a laugh as Merrick, Declan, and Farran all turned to him. Surprise etched into their features, glinted in their eyes. Oh how he loved to catch his knights off guard. So rarely did it happen, he cherished the opportunity.

Anne’s frown, however, deepened. “I don’t understand. I just want to learn about this armband and go back home.”

“Your life is here, Anne. As we speak, your colleagues spread the news that you have eloped with a secret lover.”

“A what?” Bless her heart, she laughed. “No one would believe that. I’m not even dating.”

“We did not wish to create rumor of your death, in the event there might be someone you wished to visit now and then. Or even if you choose to perform your work—when it becomes safe to do so—from the house in Atchison.”

“Mikhail,” Merrick interrupted. “Spare us the lengthy prattle. We have not slept, and I wish to rest. Tell us our purpose here.”

Mikhail considered drawing out Merrick’s wait simply because the knight could not curb his rudeness. He appraised the three returning men, took in the deep lines of weariness in their faces, the dark circles beneath their eyes. They had done more good in the last six weeks than the Order as a whole. Yet for their deeds, they paid a heavy price. Mikhail sensed the growing darkness in their souls, felt the contained hatred that waited for escape. He did not have the heart to make these men wait for rest.

“Very well. Anne, the serpentine you bear is a symbol of the sacred snake, Nehushtan, of healing and salvation. It marks the time when the angels fell from grace, and it was crafted to identify those born from divine power.”

Mikhail ignored Merrick’s displeased mutter. Focusing instead on soothing the rapid loss of color in Anne’s face, he forged on. “You are a descendant of the Nephilim. The blood that runs in your veins has been passed down for centuries. Undiluted, it is the very essence of the Almighty’s creation. I will allow Merrick to tell you the remaining theology therein. Right now, all you need to know is that you were put upon this earth for a greater purpose.”

A commotion in the corner set Mikhail’s smile free. The three who had answered the summons Merrick and his men ignored, and already heard what was to come, had just made the connection. He grinned at Caradoc. “Take the men outside. The rest is for Merrick and Anne alone. Before you go”—he swept an arm toward Anne—“pledge your loyalty.”

*   *   *

Angels? A descendant of the Nephilim? Anne’s mind whirled with Mikhail’s ridiculous claims. Beyond the simple implausibility of them, doctrine stated the flood eradicated the Nephilim. No matter how she looked at it, what Mikhail wanted her to believe just couldn’t be true. Then again, a rational person would say her ability to read past lives was impossible. They’d tell her running into a reincarnated knight, who had never really left the Middle Ages, would be ridiculous. Yet she knew the reality firsthand from her visions. While she might doubt Mikhail’s claims about her lineage, she was absolutely convinced about Merrick’s legitimacy. Angels or no angels, she stood among Templar knights.

And these men had the answers she needed. She would give anything to deny that this was real. Even considering the possibility made her feel as foolish as an adult who still believed in Santa Claus. But in thirty-one years, her visions had never been wrong. Her ability to read energy, when it was strong enough to make its presence known, had never led her astray. Right now, the room buzzed with spiritual strength. A power so indomitable she couldn’t hope to ignore it. Every last particle swirling around her reinforced what she wanted to disbelieve. This was real.

Five men lined up in front of her and dropped to one knee, thwarting her ability to consider things further. From their waists, they pulled their swords free and set them on the ground before their flattened feet. The scrape of steel against stone hung in the air.

The man on the far left bowed his head. Shoulders easily twice the size of hers bent, and he leaned one arm on his knee, accenting the thick bulge of his bicep. His sandy-brown hair tumbled forward to cover his face. “Lord Caradoc of Asterleigh.”

Asterleigh? She knew that name. It had once been a medieval village, but now was little more than dust and dirt. Good God, he was a noble! The realization sent goose bumps coursing down her arms. She waited for him to say more, expected him to stand.

When Caradoc didn’t move, Merrick jabbed an elbow in her side. “Return his blade,” he whispered.

Rising, Anne bent to retrieve Caradoc’s broadsword. Not expecting the heavy weight, she almost dropped the thing before she managed to hold on tight enough to lift it up. Holding the flat of the blade in both hands, she presented it to Caradoc. With a crisp nod, he accepted his weapon, stood, and sheathed it.

As Caradoc walked away, the next man in line bowed his head. Built with the same incredible strength as the other two, she admired the way his ribs tapered into a trim waist. His hair was dark like Merrick’s, but it hung straight and smooth, contrary to Merrick’s untamed waves. He was not nearly as handsome as the other two, but she found something about his demeanor pleasing. Maybe he bowed with a bit more grace.

He spoke in a low, smooth voice, “Lucan of Seacourt.”

Again, Anne made the connection to a lost medieval village. Although inventoried by the Normans, the tiny town was nothing but rubble by the mid-1400s. Moved by the fact these two had lost even the history of their origin, her heart swelled. She presented him his sword with reverence and managed a hesitant smile.

The third man repeated his companions’ actions, but before he bowed his dark head, she caught a flash of deep green eyes behind thick lashes. “Tane du Breuil.”

Something about the way he glanced up at her made her uneasy. A flash of envy? Desire? Whatever it was, it made the hair on the back of her neck rise. Moving more quickly, she returned his broadsword with grace.

Blond hair tumbled as the surly driver dropped his gaze to the ground. She noticed for the first time that this man also doubled her in size. Good grief, compared to her petite stature, they were all giants. But man, they were nice to look at. A girl could get used to this.