Immortal Surrender (Curse of the Templars) Read online

  Her footsteps approached the couch. Her perfume tickled his nose.

  She leaned over his knee and set the glass of water on the polished tabletop. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything else?”

  Farran’s heart skidded to a stop as her gaze locked with his. Her glasses removed, eyes the color of a doe’s hide and every bit as soft drew him in. They shone with warmth, a natural friendliness that her silence obscured. Where he had thought her plain less than thirty minutes previous, he looked upon features as delicate as porcelain. Creamy skin bore no mark of time, no suggestion of a hardened life—unlike the whores he entertained himself with. Neat white teeth peeked behind full lips as she offered him a hesitant smile. And her nose possessed just enough uplift at the tip to belie a spriteful spirit.

  Jesu, Gabriel tortured more severely than the days spent in the strappado at the Inquisition’s mercy.

  “Nay,” he grit out through clenched teeth.

  Even his traitorous wife did not compare to the picture of loveliness that stood at his side. Especially when he considered the twinkle in Noelle’s eyes. Nay, that foul creature he married centuries ago had never held such sunlight in her stare.

  He jerked his gaze away at the tightening of his gut.

  “You don’t talk much, do you?” she asked as she vanished behind him.

  The same could be said for her. Yet, at her subtle rebuke, the discomfort in his gut intensified. He had no cause for rudeness. ’Twas no more her fault he sat here than Lucan’s. He set the magazine aside and pulled in a deep breath. “I have little to say.”

  “I see that.”

  As the silence lapsed between them, Farran’s mind wandered to the temple and his fellow knights. Were he with them, he would no doubt be aiding Merrick in teaching Lady Anne the use of a sword. In comparison to spending an afternoon with that particular woman, this one seemed much more benign. The last time he had cause to spar with Anne, he could not walk right for three days, such was the damage her knee did to his groin.

  Aye, mayhap he could suffer worse assignments than guarding Noelle. ’Twould be a short reprieve from the duties of his immortal cause. Here he would not confront Azazel’s creatures and would not wonder if the next battle would be his last.

  He listened to the sound of running water and laid his head on the back of the couch. Closing his eyes, he sought a moment’s rest. But behind his lowered eyelids, those fawnlike brown eyes gleamed bright. He snapped upright with a mutter and snatched the magazine back into his lap. Damnation, he did not need this distraction. Nor did he desire it. He belonged with Lucan, protecting the Almighty’s sacred treasure. The sooner he delivered Noelle to the airport, the sooner he could return to usefulness.

  * * *

  Noelle squeezed a liberal amount of shower gel onto the torc around her arm. Gnawing on her lower lip, she worked the slippery liquid around the three coils, slid her finger under, and saturated her skin. Then she shoved her wrist between her knees and pushed on the bangle with all her might.

  The torc refused to budge.

  “Damn it,” she mumbled. Straightening, she twisted her arm to inspect for swelling. Strangely, the only evidence that she’d managed to get an ancient antiquity lodged onto her arm came from the red marks where her nails had scraped into her skin. The thing looked loose. For that matter, she couldn’t even really feel a squeeze around her bicep. Yet two attempts with the shower gel and it still hadn’t shifted a bit.

  She edged her body away from the spray of tepid water and eyed the conditioner. She’d never get a brush through her hair without it. But the idea of stuffing her head back under the last dregs of cool water from her hot water heater made her shudder. Hot showers she could do. Cold—ugh.

  On the other hand, she’d rather die than look like Broom Hilda with Farran around.

  She grabbed the bottle and quickly conditioned. With a deep breath, she braved the even colder water. A gasp wrenched free as what amounted to buckets of ice dumped on her head. She rinsed as fast as her fingers would go, then whipped the faucet off. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around her body. Towel. Where’d she put the towel?

  Through the glass door, a flash of pink near the sink answered the quandary. She lunged out of the stall and quickly toweled off. She’d wasted precious time trying to get that stupid torc off, and now she’d be lucky if she had an hour to make it to her flight. Rushing into her bedroom, she glanced at the clock and confirmed her suspicions. They’d have to hurry, not a good thing given the conditions of the roads after last night’s snowfall.

  She yanked on a pair of clean jeans, stuffed her feet into comfortable heeled boots, and rummaged through her closet for a top. Planes always made her hot, no matter the time of year. Still, she needed to look presentable. Her first task involved delivering the Sudarium, which would likely lead to dinner with Father Phanuel. Much as she’d prefer to wear a T-shirt, she couldn’t.

  She eased into a short-sleeved sweater, lightweight enough to keep her cool on the flight. As she passed her mirror, she combed her fingers through her hair. The torc glinted in the late afternoon sunlight, and she lowered her arm, admiring the piece. It really was pretty. And even if it looked a little out of place, the subtle sheen of color complemented her fair skin.

  Grabbing her glasses, she pushed them back onto the bridge of her nose and hurried out of her bedroom. “Okay. Sorry about that. I’m ready, if you are.”

  Farran eased to his feet, all six foot something of him. He’d loosened his coat, giving her a remarkable view of a dark green jersey pulled tight across his broad chest. Her stomach did a flip-flop. Man he was yummy. Some days she’d give anything to be blond and perfect. Men didn’t scowl at Barbies.

  Only, as she lifted her eyes to his face, this time Farran wasn’t scowling at all.

  * * *

  All the air in Farran’s lungs lodged in his throat as he turned around to acknowledge his tardy little ward. Hair, more rich and thick than he had imagined, draped around her shoulders. The damp waves tumbled to her waist, long and free, reminding him of the thick vines that covered the grotto where he played as a boy. Her glasses were not cumbersome. If anything, they enhanced the saucy upturn to her nose.

  They tempted too. Called to his fingers and begged them to pull those wire frames away from those fawnlike eyes. And the mouth he had believed was plain, smiled with such innocent hesitation, he could not help but wonder if it had ever known a man’s lustful touch. Full and lush, her lips would be soft. Mayhap as silky as her hair.

  He curled his fingers into a fist and turned away. Saints’ blood, he would have to pay a visit to Leah upon his return. Clearly, he had spent too long away from her willing arms if this scrap of a woman could warm his blood.

  “Are you ready?” Noelle asked.

  “Aye.”

  She picked up her purse and coat, crossed to the door, and pulled it open. “It’s rush hour. Seth said we should probably go south out of town and then head west on the outskirts.”

  “You will guide me. I have not been to D.C. in quite some time.”

  Again, her smile graced her face, and his stomach balled into a hard knot. He ground his teeth against the uncomfortable twist. A few hours more, and he would be free of her. She would fade into memory, no more significant than any other woman he had encountered throughout time.

  Farran entered the hall, waited for her to lock up her house, then followed to the stairs. He furrowed his brow as he recalled the cat. “Someone will tend your pet?”

  “Scat?” she let out a soft chuckle. “Yes. Seth said he would stop by over the weekend.”

  The fist around his innards clamped harder. This Seth, did he enjoy the softness of Noelle’s mouth? He could not silence his curiosity. “Seth is?”

  “My assistant at the lab.”

  Invisible fingers released their hold, and Farran breathed deeply. He had no cause to feel relieved, yet ’twas no mistaking he did. More reason for him to satisfy his oath to Gabriel and r
eturn to the temple.

  Outside, the sun sank into the horizon, and long shadows emerged atop the piled banks of snow. He opened Noelle’s door, then jogged around to his. But as the doors thumped shut, the silence he had treasured became oppressive. Enveloped by the sweet fragrance of her jasmine perfume, Farran became aware of the woman beside him. The rustle of her coat when she moved scraped against his nerves. Her bright smile rose within his mind to torment, and his thoughts steered down a treacherous course. A path that led to visions of those long lengths of hair secluding them away whilst he explored the softness of those damning lips.

  He gripped the wheel in both hands, silently cursing his fate.

  “So this is what you do? Security?” Noelle’s voice vibrated with a touch of nervousness.

  Security—’twas an interesting way to describe his duty. Somehow he doubted she would care to hear the truth, or that she would believe if he explained. He settled for the easier response. “Aye.”

  She twisted in her seat to look at him more fully. “Are you from here? From America, I mean? Your speech—you have an accent and distinct dialect, but I can’t place it.”

  “Aye.” He glanced at her, gauging how much to reveal. “I was born outside of Clare, in England.” The only son of a long-dead lord and one who left his family in shame. Lost to time like the rest of the world Farran understood.

  “That’s in Sussex, isn’t it? I went there once in college. We were doing research at Sutton Hoo.”

  “Aye.”

  “Turn here.” She tapped on the window, indicating the approaching narrow road.

  Dutifully, Farran slowed for the turn. As he rounded the corner, he chanced a glance at her. Posture relaxed, expression full of animation, she looked at ease. Naught like the uncomfortable woman who tried to hide in the seat on their first journey together. Her gaze slid to his, surprising him with the same hesitant smile. A touch of pink rose in her cheeks, and she hastily cast her eyes to her lap.

  Beneath the rising lavender of twilight, they left the hustle-bustle of D.C. proper and emerged into a remote stretch of fields. The houses spaced farther apart. Fields rose between them. Trees even peppered the landscape. Great hulking trees with twisting branches that rose like skeleton arms to embrace a winter’s sky.

  “Do you miss it?” Noelle asked. “England. Home.”

  A more conflicting answer he could not imagine. Aye, he missed England, but not the one she knew. He missed the fields of green, the days spent on horseback, the harder, yet simpler life he had known so long ago. At the same time, the thought of home filled him with such loathing he could not stand to think upon it. Farran settled for, “Sometimes.”

  “It’s so pretty over there. Everything has character. And oh…” She let out a wistful sigh. “There are so many old things there. I get glimpses when artifacts come into the lab. But seeing everything under the microscope just doesn’t compare. I can’t imagine leaving, if I’d been born there.”

  He had once felt the same. Now, with Azazel’s darkness running in his blood, England only spurned fury. Anxious for a change in subject, he asked, “You were born where?”

  “A little farm in Iowa. My folks raised pigs.” She pulled down the visor to fiddle with her hair. “Hey, that looks like Seth’s car behind us. I guess I won’t have to worry about finding him at the airport.”

  Farran glanced in the rearview mirror. Several yards away, a yellow Chevy Camaro rapidly approached. Despite the rolled-up windows, he caught the stench. The revolting scent of rot. A smell so foul, it still made his stomach roll even after hundreds of years of combating it.

  Evil.

  Mayhap her Seth followed, but somewhere near, Azazel’s minions lurked.

  He gripped the wheel tight and stepped on the gas. Jaw clenched, his gaze riveted on the mirror. The Camaro’s grille bore down on them, its headlights mere feet away from their bumper.

  Not somewhere near, he rationalized. Right behind them.

  “Hold on,” he barked. Stomping on the accelerator, Farran gave the wheel a fierce jerk and skidded through a sharp right-hand curve.

  From the corner of his eye, he caught Noelle’s furrowed brow. She opened her mouth to speak, then quickly snapped it shut. She grabbed for the overhead handhold and shrank into the seat.

  Farran’s pulse bounded to life. His chest tightened, and his heart hammered into his ribs as he tried to outmaneuver the creature behind the wheel. But already exceeding eighty, he dared not attempt more speed. Not with a mortal sitting at his side. Too great was the risk he would lose control on this slick highway.

  In his side mirror, the sports car gained. It surged around his rear fender, barreled down the oncoming lane. Farran glanced out his window, catching a brief glimpse of a man behind the wheel before it sped past. The foul odor filled the car and tightened his throat. Beside him, Noelle gagged.

  When the taillights evened with their front bumper, Farran expelled the breath he had been holding. Azazel’s minion wanted the Sudarium, not the woman at his side. Best to alert Lucan. He reached between the seats for his cell phone.

  As he flipped it open, Noelle let out a shriek.

  Metal ground against metal in a sickening scream. Somewhere glass shattered. His hands slipped from the wheel as his body lurched to the left. Where pavement had stretched out before them, brown grass and clods of dirt flew by.

  In the next heartbeat, everything went black.

  CHAPTER 3

  The throbbing in Farran’s head became angry drums that pounded against his skull. Faint lights flashed behind his eyes with each pulse of his blood. Groaning, he squeezed his temple. Pain arced down his arm, and he struggled to make sense of the cold.

  It seeped into his bones, intensifying the ache in his body. Wetness blanketed his back, plastered his jeans to his thighs. He cracked one eye open and stared up at a cloud-covered moon. Outside. What was he doing out …

  Memories slammed into him. The Camaro, the impact, the rolling vehicle. They had been run off the road. How long had they been here?

  Noelle.

  He sat up, ignoring his body’s protests. Whatever injuries he had received were insignificant. They did not come from a Templar blade, nor had Azazel’s demon inflicted them directly. He was immortal—he would heal. Not so Noelle.

  Rising to his feet, he searched their surroundings. The SUV lay on its roof in the ditch, four black tires barely discernible in the dark. No lights marked nearby houses, and the closest streetlamp failed to shine.

  A shiver rolled through him. He pulled his twisted coat down to cover his dampened clothes. Where was she? Had the demon taken her?

  Stumbling, he approached the wrecked vehicle. Thoughts sifted into firm place, despite the blaring noise inside his head. Other than aches, he felt no significant pain. Nothing broken. Nothing damaged. He felt the truck, the cold frame telling him they’d been here quite some time. An hour, maybe two, gauging from the moon’s height.

  “Noelle!” His voice rasped through the night.

  Silence answered.

  His legs gained strength with each step, and he quickened his pace. Trudging through banks of plowed snow, he rounded the vehicle. Bits of glass speckled the ground, glinting against the intermittent light of the moon. Twisted at a grotesque angle, the passenger’s door stood open. His heart skipped a panicked beat when he stuck his head inside and found the seat empty. Only her purse remained. Dangling by one handle, it hung motionless on the jagged corner of the door. The other strap stirred in the faint breeze, tap-tapping against a dull brown stain.

  Farran whipped around, his gaze scanning over the expansive field. Wherever she was, she bled. If she was here at all.

  His breath caught as a swathe of reddish brown caught his eye just beyond the SUV’s rear end. “Noelle!”

  He choked back bitter unease and rushed to her side. For a handful of heartbeats, he could do no more than look down on her. She lay on her stomach, her lower body in a wide indentation in the
snow where the SUV had hit. Arms stretched above her head, her hair covered her face. The tattered remnants of her coat clung to her right arm. Beneath her left, the snow soaked up her blood. Fresh blood.

  She was alive.

  Farran dropped to his knees and gently pushed the hair away from her face. Through lips the color of violets, she breathed shallowly. “Can you hear me, damsel?” he said.

  Shucking his coat, he covered her with haste. Then he stumbled back to the vehicle. Amidst a barrage of vile oaths, he searched for his cell phone to no avail. He found his sword, the map Gabriel left behind, a tube of lipstick that escaped Noelle’s purse, her glasses. A glance over his shoulder told him Noelle had not moved, and he resumed his search once more.

  Faint but persistent ringing stilled his hands. He cocked his head, listening. The notes came not from the SUV. Instead, they drifted from where he had lain.

  He raced around the vehicle and the tune stopped. Farran lifted his eyes to the heavens, and in a moment of rare faith, begged the Almighty to make it ring again.

  For the first time in more years than he could remember, his prayers did not go ignored. The chiming began anew. Snow flew as he dug for the sound. His fingers touched the cold plastic, and relief surged through Farran’s veins.

  He snapped the phone open. “I need help.”

  “Where are you?” Lucan’s voice filled with urgency.

  “On the south side of town.” He turned a circle, looking for a street sign, a marker of any type that would identify their position. Damnation, why had he not paid attention to where Noelle instructed him to turn?

  “You come here oft,” he snapped at Lucan. “Tell me where I am.”

  “Are houses nearby?”

  “Nay.” And no passing cars, much to his frustration. “We turned off about two miles from her apartment. Ask Gabriel.”

  “Gabriel left once we were out of sight.”

  Farran ground his teeth together. ’Twould figure that the archangel would vanish. God’s messenger did naught but create headaches.