Immortal Trust (12 page)

His arms.

Fuck, he didn’t know anymore. His arms, its arms—good God, what would it be like to embrace his
sister
as a woman?

His stomach roiled at the thought. But deep inside, something else stirred to life. It pulled at his mind, urging him to surrender. To accept his fate and his certain death. He pushed back on the presence, desperate to maintain some small fragment of what he once had been.

Movement helped. As did light. He stood up and flicked on the lamp. On his way back to his chair, he passed the wide dresser mirror and paused to study his reflection. Outwardly, he looked the same. Then again, that shouldn’t surprise him. He had witnessed the crafting of this illusion. Hell, he’d given them the prototype.

He turned and looked over his bare shoulder at the two long scars that ran between his shoulder blades and across his ribs. Even this form bore the scars they had put upon his body. Strange, he could no longer recall the pain. He remembered the face. The voice. But how it felt to have claws dig between his ribs, he couldn’t recall.

More evidence he was rapidly losing his tenacious hold on his soul.

A smile crossed his face as the beast latched on to his thoughts. His weakness pleased the demon. With it came power. The complete ability to move as it desired and follow the dark laws that governed its existence.

Julian struggled to smear the smile away. When his efforts only produced a slight downturn at the corners of his mouth, turning his expression into a grotesque sneer, he turned from the mirror and retreated to his chair.

It wanted the relic. Yes, that’s right—he was supposed to convince his sister to give him the relic. That was the reason he’d been implanted alongside the demon. But Chloe and her protocols refused to budge. If she didn’t cave soon, he’d have no control over what might happen.

And if she spent more time with that man whom the demon despised, Julian couldn’t guarantee how much longer he could hold on. Each time the dark-haired representative of the Church drew near her, the demon threatened to break free.

His name is Lucan of Seacourt.

Julian ground his teeth together as the hollow voice mingled with his unconscious. It knew things he couldn’t comprehend. Things that, when it spoke of them, he found himself unable to resist the call of darkness. And now, as the demon conjured an image of Lucan, Julian’s hands began to tingle with the need to kill.

He glanced down at his fingers to witness the dark claws emerge. He let them break through—controlling the demon when it desired its natural form defied his meek ability. Besides, the battle tonight had taken its toll. He’d lost more energy by leaving Chloe and the relic than he had these last several weeks. And he couldn’t deny that at times the thought of giving up completely offered comfort. If he didn’t have to worry about Chloe, he would. But his love for her and all the years he’d protected her forced him to hang on.

Somehow he must make her turn over that trunk.

Declan
.

The name whispered into his awareness. Yes, Declan and the Kerzu. He’d been advised to contact the man if Chloe gave him too much trouble. Maybe he would have an idea how to convince her.

He reached across to the table and picked up his phone. The number flashed on his outgoing calls list, but he couldn’t recall ever speaking to the man before. He’d talked to Miranda. That night, he’d never forget. Five years he’d known her. Slept with her. Done everything a man and woman could, except give her his heart, though she had given hers freely. When she’d done what she should have years ago and finally told him to get lost, he’d wanted to weep. The demon, however, rejoiced.

Julian pressed the connect key.

“Aye?” a thick Scottish brogue answered on the first ring. “I dinna expect to hear from you so soon.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Julian confessed.

“Does she ken what you want?”

“I think so. Should I tell her why?”

“Nay!” Declan softened his voice. “My brothers are with her?”

“Always.”

“Then nay, you mustna confide our purpose. If she has listened to their words, she wilna believe naught of yours. She will think you deceive. Take heart, believe in Leofric’s purpose of restoring the Templar code.”

Julian let out a sigh and asked in a quieter voice, “How do I deceive my
sister
?”

“’Tisna easy, I ken.” Declan’s voice assumed genuine sympathy. “It becomes easier. When the day of judgment arrives, you will be proud of the things you have done. In this, you will find strength.”

Silence passed across the line. Through the receiver, Julian recognized the closing of a heavy door.

“A question for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Does the lass show a particular affinity for either of my brothers?”

Affinity? Shit, he could hardly remember his own name let alone what Chloe did all day. “I don’t know. Why?”

“’Tis curiosity. Inform me if you learn of such.”

“All right. But why?”

“’Twould mean she carries the blood of angels. A blessing to be certain. But if she is to pair with a knight, their joining must be pure. They canna be allowed to sin before oaths are taken.”

Julian squeezed his eyes shut tight and attempted to make sense of Declan’s words. The demon, however, surged to the surface making it impossible to decipher the Scot’s meaning. Julian grimaced with the effort of chaining the beast back. A physical pain burst inside his head, and he dropped the phone. Clutching at his temples, he doubled over, gasping for air.

“Not now,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “Let. Me. Go.”

Slowly, the unholy presence retreated, allowing Julian the ability to reach for the phone. When he brought it to his ear, the line filled with silence. “Declan?”

A rapid beeping signaled the Scot had disconnected.

In a fit of satisfying temper, Julian chucked the phone across the room. It thumped into the wall, then clattered across the wood floor. He stood, went to the window, and pulled the drapes open wide. Outside, snowflakes drifted across a darkened landscape. The trees beyond caught the faint reflection of the château’s exterior lights, illuminating leafless branches into eerie skeletons.

He searched the barren trunks for signs of the creatures that shared his purpose. When he spied a pair of yellow-green eyes, unexplainable peace enveloped him. He knew their presence ought to disgust him. But he couldn’t find the revulsion he’d first known. Those creatures, though they followed a different set of orders, comforted him with the knowledge he wasn’t alone in this misbegotten quest.

Moreover, they marked Chloe. Where she went, they followed. As long as he could locate them, he’d always be able to find his sister. As for the knights—all Julian needed to do was prey upon her fears. Her mistrust of men ran so deep that too seemed easy. A few insinuations. A handful of suggestions about the men’s characters, and Chloe would run from all of them.

If it meant keeping her safe, he’d see to that.

He didn’t give a damn about oaths or sin or any number of the bits and pieces of information that flitted through his thoughts. But he’d fight to the end to keep Chloe out of this hellish game of unholy chess. He would die their pawn. Before he did, however, he’d ensure his sister knew the freedom of a queen.

CHAPTER 11

Chloe woke at dawn, not that she had slept well after the demons threatened entry. With a dull winter sun as her protection, she went to the window and pulled the drapes open to inspect the glass. Frowning, she traced a short nail down a jagged crack that ran from the left top corner to two-thirds of the way to the center. She drew away with a whispered oath and pulled the blinds closed.

Once before they’d attacked with such force, but even then, they hadn’t done true harm. They’d made enough noise to scare her out of her skin and send her on the search for a demonologist to teach her how to ward them off, but they hadn’t broken glass. Now what? Reverend Tobias hadn’t told her what to do if they got through—they’d certainly made it possible to do so. One firm press on the pane, and that glass would break out.

She picked up the phone and punched in the concierge’s extension. When he answered, she forced a smile on her face to hide the quivering under her skin. “
Bonjour,
Monsieur Léglise, this is Chloe Broussard, room twenty-four.”

“
Bonjour,
Mademoiselle Broussard, how may I serve you?”

“Something broke my window last night. Would you be able to put in for repairs?”

“Quoi?”
He coughed. “
Pardon,
I mean—my apologies, mademoiselle. I was aware of no disturbances through the night.
Oui,
I shall put in the request, but it may be a day or two before a replacement can be finished. Do you require another room?”

“No, no, the glass is still intact.” She shook her head and squashed the long line of burned ashes in the basin of the wineglass with the end of the incense stick. “A good storm would ruin it though. I can wait a day or two.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. I really don’t want to move my things. A day or two will be fine.” She hoped. If her ward held, a day or two wouldn’t make a difference. But much longer, and they’d return. As they always did.

“Very well. I will put in the request. Will it inconvenience you if we enter to take measurements?”

“No, that’s fine. I’ll be working most of today.”

His voice brightened. “
Merci,
mademoiselle. Again, my deepest regrets. I will have your window restored soon.”

“Merci,”
she murmured before she dropped the phone back into its cradle.

She’d have to make sure to take the time today and find a spiritualist in Verdun who could aid her. Someone who really understood magic and could do something permanent. Problem was, she suspected she wasn’t dealing with the same demon. If she were, it couldn’t return again and again, and the magical incantation would hold longer.

She pulled open the desk drawer, withdrew the phone book, and stuffed it inside her leather bag. No one would be open this early. She’d look closer to lunchtime. Meanwhile, she’d shower. The hot water would soothe her nerves and hopefully take the stiffness out of her neck.

Trudging into the bathroom, she flipped on the light and started the water. While it heated, she gathered her robe and brushed her teeth. Then she stepped beneath the spray, sighing as she leaned against the tiled wall. She couldn’t tolerate much more of this. Eight years was long enough—an eternity of running from demons would cut her lifespan in half.

But eight years had also told her there wasn’t much she could do. Except, perhaps, find the man who’d somehow cursed her. And she’d tried that too. She’d visited every religious leader she could find, from voodoo priestesses to demonologists to Catholic priests. Every one of them swore
she
wasn’t cursed, wasn’t possessed, or whatever they personally called it. They offered temporary aid. Helped when it became too much. Gave her the bracelet to keep the beasts off her physical body, and wished her well.

This was her lot. For whatever reason, she’d been doomed to a life of fear.

Gathering her resolve, she stood up and lathered her hair. Maybe she wasn’t doomed. Lucan knew about the glyph. Nothing in the world would convince her he hadn’t recognized it. And for some absurd reason, when he was near, she didn’t feel like at any minute something might leap out of the dark and attack her. This was indeed progress. Maybe he had the answers.

Maybe he was her salvation.

She cringed at the thought. One kiss, and here she was fantasizing about happily-ever-afters. Even if they could get past their professional and ethical differences, even if she could learn to trust him, one night of demons, and he’d take off like a rocket.

Besides, now wasn’t the time to indulge in personal pursuits. The relic put her on the edge of incredible professional success. If she’d found Veronica’s Veil, the next several years would demand a significant amount of her time—public appearances, papers and presentations, meetings with museum curators and a whole list of student applicants, additional job offers, and collegiate lectures.

She couldn’t allow Lucan to distract her. Maybe when they finished in Ornes they could explore this attraction, but not until she had closed up the site and resolved the matter of what to do with the relic. Until then, she’d shield herself behind Julian. His dislike for Lucan would make it easy to keep her distance.

*   *   *

When Chloe didn’t arrive in the château’s front hall by six, the fist around Lucan’s heart closed more tightly and worry took root. Mayhap she was in trouble. Injured somehow. Or worse …

He took the stairs two at a time, all the way to the third floor, and stalked to her door where he rapped on the thick wood. He counted to five before he leaned closer to listen for sounds of life behind the barrier.

Distantly, he made out a faint rustle.

Lucan knocked more insistently.

“Just a minute,” she called from within.

Relief swamped him like a physical caress. His shoulders sagged as he expelled a long hard breath. Not harmed. Just running behind.

The door cracked open, sending a whiff of flowery perfume through the narrow opening. She peered out with a frown, then drew back as if she had expected someone else. “Lucan?”

“Aye. When you did not…” He hesitated. When she did not what? Arrive in the lobby he had worried? He could not admit such. ’Twould make him look weak. A man who knew a woman only but a few days did not fret like a hen over her safety.

He shook his head. “I thought to drive you to Ornes. That we might take the reliquary together.”

Her amber gaze narrowed for a heartbeat, and he cursed himself for once again sparking her ire. He grasped at words in attempts to sooth her obvious annoyance. “Your car is still at the site. Caradoc went on ahead with Tim and Andy.”

She pursed her lips, then let out an exasperated mutter. Clearly she did not believe him. But she stepped aside and opened the door for him to enter. “Oh, come in. Stop making up excuses. If it means that much to you, we’ll ride together.”