Immortal Sacrifice: #4 The Curse of the Templars (38 page)

Azazel’s eyes assumed a wild gleam as Caradoc opened his fingers to reveal the strand of divine power.
He hesitated only a moment, before he tossed the precious relic at Azazel’s feet. “Leave them in peace.”

Abominable laughter erupted from Azazel’s throat.
“Oh, I shall.” He snatched the tears into his clawed hand, the light in his eyes feral and untamed. The air rippled one last time, and then the Dark One was gone, taking with him the miniscule light.

Broken far more than the wounds upon his body, Caradoc doubled over and touched his forehead to the floor.
He had done it. Sacrificed all he believed in for Isabelle. For his daughter.

For love.

A hand slipped beneath his good shoulder, urging him to his feet. “Come, brother. Let us find your family,” Farran said.

* * *

The quiet surrounded Isabelle, despite the thundering of her pulse. Eyes closed and holding her breath, she took the last step around the mausoleum into the opening that would reveal whether her daughter lived or died. Fear gripped her, threatening to crumple her in its deadly hold. She couldn’t bear to look. Couldn’t face what she might encounter.

“September?” she whispered as she opened her eyes.

Blackness shrouded her vision, and she squinted into the shadows. Time stood still as she waited for the moonlight to rain down upon the clearing. One heartbeat. Then another. The erratic
thump-thump
more terrifying than any work of Poe.

As the voices behind her grew nearer, the moon slipped from its veil of clouds.
Inch by inch it crept over the garden, filtering through the trees, bathing the forgotten statues with silvery light.

The shrouded angel rose from the night.
Her gaze slid down the folds of its robes, over hands that were clasped in prayer. All the way down to the statue’s feet and the crumpled child that lay in the dirt.

Blood coated her daughter’s long blonde hair.
Turned her strawberry nightgown into a wet crimson sponge. Dripped from the stony creases in the angel’s arm to splatter across September’s ashen face.

Stumbling backward, Isabelle pressed a fist to her mouth and stifled a scream.
Her gaze pulled to the angel’s head, where it fell on the creature she’d witnessed too many times and its unblinking orange-red eyes. A sob broke free, the power of it dropping her to the leaf-cluttered ground.

Too late.
She was too late. She’d placed her trust in Caradoc, disobeyed Paul, and killed her daughter.

Chapter
37

A
s grief wracked Isabelle’s shoulders, the beast atop the angel leapt beyond the garden wall, disappearing into the night. Barely aware of the chill that seeped from the ground beneath her, she crawled on her knees to September’s side and pushed the matted hair away from her face. Tears fell with abandon, blearing Isabelle’s vision. Blindly she ran her fingertips over innocent features, not knowing what she sought, only that she couldn’t bear the thought of not touching her.

Goodbye, Mommy.

Five days ago, September had bid goodbye with a bright smile, a sweet kiss to Isabelle’s cheek. The sun had been peeking over the Chicago horizon, lighting the city in a muted shade of lavender. She’d waved, the farewell no different than if Isabelle had been heading to the grocery store instead of five thousand miles away.

Now, what had seemed like such a simple, routine expression took on greater meaning.
September had known she wouldn’t see her mother again. She’d embraced the fates, accepted the shadow that haunted her throughout the last year.

Isabelle looked up to the stars with a broken whisper, “Why?”
Why September? Why did she have to die? She was only three. She deserved a full life—ballet lessons, kindergarten, afternoons at the park with her school friends. She’d never experience the thrill of a first love. Never see prom. Never know the freedom of college.

She’d never have the dog they’d talked about at Christmas.

Another gut-deep sob worked its way out of her throat, and Isabelle slid her hands beneath September’s slight shoulders. Rocking back on her heels, she cradled her against her breast, ran her hands through her bloody hair. Where their bodies touched, warm wetness soaked through Isabelle’s clothing from September’s wounds. She didn’t care. Hardly noticed.

Her daughter was gone.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured against the crown of September’s head. “So sorry. I didn’t know. I tried, baby girl. I tried…”

Isabelle’s words strangled as her heart splintered into pieces.
She clutched her daughter closer, desperate to somehow shield her from the terror and all the things Isabelle was helpless to stop. If she’d run faster. If she’d listened to her instincts…

Swaying side to side, she struggled to conjure the first notes of the lullaby she’d sung each night at bedtime since the first night September had lain within her arms.
“You…are my…sunshine…”

The melody came in choked bits, warbled in the back of her throat.
It mingled with the rustling of leaves and blended with heartache Isabelle couldn’t contain. Gone. Not just dead but murdered. For God’s sake, she didn’t even have a peaceful death. Terrified and alone, September had suffered through every moment of it.

“Please don’t…take…my…”

She couldn’t finish. God hadn’t just taken her sunshine, he’d stolen her sunsets, her shooting stars, the very meaning of her life. Releasing another anguished wail, she lifted her face to the stars once more and screamed, “Give her back!” Crying harder, she buried her face in September’s hair, breathed in the faint scent of strawberry shampoo. “Back,” she murmured. “I want her back!”

“Isabelle.”
The reverent feminine voice accompanied the crunch of leaves on the broken pavestones behind her.

Isabelle jerked upright, reflexively clutching her daughter’s lifeless body more tightly.
Wide-eyed, she glanced over her shoulder and found Noelle and Chloe standing a respectful distance away. Sensing they would try and take her child, Isabelle struggled to her feet. She held September’s head to her shoulder, turned to confront the trio with her chin set in defiance. “You can’t have her.”

Chloe shook her head.
Extending a hand as if she sought to clasp Isabelle’s, she said, “Let Noelle see to her.”

Possessed by a madness Isabelle had no name for, she backed up until she met unmovable stone.
She gave Chloe a violent shake of her head. “Just leave me alone.” They’d done more than enough. No way would she allow anyone to come between her daughter and her now. This moment, this final parting was hers and hers alone, and she’d be damned if anyone intruded.

But Chloe didn’t accept Isabelle’s adamant order.
She approached, arm still extended, her gaze locked with Isabelle’s. “You must hurry. There isn’t time for explanations. Give your daughter to Noelle.”

“Please, Isabelle,” Noelle said quietly.
“I can help.”

“Help?
There’s nothing you can do! Can’t you see it’s too late for her? You and whatever cause you believe in
killed
my daughter!”

“I can—”

“No!” Isabelle’s voice rose by several decibels. “I don’t want you near her.”

At that moment, a heavy hand fell on her shoulder, startling her.
She whipped around, twisting free of Lucan’s grasp. His grey eyes met hers, unblinking. “Isabelle, you
must
let Noelle examine her. She can help. Trust us. You’re not thinking rationally.”

Rationally?
Her daughter was dead and they expected her to be rational? Trust
them?
They were the very people who’d made it clear September could be sacrificed. They didn’t belong here. They weren’t part of Isabelle and September’s life and all she wanted to do was say goodbye alone. Grieve in private, not beneath these stranger’s prying eyes.

“Isa, what has happened?”

Caradoc’s rich baritone stopped Isabelle from telling Lucan exactly where he could go and how he could get there. With that quiet utterance, he stripped away her anguish and left her cold. Of all the people who shouldn’t be present, he topped the list. She’d believed in him, even when her instincts warned her to object.

“You must convince her, Caradoc,” Lucan instructed.
“Noelle’s gift has grown, but time is critical. She must examine the wounds.”

As her reoccurring nightmare took on a whole new meaning of horror, Isabelle found herself surrounded by five sets of hands all pawing at her, intent on ripping September out of her arms.
She hunched her shoulders in a futile attempt to keep the unwanted intruders out and held onto her daughter’s body for dear life.

Caradoc managed to work one arm beneath September’s tiny chest and wrench it around Isabelle.
Unyielding pressure trapped her against his hard chest. She twisted and turned to no avail, only succeeding in further tightening his hold. To her horror, Farran pulled September from her hands and turned his back to her.

“No!
Don’t touch her!”

Her protests fell on deaf ears.
They carried September back to the faceless angel and laid her at the statue’s feet. She lunged forward, but the iron band around her torso made escape impossible. Caradoc shuffled backward, taking her with him to a thick growth of trees.

Rage, more fierce than any anger she’d ever known, took control of Isabelle.
She clawed at his arm. “Get your hands off me! You didn’t care to give truth a chance. You have no right to keep me from her.”

Driving her elbow behind her, she made contact with his body.
He groaned. His iron grip loosened. She took full advantage of the slip and whirled around to face him. “You did this! She’s
gone
because some stupid relic meant more than your daughter. I believed in you. Trusted you.
He can be harmed, Isa.
” Isabelle let out a derisive snort. “Not him.
Her.
You
killed my daughter
!”

Caradoc winced as he cradled his right arm in his left and pressed it to his chest.
The heavy bloodstains on his arm gave her pause but did nothing to assuage her pain. She’d given him oaths. Sworn herself to him. Not once had he given her insistence that September was his any consideration. If he had, if he’d given her half of the faith she’d given him, he’d never have allowed this to happen. She swiped the unchecked tears from her cheeks, swallowed down a building sob, and shook her head in dismay. “Then again, you didn’t want children. Guess that works pretty damn well for you. Don’t worry, neither one of us will be burdening you now.”

“Isabelle, I made many mistakes.”

“Mistakes?” Her shrill exclamation hurt her own ears. She held up her hands, September’s blood a dark crimson stain against her ivory skin. “Look at this! This is all I have left of her. She’s gone!
Gone!”

“Nay,” he argued in a near whisper.
“Her memory will live on.”

Enraged beyond all measure of control, Isabelle drew her hand back and struck out.
Her open palm cracked against his cheek, smearing September’s blood across his face.

* * *

Caradoc gritted his teeth against the fire that spread over the side of his face. Isabelle’s words stung far more than she could imagine. Yet he did not offer protest. In many ways, he deserved the piercing barbs. ’Twas the reason he had surrendered the tears, and if he could unravel time to the morning she had informed him she had birthed his child, he would have gathered Isabelle in his arms with joy.

Moreover, what stilled his arguments, what kept him from defending himself against her wrath, was the pain that reflected in her eyes.
She had not lost just her daughter, but herself as well. And naught he could say could heal that soul-deep wound. He ached to gather her close, to hold her until her tears ceased to flow. To grieve with her, for his own heart had cracked with the realization of his wrongs. Now it bled as freely as hers, and naught he could do would sew the rends back together. No words could restore September to life. No apologies could undo his failures.

“You didn’t care because you couldn’t believe she was yours.
If you had any idea what it was like to be a father, you’d have never allowed this to happen. But no, you were too worried about a relic. A stupid piece of priceless glass, not a life you’re sworn to protect.”

“Nay!”
The word burst free of its own accordance. He set his jaw to temper the spark of anger and ground out, “I gave him the tears. He was to leave you both in peace.”

The confession landed on deaf ears and a hardened heart.
With her blink, fresh tears coursed down her cheeks. “She called for you. She always believed in you, and I always knew you’d disappoint her somehow. Tonight, she called for your help, and the father she idolized came too late.”

The raw honesty cut deep, and Caradoc felt tears burn his eyes.
“Do you think I did not hear her? That I did not try to come?” He lifted his wounded arm as high as he could manage, displaying the awkward way it dangled above the wrist and the blood that ran freely down his arm. “Your Paul was no demon, Isa. ’Twas Azazel disguised, and I did not win that battle. But never,
never
, would I have wished this upon you. Upon September.”

Her gaze skipped to his wounded arm, then jumped quickly back to his.
Bitterness burned bright behind her watery eyes. “Yet you were so willing to barter with her life.”