Immortal Sacrifice: #4 The Curse of the Templars (8 page)

He pressed the base of his palms to his temples to drown out the appeal of the vile thought.
Och, nay. He would not entertain the idea. What ailed him? It pained him enough to relay the failures of Lucan. He had come here to insure another foul creation like Julian could not be crafted. And though Declan would never dare admit such to Leofric, a small portion of his being could not help but celebrate that through it all, Lucan had secured another seraph. He had risen above the rest. Now the Templar were three stronger for the coming battle.

As the oppressiveness of dark suggestion retreated to a distant corner of his mind, Declan dragged his hands down his face and lifted his gaze to a waiter standing at his side.
The expectant look on the young man’s face said he had asked a question Declan had not heard. Clearing his throat, Declan struggled to regain his composure. “My apologies. I didna hear you.”

The young man forgave him with a smile.
“What may I get you?”

He ordered automatically.
“Water. A poached egg, and a small loaf of
ciabatta
.” ’Twas best to keep it simple. For too long he had enjoyed the splendor of Anne’s chefs. The Templar oaths demanded sacrifice, and mayhap if he forced himself to maintain the most basic of edicts, he would never again suffer such a disgraceful thought.

With a cursory nod, the waiter fled
the table. Declan spanned his hands before him on the white tablecloth, studying the nicks and scars of time. The years when he had acquired them seemed so distant. An era of bygones, only evidenced that they had ever inhabited this earth by ruins left to crumble.

Yet he knew he had lived then.
Knew the memories as well as he knew his name. That the world sought to preserve
history
meant little…they had forgotten the men and women who now rested in the grave. If he had never thought to marry, he too would have joined his kin. He would have lived and ruled as his station demanded, and he would have known the greatness of looking down upon his body as ’twas laid to rest amongst the lairds he descended from.

He would have come and gone, never once knowing the conflict of existing with one foot in the grave and the other in the Almighty’s light.

Aye, if he had never joined the Templar, he would have known the meaning of peace.

Sighing, Declan leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands together.
In truth, he regretted not his choice to accept the archangels’ curse. He had done all he could to uphold his oaths and serve the Order’s true purpose. ’Twas what brought him here—the oaths he believed in. The vows he would gladly honor until the last bit of light faded from his soul.

’
Twas why he agreed to serve Leofric, and why he must not allow the weakness of a faltering spirit to lead him astray. ’Twas why, no matter the difficulty, he must do as ordered and insure Caradoc did not stumble. If he did, ’twould be Declan’s responsibility to acquire the necklace and surrender it to Leofric, who would present it to Mikhail.

Then, the Kerzu would be recognized, and the sins of the Templar acknowledged.
The archangels could not allow this quest for seraphs to lead the noble Order into eternal downfall once the failures were exposed.

Chapter
7

Two strides away from the elevator, Caradoc caught Isabelle by the elbow, forbidding her to enter the opening doors. The feel of her soft skin beneath his fingertips sent a rush of electrifying sensation pummeling through his veins. One touch. One forbidden capture, and his body cried out for more. He stumbled over a thickening tongue and managed only, “Isabelle.”

She stilled
but did not turn to look at him. Her stare fixed on the closing elevator, she said naught at all.

A thousand apologies swamped his ability to form cohesive thoughts.
Along with the jumbled words came a soul-deep plea for her love. To know once more the bliss he had experienced for such a short time. He swallowed hard. This nonsense must end. Now. Already too much time had spanned between them. But the rigid nature of her spine, combined with the rock-hard set to her delicate jaw, warned him spitting words out haphazardly would doom him further. He must choose whatever he said with care.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice failing him.
Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Please, give me a moment. ’Tis all I ask.”

She took a determined step forward and jerked her arm to wrest free of his hold.

“Isa!” Frustration forced Caradoc’s protest out more harshly than he intended. He snapped his mouth shut before his tongue could run away from him and easily matched her brusque, purposeful, stride. She would not run. Not this time. He had allowed her to avoid this confrontation too long. They had things to say, and even if she should spew venom, he wished to hear her words.

He r
efused to give her any other option but to hear his.

Pulling on
Isabelle’s elbow, he drew her in a half-circle, bringing her so close to his body he could feel the warmth of her skin. Smell the intoxicating aroma of her summery perfume. His skin prickled, anticipating the way she had so oft snuggled her cheek against his chest.

“Isa, stop this nonsense,” he murmured as he brought his hand to her face and cupped her chin.
“Look at me. There is too much between us for enemies.”

The resistance in her neck lessened, allowing him to tip her face up to his.
As those indigo eyes locked with his, Caradoc’s heart skipped a heavy beat. For one brief moment, the woman he loved beyond all means gazed up at him, her expression as soft as he had remembered, the depths of her heart exposed. But with her blink, every particle of revealed emotion morphed into sharp lines of worry. Dark circles inhabited the fragile skin beneath her long strawberry lashes. Her mouth held the tightness of a rusty iron hinge.

Not at all the expression of a woman who wished to escape an uncomfortable conversation.
Nor was her countenance that of anger. She looked almost…haunted.

Caradoc frowned, concern for her well
-being replacing all else. “What troubles you?”

She pulled on her arm.
“Let me go, Caradoc. I’ve got things to do.”

“Nay.”
His brows drew together more tightly. “They can wait a few moments.” Softening his tone, he slipped his free hand into the wealth of blonde hair that slipped free from her ponytail and framed the side of her face. With his thumb, he smoothed the creases at the corner of her eye. “It troubles me to see you worry. Tell me what makes you frown so?”

Isabelle blew out a harsh breath and pursed her lips.
As the elevator dinged open behind her, she twisted sharply, breaking his loose grip on her elbow. “It’s none of your concern.”

Caradoc lunged after her, but before he could recapture her arm, she slipped inside the sliding brass doors.
His fingertips grazed the smooth metal panel seconds before it sealed shut. “Damnation!”

Refusing to be dismissed so easily, he drew back and looked up to the glowing numbers on the panel overhead that ticked off the floors.
She could run, but she could not hide so easily. If he ran fast enough, he could make it up the stairs before she entered her room. At the very least, if she was not present in the hall, he would know her door stood close to the elevator.

One way or the other, he would find her.

The numeral two glowed steadily, then blinked off, only to have the numeral three light up an instant later. Beneath Caradoc’s feet, the marble floor pitched sideways.
His
floor. She had spent the night mere feet away from him.

Turning on his heel, he dodged around a trio of laughing women and started for the stairs.
But at the base of the lavish red carpet runner that cloaked the well-worn wood, Tane stepped into his path, halting Caradoc’s forward progress. Saints’ toes, he had no time for talk of unseen demons. Annoyed, Caradoc shouldered him aside.

A heavy hand planted into
his chest. “Caradoc, cease. ’Tis important.”

Caradoc ground his teeth together.
Naught could be more important than righting the wrongs he had committed against his seraph. Now he could not hope to catch her before she took cover in her room. Slowly, he turned his head, making his displeasure known with a tight scowl. “What is it?” he snapped.

“’Tis Declan.”

The absurd mention of the brother left in America only served to flare Caradoc’s temper. Declan might be causing trouble in the Temple, but his strange behavior meant naught at the moment. Lest he had killed one of their brethren, Caradoc cared not to hear. He bit off a vile remark about Tane’s misplaced priorities and scolded him with a baleful glower. “We will discuss this at Shapiro’s.”

“Nay, we cannot.”
Tane inclined his head toward the restaurant. “He is here. I wish to know why.”

All the heat fled Caradoc’s veins as surprise
doused over his head. Unable to believe Tane’s claims, he looked around his brother’s wide shoulders to witness the impossibility himself. True enough, their secretive brother dined alone, his unruly auburn hair unmistakable though he kept his head bent and his face disguised.

Caradoc blinked once.
Twice.

Spluttered.

Mikhail had mentioned naught of Declan’s joining them. What in the name of the saints was he doing in Sicily? Why had Merrick, at the very least, not seen fit to phone and alert them of Declan’s arrival?

“You were not expecting him, then?”
Tane asked in a low voice.

“Nay.”
He slid wide eyes back to Tane’s expectant stare. With a shake of his head, he emphasized, “
Nay
. I received no news of his arrival.”

* * *

With the door firmly shut behind her, Isabelle sagged against the aged wood. Her stomach trembled, as did the hand she lifted to her mouth. Caradoc knew. He could read her so well. Worse, she’d almost spilled it all right there in the middle of the villa’s lobby. She’d wanted to. Wanted nothing more than to turn into his arms and pour out the whole story about September’s birth, her kidnapping, and the nightmare that kept Isabelle up at night.

Damn it!
A few simple words, and she’d nearly forgotten how he’d used her. She’d almost bought into his claims of concern. Could she be any more foolish?

As tears brimmed, she slid down the door to sit on the carpet.
When he’d touched her, her stupid heart had even fluttered. When he called her by the nickname he’d given her, she had melted. Three years and one unexpected child that he’d left her to raise alone, and Caradoc could still turn her into putty without effort.

Damn him.
That her body responded to his nearness only made her hate him more. She
should
hate him. Should let him have his conversation if for no other reason than to tell him how many ways he could go to hell. Yet, no matter how she tried, she couldn’t kill the feeling that resided in her heart.

His tender gaze still made her believe in fairy tales and dreams come true.

The reality of her circumstance, however, turned the idea of happily ever after into a farce. He’d mistreated her beyond all means of forgiveness. She had no business softening toward him, but the more she saw his handsome face, the more difficult it became to remember all the reasons why she didn’t want him. Standing next to him, she knew only the happiness of three weeks in England where two strangers stumbled into a torrid affair of passion.

A teardrop trickled down her cheek.
Isabelle swiped it furiously away. She
would not
cry. Most certainly not for Caradoc. He’d received more than his fair share of her tears, and if she yielded now, all the panic for her daughter that she’d somehow managed to stuff into a corner of her mind would surface. Weakness she couldn’t allow, for with it she would never stay focused on the only thing that would guarantee September’s safety—the necklace.

Sighing, she leaned her head against the door and closed her eyes.
Exhaustion pulled at her senses. If only she could rest,
really rest
, she’d wake up with a clear head. Caradoc wouldn’t seem so daunting. September’s kidnapping wouldn’t have her lungs in knots. She’d be able to find a solution to both problems.

Sleep, however, was out of the question, the nightmare more terrifying than even her daughter’s kidnapping.
Paul wouldn’t harm September so long as the necklace came back to him, and he wouldn’t be stupid enough to hurt her while Isabelle waited to procure it. He might disguise himself with elegance and refinement, but beneath all the dignified costumes, Paul Reid was no better than the mafia men that had surrounded her growing up. She understood their mentality. Knew how to deal with thugs like him.

The mafia might have its own means of justice, but so long as no wrong was committed, they’d harm no one.
That very premise had allowed her to separate from the world of guns, power, and secrets, on her father’s death. Isabelle owed them nothing, and excepting a few of her father’s enemies in the short time after his passing, they granted her absolute escape. The exceptions had gone away as well, when they realized they couldn’t manipulate her.

Paul was only seeking to protect his investment.
He had called September insurance. Isabelle refused to work herself into a panic over the possibility he’d be so foolish as to do anything that would guarantee losing the diamonds. He wanted them too much.

Her heart stilled as an unexpected thought crept through her mind.
What if he planned to do away with them both once she gave him the necklace?

As a chill wafted down her spine, Isabelle
banished the thought. She wouldn’t go down that road. He had no reason to kill them.
Other than to guarantee my silence.

No.

Isabelle pushed herself to her knees then eased to her feet. Paul wouldn’t kill them. He might have murdered Rosa, but they’d signed a contract. They’d even had it notarized. A paper trail linked them together, and if something happened to her, he would be the prime suspect, leading him into an investigation his corporation wouldn’t want to navigate.