Immortal Trust (36 page)

Brushing his thumb over her sensitive bundle of nerves, Lucan slid home with the backward thrust of her body. She sagged to her elbows. He held her up, proving to her the only way he knew how, that she could depend on him when she was too weak to stand on her own. When fears dominated, he would be there. Always.

Forever.

Her hair spilled over the pillow as she turned her head once more. But this time, ’twas not to protest. Instead, she pressed a sweet, consenting kiss to the only part of his body she could reach, the small space of skin between his bicep and his shoulder.

The touch, so innocent and so light, spoke volumes. When she did not rear back upon him and urge him into a reckless pace, he knew he had attained what he most desired. Glorying in the profoundness of the moment, he glided in and out of her and let silence speak the words of love. He held the pace steady, determined to give her all the time she needed to accept and embrace what she let go.

Moments passed timelessly. The fall of their breaths was a harmonic chorus the angels could not mirror. Their sweat-slickened bodies entwined like the magic of the heavens. One heart. One mind. One soul. And yet, as intoxicating as it was, Lucan needed more. He needed to taste the affection that lay on the tip of her tongue. Needed to feel the silken glide of her arms as they looped around him and brought him into the pillowy softness of her skin.

Still keeping them joined, he rolled her onto her back. She lifted up as he lowered his body into hers, and her mouth claimed his in a sweet, thought-stopping kiss. Ecstasy blistered through his veins. His body tensed against the scald. Beneath him, she convulsed.

Lucan tore his mouth free. Lifting his head, he caught her hands and gazed down at her impassioned expression. When their eyes locked, and all that emotion he had sought to free poured out through her fathomless amber eyes, he lost the ability to function. Release crashed through him, drowning him in wave after wave of insurmountable pleasure. He shook with the force of it. Her slick sheath gripped and squeezed with the pulse of his cock, milking out his seed until he had naught left to spill.

Their voices mingled, a ragged exhale of the other’s name, and Lucan collapsed into the only woman who could bring him salvation.

As he lay atop her, unmoving, he cradled her head to his shoulder and feathered kisses into her hair. The trembling of her body was so slight he would have missed it had he not been touching her everywhere. Against his bare skin, he felt the hot splash of tears.

He tightened his fingers against the back of her head and closed his eyes. “Shh. ’Tis all right, my sweet. ’Tis how it should be between us.”

“No, it’s not,” she argued in a whisper. “I don’t want to love you.”

A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, and he pressed another kiss to her hair. “Do you?”

The fist at his shoulder, and the firm pressure she used to push him away, said all he needed to hear. But when he refused to let her withdraw, she choked back a sob. Her mouth moved against his overheated skin. “Yes.”

Letting her go, Lucan allowed her to fall back into the pillows. He braced himself on his hands and held her watery gaze. His heart beat like a drum, the hard racket threatening to crack through his ribs. “I have given my heart to no one,” he murmured as he brushed his lips across hers. “Save you.”

Shaken to the root of his being, he could not trust his own strength to keep him from toppling onto her and crushing her with his weight. He rolled to his side, gathered her in his arms, and took her with him. She curled against his chest, one long lean leg tucked securely between his. He took a deep breath. Allowed the truth to reverberate through his body.

Chloe turned the medallion around his neck between her fingers. “Tell me about this?”

Not now. She had heard too much already. He would not push her further until she had the time to believe that her confession of love would not bring her harm. Yet he could not feign sleep and ignore her question. He must answer. Somehow.

She aided his dilemma. “It’s Templar, isn’t it?”

“Aye.”

“Why do you have it?”

His brow creased with a tight frown. The words lay on the tip of his tongue. Her seraphs’ torc rested in the drawer beside his bed. He could slide it onto her arm and speak the words. But without her solemn vow, ’twould be meaningless.
Nay.
Now was not the time.

“The Templar belongings should remain with those who know the secrets, who understand the Code.”

“And you do?” she asked on a wide yawn.

“Aye.”

“How?”

“’Twas taught to me.” That much was true. When he had righted his family’s murder by snuffing out his brother’s life, he had turned to the noble Order. Merrick had taken him under his wing, taught him the Code, and the meaning of what it meant to wield a sacred sword. Though Lucan had never believed he would walk straight into the pits of hell and discover the holy knights fought the very existence of evil, not the heretics that plagued the roads to the Holy Lands.

“It must be nice.” Exhaustion slurred her words. “Family secrets like that. My parents didn’t believe in keeping things. They sold all the family stuff.” She snuggled closer, let out a heavy sigh. “Maybe that’s why I’m so committed to preserving relics.” Her palm slid across his chest, and he felt the smile grace her mouth. “God, you’re beautiful.”

He couldn’t stop a chuckle from slipping free. “Nay, ’tis you. Rest, Chloe.”

“I can’t. I have to get to the site.”

“Nay, you can. I will wake you in a few hours.”

For a moment, he expected her silence to bring protest. But when she twitched in his arms, he understood the reason she did not argue. He pulled his fingers through her hair and bathed in the warmth that ebbed into his side. A few more hours, and she would be his.

Eternally.

In the meantime, he must remove all reasons for her to escape the conversation they must have. When she woke, she would want to know how her team fared in her absence. What news they brought. The documents should arrive from both labs today, and he would need that scientific proof to verify his claims about the Veronica. With Chloe’s business handled for the day, she would have no room to protest a few more hours away from her responsibilities. And if the Almighty chose to smile upon him, she would realize her responsibilities encompassed far more than the unearthing of ancient relics.

With great reluctance, he eased himself from the tangle of her legs and slid from the bed. Though his body screamed for the same relief of slumber, he pushed past the exhaustion in his limbs and quietly dressed. When he had donned both boots and sword, he grabbed his coat from the back of the couch and left the room.

CHAPTER 33

The drive to Ornes passed quickly in Lucan’s current state of contentment. His eyelids sagged, reminding him he had naught but a handful of hours of sleep, but he would not exchange the exhaustion in his limbs for any amount of rest. The reward for his aches came with Chloe. She had given him more than he believed possible, though he would have killed himself in trying.

Already he could feel the effect her light had on his soul. The suspicion he fought for so many years no longer reared its head quite as easily. True, it stirred. But he had found the means to resist it. When their oaths were complete, he would know the healing his brothers celebrated. And he too would become a stronger ally on the field.

With Chloe’s ability to combat mentally, like the other seraphs and their gifts, she too would become an invaluable asset. Though she could do little more than push the beasts away now, in time her power would grow. She would possess the ability to kill with a single telepathic thought. When that happened, his seraph would never again fear a solitary shadow.

They would stand together, a unified team, and eradicate Azazel’s minions.

He nosed into the parking lot, feeling far more self-satisfied than he should. Arrogance bore foolishness, and he would be well served not to let a robust night between the sheets go to his head. He still had much to accomplish—including the very real possibility Chloe would resist. If not refuse.

He tempered his rising elation with a clenched fist to the steering wheel. Nay, he would not become consumed by possibility. Not until she freely bore the brand of seraphs and he could claim her words. While she would eventually be a formidable opponent of Azazel’s, ’twould require time to accomplish her training. Meanwhile, he must achieve her oath to ensure naught could harm her.

Stepping out onto the frozen gravel, he observed the team’s attention snap his way. From the hole near the toppled wall, all five students stood and looked toward the SUV. Julian stood at the edge of the site, arms folded over his chest. Even from this distance, Lucan could feel the man’s disapproving frown.

Ignoring the censure that radiated off Chloe’s brother, Lucan strode for the main trailer and let himself inside. The heater’s blast hit him immediately, and he shrugged out of his coat. With a toss, he cast it on a nearby chair. A row of brass and a smear of dirt particles on the countertop caught his attention—the relics Chloe had inspected the last time he was here.

He moved to the tidy row and bent over the pieces. Thick clods of mud still clung to a dagger’s hilt, but the metal beneath bore no rust, no patina. A bright glint marked it as silver, and as Lucan pressed his thumb against the dirt, dislodging it, he found the unmistakable cross that marked it as Templar. Le Goix’s dagger. Alongside his signet ring.

Lucan frowned. Why had his brother left such personal effects within the ground? He picked up the heavy silver ring inset with a blood-red ruby, and held it to the light to examine the engraving in the band. Though Lucan had long ago lost his on a forgotten battlefield, ’twas unlike le Goix to purposefully leave behind such an item. Indeed, however, the wide band bore his initials.

Why? Loss was one thing. But this deliberate placement near the reliquary marked abandonment, and no brother would abandon personal effects. ’Twas forbidden. ’Twas the very reason so few Templar artifacts made it to the public awareness.

He closed his fist around the ring and scowled at the dagger. Did the archangels know these things lay in rest here too? If not, would le Goix suffer their wrath?

Nay. They must know. All other things they swore would be discovered in the pit had been revealed. These two items, however, did not fall upon their list. And the rest of what did was as insignificant as the dirt it came from.

“What are you doing?”

Julian’s harsh bark jolted Lucan out of his thoughts. His head snapped up, and he found the man scowling in the doorway. Agitation needled its way down Lucan’s spine. He did not have the patience to deal with overprotective brothers and suspicious actions. His mind was not in good enough form to analyze Julian’s ever-increasing odd behavior.

He set the ring on the counter. Later, he would broach the subject with Chloe and ask her if he might return the Templar items to their rightful owner. She would not relish the idea. But he was not averse to begging. These belonged in the Temple. If not on le Goix’s person, then in the vast storerooms beneath.

“I came for a report on what was accomplished yesterday, and for the logs.”

Julian took a step forward, fury gleaming in his eyes. “You’d know this, if you and my
sister
had decided to show up.”

Grinding his teeth, Lucan swallowed a foul oath. No matter what he thought of Julian, the fact remained, he was Chloe’s brother, which directly made the man Lucan’s family. He could not stuff a fist between Julian’s eyes no matter how he longed to do so. “We had more important matters to attend to.”

The snort that issued from Julian’s throat branded Lucan a liar. Julian’s gaze pierced like the tip of the dagger at Lucan’s elbow. “I can smell Chloe on you. You spent the day fucking.”

Lucan bristled, his distaste for the man increasing by the minute. No brother referred to his sister in such a callous fashion if love lay between them. ’Twas words Lucan’s own sibling might have used. And the cold hatred behind Julian’s challenging stare fueled a rage Lucan could not explain. He cared little what this man thought of him. But he cared immensely about how Julian referred to Chloe. How he treated her. And since the day Lucan had arrived, he had witnessed naught but disrespect.

Driven by a force greater than himself, he grabbed Julian by the collar and hauled him against the wall. There he held him, his toes just touching the floor. “Your tongue runs too freely. ’Twould be a pleasure to my ears to crush your throat between my fingers.”

Brief panic glimmered behind Julian’s eyes before an enraged snarl ripped from his throat. He clawed at Lucan’s arm with more strength than his body should possess.

Lucan tightened his hold, gave the man a shake. “Cease! Brother you may be, but I will not abide by your disrespect toward Chloe. You may call me out. Say all the foul things you wish about me. Another word that insults her, and I will cut that tongue out. Are we understood?”

Unable to speak through the pressure about his collar, Julian managed a short, succinct nod. His eyes warred with the agreement, however, and Lucan’s instincts rose to high alert. From this day forth, he would have to watch Julian more closely. Centuries of battle explained that look, and men like Julian waited to attack when their targets were least suspecting.

He released his grip, allowing Julian to slide to his feet. But he did not step out of his space. “Where are the logs? I am taking them to Chloe.”

“I’ll g-get them.” He rubbed at his throat. Swallowed. “T-Tim has something else in the pit, if you’d like to see it.”

Convinced there would be no more insolence for the moment, Lucan stepped back. He cared little what else the team unearthed. But Chloe would wish to know. And the more he could tell her about what was occurring at her dig, the less she would protest about delaying her arrival. “Aye.”

He stormed out the door, afraid if he waited a minute longer he would give in to the urge to pummel Julian senseless, simply for the pleasure of doing so. The cold hit him in the face, serving to temper his overwarm blood. He breathed it in deeply, let it flow through his veins. Feeling much more in control of his temper, he stalked to the pit and stood over Tim’s crouched form.