Immortal Trust (43 page)

It struck her then, as his eyes held hers for the briefest of heartbeats, how similar Alaric and Lucan were. Like le Goix, Lucan had treated her with charm, chivalry, and manners more refined than any fraternity boy’s housemother could ever
think
of teaching. Lucan changed though, as they’d spent more time together. He became more bold, more assertive with her. A bit more … primal.

She liked the change in him. As much as she liked the change he brought to her. And although Alaric made the afternoon pleasant, she much preferred Lucan’s self-assured smirks and mocking grins.

The door closed, and they were alone. Tension filled the empty spaces Alaric and Raphael left behind. What to say? Where to start? She still had questions, specific things she’d deliberately left unasked because she wanted Lucan’s answer, not Alaric’s. She had oaths to say, vows to make. But before she could just turn around and spit out the words Alaric taught her, she needed to smooth things over. Somehow make up for the last day and a half.

Slowly, she turned. Gray eyes regarded her cautiously, as if Lucan also suffered the same doubt over what to say first. Chloe looked around, suddenly claustrophobic, despite the spacious enclosure. Too much stone. Cold, unfeeling rock. For this talk, this pledge of eternity, she needed something less constricting.

She gave Lucan a weak smile. “Do you think we could get some fresh air?”

“Aye,” he murmured absently. “I could use a bit myself.”

The bronze armband weighed heavily around her arm as Lucan led her through the torchlit passageways. Each echoing step made her more jittery, until they at last exited onto the street outside the château, her insides shook like a leaf on a blustery autumn day. Like that leaf, she held onto the last bit of normalcy with a fragile grip. In a few moments she’d surrender her hold. Tumble off the branch of security to begin anew. With luck, Lucan would still be there to catch her.

As they passed a stone bench in the public garden, Chloe dragged him to a stop and took a seat. Frowning, he glanced at a bench farther away, beyond an iron fence, as if he considered moving there. After a moment, he lowered himself down beside her and clasped his hands together in his lap. Staring off into the distance, he made no attempt to ease the crackling tension with conversation. Which meant she’d have to broach the subject.

She took a deep breath, fixed her gaze on an opposing fir. “You didn’t tell me you were dying.”

“Would it have made a difference? ’Tis more likely you would have dismissed it along with all else.”

Okay, so she deserved the brittle edge in his voice. But if he really thought she wouldn’t have given pause to a claim of death, he had to be stupid. She resisted the brimming smart remark and let her gaze slide sideways to study his profile. “How long do you have?”

*   *   *

Lucan clenched his hands together more tightly. ’Twas not the way he had envisioned her adventure through the temple would turn out. Pity, he did not desire. Nor would he have her give her oath for such. “Long enough.”

Whether ’twould be long enough to gain her eternal favor, he could not be certain. So impassive was her expression, he could not guess at what thoughts ran through her head. Had Alaric made a difference? Did she now regret the fate he had brought her to? Mayhap even their meeting?

In all his existence, Lucan had never known such apprehension. Far greater than the worry of any battle with the heretics of old was his worry she would turn away. That her hours in the temple would not lead her into his arms, as he desired, but that Alaric had pushed them further apart. She possessed the right to refuse. ’Twas her choice as a mortal. But beyond the price he would pay with his soul, he could not bear the thought of a day spent away from her. One already pushed him to the edge of madness. He ached to fold her into his arms, taste the sweet honey of her kiss, and he ached for the feel of her, wrapped around him, holding him in the intimate way that only lovers could know.

He shifted uncomfortably, the stone bench as cold as the night air surrounding them. His gaze drifted again to the bench that sat on sacred ground behind the protected fence. Chloe kicked a toe into the hard earth and twisted it. Between them, silence hung like a thick, dark curtain. Seconds passed, turned into minutes. Unbearable, silent moments that filled Lucan with restlessness. He rose to his feet, unable to tolerate another breath of idleness. “We should move beyond the fence. ’Tis not—”

“I owe you an apology,” Chloe murmured in a near whisper.

He halted, one foot in front of the other, ready to lead them to where they could talk safely. He stared at the ivory statue of a cherub and answered in an equally quiet voice, “You owe me naught.”

From the corner of his eye, he observed the way she hung her head and twisted her hands. He took a step closer to the protective barrier. “Come, Chloe, we are not—”

“What is my role?”

Her question came so softly he almost did not hear her. Certain he had heard incorrectly, he turned around with a puzzled frown. “Pardon?”

Chloe looked up, her eyes full of quiet acceptance. “My role. My job. If I am this seraph, what am I supposed to do? Beyond this oath I’m required to say.”

His heart drummed to a standstill. She believed. God’s teeth,
she believed.

He returned to the bench and clasped her hand. Her fingers fit daintily against his larger palm. She made no attempt to withdraw. Though she did not tighten her grip either.

Lucan dropped to one knee. Held her gaze so there could be no mistaking his sincerity. “I do not know what the archangels might ask of us. Of you. You possess the gift to fight demons with your mind, and I expect you will be called to use that talent.”

Her chin dropped, and her gaze returned to her feet. He closed his fingers around hers, lowering his voice. “If I were to write the rules, ’twould be only one, Chloe.”

Hesitantly, her eyes lifted to his. “And it would say?”

Emotion clogged his throat as he ran his thumb over the back of her hand. “That every day passed as the one we shared two days hence, and every night, I would spend in your arms.” He swallowed hard, cleared his voice. “I love you, Chloe. ’Tis all I wish from you as well.”

Beneath the light of stars, her eyes glistened with a rush of tears. She choked out a laugh and tugged her hand from his. “You have that, Lucan of Seacourt. I couldn’t take it back if I wanted to.”

With a smile that made his heart take wings and soar, she shrugged out of her heavy wool coat. Sliding one arm up the large sleeve of her sweater, she fiddled with the armband beneath. Lucan’s heart swelled to painful limits, and for a moment, he knew the fierce rush of nerves a groom experienced before his bride walked down the aisle. He had cared naught for Enid beyond the matter of fulfilling family duty. The wedding their families planned, though simple in comparison to the modern ceremonies, brought no anticipation. He had felt more excitement over the battle he would depart for the morning after than for the marriage itself.

But as Chloe eased the torc from beneath her clothing, a tremor ran down his spine. Though there would be no lavish ceremony, no church, the words they would speak to one another produced so much feeling he feared for a moment he too would weep. He reached for his sword. The scrape of metal as he pulled it free from its sheath rang in the quiet. Reverently, he laid it at Chloe’s feet.

Bowing his head, he said naught. He had already pledged his loyalty in a way far more meaningful than this ceremonial offering of his blade.

Her fingers touched the polished steel. She picked it up, extending it toward him.
“Meus vitri, meus—”

A boot flashed in front of Lucan’s face. Steel clattered against the stone as his sword hurtled sideways. Another kick planted one heel in his chest, and Lucan toppled backward. As he scrambled to gain his footing, Chloe’s scream pierced the night.

On his knees, he looked up to find Julian wedged between them, his sneer as vile as the odor that permeated the air. But his cruel expression did not hold Chloe’s horrified stare. She looked beyond Lucan’s shoulder, at a figure he could not see.

The clink of chain told him what she witnessed. A dark knight. Sent to collect her. To exterminate him. God’s blood, Julian had followed them here!

Lucan rolled sideways, collecting his sword. As he sprang to his feet, he spun to confront his fallen brother and bellowed to Chloe, “Get beyond the fence!” Damnation, he should have insisted they move.

An onyx blade arced through the air, landing a heavy blow on Lucan’s forearm. Fire sizzled up his arm. Tingled all the way down his back. Gritting his teeth against the hot flow of blood, he took a step back. Without his armor, he dared not make another mistake. Though his brother, whomever he might be, now aided Azazel’s army, he would recall the years of training. ’Twould be foolishness to judge the dark knight as anything less than formidable.

He ignored the burn in his shoulder and raised his sword to defend another strike. At his left, a howl broke out, drawing his attention to the demon that accompanied Julian and the fallen Templar. He shifted his gaze a fraction, in time to witness the creature lift jagged claws to the gaping wound across his face that Chloe had inflicted.

Despite her aid, her presence distracted him with worry. Whilst she stood so close, he could not focus on his opponent. ‘Twas not him they desired, but her, and he must protect her at all costs. He backed up again, deliberately placing himself between her and the three unholy creatures. “Go, now, Chloe!”

Without waiting for her response, he sliced his broadsword across his body. It slid through the demon’s arm as if the limb contained no more substance than a thin sheet of paper. Shadows dropped to the stone beneath their feet, and another ghostly howl rang through the air. Satisfaction burst inside Lucan. ’Twould take little to overpower the unholy shape shifter. He could not slay it first though, for in so doing, when he absorbed its evil taint, he would leave himself wide open for the knight to land a felling blow. Nay, he would cripple it. Devote himself to the larger threat of the knight, then finish them both off before the darkness could affect him.

Julian, he would deal with last. He remained Chloe’s brother, regardless of the darkness that gripped him. If Lucan could spare the man’s life and somehow restore him to the light, he would. For her.

The knight moved in, landing another heavy blow to Lucan’s left thigh. Cold steel bit into his muscle. Lucan stumbled, barely catching himself on his good leg, before the demon raked its claws down his back. His bellow held both the sting of pain and rapidly building fury. Anger he allowed to flow through his veins and possess him. It gave him strength. The searing burn fueled his determination.

He summoned his resolve, blocked out the throbbing of his leg and the sticky wetness that seeped beneath his jeans, and planted his weight on his bad limb, giving him the force required to thrust his blade forward, into the knight’s left hip. As his former brother barked in agony, Lucan took a sidestep that brought him into the knight’s body. He threw his momentum into a downward cut that slashed through the onyx chain to rip open the knight’s shoulder.

Behind him, the demon recognized advantage. Foul breath washed down the back of Lucan’s neck as the beast dragged its daggerlike teeth across his shoulder. His shirt tore. Acid ran in long veins between his shoulder blades. He cried out. Arched his back to escape the assault.

Whilst his actions served to do just that, they left him open to a recovery attack from the knight. A ghostly voice rasped, “Victory is not yours to claim.” No sooner had the words left the man’s mouth than the tip of a sword pricked into Lucan’s unprotected side.

Lucan twisted sideways before the blade could sink in deep. With his attackers once more in front of him, he redoubled his efforts on the demon. Yellow teeth gnashed as Lucan advanced. He measured his steps, kept his approach well out of the path of the knight’s reach. Like a falcon, he swept down on his prey. Blow after blow drove the monster to the stone floor. Claws ravaged the air near Lucan’s shins. Hisses broke through its deadly teeth. Driven by the habits of a lifetime at war, Lucan blocked out the aching in his body and lifted his sword high.

He brought it down like a guillotine. Aiming at one shadowy arm, he severed it at the shoulder.

Before he could pull in a breath of recovery, the knight set upon him again. A mistimed blow glanced off the back of his hand and scraped down the length of his blade. He brought his broadsword up to his body with so much force he sent the knight stumbling backward. Advantage claimed, he pursued.

Nine hundred years of shared battles and enemies gave the two equal ability to anticipate the other’s actions. No doubt he had sparred with this man on more than one occasion. He blocked when Lucan sliced. Evaded when he thrust. And parried with the skill of a soldier who had known a lifetime of victory.

Lucan’s strength waned. His breath came hard and fast. But though his body tired, he witnessed the same effects take hold of his opponent. The knight’s arm slowed. His timing faltered. When he thrust forward, ’twas with less vigor. Less precision.

And then he made a fatal mistake.

Sensing the toll the battle took on the knight, Lucan baited. He feinted to the right, aiming a false blow to the knight’s vulnerable underside of his left shoulder. His opponent bought into the distraction. Seeing Lucan in a weakened position, he dropped his shoulder. His right arm arced against the backdrop of the cliffs. A shadowy blade silhouetted in the moonlight.

With all the might he likely possessed, he took his blade in both hands and brought it toward Lucan’s chest. Lucan moved faster. He threw himself forward, sinking his sword into the vulnerable area beneath the knight’s arm and out through his back. Bone grated across the edge of Lucan’s blade. Splintered near the point of exit.

He stuffed his foot into the knight’s gut and shoved. His broadsword pulled free as his opponent careened backward. Chasing after, Lucan swung like a man possessed. His blade sang through the air. Thumped against the links of protective chain around the knight’s neck. Then sank deeper.