Immortal Sacrifice: #4 The Curse of the Templars Read Free Page B

not yet strong enough to defeat Raphael’s terrific sword.”
    “And the rest of the relics?” Tane flicked the sheet of paper the Church had provided.
    “Find them, find their numbers, discover which day they shall be auctioned. I will meet you on the terrace.”
    Gareth departed with a curt nod, but Tane lingered. Concern tightened his dark brow and pulled at the corners of his eyes. “Much has passed between us, Caradoc, through the centuries. Do not let my recent failures color the bonds of friendship we have shared. Should you need to speak, I shall listen.”
    Speak? There was naught to say. Naught that did not sound like nonsense. Besides, he could not yet bring himself to tell the one who had been so possessed by jealousy that he had stolen another brother’s seraph, of Isabelle’s status.
    He shook his head and forced a slight smile. His gaze flicked above Tane’s head, landing once more on Isabelle’s sun-kissed hair. He closed his eyes to the vibrant memory of their first meeting. She had worn her hair knotted at her neck in a dignified bun. As they walked beneath the stars, he had plucked the pins free. As those long thick lengths cascaded around her shoulders, the scent of honeysuckle drew him close enough he could not help but slide his fingers through the silken strands.
    Moments later, he had kissed her. An embrace that led to a paradise he had never before known.
    “Leave me, Tane,” he choked out as emotion clogged his throat.
    A sturdy hand clapped his shoulder before Caradoc sensed his brother no longer stood at his side. He opened his eyes, grateful for the solitude. The ancient prophecy’s words echoed in his head: The one who digs in dust precedes the finding of the jewel . How had he failed to recognize Isabelle’s importance? It all seemed so obvious now. Isabelle’s renowned status as jeweler to the American elite, the way his body ceased to ache when he touched her—all along she had been right before his eyes. Yet he had walked away, too afraid to confess his purpose, certain she would never believe.
    He pulled in a shuddering breath as she pivoted on a high heel and revealed her delicate profile. A fierce rush of anger coursed through his veins as he recalled the brief letter Mikhail had composed that ordered him to Italy. The archangel could have warned him. If Mikhail had mentioned one solitary word about Isabelle, this first meeting would not have been such a disaster. He might have known what to say. Might have been given time enough to develop an apology worthy of the wrongs he had committed. Instead, he had spent the last three weeks chasing death and preparing for an auction he no longer cared about.
    Grinding his teeth together, he clenched a hand into a fist. The Templar purpose might be to reclaim the necklace and insure Azazel could not touch the sacred tears, but Caradoc’s had just changed. Somehow, he must convince Isabelle to abandon her rightful hate and pledge herself to eternity with him. Yet, how in the name of all things sacred was he supposed to accomplish such a feat? He had wounded Isabelle. Cut her more deeply than he had ever imagined. Her words made it plain she wished naught to do with him.
    The greater question remained —what would he do if she refused? His foolishness may have well collapsed the prophecy and doomed the entire Order. Destruction that played right into Azazel’s unholy designs. For if the Templar fell, naught would thwart the dark lord’s ascension to the highest throne.
    * * *
    Isabelle stared at the collection of priceless oils and willed her hands to quit shaking. The weight of Caradoc’s watchful stare bore heavily into her back, making it that much more difficult to find her composure.
    She never should have followed through on the ridiculous urge to tell him off. The theory worked well, but he was just too potent to overcome. Now she’d made a supreme fool out of herself.
    She smoothed her pencil skirt and gulped in a deep