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Authors: Claire Ashgrove
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Not by any means.
Thwarting her protest, Merrick clamped his hand around her wrist. “Let us get this over with quickly. I have no care to stay here long.”
Having had her own desires ripped out of her control, Anne refused to tolerate another moment of his overbearing attitude. She twisted free of his hold. “I’ll walk without your help. So help me, if you put one hand on me, I’ll kick in your knees.”
She stormed through the door, Merrick on her heels. Behind them, she could have sworn she heard laughter. But before she could peek through the crack and investigate, Merrick swung his arm wide, indicating the dimly lit corridor. “That way,” he barked.
* * *
Merrick followed Anne down the corridor, all too aware of the commotion her presence caused. A legion of men, once forty-thousand strong, dwindled to less than a thousand scattered throughout the world before the Almighty deigned to reveal those who carried the holy light. Nearly nine hundred years they had waited for the coming of the seraphs. So long, that he had forgotten the very prophecy designed to offer the Templar hope. Even now, he could not recall the entirety of the promise, but the opening passage rang clear in his head. First comes the teacher.
Aye, she was a teacher, but her duty would mean more than the lessons she taught. She would guide the seraphs yet to come. Mikhail spoke true—this headstrong maid was the key to Azazel’s defeat. Moreover, she would begin their healing.
As Anne stalked on ahead of him, her presence and her purpose sank into him fully. He could not ignore the way men who had not broken from prayer in hundreds of years found themselves silent when she passed by open archways. Heads turned. Murmurs rumbled through the ranks gathered in the barracks’ small communal area. He did not need to hear their words to know the question that burned in their minds—Who would she save? Who would she say oaths with, thus forever blocking the darkness from entering his soul and healing the damage already done?
Accusation registered behind more than one face when they looked upon him, as if he somehow had some hand in Anne’s fate. Would that he did. He would pair her with Declan and have the whole ordeal over with. Declan possessed the character to deal with this woman’s trying nature.
At the end of the hall, Anne stopped. Her back stiff, she did not look at him. Nor did she inquire which way to turn. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. What would the haughty little general do now?
Nothing, he realized, as she remained motionless, her chin held high, tiny fists balled at her sides.
With a grumble, he stalked past her and continued down a private corridor to the left. He could think of naught else that displeased him more than having to guide this woman. His shin still ached from the punishment of her boots. Saints’ blood, what had come over her? He minded little that she felt the need to take her frustrations out on him, but he greatly cared she had done so in front of his men. Such disrespect he would not tolerate. Most certainly not from a woman, seraph or not.
He pushed open the heavy door to his small, private chambers and stepped aside, allowing her entry. Dimly, it occurred to him he had not thought to ask where she would reside. But he dismissed the concern as quickly as it rose. In a few moments, she would take up residence with her intended.
As Anne entered, her perfume tickled his nose. He closed his eyes to the smell of sweet lavender as his lungs constricted. He refused to consider the possibility of her meaning, refused to let the question rise in his mind as it had every other knight’s. Were she meant for him, it mattered not. One man could not defeat Azazel’s poison. Gritting his teeth against a traitorous rise of hope, he opened his eyes to find her seated on the edge of his bed.
The sight of her sitting there sent a whole new rush of sensation surging through his veins. Early
Thwarting her protest, Merrick clamped his hand around her wrist. “Let us get this over with quickly. I have no care to stay here long.”
Having had her own desires ripped out of her control, Anne refused to tolerate another moment of his overbearing attitude. She twisted free of his hold. “I’ll walk without your help. So help me, if you put one hand on me, I’ll kick in your knees.”
She stormed through the door, Merrick on her heels. Behind them, she could have sworn she heard laughter. But before she could peek through the crack and investigate, Merrick swung his arm wide, indicating the dimly lit corridor. “That way,” he barked.
* * *
Merrick followed Anne down the corridor, all too aware of the commotion her presence caused. A legion of men, once forty-thousand strong, dwindled to less than a thousand scattered throughout the world before the Almighty deigned to reveal those who carried the holy light. Nearly nine hundred years they had waited for the coming of the seraphs. So long, that he had forgotten the very prophecy designed to offer the Templar hope. Even now, he could not recall the entirety of the promise, but the opening passage rang clear in his head. First comes the teacher.
Aye, she was a teacher, but her duty would mean more than the lessons she taught. She would guide the seraphs yet to come. Mikhail spoke true—this headstrong maid was the key to Azazel’s defeat. Moreover, she would begin their healing.
As Anne stalked on ahead of him, her presence and her purpose sank into him fully. He could not ignore the way men who had not broken from prayer in hundreds of years found themselves silent when she passed by open archways. Heads turned. Murmurs rumbled through the ranks gathered in the barracks’ small communal area. He did not need to hear their words to know the question that burned in their minds—Who would she save? Who would she say oaths with, thus forever blocking the darkness from entering his soul and healing the damage already done?
Accusation registered behind more than one face when they looked upon him, as if he somehow had some hand in Anne’s fate. Would that he did. He would pair her with Declan and have the whole ordeal over with. Declan possessed the character to deal with this woman’s trying nature.
At the end of the hall, Anne stopped. Her back stiff, she did not look at him. Nor did she inquire which way to turn. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. What would the haughty little general do now?
Nothing, he realized, as she remained motionless, her chin held high, tiny fists balled at her sides.
With a grumble, he stalked past her and continued down a private corridor to the left. He could think of naught else that displeased him more than having to guide this woman. His shin still ached from the punishment of her boots. Saints’ blood, what had come over her? He minded little that she felt the need to take her frustrations out on him, but he greatly cared she had done so in front of his men. Such disrespect he would not tolerate. Most certainly not from a woman, seraph or not.
He pushed open the heavy door to his small, private chambers and stepped aside, allowing her entry. Dimly, it occurred to him he had not thought to ask where she would reside. But he dismissed the concern as quickly as it rose. In a few moments, she would take up residence with her intended.
As Anne entered, her perfume tickled his nose. He closed his eyes to the smell of sweet lavender as his lungs constricted. He refused to consider the possibility of her meaning, refused to let the question rise in his mind as it had every other knight’s. Were she meant for him, it mattered not. One man could not defeat Azazel’s poison. Gritting his teeth against a traitorous rise of hope, he opened his eyes to find her seated on the edge of his bed.
The sight of her sitting there sent a whole new rush of sensation surging through his veins. Early
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