fail, and the prophecy would shatter.
One undeniable fact stood apart from the rest—he could not approach her about her Nephilim blood until he knew the meaning of the glyph. If he confided her status as a seraph, and she did indeed serve Azazel, the dark lord would have his new Lilith in a heartbeat. Azazel would steal Chloe away, use her body for his pleasure and her healing spirit for his destruction. All the light she carried would assume his taint, and in so doing, grant her phenomenal power. She would become Azazel’s ally. His lover. His mate.
Christ, but Lucan did not know which way to proceed. If she were pure, presenting her with the seraphs’ torc protected her.
Lucan flopped onto his side in search of comfort he would not find. Wide awake, he stared out the window, listening for trouble through the walls.
He would have to wait. Bide his time and observe her carefully. She could not hide a dark purpose if he became her constant companion. Azazel could not reach her either. In protecting her, Lucan would die, but she would come to understand the danger she faced. The temple could offer her protection after his demise. Mayhap even find her another eventual mate.
* * *
A steady thump-thump drew Chloe from pleasant dreams. She opened her eyes, half expecting to find Lucan beside her in the bed, then blushed as her gaze fell on the empty pillow. No warm body at her side. Just in her imagination.
But man, oh man, he was every bit as incredible in her dreams as he’d been in her doorway. Giving in to a goofy smile, she sank deep into the pillows and pretended not to notice the scritch-scratching on her window pane. She never should have allowed him to kiss her. She’d known it would mess with her head. Now she ached in all the places that she’d convinced herself didn’t exist. Restlessness infused her blood. Her breasts felt heavy, her skin too tight.
She tossed and turned and finally let out a frustrated sigh. “Damn,” she muttered.
Another heavy thump brought her upright in bed. Cocking her head, she eyed the door. She leaned over and switched on the light. As light filled her room, the dark presence registered in the forefront of her mind. From beyond the window it bore down on her like iron weights, so thick and suffocating she couldn’t bring herself to look for fear she’d see the beast through the drawn draperies. The hairs along her arms lifted. Her chest constricted, making normal breath impossible.
“Is someone there?” she called out.
“It’s me, open the damn door, I’ve been knocking for twenty minutes. People are starting to peek in the hall,” Julian answered with a touch of exasperation.
Twenty minutes? Good grief, she must have been out like a rock. Relief, however, accompanied the sound of her brother’s voice, and she tossed the covers back to shuffle to the door. The chain lock rattled in the quiet, followed by the click of the heavy dead bolt. Chloe yawned as she opened the door.
Julian marched past her, looking like he’d shared the same restless slumber. His short blond hair stuck out at odd angles. Though fully dressed, his shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest and his belt buckle jangled at his waist. She dropped her gaze to his feet, observing he hadn’t tied the laces on his boots either. “Julian, is something wrong?”
He pushed long fingers through his hair and shook his head. A frown marred the high line of his brow, a sure signal something was eating at him. But the way his eyes darted around the room, as if he feared someone waited for him in the shadows, aroused Chloe’s concern. Something was most definitely wrong with her brother. Had he fought with Miranda? Gone home with the wrong girl and run into her boyfriend? Husband maybe?
“What is it, Julian?”
“I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about that trunk. Keep seeing it in my head.”
The trunk? For the love of Mary, he’d woken her up in the middle of the night about the
One undeniable fact stood apart from the rest—he could not approach her about her Nephilim blood until he knew the meaning of the glyph. If he confided her status as a seraph, and she did indeed serve Azazel, the dark lord would have his new Lilith in a heartbeat. Azazel would steal Chloe away, use her body for his pleasure and her healing spirit for his destruction. All the light she carried would assume his taint, and in so doing, grant her phenomenal power. She would become Azazel’s ally. His lover. His mate.
Christ, but Lucan did not know which way to proceed. If she were pure, presenting her with the seraphs’ torc protected her.
Lucan flopped onto his side in search of comfort he would not find. Wide awake, he stared out the window, listening for trouble through the walls.
He would have to wait. Bide his time and observe her carefully. She could not hide a dark purpose if he became her constant companion. Azazel could not reach her either. In protecting her, Lucan would die, but she would come to understand the danger she faced. The temple could offer her protection after his demise. Mayhap even find her another eventual mate.
* * *
A steady thump-thump drew Chloe from pleasant dreams. She opened her eyes, half expecting to find Lucan beside her in the bed, then blushed as her gaze fell on the empty pillow. No warm body at her side. Just in her imagination.
But man, oh man, he was every bit as incredible in her dreams as he’d been in her doorway. Giving in to a goofy smile, she sank deep into the pillows and pretended not to notice the scritch-scratching on her window pane. She never should have allowed him to kiss her. She’d known it would mess with her head. Now she ached in all the places that she’d convinced herself didn’t exist. Restlessness infused her blood. Her breasts felt heavy, her skin too tight.
She tossed and turned and finally let out a frustrated sigh. “Damn,” she muttered.
Another heavy thump brought her upright in bed. Cocking her head, she eyed the door. She leaned over and switched on the light. As light filled her room, the dark presence registered in the forefront of her mind. From beyond the window it bore down on her like iron weights, so thick and suffocating she couldn’t bring herself to look for fear she’d see the beast through the drawn draperies. The hairs along her arms lifted. Her chest constricted, making normal breath impossible.
“Is someone there?” she called out.
“It’s me, open the damn door, I’ve been knocking for twenty minutes. People are starting to peek in the hall,” Julian answered with a touch of exasperation.
Twenty minutes? Good grief, she must have been out like a rock. Relief, however, accompanied the sound of her brother’s voice, and she tossed the covers back to shuffle to the door. The chain lock rattled in the quiet, followed by the click of the heavy dead bolt. Chloe yawned as she opened the door.
Julian marched past her, looking like he’d shared the same restless slumber. His short blond hair stuck out at odd angles. Though fully dressed, his shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest and his belt buckle jangled at his waist. She dropped her gaze to his feet, observing he hadn’t tied the laces on his boots either. “Julian, is something wrong?”
He pushed long fingers through his hair and shook his head. A frown marred the high line of his brow, a sure signal something was eating at him. But the way his eyes darted around the room, as if he feared someone waited for him in the shadows, aroused Chloe’s concern. Something was most definitely wrong with her brother. Had he fought with Miranda? Gone home with the wrong girl and run into her boyfriend? Husband maybe?
“What is it, Julian?”
“I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about that trunk. Keep seeing it in my head.”
The trunk? For the love of Mary, he’d woken her up in the middle of the night about the
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