Free Immortal Hope by Claire Ashgrove Page A

handful of weeks ago, and yet Merrick’s light surpassed Declan’s tenfold. But Declan could not bring himself to admit the painful truth. Frankly, he was too weary to care.
    Now, with the revelation of the seraphs, he could not tamp down the hope Anne would bring his salvation.
    Uncomfortable with the discussion, he rose to his feet. “Excuse me, Caradoc. I canna keep me eyes open.”
    Farran gave him a curt nod as Declan bid good-bye with a smile. He retreated down the hall, rounded the corner, and let himself inside his small, Spartan chambers. With a heavy sigh, he let down his guise of merriment and pushed the door shut tight.
    He took off his sword and tossed it onto his bed. The ache in his chest was a tangible thing, and he rubbed a fist against his sternum. Nine hundred years ago, when he rode south to aid the Christians on the road to Jerusalem, he would have never envisioned his life would come to this. That he would live out centuries having never known a child’s love, nor called a piece of land his own. He served the Templar with his heart, and yet what good had it accomplished? He would die at Mikhail’s hands, if he were lucky. If he were not, he could only hope they would cut him down when once he wore Azazel’s cloth.
    A knock at the door startled him. Grumbling, he jerked the door open to find Caradoc standing in the hall. Though the harsh gleam in Caradoc’s light eyes and the rigid set of his shoulders warned Declan the visit was not social in nature, he pulled another smile forth and welcomed his brother inside.
    Caradoc kicked the door shut with his heel. “Why have you said naught? Does Merrick know?”
    Declan sighed from the depths of his soul and shook his head. “Nay.”
    A long moment of tense silence spanned between them, so oppressive Declan could feel the weight of the stones overhead pushing down on his shoulders. Caradoc moved to the window, looking out at the distant trees. His fingers drummed a steady cadence on the rough-hewn sill, a telltale restlessness that heralded his intense disapproval.
    Declan waited for the inevitable explosion, sudden shame bowing his head. “I donna want the pity, brother.”
    “No one wants the pity,” Caradoc murmured. He spared Declan a brief glance, then fixed his attention out the window once more.
    “How did you ken?”
    Caradoc ran a hand through his sandy hair and the tightness in his spine gave way to slumped shoulders. His voice carried the same echo of weariness that haunted Declan’s soul. “The maid. The way your eyes looked to Merrick’s room once I explained what she is.”
    Seeking to divert his friend from the truth, Declan said, “She is an entertaining lass.” A genuine smile touched his face as he recalled the way Anne had kicked Merrick in the shin. “Her intended will have a handful to tame.”
    “And if she is not meant for you, Declan? What shall you do then? What if this night we are called to fight and we do not know her mate?”
    Declan folded his arms over his chest and scowled. Presented with the selfish nature of his actions was shame enough. He did not need his lapse in judgment berated further.
    “Think you not I feel it too, Declan? The pain is unbearable at times, and we all suffer in different ways. Farran is so angry I fear naught shall ever make him laugh again. You grow weary, Merrick has lost hope. Lucan trusts so few he will not fight beside the other men. And Tane…” Caradoc dropped his head against the window frame, lowering his voice to a woeful murmur. “Tane has become so covetous that if Anne is not his, I worry for her mate.”
    Pulling in a deep breath, Caradoc turned to face Declan. Deep lines of worry knotted his forehead. Accusation gleamed in his eyes. “Still we depend on each other to speak the truth. Yet you break the vow and jeopardize those who would give their very lives for you.”
    Declan closed his eyes against the bitter truth. He stayed silent, for naught he could say would