Free Immortal Sacrifice: #4 The Curse of the Templars by Claire Ashgrove

determined step forward and jerked her arm to wrest free of his hold.
    “Isa!” Frustration forced Caradoc’s protest out more harshly than he intended. He snapped his mouth shut before his tongue could run away from him and easily matched her brusque, purposeful, stride. She would not run. Not this time. He had allowed her to avoid this confrontation too long. They had things to say, and even if she should spew venom, he wished to hear her words.
    He r efused to give her any other option but to hear his.
    Pulling on Isabelle’s elbow, he drew her in a half-circle, bringing her so close to his body he could feel the warmth of her skin. Smell the intoxicating aroma of her summery perfume. His skin prickled, anticipating the way she had so oft snuggled her cheek against his chest.
    “Isa, stop this nonsense,” he murmured as he brought his hand to her face and cupped her chin. “Look at me. There is too much between us for enemies.”
    The resistance in her neck lessened, allowing him to tip her face up to his. As those indigo eyes locked with his, Caradoc’s heart skipped a heavy beat. For one brief moment, the woman he loved beyond all means gazed up at him, her expression as soft as he had remembered, the depths of her heart exposed. But with her blink, every particle of revealed emotion morphed into sharp lines of worry. Dark circles inhabited the fragile skin beneath her long strawberry lashes. Her mouth held the tightness of a rusty iron hinge.
    Not at all the expression of a woman who wished to escape an uncomfortable conversation. Nor was her countenance that of anger. She looked almost…haunted.
    Caradoc frowned, concern for her well -being replacing all else. “What troubles you?”
    She pulled on her arm. “Let me go, Caradoc. I’ve got things to do.”
    “Nay.” His brows drew together more tightly. “They can wait a few moments.” Softening his tone, he slipped his free hand into the wealth of blonde hair that slipped free from her ponytail and framed the side of her face. With his thumb, he smoothed the creases at the corner of her eye. “It troubles me to see you worry. Tell me what makes you frown so?”
    Isabelle blew out a harsh breath and pursed her lips. As the elevator dinged open behind her, she twisted sharply, breaking his loose grip on her elbow. “It’s none of your concern.”
    Caradoc lunged after her, but before he could recapture her arm, she slipped inside the sliding brass doors. His fingertips grazed the smooth metal panel seconds before it sealed shut. “Damnation!”
    Refusing to be dismissed so easily, he drew back and looked up to the glowing numbers on the panel overhead that ticked off the floors. She could run, but she could not hide so easily. If he ran fast enough, he could make it up the stairs before she entered her room. At the very least, if she was not present in the hall, he would know her door stood close to the elevator.
    One way or the other, he would find her.
    The numeral two glowed steadily, then blinked off, only to have the numeral three light up an instant later. Beneath Caradoc’s feet, the marble floor pitched sideways. His floor. She had spent the night mere feet away from him.
    Turning on his heel, he dodged around a trio of laughing women and started for the stairs. But at the base of the lavish red carpet runner that cloaked the well-worn wood, Tane stepped into his path, halting Caradoc’s forward progress. Saints’ toes, he had no time for talk of unseen demons. Annoyed, Caradoc shouldered him aside.
    A heavy hand planted into his chest. “Caradoc, cease. ’Tis important.”
    Caradoc ground his teeth together. Naught could be more important than righting the wrongs he had committed against his seraph. Now he could not hope to catch her before she took cover in her room. Slowly, he turned his head, making his displeasure known with a tight scowl. “What is it?” he snapped.
    “’Tis Declan.”
    The absurd mention of the brother left in