Immortal Hope by Claire Ashgrove

stay his hand and accept the punishment.
    Perhaps Gabriel was right. Perhaps Merrick would make a suitable tutor for her.
    Mikhail frowned.
    Regardless, Merrick had no choice. Gabriel had relayed the Almighty’s orders that Merrick would educate Anne on the Templar purpose. He would lead her on the path she had been born to take.
    Best to keep this conversation at a minimum. Tell her only the basics and save the rest for Merrick. He would learn when she was ready to understand. Presently, Merrick had things to learn himself.
    “Caradoc, Lucan, Tane.” Mikhail turned to the three beside Declan and Farran. “You will inform Declan and Farran what I omit when the five of you leave, as you have already heard what I have to say.”
    All three nodded in understanding. A surge of pride rushed through Mikhail. These six rarely questioned duty. Of all the knights under his command, Merrick’s men embodied Templar honor. Yet a wave of sorrow followed on pride’s heels. Whether they would survive these coming trials remained to be seen. Darkness infringed upon them all. Not a day passed when Mikhail did not pray for their tainted souls.
    He cleared his wandering thoughts with a brief shake of his head. “Lady Anne.” She blushed at his address, and he let out a soft chuckle. “Become accustomed to the title, for my dear, you are the truest lady these men will ever know. Do you know where you are?”
    She swallowed. Her gaze shifted to an ancient shield mounted on the wall, and she took in the four legs of the crimson cross emblazoned on its scarred surface. Quietly, she answered, “I believe so. But it seems impossible.”
    “Rest assured, ’tis not impossible.” Mikhail moved around to the front of his desk and leaned against it. Folding his arms over his chest, he offered her a smile. “You sit in the North American Temple, the stronghold of the Knights Templar. The men you see around you have fought Azazel’s evil for centuries. But the battle has turned in Azazel’s favor, and you, dear lady, are the key to their victory.”
    He held in a laugh as Merrick, Declan, and Farran all turned to him. Surprise etched into their features, glinted in their eyes. Oh how he loved to catch his knights off guard. So rarely did it happen, he cherished the opportunity.
    Anne’s frown, however, deepened. “I don’t understand. I just want to learn about this armband and go back home.”
    “Your life is here, Anne. As we speak, your colleagues spread the news that you have eloped with a secret lover.”
    “A what?” Bless her heart, she laughed. “No one would believe that. I’m not even dating.”
    “We did not wish to create rumor of your death, in the event there might be someone you wished to visit now and then. Or even if you choose to perform your work—when it becomes safe to do so—from the house in Atchison.”
    “Mikhail,” Merrick interrupted. “Spare us the lengthy prattle. We have not slept, and I wish to rest. Tell us our purpose here.”
    Mikhail considered drawing out Merrick’s wait simply because the knight could not curb his rudeness. He appraised the three returning men, took in the deep lines of weariness in their faces, the dark circles beneath their eyes. They had done more good in the last six weeks than the Order as a whole. Yet for their deeds, they paid a heavy price. Mikhail sensed the growing darkness in their souls, felt the contained hatred that waited for escape. He did not have the heart to make these men wait for rest.
    “Very well. Anne, the serpentine you bear is a symbol of the sacred snake, Nehushtan, of healing and salvation. It marks the time when the angels fell from grace, and it was crafted to identify those born from divine power.”
    Mikhail ignored Merrick’s displeased mutter. Focusing instead on soothing the rapid loss of color in Anne’s face, he forged on. “You are a descendant of the Nephilim. The blood that runs in your veins has been passed down for centuries.