Chapter One—The Manuscript #3
Lucas Ramsey felt the bristling fur begin to subside beneath the collar of his shirt as he watched the hack drive away.
He tugged at his necktie. He hated wearing one on any occasion; when he began to shift it became a choke collar.
But he couldn’t very well walk around a fashionable neighborhood wearing his kilt and sash, unless he wanted to attract attention, which was something he definitely did not want to do.
It was, in fact, the reason he had sent Gavin to purchase the Shield and bid on the manuscript, even though the vampire preferred to stay inside during the day.
The fewer people who knew that Lucas still existed, the better.
He had waited in a car down the street and Gavin had just finished explaining that the manuscript was bought by an American when the black car made its entrance.
Even though Lucas could move with supernatural speed when needed, he also had to control the wolf.
It always wanted to break free at times of crisis.
And if a colorful Scotsman walking down the street would attract attention, he didn’t even want to think what well-heeled shoppers would do at the sight of a huge lobo loping along in the heart of the city.
Even the brief time his arm had encircled the American’s slender waist and he’d felt her soft breasts pressed against his chest had made the wolf growl.
The woman was safe now. At least for the moment.
And he would be at the airport. He gave himself a moment to appreciate her.
Long, glossy, black hair that had cascaded around his face like a curtain when she fell.
And then when she tossed it back, the most startling shade of blue eyes, like looking into the depths of an ocean.
An ivory complexion with high cheekbones, straight nose, and full lips.
Luscious lips. The kind that made the man in him want to claim her and the wolf want to devour her.
Don’t even think about the glimpse of creamy thigh when her skirt hiked up…
He had gotten away as quickly as he could.
The wolf was the bane of his human existence.
It tended to emerge in moments of passion as well as times of crisis.
During the Dark Ages, it had been fairly easy to manage.
Peasants, even though they made the sign to ward off the evil eye when they saw him, simply took him to be one of many wolves who roamed the countryside.
If only they knew whose evil eye they should be warding themselves against, he thought.
Balor. Once a sun god, he became greedy for more power.
Personal power. In her wisdom, the Goddess banished Balor.
Enraged, Balor swore to wreak havoc in the mortal world forever.
And he had done that well. Never was the world so close to destroying itself.
The time was close when he must be stopped.
Well, that’s why I’m here. I’m the grandson he doesn’t know he has.
He fingered the ancient gold Templar cross he wore on a gold chain.
Although it kept him from recognizing—or being recognized—by other Immortals that might be about in the present day, it also protected his identity from Balor.
He refocused his attention on his friend, sitting in the driver’s seat of the Audi. “How are you feeling?”
Gavin shrugged. “The new meds make the light tolerable, but I still prefer the night.” He turned the ignition. “Where to?”
“To the flat, first. Then Heathrow.” Lucas slid the slim laptop out from its special compartment under the glove box, tapped in a request for airline flights leaving for the United States that afternoon, and punched in a reservation for each carrier. Whichever flight she would be on, so was he.
Gavin put the car into gear. “You’re going after her?”
And looking forward to it. He hadn’t met a woman that plucky in centuries—not since Gwenhwyfar had been tied to the stake and spat at her would-be murderers—but perhaps this woman wouldn’t need any more dramatic rescues.
He hoped not. She had been scared—the wolf could smell it—but she hadn’t showed it.
Damn brave of her. And she was smart too—had kept her wits about her and not let loose of that case.
“I have to. If there’s any chance the manuscript is genuine, I must see it. It would hold the answer to the Templar treasure. Or, at least, the part I need.”
“I failed at getting the manuscript,” Gavin said in a dismal tone, “although I did get the Shield.”
Lucas glanced at him. The two of them had been lucky to have escaped the arrests that fatal Friday in 1307. He knew Gavin had tried his best.
“Doona worry about it,” he said, slipping into the natural brogue he preferred using. “Ye did well enough.” Reaching into the back seat he brought the Shield forward and unwrapped it. “’Tis really priceless. The fools dinna ken what they had.”
Gavin gave it an appreciative look before he turned his eyes back to traffic. “It’s the one, then? Jacques de Molay’s?”
“Aye.” Lucas still felt a moment of pain when he remembered standing in the crowd, helpless to do anything while the Grand Master burned. The wolf had nearly gotten the better of him that day. That evening he had loosed the beast, allowing it to tear out the throats of two of Jacques’ tormentors.
He forced himself back to the present. “The Shield is much older than that, though. It was passed down from the very first Templar.”
“Godefroi de Boullion?” Gavin asked.
Lucas shook his head. “Older still.” At Gavin’s puzzled look, he explained.
“A king near Jerusalem who was a friend of Joseph of Arimathea’s converted to Christianity and changed his name from Evelake to Mordrains to prove his complete conversion.
His uncle gave him this Shield. He called it the Shield of Wisdom.
Anyone who was not worthy to carry it would be severely maimed. ”
Gavin slid a quick glance at Lucas. “Who was the uncle?”
“Peter the Fisherman.”
Gavin whistled. “Saint Peter was the first Templar?”
“No. For centuries, the Shield lay hidden in the tomb of Nascien, Mordrains’ brother. And then, a descendent of theirs—a knight pure in heart—found his way to the abbey on a quest for something else entirely.”
“What?”
“The Holy Grail.”
Gavin almost missed a turn. “You’re saying Galahad…?”
“…was the first Templar. Yes.” Lucas leaned back and let that sink in.
Not only did the Templars adopt the square, red cross that Galahad had worn on a white mantle, but much of the original Templar philosophy had been taken from him.
Refusing to accept Lancelot’s wealth or his title, he had pursued his quest as a poor man, pure in heart, and chaste.
Lucas grimaced at that. A lot of the brothers had protested that rule, but Lucas had obeyed it stringently, mostly because he was afraid he’d lose control of the wolf in the midst of climax and hurt his partner.
Even today, he kept his emotions tightly under control, lest he loose the animal.
The Templars had been what he needed to still the wolf.
By the early Middle Ages, civilization had reared its head again and the wolf did not want to be tamed.
A century or two of strict adherence to discipline and penitence had been what he needed, although he allowed himself to fantasize if an alluring woman caught his eye.
Which brought him back to the dark-haired beauty who owned the manuscript.
Getting it from her would be only half the challenge.
The other half would lie in keeping her safe from the beast inside.
Lucas liked strong, independent, clear-thinking women, and this one also had a natural sensuality about her.
He squelched thoughts about running his hand up her thigh, letting his fingers slowly stroke between her folds and sighed.
The best thing he could do was keep his hands off her. That would take some doing on his part.
****
Adam Baylor adjusted the patch over his eye and surveyed the sorry lot of men who sat in front of his magnificently polished black oak desk in the massive library in which he took such great pride.
Encased in a glass tome on an original Chippendale lamp table was the handwritten first draft of Mein Kampf, given to him by Adolf Hitler himself. A good man, Hitler. One of his best.
“So you let the manuscript get away from us?” he said in a soft voice to the nervous-looking young man who had been at the auction.
The young man, Toby, gulped, his Adams apple bobbing in his thin throat, only too aware that the soft voice spelled danger more than any shouting could have done. “I’m sorry, sir. It was when that other man shot the price up—”
“What were your orders?”
He swallowed again. “To buy the manuscript.”
“Did I tell you how much to spend?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you think I couldn’t afford more than $25,000?”