Sin and Sacrifice Page 3

  And she couldn't simply explain that the marks were reminders not to make the same mistakes once made by their parents; that meant admitting who she was, and what she was, and Evelyn was certain in that moment that the Templars wouldn't believe a word she said. They had subsisted for centuries believing and nurturing ideals of defeating evil, a noble cause, surely, and any argument from her wasn't likely to change that. All she had were vehement denials and urgent pleas of innocence.

  “I don't know what you're talking about. I really don't.” In her distress, she choked on the words. Fear made her skin prickle. Sweat slid down from her hairline and over the bone of her jaw.

  “I expected no less from a daughter of Eve. Nothing but lies. I can do this for longer than you, I promise. And the rest of it will not be as pleasant.” The hissing threat ended with a jerk of his fist in the hood and her hair. Then he released her.

  Evelyn gasped, gagging on blood. She pushed the mouthful out over her lips rather than try to swallow it down.

  Another pair of footsteps approached.

  The muscles of her thighs tightened in anticipation of more violence, teeth clenching so hard her jaw ached. Her hands were picked up again and a pinky held in the vise of the man's fingers.

  Instinctively, she tried to pull it out of his tight grasp. From behind, a second man reached over and braced her arm so the first could position something at the edge of her short nail.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I'm going to give you one last chance to tell me how many of you are left,” the man in front of her said.

  “Please, listen to me. I'm not whoever you think I am--” The dry state of her throat put a rasp on her words.

  Without further warning, something thin and sharp slid under the nail of her pinky finger. She screamed, the sound rebounding off the walls. Part of the hood sank into her mouth when she sucked in another breath, cutting off a second scream. The sense of suffocation made her gag and twist in the seat. Anchored in place by both men, she arched in reaction to the burning pain shooting along her arm and into her elbow. It radiated out in waves, causing nausea to roll through her stomach. Dizzy, suffering from fear and claustrophobia, Evelyn tried again to get them to believe her.

  “I don't have any sisters. It's just me. My dad never remarried after my mom died. I swear.” She hated how the words clattered and shook when she spoke.

  The first man, the one doing the torture, moved on to her ring finger. He held it trapped and pressed the tip of the sharp thing against her skin. Just enough to let her know it was there.

  Evelyn swallowed. She needed water. Air. Space.

  “How. Many. Of. You. Are. There?” He enunciated each word.

  She knew in that moment that this was going to go on and on until she either passed out or died. Each finger, each hand, moving from this to battery to body part removal. Or something equally horrible. They weren't going to stop, and she wasn't going to give in. The Knights felt justified forcing confession from her, perhaps even felt justified with their torture.

  Eradicating evil, as he'd put it, was serious business.

  Faking unconsciousness wouldn't hold up under the pressure of their interrogation. A stab of an instrument in the right place would provide a telling reaction.

  All she could do was endure until she slipped into unconsciousness for real.

  To Evelyn's horror, she discovered they were adept at keeping her awake. Of bringing her back from the blessed brink of blackness that was her only escape. They used water and smelling salts to revive her, relentless in their pursuit of the truth. Relentless in their pursuit to break her.

  Evelyn couldn't break. Wouldn't subject her sisters to this even if it meant her own death.

  Soon, she knew, it would come to that.

  Sometime during the following day, when she was rigid with pain and screaming the walls down, she felt the blackness swoop in and claim her. Time meant nothing in her dark world of flitting nightmares and hazy returns to consciousness. She couldn't focus on faces or voices or commands that they barked near her ears.

  It was all distant. Dreamlike. Not a part of her reality. Once, after they'd removed the scratchy hood, she thought she glimpsed the tattoo of an iron cross between the shoulder blades of a Templar.

  They all had them. Their own mark. A brand of power and loyalty.

  The strong scent of urine and the taste of old blood in her mouth finally woke her. Someone trickled water past her lips. She could taste it mingling with the blood. Men moving forward and back through the room were blurry for long minutes until she squinted and brought them into focus. Four of them, all built like the warriors they were. Thick chested, broad shouldered, lean hipped. Dressed in casual, everyday clothes instead of white robes and red crosses.

  But they were Templars, every one of them. Men with sharp, assessing eyes and grim expressions. Hands that had delivered more pain in a day than most people suffered in a lifetime.

  Evelyn tried to assess the damage to her person; bloodied, abused fingers, a menagerie of burns, bruises and bumps and a raw split in her lip. Nothing felt broken. Fear crept through her system when she realized that if they didn't kill her soon, they would start to recognize the way her body healed the superficial injuries.

  By tomorrow all the open wounds would be closed. The day after that, the burns would be just blushes and rosettes on her skin. Any fractures she might have suffered would be correctly healed. And on day three, there would be no sign of abuse at all. These were gifts from eating fruit off the Tree of Life. It was part of their immortality, what set them apart from the rest of humanity. Genevieve, Alexandra and Minna all had the same gift, given before they were cast out from Eden.

  The dehydration she could do nothing about, and it would eventually kill her if they didn't continue to give her water. Healing ability aside, she could die like anyone else under the right circumstances. If she suffered mortal wounds or denied what the body needed to function (food, water, air), she would perish.

  One of the men, her main torturer she presumed, broke off from where he murmured with the other three and approached. In his hand, he had a rolled up piece of parchment that he unfurled when he stopped before the chair. It was thicker and more pliable than modern paper with crinkles through the surface and faded drawings that looked like crude maps. She glanced up from the paper to the man's face. Hard, cold eyes. Tight, displeased mouth. Deep lines across weathered skin.

  “We will start again. This time, you will correct the mistakes on this map. After that, you will tell me how many of you remain.”

  For a crazy moment, Evelyn wanted to scream. She wanted to rail and rant at this man for answers she could never give him.

  Because she knew what that map led to, or where it was supposed to lead, and she wouldn't give up the location anymore than she would give up her sisters.

  Day one had been almost more than she could bear. What pain would he bring for day two? She swallowed past the dryness in her throat and said nothing.

  “So be it,” he said, retreating to a tray of implements that he rolled closer to her chair.

  She got a glimpse of sharp, shiny instruments and other, less familiar objects that looked old and frightening. Her mind conjured images and ideas in a rapid slideshow that left her weak and terrified.

  “I can't tell you what I don't know.” Her meek lie was met with a vicious backhand. Fresh blood pooled under her tongue. For a moment, her world was nothing but white noise.

  “Today, you will tell me or you will start losing pieces of yourself faster than you can count them.” He snatched a scalpel off the tray with a menacing gleam in his eyes.

  “I told you I don't know. I don't know!”

  Snaring her under the chin with one hand, he brought the scalpel right to the edge of her eye. “You didn't even blink at the map, which means you know exactly what it is and where it leads. Tell me. Tell me where to find Eden or I will carve out your eye, so help me.”

 
; Chapter Three

  With a sudden, violent crash, the door to the chamber burst open. The blade nicked the skin of her brow when the Templar spun around in surprise. Furious shouts and commands overlapped each other.

  “Get on your knees!”

  “Put the gun down!”

  “Drop it—now!”

  “I said, on your knees.”

  Evelyn twisted her wrists to try and loosen the ropes. She didn't know what was going on, but she wouldn't waste the opportunity to get her hands free. Dizzy and weak, the task proved difficult. The bonds were too tight.

  “Don't make me tell you again.”

  The Knights, surly and growling, got on their knees.

  It gave Evelyn a glimpse of the man who'd burst onto the scene. Over the heads of the Templars, she made sudden eye contact with a man taller than any of those in the room—which was saying something—and just as broad. Evelyn's first impression of him was a shocking one. He had a lion's mane of sandy blonde hair to his shoulders, a chiseled jaw, and the palest green eyes she'd ever seen. When he turned them on her, they were sharp and intense. Assessing. Dressed all in black, with a long sleeved shirt that fit high on the throat and snug across his torso, he made an imposing figure that she found it impossible to look away from.

  “Move it or we're both dead.” He gestured to her with the hand not holding the gun. Get up. Come here. Hurry.

  She heard the unvoiced commands as clearly as if he'd said them aloud and lurched to her feet. Sometime between yesterday and now, she'd lost her other shoe. Barefoot, she shuffled around the kneeling Knights, leaving a wide berth between them, and made for the door.

  “Stay close,” he ordered when she was within reach. Sliding a hand around her upper arm, he escorted her out of the room with his gun leveled at the Knights, and then down the dark corridor. Like he expected there might be others.

  There probably were. Evelyn suspected the numbers of the Templars ranked into the hundreds, at least. She stumbled once and he caught her against his side, letting her use his body to lean on. Over a thin layer of material, she felt the strain and flex of honed, hard sinew. Weakness and dizziness came in violent waves that she battled with every step.

  “You! Stop!”

  At the juncture of another corridor, someone called out from the far end.

  The man at her side didn't even pause. He fired into the darkness and hustled her the other way with haste. Up a stairwell that she remembered coming down. Through a door he kicked open with a boot. Out into the night that disoriented her as much as the confusing hallways had. She couldn't get her bearings and had no time to.

  He ushered her by the arm toward a car waiting at the curb, letting her go at the last second to open the door. “Get in.”

  Evelyn had no choice but to do what he asked. With pain screaming along her nerve endings she slid into the passenger seat. Out her window, she could make out the rising spire of what appeared to be a church. The stone walls were inset with arching panes of stained glass, the details lost with the darkness. The Knights had been keeping her in the basement or some other subterranean room. So far, none of them had burst out from the door to give chase.

  After he got in, she glanced across the car. “Where are we going? Who are you?”

  “Let me get us somewhere safe, and I'll explain.”

  Whoever he was, he had a pleasant, sandpapery voice and an efficient, no nonsense manner that made her want to trust him. Like he could handle anything and everything that came their way. Evelyn wasn't used to trusting anyone but her sisters and cautioned herself against her own instinct.

  He set the gun on the console between them, started the engine, and reached over to fasten her seat belt. A moment later he pulled a knife from under his seat. It flashed sharp and silver and scared her half to death. Even as she twitched in shock he sliced through her binds and retreated. The blade disappeared with a sleight of hand move too fast to follow. He gave her a look that seemed to chide her for thinking he meant her harm after saving her.

  Then he pulled the car into traffic. Black and sleek, the vehicle smelled new, a little like pine, and handled like a dream. When he took the corners too fast it hugged the road, growling like a panther after its prey.

  Assaulted by his presence and the distinct, masculine scent that clung to his skin, she peeled the ropes off her red wrists and let them fall to the floor.

  “How did you know where to find me?” She couldn't help herself. The questions came unbidden.

  “Can you just...give me a minute? You'll get your answers soon enough.” He glanced at her with mild impatience and took the next curve with a screech of tires, seeming to know his way through the streets of Athens without needing to consult a map. “You look like hell.”

  His blunt assessment would have struck her funny any other time. Just then, her warm, fuzzy feeling of safety and assurance was overridden by waspish irritation. “I was kidnapped and tortured. I'm pretty sure I have the right to look like hell.”

  “Do you have any idea why they kidnapped you?”

  “I thought you couldn't answer questions right now?”

  His sudden smile was all teeth. Checking the rearview and side mirrors with obsessive repetition, he said, “I'm not answering. I'm asking.”

  Evelyn exhaled loudly. “I have no idea--”

  “Wait.”

  “I just thought you said you--”

  “Hold on.”

  Evelyn saw that he wasn't referring to the awkward question and non-answer session but the light that had just turned red ahead. She pressed back in the seat in reaction, feet jamming down to the floorboards, hands flying out to the door and his arm. It was the first thing in reach to her left. Pain shot in several directions from the sudden contact with her damaged fingers.

  He shot into the intersection doing about fifty.

  Evelyn saw a flare of headlights coming from his side and was sure they were about to be broadsided. Probably flipped. She tried to scream and couldn't. Tires screeched, horns blared. By some miracle the two cars hurtling into the intersection at the same time missed them, spinning wild circles in the red wash of their taillights.

  Evelyn glared at him.

  “Are you trying to get us killed?”

  “We're being followed. I had to push it. Will you let go of my arm?”

  She snatched her hand away from his biceps and twisted around in the seat. Behind them, a tangle of cars blocked the thoroughfare. “How do you know for sure we're being followed?”

  “Just trust me. They're back there.” He stomped the gas coming out of another turn and sped through a residential area.

  “I think you should take me to the U.S. Embassy. They can help me.” She put her hands in her lap and faced forward. Bringing herself under the direct scrutiny of the officials there wasn't ideal, but it was better than being hunted for the rest of the night.

  “Lady, I am the government. We'll be at the safe house in ten minutes.”

  Shocked, Evelyn glanced at him. He didn't look like any government official she'd ever seen. His hair was too long and his clothes were wrong. Didn't they wear suits? And how had he known about her down in the Templar's lair? Just what was a US government agent doing working in Athens?

  A plethora of silent questions kept her busy until he swerved them them into a short drive that led to the back of a white-washed building. Two story, with dark windows and open shutters, the house looked like an upscale residence in a long row of them.

  Using a remote attached to the visor, he opened the garage door. After it rolled up, he pulled the car inside. With a low drone and clink of chain, it closed once more.

  He came around to open her door before she even had the seat belt off. It was a struggle with her abused, sore fingertips to undo the buckle. She needed a phone to try and get in touch with her sisters. Or a computer to check their private email account. Maybe there was a message waiting.

  “Thanks.” Repulsed by the fetid stench of her ow
n clothes, she winced and got out of the car. She'd probably ruined his seats. Evelyn felt like a homeless person, shoeless and grimy, hair a tangled mess. The concrete was cold under her bare feet.

  “Don't worry about it.” He led her across the spacious garage to a door that he unlocked with a key he took from over the frame and went in first.

  “Stay here until I secure both floors.”

  “I thought you said this was a 'safe house'?” she whispered.

  After a quelling, silent look over his shoulder, he paced away into the shadows. Gun drawn, he kept the muzzle pointed toward the ceiling. He disappeared around a corner, gone from sight.

  Evelyn waited there, too wary to defy him and go marching through the residence to find a restroom. From the small niche near the open door, she could see the edge of the kitchen and half of a dining room. Distant nightlights penetrated the gloom, casting vague circles of light over the tiled floor. Evelyn couldn't hear the agent moving around no matter how hard she listened. It was eerie. He loomed out of the shadows a few seconds later, startling her.

  “It's clear. Why don't you go clean up. I know there are extra clothes in the closets upstairs so help yourself.” He reached past her to close the door and snapped the bolt home.

  Evelyn had her first uneasy moment. Government agent or not, they were alone in a strange place, on a strange night, with her fresh from kidnapping and torture. That he'd rescued her from it made little difference. Earlier in the car they'd been on the move with several options at their disposal. Now there was a silent, empty house and...him.

  He arched a brow at the delay, silently asking her if there was a problem. This close, she could see the small scar at the edge of his left eyebrow and the beginning shadow of whiskers on his jaw.

  “I don't even know your name. Can I see your credentials?” She felt a little ridiculous. What woman wouldn't at least ask to see them after what she'd been through, she argued with herself.