Blood Infernal: The Order of the Sanguines Series (29 page)

But I am no mouse
.

He took their cuts, watched their actions, and searched for any weaknesses.

Smoke billowed up from the stairs below. Christian fought somewhere down there, but Rhun had lost sight of him after attempting to pursue a grimwolf that had bounded past him a moment ago. He had heard it crash through the door a floor above, heard Sophia’s shout. Still, he could not break free of these three to go to the others’ aid.

At least not by myself
.

A sharper cry and the ringing of steel told him Christian still lived. But what about Elizabeth? She had come to his rescue a few breathless moments ago, flying down the stairs like a black falcon, taking down two opponents, including the
strigoi
who had incapacitated Rhun’s right arm. She and her two combatants had vanished into the smoke.

Did she still live?

Distracted by this thought, he moved too slowly as the largest of his opponents lunged yet again. His sword cut a swath across Rhun’s ribs. Another came at him from his injured side. Rhun had no way to—

Suddenly, that second attacker vanished, yanked back into the pall of smoke. A gurgling scream echoed out. The other two
strigoi
closed ranks, as a small, dark figure stalked into view, climbing from the lower stairs to the second-floor landing.

Elizabeth.

She carried a broadsword that dripped black blood. The blade looked absurdly huge in her dainty hands, but she held it easily, as if the weight did not concern her.

The largest of the
strigoi
charged toward her, his falchion cleaving through the air faster than Rhun’s eye could follow. But she melted away at the last second, pirouetting on one toe, swinging her sword around, and cutting her attacker cleanly through his throat. The creature’s headless body went tumbling down the steps behind her.

Rhun used the distraction of her dance to lash out at the remaining
strigoi
, planting his
karambit
through the back of its neck, severing the spine with a deft twist of his wrist. As the body went limp, he kicked it over the landing’s rail.

Elizabeth joined him, both arms soaked in blood, her face spattered. “Too many,” she gasped. “Scarcely made it back.”

He thanked her with a touch on her free hand. She squeezed his fingers.

“Working together,” she said, “we could still make the front door.”

Rhun sagged against the wall. Blood trickled from a hundred cuts. If he had been human, he would have been dead a dozen times over. As it was, he felt terribly weak. He pointed an arm up.

“Erin and Jordan,” he said. “We cannot abandon them.”

The howl of the grimwolf reminded him of the danger.

Elizabeth put an arm around his shoulders, holding him up. “You can barely stand.”

He could not argue about that. Rescuing the others would have to hold a moment longer. He pulled his wine flask from his thigh and drained it in one long swallow. Elizabeth stood sentinel next to him, patient and silent in the smoke. He remembered a long ago day when they had walked across fields enveloped in a late-spring fog much like this. She was yet human, and he was yet the Sanguinist who had never fallen.

He closed his eyes and waited for his penance.

It tore him back in time to his worst sin. Memories washed over him, but he had no time for penance now, and he fought it, knowing that it would claim him all the stronger with his next drink of wine.

Still, snatches of the past flashed through his body.

. . . the scent of chamomile in Elizabeth’s long-ruined castle . . .

. . . firelight reflected in those silver eyes . . .

. . . the feeling of her warm flushed skin against his as he claimed her . . .

. . . her body dying in his arms . . .

. . . his foolish, dreadful choice . . .

He returned to himself, with the taste of her blood still on his tongue: rich, salty, and alive. He gripped the cross around his neck, praying through the pain, until the taste of her was gone.

He then stepped free of Elizabeth’s arm, standing straighter, feeling renewed strength in his veins. Her silver eyes met his and it was as if she saw straight through him to that night and the passion and pain they had shared. He leaned toward her, his lips touching hers.

A chunk of the ceiling crashed down across the upper stairs, chasing them both back. Fiery embers billowed up, surrounded him, lighting in his cassock and on his hair.

Elizabeth beat them out with both hands. Anger flashed across those silver eyes, then resignation. “We cannot return upstairs . . . at least not from
inside
the house. We will best serve your friends if we leave this place now, then climb to the roof from the outside.”

Rhun acknowledged the logic of her suggestion. He must get to Erin, Jordan, and Sophia before this cursed building came down, turning this place into their fiery grave.

He pointed below, into a maelstrom of fire and blood, praying he wasn’t already too late. “Go.”

March 18, 7:02
P
.
M
.
CET

Prague, Czech Republic

Legion strode across the flat roof of the malevolent structure, while overhead the vault of the sky crackled with lightning. Below, fires burned through the house, flames blew out its lower windows, and smoke choked up into the rainy night. Under his feet, the evil of this place flowed through his bones of his vessel, filling him with power and purpose.

Over the rooftop, he tracked his prey, closing in on them: two heartbeats, marking the only two humans within the fiery structure.

The Warrior and the Woman.

As he had planned, the enemy had fled the flames he had set, chased ever higher.

Toward me
.

If the two humans were nearby, the Knight would not be far from their sides. But as this immortal did not have a heartbeat to track, Legion could not be certain of his exact whereabouts. So he intended to hunt down these two and await the Knight.

And he did not hunt alone.

Heavy paws padded alongside him, splashing in the pools of rainwater. The wolf growled with each boom of thunder, as if challenging the heavens.

Legion shared the beast’s senses, staring equally through its eyes, straining with its sharper ears, smelling the lightning in the air. He reveled in its wild heart. Even corrupted by black blood, the wolf reminded him of the beauty and majesty of this earthly garden.

Together, they homed in on those two heartbeats underfoot. He intended to slay the Warrior first, listening even now to the strange beat to that one’s heart, how it pealed like a golden bell—bright, clear, and holy. He also remembered how the Warrior’s blood had burned through one of Legion’s enslaved. He must not be allowed to live.

And the stone the Warrior possesses will be mine.

But the Woman . . . she could yet prove useful.

Leopold had supplied Legion her name:
Erin
. And with that name came more details of the prophecy concerning her, this Woman of Learning. Leopold’s respect and admiration for the woman’s keen mind was easy to read. Merged as one, Leopold equally knew Legion’s purpose, flickering with the knowledge that Legion needed all
three
stones. Leopold believed that she of all people possessed the skill to find those last two stones. And though he could not possess the Woman and bend her to his will, he would find other ways to persuade her, to make her submit.

At last, they reached the spot on the roof directly above those two beating hearts. Legion sent his desire to the wolf. Powerful paws began to dig through the clay roof tiles, then sharp caws tore away the green metal nailed beneath.

Once there was only a thin sheaf of wood remaining, Legion touched the wolf’s flank, sending it appreciation and respect.

“This prey is mine,” he whispered aloud.

The grimwolf submitted, lowering its muzzle, ever faithful. Legion felt his love for the great wild beast echo back to him. Knowing it would guard him with its very life, Legion stepped to the ravaged section of tiles and stamped his powerful heel through the last of the wood, breaking the way open—and dropped heavily through the hole.

He crashed to the floor below, landing on his feet, not even buckling a knee.

He found himself facing the Warrior, who carried an iron bar in his hands. The Woman huddled past his shoulder, holding a beam of light in her grip. Both were unsurprised, ready, having heard the wolf digging, but still Legion enjoyed the looks of horror on their faces as they gazed upon his dark glory for the first time.

He smiled, showing teeth, revealing Leopold’s fangs.

Legion felt the flutter of recognition in the Warrior’s heart—and the confusion.

But one emotion was strongest of all, shining in both of their faces.

Determination
.

Neither would yield this night.

So be it
.

All that truly mattered was the Knight, and the one called Korza was not yet here.

The Warrior pushed the Woman—Erin—farther behind his golden heart, as if his body alone could shield her from Legion. Her light skittered to the side when she moved. The beam struck a tall object to Legion’s left, reflecting off its mired surface, shining brightly from one section that was recently polished.

The emerald hue caught Legion’s eye, igniting fury deep inside him.

It was the hated bell.

The smoke of the six hundred and sixty-six roiled inside him, recognizing the infernal device. They writhed up like a black storm, stirring memories into a whirlwind. Legion’s awareness splintered, between past and present, between his own recollection and that of the many.

. . . he crawls across the smooth sides of a green diamond, searching for an opening . . .

. . . he fails six hundred and sixty-six times . . .

Before Legion could fully recover from the shock, the Warrior fell upon him. Impossibly strong hands grabbed his wrists. As that sun-blessed flesh touched his shadowy skin, a golden fire burst forth between them, flaming up his arm to his shoulder.

For the first time in eternity, Legion screamed.

7:10
P
.
M
.

Erin clapped both hands over her ears, dropping her flashlight, falling to her knees at the assault. Tears rose in her eyes, as she fought not to pass out.

Must help Jordan . . .

Steps away, Jordan grappled that ebony-faced monster. He slammed his opponent’s body hard against the wall, knocking the air from those lungs to stop the ear-shattering wail.

The impact jarred loose roof tiles from the hole above, sending them crashing to the attic floor. She looked up—to find a pair of eyes glaring down, shining crimson, marking the corruption inside the massive beast.

A grimwolf.

For the moment, the hole was too small for its huge body, but the wolf dug at the edges, widening the hole, plainly intending to come to its master’s defense. On the far side of the attic, Jordan continued to wrestle with their shadowy assailant.

Erin retreated until her back was pressed against the grime-slick surface of the glass bell. Her hands searched the floor for a weapon, but only found the metal gear she had knocked off its hook earlier. Her fingers closed on it, useless though it may be.

Still . . .

With her back against the bell, she scooted up until her fingers could reach a long glass pipe that protruded from the bell’s side. She swung around and smashed the gear through the base of the pipe, where it connected to the larger bell. Its length broke free and clattered to the ground, shattering into shorter pieces.

She snatched up the longest and thickest.

With the glass spear in hand, she faced the wolf. The beast was almost through. Reacting to her challenging stance, it shoved its head as far as it could, snapping toward her, saliva flying from its snarling lips. But its massive shoulders still restrained it.

At least for the moment.

Intending to take full advantage of that moment, she pushed off the bell and headed toward where Jordan grappled with their adversary. It looked as if he were wrestling his own shadow. They were on the floor, rolling and thrashing, moving with a speed that defied her eyes.

She gripped her spear, fearful of striking out, lest she impale Jordan by mistake.

And what exactly was he fighting?

She had caught a look at the enemy’s face when he first crashed down. His skin had been black, darker than coal, and it had seemed to suck in the feeble glow of her flashlight. She remembered seeing a similar shadowy figure on Cardinal Bernard’s computer, from the video of the attack at that disco in Rome, but the feed had been too fuzzy for true details.

Not any longer.

She had recognized those features now, blackened though they may be.