Blood Infernal: The Order of the Sanguines Series (38 page)

March 19, 10:01
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Prague, Czech Republic

Legion felt the severing of that black tendril, cut by silver. As it withered and retracted, it returned his awareness to the darkness of an icy cellar beneath an old building in Prague. Those that lived in the floors above were already dead, their heartbeats forever silenced.

He opened his lips and let more blood run over his parched tongue, down his burnt throat. His servants were few now, only those whom Legion could still hold firm to when his vessel was so damaged. The gaping wound through his chest had already closed. His broken bones callused and healed. His fire-blackened skin peeled in great sheets, shedding their past like a snake.

But he held on to that past, letting it burn through him as surely as the fire had seared this frail body.

He remembered claws and teeth dragging him from the smoking rubble of that malevolent house. He was pulled down steps into darkness. He knew his benefactor. It slumbered next to him, heaving great breaths, but still alert, still protecting him.

The grimwolf.

Once here, Legion had uncoiled his shadows from around the faded flame of Leopold, where he had been forced to protect that ember of life, stoking it back to a small flame. If Leopold had died, Legion’s foothold in this world would have evaporated, casting him back into formless darkness. So he nurtured that flame, preserving this vessel. It had taken all of his efforts and concentration, costing him many of his branches, freeing those he had previously enslaved.

But not all of them.

While the tree had starved, withering away its branches, the root had survived.

And I will grow anew, all the stronger for it
.

After the wolf had dragged him here, Legion had reached to those who still bore his yoke and drew them to this place, slaughtering everything above, bringing fresh blood to revive and strengthen his vessel. He searched out other eyes, finding how many remained across other lands, reaching those who had not broken free when he fell. He set them in motion, toward a single direction.

All except one
.

Legion had pulled his awareness into a priest within the Sanguinist order. He had marked the man before he left Rome. He had learned of him from the Sanguinist whom he had branded in the shadow of the Vatican’s walls. It had been so simple to lure that other out into the open, exploiting the simple trust of the victim in the fellow Sanguinist who led him to Legion.

How that priest had screamed when he first saw Legion—but it had ended when the man was held down, stripped of his robes, and Legion placed his palm on the priest’s lower back, hiding his mark there.

Through those same eyes and ears he had spied upon his enemy, learning what they knew.

What I know now . . .

His attempt to corrupt them with the black blood of the dark angel might have failed in Prague, but he knew where they were headed next.

Where I will go . . .

To find the stones.

He needed all three, to multiply their power in order to forge the key to Lucifer’s chains. Then he would bring the reign of mankind to a fiery end.

His hand found the wolf next to him, reading the wildness behind the corruption, making a promise to it.

I will return paradise to you—and to myself
.

Your new dark king.

FIFTH

The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them.

And the cow and the bear shall feed; their young ones shall lie down together: and the lion shall eat straw like the ox.

And the sucking child shall play on the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put his hand in the cockatrice’s den.

They shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy mountain: for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea.

—Isaiah 11:6–9

March 19, 2:14
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Pyrenees Mountains, France

Jordan stood in the open meadow, as the helicopter’s engines whined down behind him. He took in a deep draw of the pine-scented breeze flowing down the tall mountain before him. Winter snow still frosted its granite pinnacle, while below verdant spring forest fringed its slopes, glowing in every shade of emerald under the afternoon sun.

“Got to say,” Jordan concluded, “crazy or not, this guy picked a beautiful patch of God’s green earth to make his home.”

Erin joined him, moving stiffly through the clover and grass. The fall through the roof in Prague had clearly taken its toll. She needed more time to heal—time they didn’t have. He looked at the sun, knowing they hoped to be out of these mountains before the sun set.

He glanced behind to his fellow teammates. The Sanguinists looked little better than Erin: Rhun moved awkwardly with his missing arm, Sophia had a slash across her face, and Christian’s long sleeves hid bandages.

The last member of their group appeared to be the strongest of the Sanguinists. Elizabeth had shed her religious garb for hiking boots, pants, and a knee-length black leather coat. She could easily be mistaken for some day hiker, eager to tackle this mountain. They had brought the countess along because of her past history with Hugh de Payens. They needed every advantage.

Including bringing along the team’s mascot.

Rhun had freed the lion from a crate in the back of the helicopter, and it gamboled across the field, chasing a blue butterfly. Jordan noted Rhun’s soft smile as he took in the carefree nature of the young lion, how it erased the lines of tension and pain that had marked the priest’s face during the flight. Jordan had never seen anything that made Rhun as relaxed as that big cat.

Christian finished securing the aircraft and headed over to them. “This is as close as we can get. According to Bernard, Hugh de Payens allows no modern vehicles past this point.”

It was a sobering reminder that they were in the middle of enemy territory.

The plan was for Christian to remain behind with the aircraft, both to guard against anyone tampering with the helicopter and to be close by if a quick evacuation off the mountain became necessary.

Erin stared up at the mountain, shadowing her eyes from the glare off the snowy peak. “Where do we go from here?”

Rhun pulled out a map, and they clustered around it. He tapped a point on the topographic map, a fair distance up the mountain, where a river coursed down its face, tumbling from the snowline into a series of pools and waterfalls.

“The exact location of Hugh’s hermitage is unknown, but Bernard believes it lies somewhere in this area. We’ll head there and hope for the best.”

“I wager this Monsieur de Payens already knows we’re here,” Elizabeth said. “Our arrival in the helicopter was not a quiet one.”

“That’s why we’re adhering to the Boy’s Scout motto,” Jordan said. “Be prepared.”

For anything
.

Jordan hiked the shoulder strap of his Heckler & Koch MP7 machine pistol higher on his shoulder. He also had a holstered Colt 1911 sidearm, loaded with silver ammunition, and a silver-plated dagger strapped to his ankle.

While Jordan took to heart the warning from Bernard—
no killing
—he didn’t want
turning the other cheek
to be his only option in a fight.

The others were equally armed. Erin had her own Colt 1911, and the Sanguinists had all manner of knives and blades sheathed on their bodies.

“Let’s move out,” Jordan said. “Before we burn any more sunlight.”

As a group, they marched across the meadow toward the tree line, led by their enthusiastic mascot. The chirping of birds greeted them when they entered the shadowy woods. Within yards, the beeches grew so thick that at times they had to turn sideways to pass between their gray trunks.

Here was definitely an old-growth forest, untouched for centuries.

Hugh had clearly protected his lands against any molestation.

As the canopy grew higher and the shadows thicker, there was no escaping the primeval feeling of the forest. It was as if they were traipsing through some natural cathedral.

It would also be easy to get lost.

The lion rubbed his chin against various tree trunks, as if leaving scent markings to help find their way back. Otherwise, the cub acted more like a kitten: kicking up leaf litter and bouncing through bushes. Still, when an owl hooted overhead, the lion jumped a foot in the air and landed in a rustle of leaves and cracking twigs.

The cat was plainly tense, too.

Or maybe he’s just picking up on our anxiety
.

They marched for a little over a mile, climbing over logs, and weaving through beeches and the occasional silver pines, never moving in a straight line for long. If they kept up this pace, they should reach the site on the map within the hour.

After another ten minutes, Jordan discovered an old deer trail.

Should be able to make even better time on it
.

“Over here,” he whispered, afraid to raise his voice—less because of any fear of alerting the enemy, and more out of a strange reverence for this forest.

They headed along it, moving more quickly now.

Then a twig snapped ahead and to the left of the trail, sounding as loud as a gunshot.

He pushed Erin behind him and turned toward the sound. The Sanguinists flanked him, while the lion stuck to Rhun’s legs, giving off a growling hiss.

Ten yards ahead, a giant shaggy dog bounded onto the trail and faced their group. Its black fur was more shadow than substance, the perfect camouflage for this forest.

Except for the unnatural crimson glow of its eyes.

A
blasphemare
.

The beast’s shoulders rose higher than Jordan’s hip. As it lowered its head and pulled back its ears, it revealed a long powerful neck and muscular body. It looked more bear than dog.

A well-fed bear.

Even its dark coat looked polished.

This was no stray animal.

Though it was freakishly large with a black coat, Jordan recognized the breed as a Great Pyrenees. Originally bred to herd sheep, they were usually gentle creatures, but they were fiercely protective of their masters and their territories.

Other shadows moved to either side of the trail, clearly letting themselves be seen.

He counted four more out there.

So a pack
.

The first order of business was getting Erin somewhere safe.

Jordan shifted slowly, interlacing his fingers. He turned to offer Erin a hike up. “Get into that tree,” he warned.

Erin didn’t bother with any false bravado and gave a quick nod. She planted her boot in his hand and pushed off him as he shoved her higher still. Reaching up, she snagged an overhanging limb of a stout beech tree, pulled herself up, then clambered higher.

Jordan never let his gaze leave the dogs.

The pack stirred, but didn’t approach.

Jordan swung his machine pistol to his shoulder, while knives and blades bristled from the Sanguinists, silver shining in the dappled shade.

After a long tense stretch, the pack began to move in unison, as if obeying some silent whistle. The first dog stalked down the trail, aiming for Jordan. The others split off, flanking toward the Sanguinists.

“Remember that we are not to harm them,” Rhun warned.

“Okay, I promise not to bite him
first
.” Jordan kept his machine pistol up, pointed straight at the snarling dog’s face.

Unimpressed by the threat, the pack leader stepped closer, panting out foul breath, its muzzle rippling up into a snarl.

Jordan’s finger tightened on the trigger.

He had a choice to make.

Kill it, wound it, or make peace with it
.