Judging Judas (Tarnished Saints Series Book 3) (28 page)

She’d passed her trial month of being a postulant, and was already in training that would last a full year before she took her final vows. She had only nine months left until she would become a full-fledged nun.

She’d come from a noble and wealthy family, being one of the four daughters of the earl of Blackpool. And while her older two sisters, Ruby and Sapphire were married, her twin sister, Amethyst, still resided with her father at home in the castle.

But Amber had decided she would never be married to anyone but God. She would pay for the greed and deceit of her deceased mother who had tried to steal, and also the sins of killing a man and adultery committed by her older sisters. She would devote her life to prayer and helping the less fortunate. She hoped to bring about the grace and forgiveness for her family that was required in order to assure a successful place in God’s domain once they passed on.

“He’s hurt,” said Amber, hurrying across the room towards the man, her instinctive nature to help and serve winning over her fear. She never made it to the man. Father Armand’s arm reached out to block her, his prayer book dropping to the ground in the process at her feet.

“He’s dangerous. Stay away from him,” the priest warned.

“Sister Amber, come join us quickly,” called out the abbess from the other side of the church.

“But ’tis our duty to help the sick and wounded. And to take in travelers on their journey as they pass through.” She bent down to pick up the priest’s prayer book, and from her position she could see the stranger’s face clearly.

Lucifer’s chin was raised slightly, though his body was still bent over and his hand pushed upon his wound to try to stop the flow of blood. His eyes were angry yet captivating at the same time, as they were birdlike, and the lightest blue she’d ever seen. And also the most dangerous. His face held the look of a man gone mad, and his gaze was locked directly on her. She was too frightened to move, and in the same moment, too intrigued to look away. She was staring into the eyes of the devil and she oddly found herself mesmerized by this man though she didn’t understand why.

Excerpt from
Curse of the Condor
:

Conrado Nievez pulled his hat lower upon his head as he made his way through the streets of Iquitos, Peru. He felt the shadow of the condor falling upon him and didn't need to look up to know it sat in a dead tree directly above his head.

El Condor
was the name he'd been given by the Jivaro tribe who raised him from a child in the jungle. Though he was born a
mestizo,
of both Peruvian and American blood, he felt he had the Jivaro blood running through his veins. The condor following him around somehow proved it.

It had been three months now since he'd set foot outside the density of the rain forest and come for supplies. He'd lived in hell and as a loner these past few months, just him and the demons in his head haunting him for what he'd done. That is, the demons and the bird of the dead that kept showing up every time there was going to be trouble. The Jivaro respected and revered the bird, but Conrado only considered it a curse.

He wasn’t in a hurry to have anyone recognize him. After all, he was a wanted man now. He figured if the authorities couldn't find him, it'd prolong his life long enough to allow him to figure out just what happened the night his friend, Ryder Fitzgerald, died from a wound caused by the poisoned dart of a blowgun.

His blowgun.

The blowgun the missionaries had found still in Conrado’s tight grip when he awoke to find his best friend dead.

He'd seen the condor earlier that terrible day, circling above their heads as he guided Ryder and two other missionaries down the waters of the Amazon on their way to the Jivaro camp. He never should have let Ryder convince him to take them into Jivaro territory. The Jivaro didn't have much contact with the outside world, and he should have just left it that way.

He should have known better than to take a
gringo
into such dangerous lands. He'd been warned by the condor in his dreams not to get involved with Ryder's mission, but yet he ignored it at the pleas of his friend, and instead served as guide and mentor.

He drank more
chicha
than he should have that night, and argued with Ryder. He cursed himself for falling into a drunken stupor before he resolved the issue. And when he awoke to find his dart in Ryder's neck and the blowgun still in his own hand, he knew the condor had been delivering a message.

The bird of death. That’s the way Conrado saw it.

Conrado pushed the memories from his head as he felt a shiver run the course of his body. He looked up and saw the condor spread its wings in flight, circling once above his head before heading off for the highlands where it belonged. This meant trouble, and Conrado only wanted to get far away from the village before he was involved. The boys he'd hired to load his boat should be finished by now. He couldn't wait to get aboard and disappear into the jungle where he was safe. Safe from the authorities, but never from himself.

He pulled his poncho around himself, knowing it was much too warm to wear it, but wanting to hide the condor tattoo that was etched upon his upper arm. He made it to the water without anyone stopping him, and was just stepping into his dugout canoe when a woman's voice caught his attention.

“¿Puede usted ayudarme?
” she said, mispronouncing the Spanish words.

Another blasted tourist. He turned to see the bl
onde leaning over a small guidebook to speaking Spanish. The men of the village crowded around her curiously. Conrado knew this
gringa
was either severely stupid, or extremely brave to come to Iquitos by herself, as he didn't see any other Americans with her. She stuck out like a sore thumb.

She donned a big floppy hat that half-hid her face, and dark sunglasses that kept him from seeing her eyes. She daringly exposed more of her pale skin than she should have to the equator's hot sun with the shorts, tank top, and sandals she wore.  A huge straw purse hung on her shoulder, and two suitcases rested at her feet.

"I need a guide to take me into the jungle," she pronounced the words loudly and slowly as if that would make her meaning more comprehensible to the villagers. Then she flipped through the book again and found the word for guide. "
Guía
," she said with a smile of satisfaction, then pointed toward the jungle which gave every man there a good look at her lacy bra through the huge arm holes of her oversized tank top.

Conrado almost laughed. She deserved exactly what she got.

"I want to go see the . . . " she paused a moment and dug a sheet of paper out of her huge purse. "Jee-var-roe tribe," she read off, pronouncing it like an American would with the sound of the j instead of h.

Conrado stopped in his tracks. What would an American want with the aggressive Jivaro? He figured he'd better stick around a moment or two to hear more.

"No tourists to see Jivaro," a villager told her in broken English.

"Oh, good, you speak English," she said slapping the book shut and slipping it into her straw purse. "When can we leave?"

"No take you to Jivaro," he told her again, but she wouldn't let up.

"I have to go there," she said and reached into her open-topped purse and pulled out a fistful of American paper money. "I'll pay someone to take me."

What was she doing? Conrado shook his head at the way she foolishly displayed her money, and wasn't surprised when some of the children of the village jumped up and grabbed it and ran off. These people were very poor, and he couldn’t blame them for taking what she more or less offered.

"Come back here," she shouted, but it was too late. All hell broke loose as the children showed their friends, and they too ran over to beg for money. One small boy picked up her suitcase, meaning to help, but when it popped open and clothes were spewed through the air, the children excitedly grabbed for the contents. Little girls held up fancy bras and panties, and the boys waved panty hose over their heads and let them fly behind them as they ran barefoot through the dusty streets.

The woman stood there open-mouthed, her body frozen. Then she shook her head as realization hit her, and went after her belongings. She pulled on one end of a long skirt with three children gripping the other in what they thought was a game of tug-o-war. It ripped down the middle and the woman fell on her rump. She screamed as the rest of her belongings disappeared.

The men congregating around laughed in amusement, and the women rounded up their children, disappearing into open doorways. The American woman picked up a stray shoe and threw it after the last of the stragglers.

"No! Stop. Somebody help me," she called, but the villagers ignored her and went on with their own business of the day.

Conrado let out a breath and shook his head. He watched the woman pull her hat from her head along with her sunglasses and throw them to the ground in disgust. Two toddlers who weren't lucky enough to get anything, approached carefully looking at the items.

"Go ahead," she sighed, and motioned with her hand. "Take them. You may as well. I've already lost everything else I own.” With that, they picked up the remaining of her belongings and disappeared down the street. The woman sat down on a log, clutching her straw purse to her chest and buried her face in her hands. Her body jerked with each sob.

"Damn,” he cursed and hopped out of the canoe. He noticed the condor up high in the sky and knew he shouldn't come to the woman’s aid, but he couldn't just leave her there. By nightfall the woman was sure to be in hysterics, not to mention danger in a foreign land all by herself and dressed so scantily.