James Rollins - Blood Infernal

“That doesn’t mean he wants to watch her die.” She took Jordan’s hand, dropping her voice, knowing that Rhun could likely hear them, even from across the nave. “I wish there was something we could do.”

“For who? Rhun or Elizabeth? Remember, she asked to be turned into a strigoi . Something tells me she calculated the angles before she agreed to convert. I say we let the chips fall where they may.”

Erin leaned against Jordan’s side, noticing again his burning heat. He shifted away from her. It was a slight movement, but unmistakable.

“Jordan?” she started, ready to confront her own fears. “What happened to you in Cumae?”

“I already told you.”

“Not about the attack. You’re still burning up… and… and you seem different .”

That word barely described what she felt.

Jordan sounded faraway. “I don’t know what’s happening. All I know — and this is going to sound strange — but I feel like what has changed in me is leading me down a good path, a path I must follow.”

“What path?” Erin swallowed.

And can I come with you?

Before he could answer, Rhun appeared at the end of their pew. “Could I trouble you for the time, Jordan?”

Jordan took his hand from hers to check his wristwatch. “Half past eleven.”

Rhun held his pectoral cross, staring toward the stairwell in the north transept that led below, plainly distraught. The ceremony was to begin at midnight.

Erin stood up, drawn by his anguish. She wasn’t going to get anything more concrete out of Jordan. Maybe he didn’t know more than he had already told her, or maybe he just didn’t want to tell her. Either way, she wasn’t doing any good sitting here.

She joined Rhun. “Jordan’s right, you know.”

Rhun turned his face toward her. “About what?”

“Elizabeth is an intelligent woman. She wouldn’t agree to convert unless she thought that she stood a good chance of surviving the transformation.”

Rhun sighed. “She thinks that the process is complex, that it leaves room for doubt and error, but it does not. I’ve attended many of these ceremonies in the past. I’ve seen many… succumb when they drink the wine. She cannot trick her way through it.”

He set off again to pace, but Erin kept to his side.

“Maybe she’s changed,” she offered, not truly believing it but knowing Rhun wanted to.

“It is her only hope.”

“She’s stronger than you give her credit for.”

“I pray you are right, because I—” Rhun’s voice broke, and he swallowed before speaking. “I cannot bear to watch her die again.”

Erin reached over and took his cold hand. His fingertips were red, blistered from the silver of his rosary beads. He stopped and looked into her eyes. The suffering in those dark eyes was hard to face, but she didn’t look away.

He leaned toward her, and she instinctively took him in her arms. For the space of a breath, he relaxed against her and let her hold his cold, hard form. Over his shoulder, she saw Jordan watching them. Knowing how he felt about Rhun, she expected him to be jealous, but he stared past her, clearly lost in his own world, a world where she seemed to be losing her place.

Rhun broke free of their embrace, touching her shoulder gently. The simple gesture conveyed his gratitude to her. Even in his anguish, he was more aware of her than Jordan.

They returned down the nave silently until they reached Jordan.

He glanced over at them, looking infuriatingly calm. “It’s almost time,” he said before Rhun could ask. “Will you be with Elizabeth when she takes the wine?”

“I cannot,” Rhun said, his voice dropping even lower. “I cannot.”

“Are you not allowed to be there?” Jordan asked.

His guilty silence was answer enough.

Erin touched Rhun’s arm. “You must be there.”

“She will live or die regardless of my presence, and I cannot watch if… if…”

He sagged beside her.

“She’s frightened, Rhun,” Erin said. “No matter how she tries to hide it. There’s a chance that these could be her last moments on earth, and you’re the only one left in the world who truly loves her. You can’t leave her alone.”

“Maybe you are right. If I had let her live out her life as God intended, she would not be suffering this fate now. Perhaps it is my duty—”

Erin squeezed his arm. It felt like clutching a marble statue, but there was a wounded heart somewhere deep inside. “Don’t go out of a sense of duty,” she urged. “Go because you love her.”

Rhun bowed his head, but he still looked undecided. He turned and started on another circuit of the nave. She let him go alone this time, knowing he needed to ponder her words, to make up his mind.

She blew out a breath and sat next to Jordan again. “If we were in this position, would you let me drink the wine alone?”

He lifted her chin with a finger to face him. “I’d break your ass out of here before it got to that.”

She grinned back at him, enjoying this moment, but it didn’t last.

Christian appeared from the entrance of the basilica and crossed down the aisle toward them. He carried a flat box that smelled like meat, cheese, and tomatoes. His other hand held two brown bottles.

“Pizza and beer,” Jordan said. “You’re a dream come true.”

“Remember that when calculating my tip.” Christian handed him the box.

Rhun returned to them, suspecting Christian came with more than just a late dinner.

The young Sanguinist nodded to Rhun. “It’s time. But you don’t have to be present. I understand how painful that might be.”

“I shall go.” He gave Erin a long look. “Thank you for reminding me why, Erin.”

She bowed her head, acknowledging his words, wishing she could go with him, to be there for him if the countess didn’t survive.

Rhun turned away and headed off to face what was to come, to share it with Elizabeth.

Their two fates forever entwined.

Elizabeth stood again in the silver chapel where she had died and been born again. Someone had cleaned her blood from the floor and walls. The room smelled of incense and stone and lemons. Fresh beeswax candles had been lit on the altar.

It was as if nothing had ever happened.

She stared up at the bright mosaic of Lazarus overhead. He had done what she would soon attempt, and he had survived. But he had loved Christ.

She did not.

She ran her palm over her black garments, the uniform of a lowly nun. A silver rosary had been tied around her waist, and a pectoral cross hung from her neck. Both objects burned even through the thick cloth. She felt like she had donned a costume, one she might wear to a ball.

But that wasn’t her only masquerade.

Keeping still so that no one would know how she truly felt, Elizabeth reveled at the strength inside. The cardinal had fed deeply on her and had offered little of his own blood in return, not enough to sustain her. Even worse, her sensible shoes stood on holy ground, a place that should have weakened her even further.

But she felt strong — stronger, perhaps, than she ever had.

Something has changed in the world .

Eight Sanguinists shared the chapel with her, watching her, judging her. But she only noted one. Rhun had come to participate in this rite, standing next to her. She was surprised how deeply this gesture struck her.

He stepped closer, his words a faint whisper. “Do you have faith, Elisabeta? Faith enough to survive this.”

Elizabeth looked up into Rhun’s concerned eyes. For centuries, he wanted nothing more than for her to battle the evil inside her, to devote herself to a joyless existence serving a church she had never trusted. She wanted to comfort him, to reassure him, but she would not lie to him, not when this might be their last moment together.