James Rollins - Blood Infernal

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.

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.