James Rollins - Blood Infernal

Apparently unimpressed, the dog advanced one stiff-legged step — then the cub lashed out, striking as fast a cobra, raking claws across the dog’s black nose. The pack leader yelped and backed away. Dark blood welled up from four ragged lines across its nose.

The cub shifted to stand before Jordan’s body. His snowy fur stood on end, and a deep growl rumbled from his chest. He lifted a threatening paw again, clearly ready to fight some more.

With a whimper, the dog turned and fled away, melting back into the shadows of the forest. The rest of the pack followed its example, breaking off from their various battles and vanishing away.

Erin clambered quickly out of the tree, falling next to Jordan, collapsing to her knees beside him. The cub stalked on the far side, looking equally scared. The cat leaned his small muzzle down and nudged Jordan’s face. A small flash flared between them, like a static-electric shock in a dark room, only this was distinctly golden, reminding her of the pair’s angelic nature.

C’mon, Jordan, you can heal from this .

She wiped at his neck with the cuff of her sleeve. The cub licked Jordan’s cheeks and forehead. Already the blood had stopped flowing. As she watched, the torn flesh began to knit together. The crimson tendrils that had spread outward from his tattoo and had encircled his neck grew thicker yet again, weaving through the damage, healing his flesh.

She touched his cheek with her fingertips. His skin felt impossibly hot. No one could survive long with a fever like that.

“Jordan.”

He opened his eyes, their hue as blue as a sky peeking between dark clouds.

She knew everything about those eyes — how the ring around the outside of his iris was a darker blue, like denim, but the rest of his iris was much lighter, with pale lines running through it like tiny rivers. Those eyes had laughed with her, cried with her, and promised her a future together. But now they looked at her as if she were a total stranger.

“Jordan?”

He groaned and pushed to a sitting position, one hand patting the cat absently. His other hand rose to touch his neck. Under the residual blood, the tattoo looked like a vine strangling a tree. Through the ripped sleeve of that same arm, she saw the damage there had healed, too. As she stared, a crimson tendril bloomed into a curlicue on the back of his hand.

Erin reached for that hand, but he pulled away from her and stood.

Rhun rushed up to them. “Is Jordan all right?”

Erin didn’t know how to answer that.

Elizabeth and Sophia joined Rhun. The Sanguinists looked roughed up, but not nearly as wounded as Jordan. Perhaps their dogs had been playing with them versus trying to rip out their throats.

Elizabeth frowned at the forest, straightening the shreds of her jacket sleeve. “Why did the dogs abandon their fight?”

Erin kept her gaze fixed to Jordan. “The cat … I think he scared them off.”

Rhun stroked the lion’s head, mumbling his thanks.

Erin shifted in front of Jordan, forcing him to look at her, gripping his strong shoulders. “Are you okay?”

He finally glanced down at her, blinked a few times, then nodded. His eyes focused on her, seeing her. He touched his neck, looking vaguely bewildered.

“I’m fine.”

She hugged him, squeezing him hard to her chest.

He was a moment slow in responding, but his arms finally wrapped around her, too. “I’m even better now,” he whispered to the top of her head.

She smiled into his chest, while also holding back a sob.

Elizabeth brushed leaves from her skirt, looking impatient.

Erin broke away, but she kept one hand in Jordan’s grip, doing her best to ignore the burn of his palm and fingers, fearful that he might not come back the next time.

She took a moment to rub the lion’s velvety ears, knowing who had truly saved Jordan’s life. “Thanks, little guy.”

In the distance, a dog howled out of the deeper forest, reminding them that they weren’t out of danger. Not even close.

“Time to go,” Jordan said. “If those dogs are retreating back home, we might be able to follow their tracks.”

“He’s right,” Rhun said. “If these beasts are the emissaries of Hugh de Payens, then perhaps they were sent to bring us to him.”

“Or they’re simply wild blasphemare who came to kill us,” Erin added bitterly.

But with no better plan, they set off with Rhun in the lead. His eyes watched the ground, likely picking out prints in the damp loam or noting snapped twigs. He would occasionally lift his nose, drawing in the scent of the cursed pack.

“At least we got our own personal bloodhound,” Jordan whispered beside her.

But where is Rhun taking us, what new horrors were on this mountain?

Rhun tracked through the forest, doing his best to ignore the throbbing ache of his stump. He took measure of those around him after the battle, knowing he would need to lean on them.

Now more than ever.

Elizabeth walked easily behind him, having sustained only a small wound on her hand. He had seen how swiftly she had fought against the blasphemare , a reminder of how fierce a warrior she was. Still, he sensed a reluctance from her to be here, an edgy impatience that was new. Like Jordan, she had grown withdrawn, her mind elsewhere. He had tried to question her about it on the flight, but she dismissed him.

Still, he sensed something had happened back at Castel Gandolfo, something that both angered her and worried her at the same time.

She was hiding something.

But aren’t we all?

Behind him, the leaves rustled as Erin and Jordan trod more heavily through the forest, unable to move as lightly as the Sanguinists. Rhun listened to the beat of Jordan’s heart, hearing again the undertone of a war drum. Whatever held him in its grip, it did not seem to frighten Jordan. Instead, it seemed to lend him strength and peace. The same could not be said of Erin, who could scarcely take her eyes from Jordan, evaluating him with every step, her heartbeat threaded with fear.

Trailing them, Sophia guarded their rear, her small form shadowing them like some elfin spirit. But Rhun knew the slight woman was as sharp as she was lithe, both deadly with her blades and quick to read an opponent’s weaknesses. Back in Prague, she had tangled with a grimwolf all by herself and lived to walk away. Few could make that claim.

Flanking Rhun to the left, the cub darted through the silvery-gray trunks of the beeches, as much on the scent of the blasphemare pack as Rhun was. The forest air was thick with their tainted smell, but oddly the rank odor did not set him on edge as it usually did.

Something is different about these creatures .

Clearly, the shade of the deep forest provided ample cover for the dogs, reminding Rhun how numerous such beasts were in the past, when the deep places of the forest remained dark even under the bright sun. Since his own mortal days, so many wild places had fallen before the axe and plow of civilization. And so many creatures, blasphemare and natural alike, had vanished with the trees.

The beech forest gradually gave way to silver pine as they climbed higher up the mountain. Somewhere to his left, a stream tumbled over rocks, smelling of snowmelt and ice. The sound of running water grew louder as they went, roaring up into what could only be a vast waterfall up ahead.

Finally, a glimmer of sunlight sparkled through the shadowy bower, drawing them forward. Rhun sensed the pack splitting off, melting back into the thicker trees, their duty apparently done.