James Rollins - Innocent Blood

She had to get Nate out of here.

A ripping, splintering sound erupted to their left. Nate swung the flashlight toward the noise. Four hooked claws shredded through the thick redwood wall. Panicked, Nate fired the Glock at it.

The claws vanished, followed by another yowl, sounding angrier.

“I think you pissed it off,” Jordan said.

“Sorry,” Nate said.

“No worries. If you hadn’t fired, I would’ve.”

The cat bowled into the same wall, shaking the rafters, as if trying to break inside.

“Time to go,” Christian said and pointed to the door ahead. “I’ll exit first, try to draw it off, and you follow in a count of ten. Make straight for Erin’s Land Rover and get moving.”

“What about you?” Jordan asked.

“If I’m lucky, pick me up. If not, leave me.”

Before anyone could argue, Christian covered the distance to the door in a breath. He grabbed a handle and shoved open the front doors. In front of him stretched an expanse of dust and grass. In the distance stood her beat-up Land Rover and the shiny Lincoln town car. Both looked much farther away than when she had ridden up on Blackjack a moment ago.

Christian stepped into the night, illuminated by a lamp over the door. A flash of silver showed that he’d drawn a blade, then he vanished to the left.

Jordan kept his gun up, plainly starting a countdown in his head.

Erin turned away, remembering Blackjack. She hurried along the line of six stalls and began releasing the catches, swinging the doors open. She wouldn’t leave the horses trapped in here to die as Blackjack had. They deserved a chance to run.

Already frightened, the horses thundered out of the stalls and swept between Jordan and Nate. Gunsmoke followed last. Nate ran his fingers along the mare’s sweating flanks as the horse raced by, as if longing to accompany her. Reaching the door, the horses fled out into the night.

“That’s a ten count,” Jordan said and waved his free arm toward the open door.

The three of them rushed forward, following the dust-stirred trail of the horses out into the yard. Jordan kept to their left, pointing his gun in the direction Christian had vanished.

As Erin sprinted with Nate toward the Land Rover, motion drew her attention back to the stable. From around the far corner, Christian came tumbling back into the yard, landing in a crouch.

From that same corner, a monstrous beast stalked into view.

Erin gaped at the sight.

Nate tripped, crashing down to one knee.

The cougar padded into the yard, its tail lashing back and forth. It stretched nine feet, well over three hundred pounds of muscle, claws, and teeth. Tall, tufted ears swiveled, taking in every sound. Red-gold eyes shone in the darkness. But the most striking feature was its ghostly gray pelt, like a shred of fog made flesh.

“Go,” Jordan urged, seeing her slow to help Nate. “I got him.”

But who has you?

She stayed with them, keeping her Colt high.

Across the yard, the beast snarled at Christian, revealing long fangs — then lunged. But it was a feint. It jumped past the Sanguinist chaplain and headed straight for them.

By now, Jordan had Nate back on his feet, but the two men would never get out of the way in time. Standing her ground in front of them, she squeezed off a shot. The bullet struck the animal on the forehead, but it merely shook its head and kept coming.

She kept firing as it barreled toward her.

She couldn’t run, not until Nate was safe.

She squeezed the trigger over and over again — until finally the Colt’s slide locked back. Out of bullets.

The cat bunched its back legs and bounded across the last of the distance.

Rhun’s muscles stiffened with terror.

She’s in danger…

He pictured wisps of blond hair and amber eyes. The scent of lavender filled his nostrils. Pain kept her name from him, leaving him only need and desire.

Must reach her…

As panic thrummed through his body, he thrashed over onto his stomach in the burning wine, fighting through the agony, trying to think, to hold one thought in his head.

He could not let her die.

He pushed himself onto his hands and knees and braced his back against the stone lid of the sarcophagus. Gathering his faith, his strength, and his fear, he pushed against the marble slab.

Stone grated on stone as the lid shifted. A mere finger’s breadth, but it moved.

He gritted his teeth and pushed again, straining, tearing his robe. The silver inlaid into the marble slab above branded his exposed back. He smelled his skin burning, felt his blood flowing.

Still, he strained with every last fiber of muscle, bone, and will.

His existence became one agonizing note of desire.

To save her.

Jordan bowled into Erin, sweeping her legs out from under her.

As she crashed onto her back, the blasphemare cat sailed over them both. A back paw slammed near Jordan’s head, knocking up dust. The cougar spun around, hissing a scream of thwarted desire.

Still on the ground, Jordan rolled to a shoulder and pointed his Heckler & Koch machine pistol and fired on full automatic. He blazed a trail along its flank as it turned, stripping tufts of fur, drawing some blood, but not much.

He emptied his entire forty-round box magazine in less than three seconds.

And only succeeded in pissing off the cat.

The cougar faced them, crouched low, claws dug deep into the hard clay. It growled, hissing like a steam engine.

Jordan repositioned his empty weapon, ready to go caveman and use it as a club.

Then in a flash of blue, a small shape landed atop the creature’s head. A silver knife slashed through its ear. Dark blood oozed out. The cat yowled, rolling, twisting its head, trying to reach Christian.

But the Sanguinist was fast, sliding off the rear of the cat, dodging the tail.

“Get to the Rover!” Christian yelled, ducking as a hind paw kicked at him and slashed the air with razor claws.

Jordan hauled Erin to her feet and sprinted toward the Land Rover.

Ahead, Nate had already reached the SUV and pulled open both the driver’s door and the rear door — then climbed into the backseat.

Good man.

Jordan raced alongside Erin. Once they reached the Rover, he dove into the driver’s seat at the same time she lunged into the back to join Nate. Both doors slammed in unison.

Erin reached over the seat back and slapped cold keys into his open, waiting palm.

He grinned savagely. They made a good team — now to make sure that team stayed alive. He keyed the ignition, gunned the engine, and sped in reverse, fishtailing to the side.

As he swung around, his headlamps found the cougar. Its ghost-gray pelt glowed in the light. The cat turned toward the car like a churning storm cloud, squinting its red-gold eyes against the glare.

Christian stood a few paces behind it.

The cougar growled and bounded toward the Land Rover, drawn by the sound and motion.

Typical cat…

Jordan sped away in reverse, trying to keep the light in the cat’s eyes.

Momentarily free, Christian sprinted for his black sedan.

The cat gained on them, running full tilt. Jordan feared the beast could easily outrun them on these country roads. Proving this, the beast leaped and crashed its front half onto the hood. Claws tore through the metal. A heavy paw batted at the windshield. Cracks splintered across the glass.

Another blow like that, and it would be in the front seat.

Then a car horn blasted loudly, incessantly.

Howling at the sudden noise, the cougar bounded off the hood like a startled tabby. It landed, twisting to face the new challenge, its ears flattened in fury.