James Rollins - The Blood Gospel

The grimwolf barked up the shaft.

The sound bounced off the stone, as if a pack of hellhounds were coming to get them.

Nate slipped.

Erin braced herself hard against both sides of the slot.

No use.

The impact of his body knocked her loose. She and Nate hurtled downward. Her head and arms glanced off the sides as she tried to slow them.

Then she dropped through empty air, Nate on top of her.

Her back struck not stone, but a figure that crashed to the floor underneath her.

She tried to push Nate off to roll free, but he was too heavy.

A woman snarled Slavic-sounding curses and with sharp elbows drove Erin to the side. Erin rolled off Bathory with no small amount of grim satisfaction.

A hulking strigoi picked Erin up in his left hand, Nate in his right. He must have been seven feet tall, bald, with beady eyes. He was dark-skinned, for a strigoi , and wore dirty cargo pants with a stained white T-shirt. The shirt hugged the contours of his muscular chest. He definitely didn’t have a weapon on his upper body. She looked lower. A dagger in a leather sheath was strapped to his waistband.

He tossed Nate against the wall, then reached a hand down to Bathory.

And stopped.

He jerked his hand back.

Blood was seeping from a wound in Bathory’s arm. A dirty white bandage had slid down to her elbow. Erin must have knocked it off when she hit her. Stitches had pulled out of a cut across her triceps. Blood trickled down her arm. Bathory glanced down and swore, then yanked the bandage up. It slid back down.

The grimwolf nuzzled her leg and whimpered.

“Back.” Bathory pushed the wolf away roughly, almost frantically. “Magor, stay away.”

The creature retreated a pace and sat.

Erin’s eyes narrowed. Interesting .

Bathory struggled to her feet unaided. A drop of blood fell from her arm to the floor. The color looked strange, but Erin couldn’t bend to look closer because the strigoi held her arm fast.

“You are an enterprising one.” Bathory dusted off her pants.

“The first duty of any prisoner is to escape,” Erin said.

With wide eyes, the strigoi stared at Bathory’s wounded arm.

Erin had never seen a strigoi react to blood with fear rather than excitement. Clearly, injuring Bathory was a bad thing to do.

“I shall get my wound seen to.” Bathory picked up her flashlight. “And return.”

What would happen then?

Bathory turned to the strigoi who was holding Erin. “Mihir, stay and watch them. Don’t let them even think of escaping.”

Mihir bowed his head.

Bathory whistled for the grimwolf and headed down the tunnel. Another strigoi waited outside. He closed the door and tugged on the bars, probably to make sure that it was locked before following Bathory.

Erin was trapped in the cell again, but this time with an angry strigoi for a roommate. He tossed her to the side, and she twisted to keep from landing on Nate.

Mihir played his flashlight up the shaft and along the slot from which Erin and Nate had just fallen.

Erin bent over Nate. “You okay?”

His eyelids fluttered open. “This is the worst dig ever.”

She smiled. “When we get out of this, I promise to write you one hell of a recommendation.”

Mihir walked over, giving the single drop of Bathory’s blood on the floor a wide berth. He loomed over them. “No more talking.”

His eyes lingered on the fresh blood that oozed down Erin’s neck. She, too, had torn open her wounds in the fall. She could see the hunger rise in his eyes.

She clenched her jaw. She would not be afraid. Her heart ignored her comforting words and raced. Afraid or not, she would use his bloodlust for her own advantage.

Instead of shrinking back like she wanted to, she stepped toward Mihir, tilting her neck to the side, knowing that he could smell the blood, hear the frightened heartbeat behind it. Rhun had barely been able to restrain himself when faced with flowing blood. Surely Mihir was weaker than the priest.

His eyes stayed locked on her neck, and his breathing roughened. She kept her left hand low. She would have only one chance—if she was lucky.

Mihir licked his lips, but he held back.

He needed a better invitation. Steeling herself, she dragged her fingers across her wounded throat. Never taking her eyes off his, she brushed her bloody fingertips across his lips.

Lightning-fast, Mihir reached a hand for her throat. Nate called out a warning, drawing the monster’s attention for a flicker.

A flicker was long enough.

Erin dropped to one knee, jerked the strigoi ’s dagger from its belt sheath, and drove it under his sternum.

He staggered forward. Blood spread across his shirt.

Nate pushed past her. He wrenched the knife from Mihir’s body and, in one quick movement, slashed it across the strigoi ’s throat. Mihir collapsed to the floor, dark lifeblood spurting wet across the stone. A puff of smoke rose in the air when his blood touched the drop of Bathory’s.

Nate stood over him with the weapon, shaking from head to toe.

Mihir’s eyes went glassy and dead. Blood pooled around him.

“Nate?”

He spun on her, knife high.

“Nate,” she said soothingly. “It’s me.”

He lowered the dagger. “Sorry. What he did to me … with his teeth …”

“I know,” she said. She didn’t know, not really, but Nate needed to hear the words. “Let’s get up the shaft before that witch comes back.”

This time she took the lead, playing the beam of Mihir’s flashlight along the walls. Nate tucked the bloody knife into his waistband and followed with greater strength than before, apparently fueled by the adrenaline from the battle.

Erin shone the light straight up. The shaft didn’t lead to the arena, as she’d hoped. It ended in what looked like a metal plate, trapping them inside. They couldn’t climb straight out.

She sagged back against the wall, catching herself before she slipped onto Nate.

Then she checked the walls of the shaft and her eyes lit upon a secondary shaft that opened off the side. It had probably housed a second tier of animal cages. It might lead somewhere.

And even that slim hope was better than staying here.

“Nate!” she called, and pointed the beam toward the secondary shaft. “Look!”

He smiled. “Let’s get going.”

With proper illumination and renewed determination, they chimneyed up the vertical slot and reached the side passageway. It was more like a small anteroom than a cross shaft.

She played her light around the cell. Bars had once sealed the way out, but now only piles of rust and the stumps of rods remained.

Erin climbed over them into the next passageway.

She squinted and covered her hand over the flashlight to darken the way.

Far ahead, a thin line of pale yellow light beckoned.

A way out.

56

October 28, 4:30 P.M., CET

Vatican City, Italy

Cardinal Bernard swept through the halls of the Apostolic Palace like a thundercloud.

Rhun followed, herded by a cadre of Swiss Guards with their weapons drawn. Nadia walked on his left, seemingly unconcerned; Jordan tromped on his right, looking more angry than worried. Rhun was grateful to have them both beside him.

Cardinal Bernard’s straight back conveyed his wrath. His scarlet cassock twitched behind him. He was no doubt furious that Nadia had lied to him about Rhun’s death.

Rhun looked back at the line of Swiss Guardsmen. At the tail end marched Father Ambrose, not bothering to hide his gleeful smirk.

With Nadia’s help, Rhun could have easily overpowered them all, but he had no wish to escape. He wanted to make Bernard understand what had happened and to enlist his aid in recovering Erin and the book. He prayed that there was still time.