Blood Infernal: The Order of the Sanguines Series (54 page)

March 20, 12:14
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Tsum Valley, Nepal

Erin hovered at the edge of oblivion. Though her eyes were open, she saw only shadows now. Still, she could make out a silhouette of Rhun’s face against a fiery backdrop. Past his shoulders, the blaze of the fading eclipse pierced those shadows, but even that fire was slowly being wiped away by a rising tide of black mists from the lake, a darkness that if unchecked would grow to consume this world.

She had no arguments left to convince Rhun, no breath to speak them, but her mind ran with them anyway.

She knew this battle had played out a hundred times before. Even if the others succeeded in rebinding Lucifer’s chains, this would not end.

What was forged could be shattered again
.

She knew there was only one path to truly end this.

Lucifer must be redeemed
.

Erin stared up at Rhun, trying to get him to search her face for that truth, to accept what must be done.

Don’t let my death mean nothing. Free me, so I may do what I must
.

Instead, Rhun pressed his cold lips gently on her forehead. She wished it was Jordan who kissed her now, who held her now. But Jordan couldn’t do what had to be done. Only Rhun could.

Please . . .

As Rhun straightened, stroking the hair back from her brow, she used the last of her strength to let her plea shine in her dimming eyes.

Tears ran down Rhun’s cheeks. He shook his head, as if he indeed knew what she was thinking. She could read him just as readily, knowing the scripture that likely held him back from acting, from stripping her soul:
For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?

She tried to get him to understand.

I am not gaining the world . . . I’m saving it
.

She let that shine from her.

Rhun drew her closer to him, gazing deep inside her. She saw for the first time that his eyes weren’t black. They were dark brown and threaded with cinnamon-colored lines, like the bark of a redwood tree, vibrantly alive in his pale face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to her.

His lips brushed softly against hers, like a cold breeze from the mountains.

She let her eyes close, defeated.

Then those lips lowered to her neck and sharp teeth bit deep into her flesh.

The little blood left inside her surged out in a single blissful wave.

Thank you, Rhun
.

12:15
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Rhun took great care, knowing death shadowed Erin’s heart. As he drew those last embers of life from her cooling body, he ignored the surge of ecstasy and focused instead on the erratic final beats of her heart. He needed enough blood of hers in order to transform her, but not so much to kill her.

A moment ago, he had read the determination in Erin’s eyes, saw the knowledge there, the certainty—but most of all, he witnessed the love, that bottomless well of compassion in her heart, not just for Jordan, not just for him.

For everyone.

To save all, she was willing to sacrifice herself.

And had not Christ made that same decision in the Garden of Gethsemane and upon the cross?

How could I not honor her choice now?

He felt her go slack under him and withdrew his teeth from her flesh, his lips from her skin. He stared down, still cradled against him, a woman he loved so very dearly in turn.

Even now he hesitated, knowing what he must do next, yet terrified of it.

Both for his sake and her own.

Then he heard a heavy thump of her heart, the last of her life demanding him to act.

He slashed with his
karambit
, slicing the silver deep into his throat. As his dark blood flooded forth, he dropped his blade, cupped the back of her head, and drew her mouth to that black font. He let his blood pour between her slack lips, down her open throat. She was too gone to swallow on her own, but he held her there, waiting, praying.

He stared up at the dark sky, watching the sun die again, consumed not by the moon, but by the dread smoke rising from the lake, through the very gates of Hell.

Then he felt a surge of hope—as soft lips firmed upon his flesh and began to drink, drawing him into a crimson bliss.

Still, cold tears ran down his face.

What have I done?

12:16
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Erin woke to cold blood in her mouth, tasting of salt and silver. She swallowed strength with each sip. More blood followed, awakening a dark passion inside her. Fingers rose to grasp Rhun by the hair, to pull him closer. Her tongue probed and stirred a heavier flow. She drank like she once breathed, in great gulps, as if she had been drowning and finally reached air.

It was life as much as it was death.

And it was ecstasy.

Her body screamed for more, her arms clasped harder to Rhun, as if to pull him inside her, to draw everything out of him. She flashed to that intimate moment in the chapel when she had bathed him with her blood. It paled before this crimson rapture, as two fully became one.

She felt him harden against her, rolling atop her, crushing her under him.

Yes . . .

But it was still not enough.

She wanted
all
of him.

Her teeth now tore into his neck, demanding, accepting no refusal.

But then iron fingers snagged her hair and pulled her lips and teeth away from that blissful font. She struggled against it, straining to reach that throat, but Rhun was much stronger.

“No . . .” he gasped out and rolled off her.

Cold air blew between them, and she wanted to weep with loneliness. She craved that intimacy, that connection, almost as much as his blood. Her tongue licked her lips, searching for an ember of that rapture.

Rhun covered his throat with his hand. “Wine,” he croaked hoarsely.

Her sensibilities slowly returned, along with the fear that she had drunk too deeply from him. She stripped the silver flask from his thigh, uncapped it, and poured it over his lips. The silver burned her fingertips, but she held it steady, gasping as drops of wine spattered her hand, as fiery as acid.

That fire burned the truth into her.

I am
strigoi.

Rhun swallowed convulsively, finishing the last of the flask, then knocking it aside. He stood shakily and pulled her to her feet next to him.

She rose into her new body, accepting it. Her senses expanded in an amazing manner. She heard every noise, felt every breeze, every scent was a symphony. The darkness seemed to shine around her. The malevolence wafting from the lake drew her, called to her.

But that was not all.

Hunger spiked inside her, drawing her gaze across the lake, to a heavy booming in her ears. A heartbeat. Marking the only human left in the valley.

She wanted, needed it, longing for the heat it promised, for the blood it pumped, craving to slake that gnawing hunger inside her. She felt the source drawing nearer, coming slowly toward her.

She took a step to meet it, but Rhun stopped her.

“It is Jordan,” he told her.

She blinked at the name, remembering, taking an impossibly long time to let warmer memories calm that craving to a dull ache. Still, it would not go fully away. She was not safe around him, especially not now, maybe not ever.

Rhun clamped his hand on her wrist. “You must fight it.”

She was not sure she could, finally coming to understand Rhun’s struggle.

Without a free arm, Rhun nudged the Blood Gospel closer to her with the toe of his boot, pushing it ignobly through the snow. Erin was still archaeologist enough to instinctively reach down and pluck the ancient artifact out of the snow before it was damaged. But as soon as her fingers touched that worn leather cover, golden light burst forth, washing over her, dimming the worst of her craving.

She straightened, noting how even Jordan’s heartbeat grew muffled.

She searched along the shoreline, longing filling her anew, not for Jordan’s blood—but for the man she loved.

“We must go,” Rhun urged.

She allowed him to gently guide her through that fiery veil, letting her old life burn away behind her.

12:17
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As Jordan lurched along the shoreline, he clutched a fist against the wound in his belly. He was unsure if he was healing. He feared he had cast most of his angelic essence, along with his blood, into that demon. Still, an ember of fire burned in his belly, suggesting some dregs remained, but he felt even that fading fast.

Still, he kept marching onward. His other hand dragged Legion’s black sword behind him, still dripping with the demon’s blood. He continued through the damnable fog as it smoked out of the broken piece of the gate behind him. After slaying Legion, he had fled the worst of that gibbering, maddening horde, as they gathered in those mists, greeting the larger abominations that slowly slouched into this world.

Let them . . . as long as they leave me alone
.

He followed the only path open to him, sticking to the bank of the lake, cautious of the two remaining planes of the pyramid that still blazed across the ice.

Farther out, the cone of Lucifer’s white light continued to shine, but even through the black mists, Jordan knew the purity of that white light was dissipating. With the gateway broken, it would only be a matter of time before that dark angel broke free.

When that happened, Jordan was determined to be at Erin’s side, if only to hold her cold body one last time. Still, a glimmer of hope remained inside him, driving him forward, one hard step after another.

Maybe she’s still alive . . . maybe I can kiss her one last time
.

Finally, a ruddy glow appeared through the mists. As he drew closer, he saw it was the fiery sphere around the
Sanguis
pillar. He stumbled out of the worst of the mists and hurried forward—only to find that sphere empty.

She was gone.

He leaned on the sword and searched around, realizing he was not entirely alone.

The lion cub waited at the edge of the lake, his gaze fixed on the ice. Jordan limped over to him, following that intent stare.

Two figures moved out there.

Rhun . . .
and Erin
.

She marched alongside the Sanguinist, clutching the Blood Gospel in her arms. The glow of the book cast them both in a golden light.

He wanted to cry with joy, to run to her side, but all he could do was fall to his knees at the edge of the lake, knowing he could not cross this outer plane of the fiery pyramid. He struggled to understand how she still lived, how she got through that barrier.

Had the book healed her, had its glow allowed her to pierce that fiery veil?

“Erin!” he shouted, wanting if nothing else to see her face again.

She heard him and turned.

The lower half of her face was covered in black blood. She spotted him, but there was no joy in her eyes, only sorrow. Rhun glanced back, exposing the wound on his own throat.

Jordan knew the truth. It was not the book that had healed her; it was not the glow that had let her pass the barrier unharmed.

I’ve lost her
.

Rhun touched Erin’s arm, and with one last desolate look, she turned away.

“She is gone,” a voice spoke behind him. It was Elizabeth, soaked in blood, most of it her own.

Jordan glanced toward the fiery blue pillar on that side, where Elizabeth had been guarding the
Aqua
stone. It still blazed strongly.

“I was driven away,” Elizabeth explained. “Some massive beast, churning with tentacles . . .”

Jordan didn’t care. He returned his attention to Erin.

Elizabeth confirmed his worst fear. “I hear no heartbeat.”

A tired sadness filled the woman’s words—mourning not his loss, but her own.

Elizabeth sank to her knees beside him. As a
strigoi
, she could have crossed that barrier, gone out onto the ice. But she plainly had no reason.

Rhun was lost to her, too.

March 20, 12:19
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NPT

Tsum Valley, Nepal

Erin wanted to turn around, to go running back to Jordan.

Rhun must have read her desire—not because they were blood-bonded, but simply because he knew her heart, even this new silenced one.

“You must go to Lucifer,” Rhun said. “That is your destiny now.”

She knew he was right, so she continued across the ice, clutching the Blood Gospel to her chest, taking strength from it to keep going. With each step, the book cast out its glow more brightly, pushing back against the darkness, burning through the heavier mists.