Innocent Blood(123)

Leopold stumbled back and dropped his sword. He clutched his throat, blood pouring through his fingers. He fell to his knees, knocking his glasses askew. Still, his eyes remained on Rhun—shining not with anger, nor with sorrow, only devotion.





46





December 20, 8:09 A.M. CET

Cumae, Italy



With a hand at her throat and tears in her eyes, Erin watched Leopold’s body slump to the ground. She remembered a gentler man, the studious crinkle to his eyes, his wry self-deprecating humor. She pictured waking in the tunnels below Rome, sure she was dead, only to find him gripping her hand, using his medical skills to revive her.

The man had saved her life.

Yet his secrets had killed so many.

Suddenly the ground gave a violent quake, as if a fist had slammed into the floor beneath their feet. The black cloud around the altar writhed and churned, shredding and whipping. The gnash of rock and rumble of falling boulders echoed from all the tunnels.

“Time to move, people!” Jordan yelled.

Erin helped Elizabeth with Tommy as they fled for the bridge. Rhun led the way, while Bernard and Jordan followed with Arella slung between them. The ground continued to tremble. Ahead, a crack skittered across the arch of rock spanning the river, which splashed higher from its stone banks.

“Hurry!” Erin cried out.

They sprinted. Elizabeth quickly outdistanced her, even while burdened with the boy. She swept over the bridge, passing even Rhun who raced now at her heels. They joined the handful of Sanguinists guarding the tunnels back to the surface, meeting Christian there.

Erin ran, hitting the steamy wall of sulfurous heat, scorching after the chill of the cavern. She feared the slipperiness of the rock, but she did not slow—especially as a chunk of the bridge fell away, splashing into the boil below. More cracks skittered underfoot.

Suddenly a large quake sent her sprawling. At her fingertips, the span ahead of her fell away. She measured the impossible gap as a roil of steam and water blasted up from below.

Then Rhun came winging through it like a dark crow. He landed next to her, scooped her to her feet, then into his arms, and leaped headlong over the gap. He crashed with her on the far side, taking the impact on his shoulder and rolling her to safety.

Jordan . . .

Bernard came leaping over with the sibyl in his arms. Jordan sailed next to them. Both men landed on their feet—though Jordan had to skip several steps to keep his balance.

Behind them, the entire span cracked into pieces and crumbled into the river.

Heat and steam parched Erin’s skin and burned her lungs.

“Keep going!” Bernard commanded.

As a group, they raced back through the maze. Nagging fears chased her ever upward. She felt the continuing trembles underfoot. She pictured the darkness churning below. Why wasn’t it stopping?

Were they too late?

Were the gates of Hell still opening?



8:15 A.M.

Rhun rushed alongside Elisabeta as she carried Tommy in her arms, the prophesied First Angel. He remembered her calling out to him as he first entered the cold cavern.

Save the boy!

He knew from the anguish in her voice that it had not been prophecy that had fueled her need to protect the boy. She cradled Tommy against her chest, her mouth set in a worried line. The boy’s heartbeat stumbled along, weak but determined, matching Elisabeta’s expression. Rhun watched her every step, ready to catch her if she faltered. Blood seeped from a thousand cuts, but she seemed to draw from a well of strength far deeper than just that of a strigoi.

It was that of a mother resolved to save her child at any cost.

Erin and Jordan followed them, trailed by the cardinal, who carried the dark-skinned woman. He remembered the golden light spilling from her, remembering Bernard’s belief that she was an angel. Still, she clearly knew Iscariot and had some relationship with him. But why would an angel seek out the Betrayer of Christ?

Why would anyone?

Rhun stared down at the blood staining his sleeve.

Leopold’s blood.

So much remained unknown.

Finally, they reached the tunnel’s end and escaped through the nest of boulders to the beach. The sky remained black, hiding the sun. He glanced to Elisabeta. For now she remained safe from this hidden day. But she fell to her knees with the boy in the sand. The risen sun still plainly taxed her, sapping even her great strength.

Rhun searched the sky. The smoke had spread to the horizon. Whatever Iscariot had set in motion, taking the First Angel from the temple had not stopped it.

Looking equally worried, Bernard joined them and lowered the woman to the sand. She did not open her eyes, but one arm moved feebly, brushing at her face as if to remove cobwebs.

She still lived.

Elisabeta gently placed the boy near her, resting his head on the sand, examining the wound on his throat. It continued to seep blood, though perhaps slightly less. But was that because he was healing or simply running out of life?