Innocent Blood(60)

“I cannot allow you to keep killing the innocent.”

The boy tilted his head toward the couple on the floor. “They were less innocent than I ever was. They stole from travelers, they trafficked in whores, and they once slit the throat of a man to steal his purse.”

“God will judge them.”

“But you will judge me?” the child asked.

Rhun winced.

That was his role, was it not?

Judge and executioner.

His voice faltered. “We have little time. Sunrise is only—”

“I always had little time, and now I have none at all.” Tears appeared and ran down his cheeks. “I will not go with you. I will not become a priest. I did nothing wrong to become this monster. So do it now. And do it quickly.”

Rhun gazed into those wet but resolute eyes.

It is God’s will, he reminded himself.

Still, he hesitated as the burning sun threatened.

What had this child done to deserve to be turned into a beast? He had been innocent, he had fought evil when attacked, and he had lost to it.

Rhun had been no different—except that he had chosen to serve Him.

The smell of cold blood drifted from the bodies on the floor. Such wreckage was what the boy would leave behind him to the end of his days.

“Forgive me,” Rhun whispered.

The boy said one word that would haunt him for centuries to come.

In spite of that, he drew the blade across the child’s throat, spattering dark blood across the mirror.

Rhun came to himself on the floor of the cell. At some point, he had crawled under the bed and curled into a ball, weeping. He lay there alone, staring at the slats of the bed, only a handsbreadth from his face.

Why was I shown this moment?

He had done as he was instructed, obeying the word of God.

How was that a sin that needed penance?

Was it because I hesitated at the end?

He climbed from under the bed and sat on its edge. He planted his elbows on his knees, dropped his head into his hands, and prayed for solace.

But none came.

Instead, he remembered the boy’s clear brown eyes, his high voice, how he had nestled back against Rhun and raised his chin so that the blade would find a true home.

Rhun remembered asking him for forgiveness.

The boy had answered.

No.

Still, in the name of God, he had slaughtered the child.

Since that time many innocent faces had died under his blade. He no longer paused, no longer hesitated. He killed without a pang of regret. His years of service had led him to this place—to where he could slaughter children without remorse.

Covering his face, he wept now.

For himself, and for the boy with brown eyes.





23





December 19, 2:36 P.M. CET

Castel Gandolfo, Italy



Jordan stretched beneath the bedsheets, every part of his naked body in contact with Erin’s. She murmured in her sleep, and he pulled her closer against him.

God, how he’d missed her.

A tap on the door woke Erin, clearly startling her. She sat up quickly. Blond hair brushed her shoulders, and the blanket fell down from her bare breasts. In the dim light coming through the shuttered windows, she looked beautiful.

He reached for her, unable to stop himself.

Christian called through the door, sounding very amused with himself. “You two have fifteen minutes! So finish what you started . . . or start what you want to finish. Either way, you’ve been given fair warning.”

“Thanks!” Jordan called back and grinned at Erin. “You know it’s a mortal sin to disobey a priest’s direct order.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s true,” she said with a relaxed smile—then pointed to the shower, to the promise of hot soapy water and naked skin. “But maybe for the sake of our souls, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

He matched her grin, hauled her into his arms, and carried her toward the bathroom.

By the time Christian knocked again, they were both showered, dressed, and strapped with their new weapons. Despite the scrapes and bruises, Jordan hadn’t felt so good in a long time.

Once out in the hall, Christian put a finger to his lips and handed each of them a small flashlight.

What is this about? Jordan wondered.

Still, he trusted Christian enough not to question the man’s actions. Jordan and Erin followed him to the end of the corridor, down a series of stairs, and through a long tunnel that had no lights.

Jordan clicked on his flashlight, and Erin did the same.

Christian set a grueling pace down the passageway. It looked hewn out of the natural bedrock and stretched at least a mile. Finally Christian reached a steel door at the end and stopped. He entered digits in an electronic keypad and stepped back. The door swung soundlessly inward. It was a good foot thick and could probably withstand a mortar blast.