Innocent Blood(77)

“Is that your wish then, Grigori?” Judas asked. “Will you cast this veil of protection over Rhun Korza? Is this who you will claim?”

Rasputin raised his head to meet the man’s gaze.

Please, she thought. Say yes. Save one life tonight.

The Russian monk stared long at Iscariot, longer at Rhun. At one time, he and Rhun had been friends, working together as fellow Sanguinists.

Eventually Rasputin spoke, his voice faint with grief. “Too many have died this night.”

Iscariot sighed, his lips drawing tight with irritation. “I broke my word once . . . and was cursed for it. I swore never to break it again. And will not now. Despite what you think, I am not a craven man.” He inclined his head toward Rasputin. “I honor my debt and grant your wish.”

Erin let out her held breath, closing her eyes.

Rhun would live.

Iscariot lifted his arm, and two burly men entered the room, one with dark hair and one with light. Both were tall and built like tanks, with thick necks and arms. They crossed toward the boy, ready to collect Iscariot’s prize.

Erin moved to stop them, but Jordan gripped her arm.

This was not a battle they could win, and any aggression could end up with their friends falling dead to the moths.

The large pair examined the boy’s limp body with rough attention, raising a whimper from his dazed and drugged form. They got him roughly on his feet.

“What do you want with him?” Erin asked.

“That is none of your concern.”

“I think we can move him,” said one of the men. “He’s lost a lot of blood, but he seems strong enough.”

“Very good.” Iscariot lifted a hand in invitation toward Bathory. “Would you care to come with me?”

Bathory straightened. “I would be honored to make your reacquaintance.” She lifted up her arm, displaying her handcuffs. “But it seems I’m bound to another at the moment.”

“Release her.”

Christian hesitated, but Rhun nodded to him. “Do as he says.”

No one wanted to provoke this man any further. Christian dropped, fumbled in Nadia’s pocket, and produced a tiny key. The countess held out her hand as if she wore an expensive bracelet. Christian unlocked the handcuffs.

Once free, Bathory stepped to join Iscariot. “Thank you, sir, for the kindness that you show me now, as you have always shown my family.”

Iscariot barely noted her, which drew a small pique of irritation upon the countess’s lips. Instead, the man drew out a large pistol from his pocket, pointed it forward, and fired.

Erin flinched from the noise of the gunshot—but the weapon had not been aimed at her.

Jordan’s grip on her arm slipped away.

He slid to the snow beside her.

Crying out, she fell to her knees beside him. A wet stain spread from the left side of his chest. She ripped his shirt open, revealing a bullet wound. Blood pumped out of his wound, running across the blue lines of his lightning tattoo, sweeping over his chest, pooling under him.

She pressed her hands tight against the hole. Slippery warm blood coated her fingers. He would be fine. He had to be. But her heart knew better.

“Why?” she cried at Iscariot.

“I’m sorry,” he said matter-of-factly. “According to the words of the prophecy, you are the only three in the world who hold any hope of thwarting me, of stopping the Armageddon to come. To break that prophecy, one of the trio must die. Once accomplished, the other two become irrelevant. So I give you your lives. As I said, I am not a craven man, merely practical.”

He shrugged.

Erin covered her face with her hands, but she could not hide the truth so easily. She had killed Jordan with her cleverness. By saving Rhun, she had doomed the man she loved.

Iscariot would not be thwarted.

If the Knight of Christ lived, the Warrior of Man had to die.

Under her palms, Jordan’s chest no longer rose and fell. Blood continued to spread, steaming across the cold snow. A snowflake fell onto his open blue eye and melted there.

He did not blink.

“You cannot help him,” Christian whispered.

She refused to believe that.

I can help him. I must help him.

As tears streamed down her cheeks, she couldn’t breathe. Jordan could not be gone. He was always strong, always came through. He could not die from a simple gunshot. It was wrong, and she would not let it happen.

She stared up at Christian, clutching his pant leg with a bloody hand. “You can bring him back. Make him one of you.”

He looked at her in horror.

She didn’t care. “Turn him. You owe him that. You owe me that.”

Christian shook his head. “Even if it were not forbidden, I could do nothing. His heart has already stopped. It is too late.”