He bared his face to the sibyl.
She must have read his unwavering determination. With a look of profound sadness, she simply held out her wrists. “Then let it begin. I will not interfere. Children must make their own mistakes. Even you.”
Hating himself, Leopold stood and bound her wrists in soft cords of leather. Unlike him, she had no unnatural strength to resist, to fight him. The scent of lotus blossoms floated off her skin as she pushed gracefully to her feet. He took hold of the cord that ran to her bound hands and walked her, his legs trembling at his impertinence, back to the dark doorway.
As he crossed the threshold first, a pall of sulfur and brimstone from below washed away the gentle wisp of lotus. Swallowing against it, he headed down into darkness, toward a destiny of fire and chaos.
30
December 19, 10:18 P.M. CET
Stockholm, Sweden
He can’t be gone . . .
Rhun touched Erin’s arm, but she barely felt it. When he spoke, his voice sounded far away. “We must leave this place.”
Sirens rang loudly all around.
The emerald butterflies had lifted a moment before, rising away upon some silent signal of their vanished master, leaving only ruin behind. There remained little of the dead, clothing and bits of blackened bone amid piles of corrupted ashes.
Nothing bound them here any longer.
Still, she clung to Jordan, unable to let go. She saw no need to leave. Everything had gone to ashes. The First Angel was gone, the Woman of Learning had abandoned them for the enemy, and the Warrior of Man lay dead at her knees.
Jordan . . .
He was far more than that prophesied title.
A sound of rushing feet drew her eyes to the side. The small shape of Alexei appeared from one of the maze archways. Though he was a monster, she was glad he still lived. He must have been left to guard the outer walls of the ice palace, escaping the slaughter here—but not the pain. He sprinted to Rasputin and fell into his arms, like any scared boy seeking the comfort of his father. Tears streamed down his face as he stared across the tattered remains of the others, his dark family.
Christian stood, holding the body of Nadia wrapped in a cloak, what little there was left of her. “There’s a cathedral close by. We can seek refuge there, decide our next course of action.”
“Next?” Erin still watched Alexei, reminding herself that there was another child at great risk. She would not abandon the boy without a fight. Anger dried her tears. Determination steeled through her grief. “We must rescue the First Angel.”
Tommy, she reminded herself, not allowing herself to relegate him to a cold title. He had been given that name by a mother and father who had loved him. That was far more important than any prophesied name.
Rhun spoke, staring down at Jordan. “But with the trio destroyed, there is no—”
She cut him off. “We cannot leave Tommy in that monster’s hands.”
Rhun and Christian looked down at her, worry on their faces.
Let them worry.
Erin rested her hand on Jordan’s shoulder. She would see to it that he was buried in Arlington, like the hero that he was. He had saved many lives, including hers. To honor that, she would save that boy.
Complete the mission.
It was what Jordan would have wanted.
She could do no less.
A snowflake fell on his cold eyelid and melted, the droplet shedding from his eye like a tear. She reached a thumb to wipe it away. As she did so, she noted that the dusting of snow on his cheeks had begun to run and slide from his skin.
“Rhun,” she whispered.
She yanked her glove off and put her bare palm on his neck.
His skin was warm.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. She yanked back the grimwolf coat that Tommy had draped so gently across his body.
Blood swamped Jordan’s chest, pooled in the well of his sternum. She wiped at it with her bare palm, exposing his tattoo, the stretch of skin over firm muscle. She used both hands now, smearing his chest clean.
She stared up at Rhun, at Christian.
Even Rasputin was drawn by her frantic action.
“There’s no wound,” she said.
Rhun dropped beside her, his hand over Jordan’s ribs, but he refrained from touching the traces of blood found there. Then suddenly Jordan’s chest rose under his palm, as if trying to reach the priest’s hand. Rhun fell back in shock.
As Erin watched, Jordan’s chest rose again.
“Jordan?” Her voice shook.
Christian spoke. “I hear a heartbeat.”
How could that be?
Erin placed her palm atop his chest, wanting to feel it beat. Then Jordan’s arm rose on the far side and reached for her hand, resting his warm palm over hers.
She looked up to find his eyes open, staring at her, his gaze addled, as if waking from a deep sleep. His lips parted. “Erin . . . ?”