The Blood Gospel (55 page)

“Yes,” Bathory said. “Why not him?”

Rasputin motioned to his remaining followers, and they reluctantly stepped closer to her. “My counsel is my own. Do not try my patience further.”

“You gave us your word, Grigori,” Rhun said. “We were not to be harmed.”

Bathory ignored him. “My apologies, Father Rasputin.” She studied first Erin, then Jordan. “I will accept your kind offer, but you have left me with a hard choice. Whom will I choose?”

“Take me.” Jordan winked at her. “I’m a lot more fun.”

“I’m sure you are.” Bathory’s lips curved into a wicked-looking smile. Her silver eyes met Rhun’s. A malicious glint flared. “But I believe I will take the woman.”

Rhun dove for Bathory, but a crowd of
strigoi
bore him to the ground before he could take a single step, pinning him with their sheer weight. Three others immobilized Jordan.

“Now, Rhun.” Rasputin kicked him lightly with the toe of a black boot. “I always keep my word.
Every
word, in fact.”

Rhun struggled to fight free. Next to him, Jordan tried, too. But it was pointless. Erin’s eyes had grown wide.
Strigoi
held her by each arm. She could not escape either. Rhun cursed himself for foolishly trusting Grigori. This, too, was his fault.

Rasputin rested his hands on his hips. “Bathory, my dear, I gave my word that the woman would not be harmed
while in Russia
. And you will adhere to that promise. But that protection dies as soon as she crosses our borders. Once beyond Russian soil, you may do with her as you wish.”

9:04
P.M
.

Erin fought the hands that restrained her, but she couldn’t budge an inch. More of Rasputin’s people swarmed into the room, filling it with the smell of death.

Rhun thrashed against the
strigoi
who were holding him, lashing out with teeth and nails. Blood spattered the nearby wall. More figures piled on top of him.

Jordan struggled with his attackers, too, but suddenly went limp. Erin gasped. Was he dead? Knocked out cold?

She struggled to get close to him, but it was impossible.

Hands snatched the lead block. Others cuffed her hands in front of her.

A cold collar encircled her neck, and Grigori’s minions stepped back a pace. As she hurled herself toward Jordan’s prone form, sharp points dug into her throat. Blood ran down her neck.

Gasping for air, she stopped short. Her neck throbbed. The collar was spiked, like a dog’s collar, although the points must have been sharpened to make it more painful. Someone ran a finger under the collar, pulling the spikes out of her flesh. She clenched her jaw to keep from crying out.

A moan ran through the
strigoi
who were gathered around her. All eyes fixed on her neck. The one holding her licked his lips.

“Enough!” Rasputin called.

He pushed himself to Erin’s side. In his hands he held a leather leash. He clipped one end to the back of Erin’s collar and handed the other end to Bathory.

“Thank you.” Bathory looped it around her wrist. With the other hand, she yanked the leash tight.

Erin choked, the tightness of the collar keeping her from coughing. She couldn’t breathe. Her cuffed hands rose to her throat, fingers trying to loosen it. Cold hands pulled her limbs down. She would die.

“Just so we understand each other.” Bathory stuck her face right next to Erin’s. “You can come very near to a painful death in Russia without me breaking my word to Rasputin.”

Her knees buckling, Erin looked into those cool silver eyes. Would they be the last things she ever saw?

“I hope that you understand that, too, Father Korza.” Bathory glanced at the pile of forms that were burying Rhun.

Erin’s vision closed in dark.

9:06
P.M
.

Buried under a mass of Grigori’s acolytes, Jordan struggled to breathe against the sheer weight of them, squeezing the air from his chest, slowly choking him. Teeth sliced into his arms and legs.

Please, God, don’t let me die like this …

His prayer was answered from the most unlikely source.

Distantly, he heard Rasputin shout. “
Enough!
”

At that command, the pressure eased; bodies rolled off of him. Hot blood seeped from the bites on his arms and legs. His head swam; his vision whirled, but finally settled.

Impossibly strong hands hauled him to his feet. Grigori’s minions yanked Rhun upright, too. One acolyte still lay on the ground, bleeding profusely.

It seemed Rhun had put up a better fight than Jordan had.

“Wh-where did that woman take Erin?” Jordan swayed with dizziness. How much blood had he lost?

“Away.” Rasputin smiled his crazy smile. “If Bathory doesn’t kill her en route, I have an idea where they will end up.”

Rhun spat blood and wiped his chin with the back of his hand. “Why did you let the Belial take her—and the Gospel? They are godless. You must know the consequences if they open the book.”

“Would the consequences be any worse for me if Sanguinists had the book?” Rasputin’s face relaxed into planes of sorrow. “Your beloved Church has possessed countless holy tomes, Rhun—filled their precious Secret Archives with them—and they have never used any of them to help me and mine.”

“But the world will suffer, Grigori. The entire world that God created.”

“The world suffers now.” Rasputin ran his hand through his long hair. “And your God does nothing. Your Church does nothing. Your humans do nothing.”

Rhun took a step toward Rasputin, but the Russian’s acolytes surrounded him again, forcing him to halt.

“If it doesn’t matter,” Jordan said, “then let us go.”

Rasputin chuckled. “He is charming, your warrior.”

“What do you plan for us, Grigori?”

“What I have always planned.” Rasputin turned to leave the cramped room. He snapped his fingers, and his dark flock herded Jordan and Rhun along behind him. “I intend to let your God save you, Rhun. Has not that been your eternal prayer, my friend? Salvation at His hand.”

9:12
P.M
.

Gasping, her throat on fire, Erin trailed down the dark corridor at Bathory’s heels, dragged like a dog. The woman released the choke chain enough to allow her to breathe—but barely.

Rasputin’s words rang in her ears:
Once beyond Russian soil, you may do with her as you wish.

If she didn’t get away before they left Russia, Bathory would kill her.

And what about Jordan? Was he already dead?

She refused to believe it.

Rhun was clearly alive, fighting desperately against overwhelming odds, when she was hauled away, but Jordan had not moved, buried and being bitten on all his limbs.

He cannot be dead … he cannot
.

Erin lifted her chin in an effort to ease the pressure of the spikes at her throat. Even that small movement caught her neck in a fiery noose of agony, narrowing her vision. She suspected the spikes were made of silver, the collar likely meant to imprison Sanguinists. She tried not to imagine how much worse it would feel if the silver acted as a poison in her body as it did in those of the Sanguinists.

Bathory threaded through corridors with no hesitation, trusting her grotesque wolf to lead the way. It loped ahead, occasionally dropping its nose to the floor and snuffling along like an ordinary dog. Erin found the naturalness of the gesture unsettling, as if this creature had no right to behave like a normal animal.

“Why do you hate Rhun Korza?” Erin’s voice sounded hoarse and unnatural, echoing in the corridor.

The leash twitched, and her throat closed in fear, but Bathory did not pull.

“That creature ruined my family.”

Erin took a fast step to keep up. “Then it’s true. You are descended from
the
Elizabeth Bathory? But how exactly did Rhun ruin her?”

“He killed her and turned her. As a
strigoi
, she abused peasants to satisfy her needs, something which would have gone unremarked during that time, but then she turned to noble girls, and the Hungarian king stripped her of her wealth, her nobility, and sent the Church after her. Since that time …”

Her voice trailed off and she touched the mark on her throat.

Erin took a few more steps before prompting, “Since that time …?”

Bathory’s fingers dropped from her neck. “We were penniless, persecuted. Then a stranger came offering a path to survival, to lost riches, and also to revenge.” She held up her hand, one finger of which bore a large ruby ring. “He even returned some of our family treasures and heirlooms, rescued them in secret before they were lost forever. But such noble generosity came with a stiff price: one woman from every generation had to be bound in servitude to a hard master, chained to His painful will. I am the only woman of my generation. So it fell to me, whether I wished for it or not.”

This last was said with a bitterness that stung.

Aghast, Erin fell silent for several steps. They reached a closed door, and Bathory unlocked it to reveal a dingy stairwell. She took a flashlight from her pocket and shone it up. Steps ascended for several stories. It would be a long climb.

“Come.”

Bathory pulled Erin into the stairwell behind her as the grimwolf bounded ahead. With each step, the collar pinched against Erin’s throat. Fresh blood dripped down her neck. She tried to block the pain out of her mind, struggling to think of some way to escape.

The grimwolf had reached the next flight. The landing ahead had a door. This might be the only chance she would get.

As they reached the next landing, she took a deep breath, then slipped into a quick crouch, sweeping out with her leg, catching Bathory across the knees.

As the woman fell back toward the steep stairs, Erin yanked the leash free from her grip. Bathory went tumbling and crashing below. Erin twisted to the side. The spikes still dug painfully into her neck, but she didn’t care. If she could get through that door and somehow seal it, she might be able to lose her captors in the maze of the Hermitage.

Higher up on the stairs, the wolf yelped, as if feeling his mistress’s pain.

Glowing red eyes turned to stare down at Erin.

She fell back against the door and fumbled at it with her cuffed hands. She struggled to turn the doorknob—and despaired.

Locked
.

9:16
P.M
.

Forced down the hallway by a squad of Grigori’s acolytes, Jordan smelled the giant, reeking bear. As he marched, he pictured the human skull that had rolled out of its cage, and glanced sidelong at Rhun.

The priest nodded. He knew the truth, too.

Rasputin planned to feed them to the bear.

Jordan had been waiting for a clear moment, but the bastards surrounded him like a wall, less than a step away on all sides. He knew their strength, and his own weakness. He’d lost too much blood to put up much of a fight. Hell, he could barely walk.

Was this how he was going to die, as bear chow? He recalled his desperate plea not to meet his end at the fangs of Grigori’s minions. That prayer had been answered, and he was, oddly, still grateful. He would take the maw of the bear over the fangs of a
strigoi
any day.

Then he pictured Erin’s face, remembered her lips, her heated hands on his skin. He had to get free. He had to find her. Every second that passed, Bathory dragged her farther from Rasputin’s domain and closer to her death. He’d seen that look in Bathory’s eyes. She intended to kill Erin the minute she could do so without disobeying Rasputin.

All to hurt Rhun.

The tunnel ended a short way ahead, the stench of bear overpowering. Jordan spotted the elaborate gate depicting a woodland forest. He and Rhun were pushed forward until they were pressed against its fancy iron scrollwork.

Inside the cage, the bear slumbered on. Maybe it would be too tired to eat them.

Rasputin banged the flat of his palms against the gate, sounding the dinner bell.

The creature lumbered to its feet.

It was feeding time.

9:18
P.M
.

Fueled by raw fury, Bathory tucked into a roll as she tumbled headlong down the stairs, pushed by that damned archaeologist. She felt each sharp step against her back, until she finally hit a landing and sprawled out.

Above her, two thuds sounded. She heard a low growl, knew it was aimed at the cursed archaeologist, and felt a wash of satisfaction emanating from Magor, the pleasure of a predator who had cornered its prey.

“Easy!” Bathory called out, sharing in the wolf’s joy. It helped dull the pain as she climbed to her feet. She would have some nasty bruises, but nothing serious. She had lived so long with pain she barely noticed it.

She climbed with determination to the landing above. Magor had pinned the woman against the battered door, a paw on either side of her shoulders, his teeth bared at her neck. She felt his longing to tear out her throat. His claws scored the concrete wall.