Blood Infernal: The Order of the Sanguines Series (16 page)

Then again, a failure of imagination had always been the Sanguinists’ chief sin.

“Never.” The cardinal’s first word was a low rumble—then his voice rose, bursting from his chest, booming through the church. “You . . . you are an abomination!”

She faced his fury, stoking it even more with her calmness. “Your priestly prudery holds no interest for me. And do not fool yourself, I am no more an abomination than
you
.”

Bernard fought to bottle back his rage, to tamp it down inside him, but the cracks continued to show. His fists were iron at his side. “We will not discuss such mortal sins in this holy place of worship.”

He yanked on her cuffed wrist, hard enough for the edge of the shackles to cut her skin. He stalked toward the back of the church, pulling the rest with him as if they were equally bound to the cardinal.

And maybe they were, in their own ways
.

Elizabeth had to run to keep up with him, but she could not keep that pace. Her feet tangled in her long skirt, and she sprawled across the cold marble. Her handcuff bit deeper into the flesh of her wrist.

She kept silent, savoring the pain.

If he was hurting her, he had lost control.

And I’ve gained it
.

She struggled to get her feet beneath her, losing a shoe in the battle. In her efforts to rise, she tore the shoulder of her dress. Aghast, she clutched it with her free hand to keep it from falling.

Christian blocked Bernard, touching the cardinal’s arm. “She cannot keep up with you, Your Eminence. Remember, she is mortal now, as much as she might not wish to be.”

Jordan helped her to her feet, his strong hands warm against her body.

“Thank you,” she whispered to the sergeant.

Even Erin came to her aid, reaching over and adjusting Elizabeth’s dress so that it did not hang down so. Despite the woman’s low background, she did indeed have a well of kindness, one deep enough to help an enemy in distress. Perhaps that was part of Rhun’s attraction to her—her simple kindness.

Elizabeth stepped away from the woman without offering her thanks. She kicked off her other shoe, so as not to walk with a limp. Cold stone pressed against the soles of her bare feet.

Bernard apologized through gritted teeth. “I beg your pardon, Countess Bathory.”

He turned and continued onward, but now at a more moderate pace. Still, anger was evident in each exaggerated step. He plainly could not appreciate what she wanted, what she demanded of him. He had been immortal so long that he had forgotten mortal desires, mortal weaknesses. But in doing so, he had also created a powerful weakness inside him.

And I will exploit it to the fullest
.

The cardinal reached the far side of the basilica and led them down a set of stairs, likely heading to the buried Sanguinist chapel.

A dark space for dark secrets
.

At the bottom of the stairs lay a candlelit crypt. The floor was smooth and clean, an easy walk, even in bare feet. On the far side, Bernard stopped in front of a stone wall decorated with a carved figure of Lazarus.

She guessed it was one of the order’s hidden gates.

How they loved their secrets
.

Standing before the statue, the cardinal peeled off his left glove and took a knife from his belt. He pierced his bare palm with a small knife and dripped blood into a cup that Lazarus was holding. He spoke softly in Latin, too quickly for her to follow.

A moment later, the small door swung open to the side with a grating sound.

The cardinal faced the others. “I will speak to the countess alone.”

Murmurs spread among the others, uncertainty on their faces.

Christian was the boldest, maybe because he was newer to the order, willing to confront his superior directly. “Your Eminence, that goes against our rules.”

“We’re well beyond rules,” Bernard countered. “I can come to a more satisfactory arrangement without the presence of others.”

Erin stepped up. “What are you planning on doing to her? Torture the information out of her?”

Jordan supported the archaeologist. “I was against enhanced interrogation techniques in Afghanistan, and I’m not going to tolerate it now.”

Ignoring them, the cardinal backed through the door, pulling Elizabeth with him. From the threshold, he called out a command that echoed through the crypt.

“
Pro me
. For me alone.”

Before anyone could react, the door slammed closed between them.

Darkness enfolded Elizabeth.

Bernard whispered in her ear. “Now you are mine.”

9:20
P
.
M
.

Erin pounded the flat of her hand against the sealed door.

She should have suspected such an underhanded maneuver from Bernard. If there were secrets to be learned, he had shown in the past that he would go to extreme measures to control the flow of information. Erin would not put it past the cardinal to withhold whatever knowledge he gained from Elizabeth, maybe even killing the countess to silence her.

She turned to Christian and pointed to the cup in the statue’s hands. “Get this door open.”

Before he could obey, Sophia touched the young Sanguinist on the shoulder, but her words were for them all. “The cardinal will question the countess himself. He has experience in such matters.”

“I am the Woman of Learning,” Erin argued. “Whatever Elizabeth knows concerns our quest.”

Jordan nodded. “And this Warrior of Man agrees, too.”

Sophia refused to back down. “You don’t know with certainty that her information has any direct bearing on your quest.”

Erin fumed, hating being cut out of the loop so abruptly. But she also had a bigger concern. She didn’t trust the countess, not even with the cardinal. Erin feared Bernard might be outmatched by Elizabeth. It was evident the woman knew how to push Bernard’s buttons, but was it just a sadistic game or was Elizabeth manipulating Bernard to her own ends?

Erin took a different tack. “If things go sour in there, how fast can you get us inside?”

“Define
sour
,” Christian said.

“Bernard is locked alone in there with the Blood Countess. She’s a brilliant woman who knows more about
strigoi
and their nature than anyone.”

Sophia raised an eyebrow. She looked a little surprised.

Erin pressed on. “The countess has conducted experiments on
strigoi
, trying to determine their nature. It’s all in her journal.”

Jordan stared toward the sealed gate. “Which means the countess likely knows Bernard’s weaknesses, probably better than he does himself.”

Erin looked into Christian’s eyes. He wanted to help her, but he clearly still felt a duty to follow Bernard’s orders.

“Either way, it doesn’t matter,” Sophia said. “The cardinal closed the door with the command
pro me
, which means that it will open only to him.”

What?

Erin turned worriedly to the door.

“So he’s trapped in there with her,” Jordan muttered.

Christian clarified. “We can get inside, but not with the blood of only
two
of us.” He motioned to Sophia. “To override the cardinal’s command, it would take a full
trio
of Sanguinists. The power of three can open the door at any time.”

Sophia’s eyebrows drew down in worry. “Perhaps it is best if I fetch a third. Just in case.”

“Do that,” Erin said.

And hurry
.

Sophia rushed across the crypt and melted into the darkness of the stairwell.

Erin met Jordan’s eyes and saw her own worries reflected there.

This is going to end badly
.

9:27
P
.
M
.

Elizabeth fought against panic. With the door sealed, the darkness was so thick that it felt as if it had substance, as if it could crawl down her throat and smother her. But she forced herself to stay calm, knowing Bernard must hear the pounding of her heartbeat. She stiffened her back, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

She focused on the fiery pain of the shackle on her wrist. Warm blood dribbled from her torn skin and trickled into her palm. The cardinal must sense that, too.

Good
.

She rubbed her hands together, smearing them both.

“Come,” Bernard said hoarsely.

He tugged on her cuffs and pulled her deeper into this cold lair of the Sanguinists. She shivered against that chill. He half-dragged her through the darkness for what seemed like forever, but was likely only minutes.

Then they stopped again, and a match flared, bringing with it the smell of sulfur. Light illuminated Bernard’s pale, set face. He touched the match to a golden beeswax candle set in a wall sconce. He moved along to another, lighting that taper, too.

Soon, a warm, flickering light illuminated the room.

She looked up to a domed ceiling shining with a silver mosaic. Just as the glass tiles in the basilica above had been fashioned of gold leaf, these were made with silver. They covered every surface.

The room glowed with their splendor.

The mosaic depicted a familiar Sanguinist motif: the raising of Lazarus. He sat upright in a brown coffin, white as death, a streak of crimson dripping from one corner of his mouth. Facing him stood a gilded Christ, the only golden figure in the mosaic. Finely detailed tiles showed Christ’s luminous brown eyes, curly black hair, and a sad smile. Majesty radiated from his simple form, awing those who had gathered to witness this miracle. And it wasn’t just humans. Light angels watched the scene from above, while dark angels waited below, and Lazarus sat forever caught between them.

The Sanguinists’ Risen One.

How much simpler her life would be if Lazarus had never accepted Christ’s challenge.

She turned her face from the ceiling, her eyes falling on the room’s only other adornment. In the middle of the chamber rose a white-clad altar. Atop it rested a silver chalice. The touch of silver burned
strigoi
and Sanguinists alike. To drink from a silver chalice was to intensify a Sanguinist’s pain, to increase their penance when they consumed their holy wine.

A sneer rose to her lips.

How could these fools follow a God who demanded such endless suffering?

Bernard confronted her. “You will tell me what I need to know. Here. In this room.”

She kept her tone cold, her words simple. “First pay my price.”

“You know that I cannot do so. It would be a grievous sin.”

“But it’s been done before.” She touched her throat, remembering teeth ripping into that tender flesh. “By your Chosen One, by Rhun Korza.”

Bernard glanced away, his voice dropping. “He was young, new to the fold. He fell in a moment of lust and pride. I am not so foolish. The rules are clear. We must never—”

She stopped him. “Never? Since when has that word ever been a part of your vocabulary, Cardinal? You have broken
many
of your order’s rules. Going back centuries. Do you think I do not know this?”

“It is not for you to judge,” he said, heat entering his words. “Only God can do that.”

“Then surely He shall judge me as well.” By now, her bare feet ached from the cold, but she stood her ground. “Surely it must be His will that I am here at this time, the only one who holds this knowledge. A truth that you can receive if you only pay this price.”

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Bernard’s face.

She took advantage of it and pressed him harder. “If your God is all-knowing and all-powerful, why has He placed me in front of you as the sole repository of the knowledge you seek? Perhaps what I ask of you is His will?”

She instantly knew she had taken a step too far—she read it in the hardening of his features.

“You, a fallen woman, dare to interpret His will?” He scowled at her, his words consigning her to the level of a woman who sold her body for money.

How dare you!

She slapped his supercilious face, leaving a smear of her own blood on his skin. “I am not a fallen woman. I am Countess Bathory de Ecsed, of royal blood that dates back centuries. And I will not be insulted by such slander. Especially by you.”

His response was lightning fast. His fist struck her a hard blow in turn. She fell back a step, her face throbbing. She quickly collected herself, drawing her back stiffly. She tasted blood in her mouth.

Excellent
.

“I can do anything to you in here,” he said in a dark tone.

She licked her lips, wetting them with her own blood. She knew he must already smell the fresh blood drying on his cheek. She noted how his nose lifted slightly, revealing the animal within him, the monster lurking behind that mask.

She had to break that beast free of its shackles.

“What can you do to me?” she challenged him. “You are too weak to ever persuade me to help you.”

“Do not mistake my composure for weakness,” he warned. “I remember the Inquisition, when pain in service to the church was raised to an art form. I can inflict agony on you such as you have never experienced.”

She smiled at his anger. “You can teach me nothing of
pain
, priest. For one hundred years it was forbidden to speak my name in my own country because of the acts I committed. I have given and received more pain than you could ever imagine . . . and received more
pleasure
. These things are entwined in ways that you will never understand.”

She stepped closer, forcing him to withdraw, but the handcuffs kept him from moving too far.

“Pain does not frighten me,” she continued, exhaling the hot scent of her blood toward him.

“It . . . it should frighten you.”

She wanted him to continue talking, knowing to speak required breath. And with each breath, he drew her scent more deeply into him.

“Hurt me,” she warned, “and see which of us enjoys it more.”