Read Online Blood Infernal: The Order of the Sanguines Series by James Rollins, Rebecca Cantrell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Rollins, Rebecca Cantrell
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making it even more difficult to move.
By my own hand, I doomed myself—and so many others .
He had been ordered to break that foul gemstone by a master who he had believed could return Christ to this world. But upon shattering that stone, he had unleashed a demon instead. He remembered that icy blackness flowing out of the heart of the shattered diamond, invading his body, bringing with it other voices, snatches of other lives. He was quickly lost, deafened by that cacophony—but one name rose above the others.
Legion .
That was the name of the darkness that had suffocated him, of the demon that had consumed him.
Since then, he had drifted in and out of awareness.
But for how long?
He could not tell. All he knew for sure was that the demon seemed to be gathering others to its side, building an army of strigoi .
With a great effort, Leopold lifted his hand before his own face as the woman dragged herself away, tangling in the bedsheets. He ignored her as shock rang through him. His normally pale white hand was as black as ink. He turned his head, discovering a mirror on the wall.
In its reflection, he was naked, a sculpture in ebony.
Leopold screamed, but no sound came from his lips.
The woman fell from the bed, stirring up one of the slumbering strigoi . The monster hissed, spitting blood. As it reared up, Leopold spotted a black palm print in the middle of its bare chest, like a brand or tattoo, only that blackness reeked of corruption and malevolence, far worse than even the stench of the strigoi who bore it.
Worst of all . . . that oily darkness was a match to the hue of his new skin.
But that was not all.
Leopold reached his arm out, splaying his fingers, realizing a new horror.
That mark on the beast is the same shape and size as my hand .
The demon must have marked this monster as his own, perhaps enslaving it as surely as it had Leopold.
The strigoi grabbed the woman, twisted her around, and ripped out her throat.
Before Leopold could react, darkness again welled up, dragging him back into that smoky sea, taking with it the sight of the ravaged woman. For once, he didn’t resist, happy to let the horrors of that room vanish. But as he drowned into nothingness, he let go of any hope of escape.
A new desire filled him.
I must find a way to atone for my sins . . .
But along with that goal came a nagging question, one that might prove important: Why was I allowed to break free for so long just now? What drew away that demon’s attention?
5:25 P.M.
Cumae, Italy
Damn, this bastard’s fast . . .
Jordan brought up his machine pistol and fired three bursts toward the attacker who had climbed out of the tunnel. His rounds spattered against the rock wall of the cavern temple, finding no target.
Missed again . . .
From its fangs, it was plainly a strigoi , but he had never seen one move like that. The creature was there, and a split second later the monster was across the room, as if it had teleported the distance.
Baako and Sophia had Jordan’s back, literally. The three of them stood in a circle, shoulder to shoulder. Baako carried a long African sword, while Sophia wielded a pair of curved knives.
The strigoi hissed from behind the room’s altar. A long laceration bled across his chest. It was a wound Baako had inflicted as the beast first charged at them, saving Jordan’s life in the process.
Unfortunately, it was the only successful strike his team had inflicted.
“It’s trying to wear us down before the kill,” Sophia said.
“Then time for a new strategy.” Jordan pointed his gun, but as his finger pulled on the trigger, he shifted his aim to the side and fired into emptiness, anticipating that the strigoi would move again.
It did—right into his line of fire.
A scream pierced the roar of his weapon. The strigoi flew backward, blood spraying the walls.
Lucky shot, but I’m taking that point on the scoreboard.
The strigoi spun away, vanishing again into a blur. Jordan
By my own hand, I doomed myself—and so many others .
He had been ordered to break that foul gemstone by a master who he had believed could return Christ to this world. But upon shattering that stone, he had unleashed a demon instead. He remembered that icy blackness flowing out of the heart of the shattered diamond, invading his body, bringing with it other voices, snatches of other lives. He was quickly lost, deafened by that cacophony—but one name rose above the others.
Legion .
That was the name of the darkness that had suffocated him, of the demon that had consumed him.
Since then, he had drifted in and out of awareness.
But for how long?
He could not tell. All he knew for sure was that the demon seemed to be gathering others to its side, building an army of strigoi .
With a great effort, Leopold lifted his hand before his own face as the woman dragged herself away, tangling in the bedsheets. He ignored her as shock rang through him. His normally pale white hand was as black as ink. He turned his head, discovering a mirror on the wall.
In its reflection, he was naked, a sculpture in ebony.
Leopold screamed, but no sound came from his lips.
The woman fell from the bed, stirring up one of the slumbering strigoi . The monster hissed, spitting blood. As it reared up, Leopold spotted a black palm print in the middle of its bare chest, like a brand or tattoo, only that blackness reeked of corruption and malevolence, far worse than even the stench of the strigoi who bore it.
Worst of all . . . that oily darkness was a match to the hue of his new skin.
But that was not all.
Leopold reached his arm out, splaying his fingers, realizing a new horror.
That mark on the beast is the same shape and size as my hand .
The demon must have marked this monster as his own, perhaps enslaving it as surely as it had Leopold.
The strigoi grabbed the woman, twisted her around, and ripped out her throat.
Before Leopold could react, darkness again welled up, dragging him back into that smoky sea, taking with it the sight of the ravaged woman. For once, he didn’t resist, happy to let the horrors of that room vanish. But as he drowned into nothingness, he let go of any hope of escape.
A new desire filled him.
I must find a way to atone for my sins . . .
But along with that goal came a nagging question, one that might prove important: Why was I allowed to break free for so long just now? What drew away that demon’s attention?
5:25 P.M.
Cumae, Italy
Damn, this bastard’s fast . . .
Jordan brought up his machine pistol and fired three bursts toward the attacker who had climbed out of the tunnel. His rounds spattered against the rock wall of the cavern temple, finding no target.
Missed again . . .
From its fangs, it was plainly a strigoi , but he had never seen one move like that. The creature was there, and a split second later the monster was across the room, as if it had teleported the distance.
Baako and Sophia had Jordan’s back, literally. The three of them stood in a circle, shoulder to shoulder. Baako carried a long African sword, while Sophia wielded a pair of curved knives.
The strigoi hissed from behind the room’s altar. A long laceration bled across his chest. It was a wound Baako had inflicted as the beast first charged at them, saving Jordan’s life in the process.
Unfortunately, it was the only successful strike his team had inflicted.
“It’s trying to wear us down before the kill,” Sophia said.
“Then time for a new strategy.” Jordan pointed his gun, but as his finger pulled on the trigger, he shifted his aim to the side and fired into emptiness, anticipating that the strigoi would move again.
It did—right into his line of fire.
A scream pierced the roar of his weapon. The strigoi flew backward, blood spraying the walls.
Lucky shot, but I’m taking that point on the scoreboard.
The strigoi spun away, vanishing again into a blur. Jordan
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