Read Online Innocent Blood by James Rollins, Rebecca Cantrell - Free Book Online
Authors: James Rollins, Rebecca Cantrell
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Jordan rubbed his stomach and flashed her that crooked grin of his, immediately drawing a large amount of the tension from her bones. He stood there in dress pants and a white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar with the sleeves rolled up, displaying his muscular tanned arms.
She leaped to him and hugged him hard. He felt warm and good and natural, and she loved how easy it was to fall into his arms again.
She spoke into his chest. “I can’t believe it’s you.”
“In the flesh . . . though after that kick of yours, maybe a tad more sore.”
She leaned back to take him in. A day’s worth of stubble shadowed his square chin, his blue eyes smiled at her, and his hair had grown out longer. She threaded her fingers through that thick wheat-blond hair and pulled him down into a kiss.
She wanted nothing more than to lengthen it, to linger in his arms, maybe show him the empty hay loft upstairs, but she stepped back, drawn away by a larger concern.
“Blackjack,” she said. “My horse. We have to get him inside. Something’s out there in the hills.”
She turned to the door—as a horse’s scream erupted, ripping through the night and quickly cutting off. Before anyone could move, a heavy object thudded against the neighboring wall. They fled deeper into the stables, to where the other horses were boarded in stalls. She looked toward the door.
No , please , no . . .
She pictured her large gelding, with his trusting eyes and soft nose, the way he pranced when happy, and his gentle neighs that greeted her whenever she entered the barn.
Jordan readied his black Heckler & Koch MP7, a mean-looking machine pistol.
She lifted her small Glock 19, recognizing a problem. “I need something bigger.”
Jordan handed his flashlight to Nate and reached to his belt. He pulled out his Colt 1911 and passed it to her, the same gun he had loaned to her often in the past. She wrapped her fingers around the grip and felt safer.
She turned to give her Glock to Nate, to offer him some protection—when a stranger appeared, stepping out of the deeper shadows behind him and startling her. The man wore a formal dark blue uniform, with two gold crosses embroidered on his lapels.
A chaplain?
“I hate to interrupt your happy reunion,” the stranger said. “But it’s time we thought about leaving here. I searched for other exits, but the main door remains the wisest path.”
“This is Christian,” Jordan introduced. “Friend of Rhun’s, if you get my drift.”
In other words, Sanguinist .
Nate’s voice trembled. “The professor’s car is parked about fifty yards away. Could we make it that far?”
As answer, an unnatural screeching pierced the night.
From the stalls all around, the horses stamped and shouldered into their gates, whinnying their growing terror. Even they knew escape was the only hope.
“What’s waiting for us out there?” Jordan asked, his weapon fixed on the door.
“From its smell and hisses, I believe it’s a cougar,” Christian said. “Albeit a tainted one.”
Tainted?
Erin went colder. “You’re talking about a blasphemare .”
The chaplain bowed his head in acknowledgment.
Blasphemare were beasts that had been corrupted by the blood of a strigoi, poisoned into monstrous incarnations of their natural forms, with hides so tough that Sanguinists made armor out of their skins.
Nate sucked in a quick breath. She touched him with one hand and felt him shiver. She didn’t blame him. A blasphemare wolf had once savaged him badly.
She had to get Nate out of here.
A ripping, splintering sound erupted to their left. Nate swung the flashlight toward the noise. Four hooked claws shredded through the thick redwood wall. Panicked, Nate fired the Glock at it.
The claws vanished, followed by another yowl, sounding angrier.
“I think you pissed it off,” Jordan said.
“Sorry,” Nate said.
“No worries. If you hadn’t fired, I would’ve.”
The cat bowled into the same wall, shaking
Jordan rubbed his stomach and flashed her that crooked grin of his, immediately drawing a large amount of the tension from her bones. He stood there in dress pants and a white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar with the sleeves rolled up, displaying his muscular tanned arms.
She leaped to him and hugged him hard. He felt warm and good and natural, and she loved how easy it was to fall into his arms again.
She spoke into his chest. “I can’t believe it’s you.”
“In the flesh . . . though after that kick of yours, maybe a tad more sore.”
She leaned back to take him in. A day’s worth of stubble shadowed his square chin, his blue eyes smiled at her, and his hair had grown out longer. She threaded her fingers through that thick wheat-blond hair and pulled him down into a kiss.
She wanted nothing more than to lengthen it, to linger in his arms, maybe show him the empty hay loft upstairs, but she stepped back, drawn away by a larger concern.
“Blackjack,” she said. “My horse. We have to get him inside. Something’s out there in the hills.”
She turned to the door—as a horse’s scream erupted, ripping through the night and quickly cutting off. Before anyone could move, a heavy object thudded against the neighboring wall. They fled deeper into the stables, to where the other horses were boarded in stalls. She looked toward the door.
No , please , no . . .
She pictured her large gelding, with his trusting eyes and soft nose, the way he pranced when happy, and his gentle neighs that greeted her whenever she entered the barn.
Jordan readied his black Heckler & Koch MP7, a mean-looking machine pistol.
She lifted her small Glock 19, recognizing a problem. “I need something bigger.”
Jordan handed his flashlight to Nate and reached to his belt. He pulled out his Colt 1911 and passed it to her, the same gun he had loaned to her often in the past. She wrapped her fingers around the grip and felt safer.
She turned to give her Glock to Nate, to offer him some protection—when a stranger appeared, stepping out of the deeper shadows behind him and startling her. The man wore a formal dark blue uniform, with two gold crosses embroidered on his lapels.
A chaplain?
“I hate to interrupt your happy reunion,” the stranger said. “But it’s time we thought about leaving here. I searched for other exits, but the main door remains the wisest path.”
“This is Christian,” Jordan introduced. “Friend of Rhun’s, if you get my drift.”
In other words, Sanguinist .
Nate’s voice trembled. “The professor’s car is parked about fifty yards away. Could we make it that far?”
As answer, an unnatural screeching pierced the night.
From the stalls all around, the horses stamped and shouldered into their gates, whinnying their growing terror. Even they knew escape was the only hope.
“What’s waiting for us out there?” Jordan asked, his weapon fixed on the door.
“From its smell and hisses, I believe it’s a cougar,” Christian said. “Albeit a tainted one.”
Tainted?
Erin went colder. “You’re talking about a blasphemare .”
The chaplain bowed his head in acknowledgment.
Blasphemare were beasts that had been corrupted by the blood of a strigoi, poisoned into monstrous incarnations of their natural forms, with hides so tough that Sanguinists made armor out of their skins.
Nate sucked in a quick breath. She touched him with one hand and felt him shiver. She didn’t blame him. A blasphemare wolf had once savaged him badly.
She had to get Nate out of here.
A ripping, splintering sound erupted to their left. Nate swung the flashlight toward the noise. Four hooked claws shredded through the thick redwood wall. Panicked, Nate fired the Glock at it.
The claws vanished, followed by another yowl, sounding angrier.
“I think you pissed it off,” Jordan said.
“Sorry,” Nate said.
“No worries. If you hadn’t fired, I would’ve.”
The cat bowled into the same wall, shaking
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