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Authors: James Rollins, Rebecca Cantrell
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the rafters, as if trying to break inside.
“Time to go,” Christian said and pointed to the door ahead. “I’ll exit first, try to draw it off, and you follow in a count of ten. Make straight for Erin’s Land Rover and get moving.”
“What about you?” Jordan asked.
“If I’m lucky, pick me up. If not, leave me.”
Before anyone could argue, Christian covered the distance to the door in a breath. He grabbed a handle and shoved open the front doors. In front of him stretched an expanse of dust and grass. In the distance stood her beat-up Land Rover and the shiny Lincoln town car. Both looked much farther away than when she had ridden up on Blackjack a moment ago.
Christian stepped into the night, illuminated by a lamp over the door. A flash of silver showed that he’d drawn a blade, then he vanished to the left.
Jordan kept his gun up, plainly starting a countdown in his head.
Erin turned away, remembering Blackjack. She hurried along the line of six stalls and began releasing the catches, swinging the doors open. She wouldn’t leave the horses trapped in here to die as Blackjack had. They deserved a chance to run.
Already frightened, the horses thundered out of the stalls and swept between Jordan and Nate. Gunsmoke followed last. Nate ran his fingers along the mare’s sweating flanks as the horse raced by, as if longing to accompany her. Reaching the door, the horses fled out into the night.
“That’s a ten count,” Jordan said and waved his free arm toward the open door.
The three of them rushed forward, following the dust-stirred trail of the horses out into the yard. Jordan kept to their left, pointing his gun in the direction Christian had vanished.
As Erin sprinted with Nate toward the Land Rover, motion drew her attention back to the stable. From around the far corner, Christian came tumbling back into the yard, landing in a crouch.
From that same corner, a monstrous beast stalked into view.
Erin gaped at the sight.
Nate tripped, crashing down to one knee.
The cougar padded into the yard, its tail lashing back and forth. It stretched nine feet, well over three hundred pounds of muscle, claws, and teeth. Tall, tufted ears swiveled, taking in every sound. Red-gold eyes shone in the darkness. But the most striking feature was its ghostly gray pelt, like a shred of fog made flesh.
“Go,” Jordan urged, seeing her slow to help Nate. “I got him.”
But who has you?
She stayed with them, keeping her Colt high.
Across the yard, the beast snarled at Christian, revealing long fangs—then lunged. But it was a feint. It jumped past the Sanguinist chaplain and headed straight for them.
By now, Jordan had Nate back on his feet, but the two men would never get out of the way in time. Standing her ground in front of them, she squeezed off a shot. The bullet struck the animal on the forehead, but it merely shook its head and kept coming.
She kept firing as it barreled toward her.
She couldn’t run, not until Nate was safe.
She squeezed the trigger over and over again—until finally the Colt’s slide locked back. Out of bullets.
The cat bunched its back legs and bounded across the last of the distance.
Vatican City
Rhun’s muscles stiffened with terror.
She’s in danger . . .
He pictured wisps of blond hair and amber eyes. The scent of lavender filled his nostrils. Pain kept her name from him, leaving him only need and desire.
Must reach her . . .
As panic thrummed through his body, he thrashed over onto his stomach in the burning wine, fighting through the agony, trying to think, to hold one thought in his head.
He could not let her die.
He pushed himself onto his hands and knees and braced his back against the stone lid of the sarcophagus. Gathering his faith, his strength, and his fear, he pushed against the marble slab.
Stone grated on stone as the lid shifted. A mere finger’s breadth, but it moved.
He gritted his teeth and pushed again, straining, tearing his
“Time to go,” Christian said and pointed to the door ahead. “I’ll exit first, try to draw it off, and you follow in a count of ten. Make straight for Erin’s Land Rover and get moving.”
“What about you?” Jordan asked.
“If I’m lucky, pick me up. If not, leave me.”
Before anyone could argue, Christian covered the distance to the door in a breath. He grabbed a handle and shoved open the front doors. In front of him stretched an expanse of dust and grass. In the distance stood her beat-up Land Rover and the shiny Lincoln town car. Both looked much farther away than when she had ridden up on Blackjack a moment ago.
Christian stepped into the night, illuminated by a lamp over the door. A flash of silver showed that he’d drawn a blade, then he vanished to the left.
Jordan kept his gun up, plainly starting a countdown in his head.
Erin turned away, remembering Blackjack. She hurried along the line of six stalls and began releasing the catches, swinging the doors open. She wouldn’t leave the horses trapped in here to die as Blackjack had. They deserved a chance to run.
Already frightened, the horses thundered out of the stalls and swept between Jordan and Nate. Gunsmoke followed last. Nate ran his fingers along the mare’s sweating flanks as the horse raced by, as if longing to accompany her. Reaching the door, the horses fled out into the night.
“That’s a ten count,” Jordan said and waved his free arm toward the open door.
The three of them rushed forward, following the dust-stirred trail of the horses out into the yard. Jordan kept to their left, pointing his gun in the direction Christian had vanished.
As Erin sprinted with Nate toward the Land Rover, motion drew her attention back to the stable. From around the far corner, Christian came tumbling back into the yard, landing in a crouch.
From that same corner, a monstrous beast stalked into view.
Erin gaped at the sight.
Nate tripped, crashing down to one knee.
The cougar padded into the yard, its tail lashing back and forth. It stretched nine feet, well over three hundred pounds of muscle, claws, and teeth. Tall, tufted ears swiveled, taking in every sound. Red-gold eyes shone in the darkness. But the most striking feature was its ghostly gray pelt, like a shred of fog made flesh.
“Go,” Jordan urged, seeing her slow to help Nate. “I got him.”
But who has you?
She stayed with them, keeping her Colt high.
Across the yard, the beast snarled at Christian, revealing long fangs—then lunged. But it was a feint. It jumped past the Sanguinist chaplain and headed straight for them.
By now, Jordan had Nate back on his feet, but the two men would never get out of the way in time. Standing her ground in front of them, she squeezed off a shot. The bullet struck the animal on the forehead, but it merely shook its head and kept coming.
She kept firing as it barreled toward her.
She couldn’t run, not until Nate was safe.
She squeezed the trigger over and over again—until finally the Colt’s slide locked back. Out of bullets.
The cat bunched its back legs and bounded across the last of the distance.
Vatican City
Rhun’s muscles stiffened with terror.
She’s in danger . . .
He pictured wisps of blond hair and amber eyes. The scent of lavender filled his nostrils. Pain kept her name from him, leaving him only need and desire.
Must reach her . . .
As panic thrummed through his body, he thrashed over onto his stomach in the burning wine, fighting through the agony, trying to think, to hold one thought in his head.
He could not let her die.
He pushed himself onto his hands and knees and braced his back against the stone lid of the sarcophagus. Gathering his faith, his strength, and his fear, he pushed against the marble slab.
Stone grated on stone as the lid shifted. A mere finger’s breadth, but it moved.
He gritted his teeth and pushed again, straining, tearing his
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