The Blood Gospel

She glanced to her small army, a force strong enough to dig for hours without tiring. She had to take the gamble. She stared across the lake to the distant hills.

If she was right, this subterranean vault might have a back door.

35

October 27, 5:48 A.M., CET

Beneath Harmsfeld Lake, Germany

In the echo chamber of the cavernous concrete tunnels, Rhun’s senses swam and wavered, as if he were fighting underwater. Ultrasonic shrieking tore into his skull. The flurry of beating wings and writhing bodies, splattered with a rain of blood, made it near impossible to focus.

But he fought through the noise by concentrating on one face: scared, bloodied, and fierce.

Erin Granger.

Rhun reached her and swatted a bat away from her chest with all the strength in his arm, cracking hollow bones and crushing the creature’s face. Although Erin’s long jacket continued to protect all but her hands and head, he watched the frantic thrum of her heartbeat in her throat, heard the gasp of her breath. Their group could not last much longer.

Erin twirled before him, struggling with another icarops that clung to her back, clawing its way toward her neck.

Her flashlight jerked as she struggled, illuminating curtains of bats overhead.

Thousands.

He grabbed her, threw her across his back, and shouldered her through the dark doorway, where Emmanuel was fighting with his blade. At his side, Nadia danced amid a shimmer of whirling silver death.

“Get the soldier inside!” Rhun yelled to his sister of the cloth.

He dropped Erin roughly, deliberately, onto her back, crushing the icarops with a sharp squeal and a wash of blood. The soldier skidded across the floor next, protected by his own leathers. He rolled to bash a bat from his shoulder with his flashlight, then finished with a sharp blow of the butt of his gun.

A reverberating crash behind Rhun shook the air, telling him that Nadia had slammed the door. Emmanuel leaned his back against it. The room was square, small, but secure for the moment. An open archway at the rear of the room led into yet another chamber, but Rhun heard no heartbeats, no movement. The air smelled dead and still, tainted by old guano.

They should be safe for a few moments.

Nadia finished clearing the smattering of bats that had made it into the room with them.

The wooden door muffled the squealing of the bats outside, but claws continued to scrabble and teeth to gnaw as the horde fought to reach them.

Rhun understood that desire. Erin’s heartbeat continued fast but strong. Next to her the soldier’s heart still raced. The fragrance of blood wafting from her and the soldier threatened to overpower him.

He took a step back, away from the bleeding pair.

Erin stood and stumbled to Jordan’s side. “Are you hurt?”

He still sat on the ground. “Just my pride,” he said. “Give it a minute.”

“Did the Belial do this?” Erin turned toward Rhun, bringing with her another drift of blood scent.

He swallowed and retreated another step.

Nadia answered, wiping her chain across her thigh before securing it back around her waist like a belt. “It would take years to make that many blasphemare. It was not those who hunted you in Masada who made these creatures.”

Rhun nudged a dead bat with his toe. “She is right. Some of these icarops are decades old.”

“So we are not alone down here.” Emmanuel’s deep voice overrode theirs. “One or more strigoi are using this structure as a nest.”

“More good news,” Jordan said, fingering his scalp. “But these bat bites won’t turn us into strigoi, right?”

Erin aimed her light at him. Fresh blood streamed from his hands and temple. Slashes marked the top of her body, too.

Rhun flinched, having to look away from the gleaming red blood. He spoke to the wall. “No. To become a strigoi, you must be drained by one, then drink his blood. Or her blood. You are safe from that fate.”

Nadia reached a hand down and hauled the sergeant to his feet, seeming to sense that Rhun did not dare get any closer to him. “Are your wounds serious, Sergeant?”

Jordan directed his light at the cut on his hand. “Nothing I can’t fix with a big enough Band-Aid. How about you, Erin? You okay?”

“Mostly.” She wiped the back of her hand on her jeans. “But why didn’t the bats attack you three?”

“An intriguing question.” Emmanuel’s body rocked forward as bats thumped and squealed against the door. “It might be your heartbeats. Or perhaps they have been trained to attack humans.”

Jordan winced. “Trained attack bats?”

“Did you prefer the wolf?” Erin pulled his miniature first-aid kit out of his pocket.

“A little,” he said. “Yes.”

Rhun’s head was swimming with the scent of their blood. He stepped back toward the door.

“Your wine,” Nadia reminded him.

He reached to his thigh, freed his wineskin, and took a quick sip, enough to steady him, but hopefully not enough to trigger a penance. Christ’s blood burned down his throat, the warmth spreading through him—but thankfully no memories came.

“Hold out your hand,” Erin said to Jordan. “Let me see.”

The soldier pointed his flashlight at the wound on his thumb. “I think the teeth missed all the important parts. Stings like the devil, though.”

“They are the devil’s work,” Emmanuel said, still crouched at the door. He fingered his rosary and began to pray.

Nadia flattened her back against the wall, her eyes fixed on the bats on the floor, also doing her best to ignore the small drops of fresh blood striking the concrete, as loud as raindrops on a tin roof.

Here was why humans could not be included in Sanguinist expeditions. Rhun fought down his anger, much of it directed at Bernard for forcing this pair upon them. The Cardinal did not understand life in the field.

“Did you have a recent tetanus shot?” Erin whispered.

“Sure, but not rabies.”

“They’re not rabid,” Nadia said, not looking up.

Erin finished bandaging his thumb. “Luckily, it’s your left hand.”

“The expendable one?” The soldier grinned at her. “What about that gash at my hairline?”

“Put your head down.” She examined it and concluded her assessment. “Bloody, but not deep.”

Rhun tried not to notice how gently she wiped the scalp wound clean or how lightly her hands closed it with butterfly bandages. Every motion made it obvious that she cared for the soldier.