The Blood Gospel (Page 40)

One of the priests came forward. Cold hands slid across Jordan’s body, taking away his guns. The man didn’t notice Jordan’s knife, or he didn’t care. Either way, Jordan felt grateful that he left it.

Another figure retreated a few paces into the desert with Korza.

The third crossed to the grimwolf’s body. He splashed liquid across the dead bulk, as if baptizing the beast in death. But it was not holy water. A match flared, got tossed, and the body ignited in a huge swirl of flames.

The smell of charred fur smoked out across the dark sands.

The first priest stayed to guard Jordan and Erin. Not that she seemed capable of putting up much of a fight. The spunk seemed to have drained right out of her. Her shoulders sagged, and she swayed on her good leg. Jordan moved toward her, but the guard raised a palm in warning. Jordan ignored the silent command and slid an arm around Erin.

Out in the desert, Korza and his companion argued fiercely, likely about the fate of the two surviving humans. Jordan kept a close watch on that outcome. Would they abandon Erin and him here in the middle of nowhere, or worse yet, send them to the same fiery end as the grimwolf?

Whatever their specific words, Korza seemed to win the argument.

Jordan didn’t know if that was good or bad.

As if sensing Jordan’s attention, Korza turned and locked gazes with him. He pointed to the helicopter and gestured for him and Erin to board.

Jordan still didn’t know if that was good or bad. He knew the skill with which military black-ops teams could make a man disappear. Were he and Erin about to suffer the same fate?

He ran over various scenarios in his head and figured their best chance of surviving lay in getting into that helicopter. He’d fight if he had to, but this battle wasn’t one he could win.

Yet.

He helped Erin limp toward the open cabin door, the two ducking under the swirling blades.

He waited for the others to board, gave one last look toward the open desert, and weighed the option of running. But Erin had only one good leg.

Korza remained at his shoulder, as if silently reminding him of the impossibility of escape. He had retrieved Jordan’s jacket from the sand and handed it to him. That simple gesture went a long way toward making Jordan feel less anxious.

“After you,” the priest said politely.

Jordan draped his coat around Erin’s shoulders and helped her into the chopper. She paused, crouched in the hatch.

The inside of the helicopter’s cabin was as opulent as he expected. Soothing blue light fell on polished dark wood. The smell of expensive leather filled his nostrils. Smooth lines shouted luxury. It was far from the utilitarian crafts he usually flew in. He wished he were in one of them now.

“There are only two open seats left,” she said.

Jordan peeked around and saw she was right. “So, Korza, which one of us is riding in cargo?”

“I apologize. They had expected to retrieve only me, and perhaps the boy. It will be tight quarters, but the flight is not long.”

Erin glanced back, looking to Jordan for guidance.

“We can double-buckle,” Jordan said, and pointed to one of the large luxurious seats in back.

She nodded, squeezed past the others’ knees, and took the seat, scooting over to make room for him.

He followed her and pulled the harness out to its farthest length before he squeezed next to her. “My mom had a lot of kids,” he explained, snapping them in together. “She used to buckle two of us in with the same seat belt. Didn’t yours?”

Her voice was dull with shock. “My mother wasn’t allowed to drive a car. None of the women were.”

He remembered her earlier statement. I saw the Church used as a tool of the powerful against the weak. For now, he filed that all away to ask about later.

Korza climbed in last. The priest was smaller than Jordan, and it would have been less snug if he’d buckled Erin in with Korza, but Jordan sure as hell wasn’t going to let that happen.

The priest took the last open seat, directly across from theirs. Hidden within a hooded cassock, Korza’s neighbor leaned to whisper in his ear. Jordan didn’t understand the words, but he could tell the speaker was a woman. That surprised him. Was she human? Or did the Church recruit female strigoi to the fold of the Sanguinists?

After that, no one spoke.

The others sat still as statues, which Jordan found more disturbing than if they had been racing at double speed.

As the helicopter roared and rose from the desert in a flurry of sand, he tried to think about anything besides Erin’s warm body tucked against his. At first, she had struggled to keep as much space between them as possible, but she soon gave up on that, trapped together by the harness. As the helicopter droned onward through the night, she eventually relaxed into sleep, too exhausted to resist.

Her head came to rest against his shoulder, and he shifted to the side so that it wouldn’t fall forward. It had been far too long since a beautiful woman had fallen asleep on him. Her blond hair had escaped its rubber band and spilled to her shoulders. This close, he noted the lighter strands woven through the richer honey, likely bleached white by her time digging under the sun.

He wanted to trace a finger along one of those strands, as if following a thread in a larger tapestry, trying to understand the warp and weft that made up this woman at his side. Erin had been through a lot in the past few hours. He intended to get her out of this mess and home safely. He had to. He’d failed everyone else under his command.

Better shut down that alley.

Instead, he turned his attention to the wound on her tanned thigh. Though it was not deep, the puckered edges were a nasty red and dusted with sand. Moving slowly so as not to wake her, he pulled out his tiny first-aid kit.

Freeing an antiseptic wipe, he gently cleaned the wound, keeping his touch soft, moving slowly. Still, she moaned in her sleep.

Every Sanguinist looked in her direction.

With a chill, Jordan moved his free hand toward his dagger and rested his palm there.

“Do not fear us,” Korza whispered, his face hidden again inside his hood. “You are quite safe.”

Jordan didn’t bother to answer.

And he didn’t move his hand.

9:02 P.M.

Erin’s head jolted forward, snapping her awake. Deafened by the roar of the helicopter, she found herself looking into an amazing pair of eyes, light blue with a darker ring around the edge of the iris. The eyes smiled at her. She smiled back before she realized that they belonged to Jordan.

She had fallen asleep on his shoulder and woken up smiling at him.