He pulled his blade from its sleeve and pricked his palm, dripping blood onto the stone chalice held by the statue of Lazarus. Sophia and Christian flanked him, quickly adding their blood to his.
Together they chanted, “For this is the Chalice of our blood. Of the new and everlasting Testament.”
The outline of the door appeared in the stone.
“Mysterium fidei,” they intoned in chorus.
Slowly — too slowly — the door cracked open. The ripe smell of blood billowed out immediately, thick and heady, redolent with danger.
As soon as the way was open enough, Rhun slipped in sideways and ran, following that scent of blood toward its source.
He reached the threshold to the main chapel — in time to hear Elisabeta’s heart stop. He took in the impossible sight. In the sacred room, under the glow of the silver mosaics, Elisabeta lay on her back, her limbs limp and lifeless.
But she was not alone.
Bernard knelt beside her, chained by the wrist to her, his mouth bloody. He turned toward Rhun with anguish etched in his face. Tears ran down the cardinal’s cheeks, parting through the crimson stain of his sin.
Rhun ignored that pain and ran to Elisabeta’s side, skidding to his knees, lifting her in his arms, cradling her. He pulled her body as far from Bernard as he could with the two of them shackled together.
He wanted to rage against this sin, to let fury burn away the grief that overwhelmed him. Someday he would make Bernard pay, but not this day.
This day was only for her.
Christian was the first to reach his side. He touched Rhun on the shoulder in sympathy then dropped to a knee and fiddled with the shackles. The metal bands dropped from her slim wrist and clattered to the floor.
Now that she was freed from her murderer, Rhun gathered up her cold body and stood, needing to put distance between her and Bernard.
Sophia marched her two Sanguinist companions to the cardinal’s distraught form. They drew him roughly to his feet. From their low murmurs, they could not believe that the cardinal could have done such a thing.
But he had — he had killed her.
“Rhun…” Erin stood with Jordan, leaning on his arm, holding on to him, to that life inside him that burned so brightly.
He could not face that and turned away, taking Elisabeta toward the altar, wanting her to be surrounded by holiness. He made a promise that she would always remain in such grace from here. He swore to find where her children were buried and rest her near them.
She had earned it.
Long ago, he had stolen her from her rightful place, but now he would do his best to restore what he could. It was all that he could do for her.
Rich silvery light bathed her pale skin, her long lashes, and her black curls. Even in death she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He kept his gaze away from the savage wound on her throat, the blood that ran down her shoulders and soaked into her fine silk nightdress.
Upon reaching the altar, he could not put her down on that cold bed. When he released her, she would truly be gone from him. Instead, he crumpled to the floor next to the altar, pulling down the white altar cloth to wrap her naked limbs.
With the edge of the blessed cloth, he wiped blood from her chin, her full lips, her cheeks. A bruise covered the side of her face. Bernard must have struck her.
You will pay for that, too.
He leaned closer to her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He had spoken those words many times to her — too many times.
How often I have wronged you…
His tears fell on her cold, white face.
He stroked her cheek, gently over the bruise as if she could still feel it. He touched her soft eyelids, wishing that she could simply step back from death, that she could open them again.
And then she did.
She stirred in his arms, awakening like a flower, petals softly opening to a new day. Initially, she began to pull away, then she recognized him and went quiet.
“Rhun…” she said faintly.
He stared at her, speechless, hearing no heartbeat from her, knowing the truth.
God, no…
He glanced over a shoulder, rage building, replacing his grief. Bernard had not only fed on her — he had forced his own blood into her. He had damned her as readily as Rhun had centuries ago, defiling her. She was a soulless abomination again.
Only months ago, Rhun had sacrificed the return of his own soul to save hers — and Bernard had cast such a gift to ruin and ash.
The cardinal stood, surrounded by Christian and the other three Sanguinists. Bernard had committed the greatest sin, and he would be punished, perhaps even with death.
Rhun felt no pity for him.
Elisabeta dropped her head against his chest, too weak even to lift it. She murmured to him, more breath than words. “I am weary, Rhun… weary unto death.”
He held her, matching her soft whisper. “You must feed. We will find someone who will give us blood to restore your strength.”
Sophia spoke behind him, looming over them. “That is impossible. She cannot be allowed to exist. She is a strigoi now and must be destroyed.”
Rhun looked to the others, finding no dissent. They intended to slaughter her like an animal. But he found succor from the most unlikely source.
Bernard spoke as if he still had a voice in such matters. “She must drink the wine, become one of us. I took this sin of her creation upon myself… because the countess swore to face this challenge. To drink the holy wine and join our order.”
Or die in the effort.
Rhun looked down at Elisabeta in shock. She would never have agreed to such a thing. But Elisabeta lay in his arms with her eyes closed again, having faded away in her weakened state.
Sophia touched the silver cross that hung round her neck. “Even if she passes such a test, it will not ameliorate your sin, Cardinal.”
“I will accept my punishment,” he said. “But she must take the holy wine — and accept God’s judgment.”
Rhun protested. “This is not her sin.”
Christian crossed to join Sophia. “Rhun, I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter how she was changed, only that she’s now a strigoi. Such creatures cannot be allowed to live. They must either face this trial, drink the wine — or be killed.”
Rhun considered escaping with her. Even if he could overwhelm those gathered here, what then? A damned existence wandering the earth, fighting to keep her from expressing her true nature, both of them severed from God’s grace?
“It must be done, and it must be done now,” Sophia said.
“Wait.” Jordan held up a hand. “Maybe we all need to step back, talk this through.”
“I agree,” said Erin. “This is an extraordinary set of circumstances. Remember, she has information we need. Should we not at least obtain that before we risk losing her again?”
“Erin’s right,” Jordan said. “It seems the countess was paid in full. She got what she asked for, and now she needs to tell us what she knows.”
Christian frowned, but he looked like he was being slowly swayed to their side. Unfortunately, Sophia looked little moved, and she was backed by the two Sanguinists at her side.
Then support came from a new direction.
“I will tell you what I know,” Elisabeta rasped out, turning her head with what clearly took great effort. “But not if it means my death.”
Sophia slipped free two curved blades, their lengths shining in the candlelight. “We cannot let a strigoi live. The rules are clear. A strigoi is allowed only two choices: to join our order or to be put immediately to death.”