Blood Infernal: The Order of the Sanguines Series by James Rollins, Rebecca Cantrell Read Free Book Online Page A

full of pain.
    Just some desert creature . . .
    He climbed toward his camp, but the sound pursued him, scratching at his ears, shredding his sense of solace. It was high-pitched, like the screech of a house cat. Irritation grew inside him—along with a trickle of curiosity.
    What was wrong with it?
    He reached his small camp and plotted how to break down his tent and clear out his gear to leave no trace of his trespass here.
    Still, none of his thoughts lessened the ache of that cry in his ears. It was like hearing the scratching of a dry branch against a bedroom window’s glass. The more one tried to ignore it and return to slumber, the louder it became.
    He had at best one more night alone in the desert. If he didn’t do something about that mewling, he would never enjoy his last moments of peace.
    He stared in the direction of the crying, took one step, then another toward its source. Before he knew it, he was running across the sun-washed sand, flying over the dunes. As he drew closer, the sound grew louder, drawing him inexplicably onward. A part of him recognized something unnatural about this hunt, how it drew him, but he sped faster anyway.
    At last, he spotted the source in the distance. The mewling rose from an acacia bush that cast a faraway shadow. The desert tree must have found an underground water source, its tough roots fighting for survival in this dry land. The thorny trunk listed to one side, a testament to the relentless winds.
    Long before he reached the tree, a noxious smell struck him. Even upwind, the scent was familiar, marking the presence of a beast corrupted by the blood of a strigoi into something monstrous.
    A blasphemare .
    Was it that corrupted blood that had drawn him so inextricably across the desert? Had its evil impinged upon his already sharpened senses—senses honed from weeks of mining the sands for those malevolent drops? He slowed enough to pull his blades from their wrist sheaths. Sunlight flashed off the silver knives, ancient karambits, each curved like a leopard’s claw. He would need such claws to fight what lay ahead. By now, he could identify the scent of his prey: a blasphemare lion.
    He circled the tree from a distance. His eyes searched the shadows until he spotted a mound of tawny fur, mostly hidden beneath the bower. In her natural form, the lioness must have been stunning. Even as a tainted creature, her magnificence was undeniable. The corruption had filled her form with thick muscle, while her fur grew thick as velvet. Even her massive head, resting between her paws, revealed an intelligent face.
    Still, sickness throbbed in each weary beat of her heart.
    As he drew closer to her, he noted black blood crusted on her shoulder. It appeared a wide swath of fur had been burned away across her flanks.
    He could guess the origin of this corrupted lioness—and her injuries. He pictured the hordes of blasphemare that had accompanied Judas’s army during the battle fought here last winter. There had been jackals, hyenas, and a handful of lions. Rhun had believed that such beasts had been driven off or killed, along with the strigoi forces, at the end of that war, when a holy angelic fire had swept across these sands.
    Afterward, a Sanguinist team had been sent forth to hunt down any straggling survivors, but clearly this beast must have escaped the fire and the hunters.
    Even wounded, she had survived.
    She raised her golden muzzle and snarled in his direction. Her eyes glowed crimson out of the shadows, their true color stolen by the strigoi blood that had corrupted her. But even this effort seemed to sap her remaining strength. Her head sank back again to her paws. She had not long to live.
    Should I end her suffering or wait for her to die?
    He moved forward, closing the distance, still unsure. But before he could decide, she pounced out of the shadows and into the burning sunlight. The move caught him off guard. He managed to roll to the side, but sharp claws raked