Page 153 of Eternal Surrender

Stillness filled the air.

Stunned, I stared up at the low-lying branches vacillating in and out of focus, the warmth of pooling blood beneath me.

Alistair loomed over me and said, “Silver bullets. Very reliable.” He wiped his neck and studied his bloodstained fingers.

My words gurgled and made no sense as wave after wave of agony gripped me, snatching my breath away. My mind slipped into darkness and the futility of consciousness mirrored my fear that my body was giving up.

Or giving me over.

All I could think about was Ingrid, yet even speaking her name was lost to me.

Death, I’d faced it before. Not a mortal’s passing but something altogether different, a miraculous transcending of time and space as though reaching the very edges of infinity, only to be dragged back, pulled by some immortal coil and snapping back into flesh and bone, reanimating my being with a fierce pulse.

I could feel my legs again. The sensation rippled upward allowing me to fill my lungs and take a breath. The contractions where the bullets had left were settling.

Ingrid was sitting up on her heels staring wide-eyed into the barrel of the revolver that Alistair was pointing at her.

I grabbed his gun and threw it. “Silver bullets only work if they stay embedded.”

Alastair staggered backward, his face twisted in fear. I shoved him up against a tree.

“What’s your blood poisoned with?” I wrapped my hands around his throat.

He curled his top lip into a grimace, his face reddening as he muttered. “You didn’t swallow any of it. So you may be unaffected, but that also means you saw nothing.”

“I saw enough,” I said, bluffing, “You stole an entire collection of scrolls from the Stone Masters.”

His face twisted in misery. And I read from his expression that Sovereign had no idea what was on them.

Westminster Abbey leaked from his mind, a momentary lapse in an otherwise secure mind.

“Are the scrolls in Westminster Abbey?” I tightened my grip.

His furrowed brow deepened. “Why are they of any interest to you?” His expression changed. “That’s all you saw. Useless.” Drops of spittle came with the words. “You have only one value and that’s to serve us.”

“The scrolls,” I snapped, “where are they?”

A whipping sound flew past my ear and a warmth sprayed against my face, but there was no pain. . .

Alistair slumped to the ground, his head matted with blood and skull fragments. He’d been shot through his right eye with an arrow.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Shirt off, I leaned over the sink, washing off Alistair’s blood.

Ingrid was silent, leaning against the far wall with her arms crossed over her chest, her thoughts racing.

This small, modest sacristy paled in comparison to what lay beyond the door at the far end of the room, London’s thousand-year-old Gothic monastery, Westminster Abbey.

Buttoning up the clerical black shirt, I fiddled with the dog collar.

Ingrid approached and assisted me to position it correctly, her hands still shaking. “I thought vampires had to steer away from anything religious.” she said.

“You’re thinking of Bela Lugosi.” I took her hands in mine, trying to still their trembling. “You’re still shaken from flying.”

“Were they aiming that arrow at us?” she asked.

“I’m not sure. Alistair failed his mission to persuade you to go with him. Maybe Sovereign didn’t approve.”