“Mmm,” he growled as his cold tongue drank her in.
“Go—” She tried to turn away, but the blade dug in deeper and she choked on her own blood.
“So sweet, my precious girl. Just wait… just wait.” She could feel his cold hands run over her struggling body, and she cried in agony as the blade tore at her stomach.
Lorenzo laid a single kiss at the corner of her mouth before he rose, snapped off the handle of the sword, and ran toward Stephen, grabbing a weapon from one of the dead guards.
No! her mind screamed. She tried to grab at the blade and realized why he had snapped off the handle. Her hands quickly became slick with blood, and she could not grip the metal with enough force to pull it from the rough ground beneath her. She was pinned and weak from blood loss. It seeped out around her, and every time she struggled, it only tore her wound more.
“Dad?” she choked out, looking for her father. “Dad!”
Stephen had been holding his own against the guard, but once Lorenzo joined in, he was battling on two fronts with only one weapon. Their eyes met for one panicked moment.
Too much.
Beatrice sobbed and struggled against the sword pinning her to the ground, only to hear the quick snap when it finally cut her spine. Her legs fell still. She could no longer feel them. She closed her eyes.
Stephen yelled, “Beatrice!”
Too much.
Lorenzo was going to win.
Giovanni and Tenzin picked up Lorenzo’s scent just past the courtyard where Baojia had left them, tracking him deeper into the mountain. They struggled through the scent of human blood, meeting only a few survivors. A few monks had hidden in corners, but most had rushed out to the courtyards, only to be cut down as Lorenzo’s men found them.
The two friends entered the dim library. Old energy filled the room, but Giovanni could sense that no vampire remained. Scrolls, books, and tablets lay tossed on the floor. Two monks lay near the door, their necks snapped. Giovanni immediately picked up a faint human heartbeat on the far side of the room.
“Fu-han,” Tenzin whispered as she rushed across the room. She picked up the old man, cradling him as his eyes flickered open.
“Tenzin?” he croaked. “My dear, why… what has happened? Who were those immortals? Why…”
“Shhh,” she soothed the old man, rocking him as she held his head in her lap. “Fu-han, the book? Did they get the book?”
“They wanted Stephen’s book,” the old monk whispered. “I don’t know why. They won’t understand it. I finally…” He stopped and coughed up a little blood. “I finally found…” The monk’s eyes flickered closed.
“What?” Giovanni asked. “What did you find, old man?”
He ignored Tenzin’s sharp eyes, realizing that this must be Zhang’s old pupil, who had been interpreting Geber’s manuscript for them.
“He won’t be able to… it’s simply not what it seems. And he does not have the humility to see.” Fu-han was looking into the distance, his eyes open, but empty, as the life drained out of him. “He is too arrogant. Too arrogant…”
“Who is too arrogant?” Giovanni knelt next to him. He heard the old man’s heart falter, and he put his hands on his chest, sending an electric jolt through his body, which started the heart again. “What are you talking about? What did you discover?” he practically yelled.
“Giovanni!” Tenzin pushed him away, but he only crawled back, bending toward the monk in supplication.
Fu-han’s eyes opened and locked with Giovanni’s, momentarily lucid in the flickering light of the library.
“Learn humility, immortal. Look for the space between. The secret of the elixir lies in what is not there.”
“What—”
“Do not forget the fifth element,” he whispered as his eye flickered closed and his heart stopped.
The fifth element?
His mind raced and his heart pounded. There was something… something that Lorenzo did not see. Even if his son had the book, the old monk said he could not understand it. If Lorenzo could not understand it, there was still hope they could keep the elixir from him.
He felt the blow as Tenzin threw him across the room.
“Who do you think you are?” she yelled. “Have you no respect for my father’s pupil?”
She raged, and he knew it was as much in grief for the destruction of the monastery as it was in anger for his actions. Tenzin tossed him around the library, and he did not try to resist, letting her vent her ire as she battered him against the cold, stone walls. Papers whipped around the room, churned by the wind she summoned.
“Tenzin—”
“This is your fault, you arrogant boy! Did you think your suffering so much worse than others? Did you think you were unique? This is the monster that you created!”
The whirlwind swirled around her, an outward manifestation of her anger and frustration. It was rare for Tenzin to lose her temper like this; he had only seen it once.
“I’m sorry, Tenzin.”
“You are sorry? You’re sorry? Your sorrow does not make this right!”
He narrowed his eyes. She was emotional. Too emotional. He suddenly realized his own blood was churning, and a twisting fear filled his stomach. He felt a phantom pain in his back, and his blood ached as it rushed through his body.
His blood… Beatrice’s blood. His eyes darted to Tenzin, baffled by her uncharacteristic show of emotion. Her blood. Stephen.