the wind whipping through the San D

astery. Her thin trench coat offered no protection. She looked

, a young novice monk wea

ask for a miracle cure. She calmly asked him about the procedur

eyes were completely devoid of life.

ed out a string of polished obsidian rosary beads. H

to her, offering them as a s

pale fingers, bruised with needle marks from her re

n, the heavy sound of combat boots slamming aga

om nowhere. The veins on the back

ight out of Silas's grip, pulling so ha

e hand hurled the beads

ac

dozens of pieces, scatte

ped and sp

ous eyes. He was breathing heavily, his hair a mess,

ssively yanked a silver St. Christopher medal off his

er amulet-a symbol of protection for the living-deep

, his voice vibrating with a terrifying intensity.

. She tried to pull her hand back. "K

urned red. The tough exterior broke. He

her toward the exit of the monastery, comp

She stumbled over the stones, for

p. Kian yanked the passenger door open, practically li

vely buckled her seatbelt. His movements were rough, driv

he seat, gasping for air.

cked the doors from the driver

ctually killing you," he snappe

has too many anomalies. I need a better opinion. I've a

ving the ringing bells of the monastery f

the window. The absolute deadness in her heart had been

rapid, highly technical medical jargon to someon

s, terrified of what this forced medical exam would br