Born in Blood (The Sentinels) (26 page)

“And if I don’t want to become your sacrifice?” she croaked.

Her father smiled with cold indifference.

“It really isn’t optional, my dear.”

 

 

Duncan paced the inner garden of Valhalla, his seething impatience making it impossible for him to stand still.

He’d awoken two hours ago with his head aching and his shoulder on fire, but ignoring the young healer who’d insisted he remain in bed, he’d gone in search of the Mave.

He had to get back to Kansas City.

And he didn’t care who he had to piss off to get there.

Unfortunately the Mave had been impossible to track down and Fane had refused to allow him to leave, claiming they were doing everything possible to locate Callie.

It wasn’t that Duncan doubted the Sentinel’s word; Fane would lay down his life to rescue Callie. But being forced to pace the floor while Callie was in danger was nothing short of torture.

Trying to pass the time without doing something crazy that would get himself locked in the dungeons, Duncan had called his chief to explain to her why there was a dead body in the parking lot of his apartment building.

And, oh yeah, to warn her that her most trusted coroner was not only dead, but now under the control of Lord Zakhar.

His heart squeezed at the memory of Molinari’s shocked grief, but he refused to give in to his own seething emotions. He would mourn Frank once Callie was safe.

Until then... he was the enemy.

Pausing long enough to slam his fist into a marble fountain, he abruptly stiffened, but not in pain.

Someone had entered the garden.

Spinning around, he watched as Fane stepped from behind a trimmed hedge, his tattooed face as hard as granite.

“It’s about damned time,” Duncan growled, stomping his way through the flower beds to stand in front of the Sentinel. “Where’s the Mave?”

Folding his arms over his bare chest, Fane met Duncan’s fierce scowl with a shuttered expression and said, “She’s called together the witches.”

“Why?”

“She hopes they can combine their powers to locate Callie.”

Duncan narrowed his gaze. He knew jack-squat about witches and their powers. “What are the odds they can?”

“Not good enough.” Fane gave a jerk of his head. “Come on.”

Duncan followed the man out of the garden and into a narrow hall. Then, halting in front of a seemingly blank wall, he placed his hand flat against a small scanner that was hidden in a potted plant.

The wall slid open with a soft hiss, revealing an elevator that was lined with steel and high-tech security alarms.

“Where are we going?” Duncan muttered. “The Batcave?”

Fane shoved him into the elevator and pushed the one button on the control panel. “To meet with the Tagos.”

“Goddammit,” Duncan snapped, watching the door slide close in frustration. “We’ve wasted enough time. We should be out searching for Callie.”

Fane leaned against the smooth wall as they headed downward at heart-stopping speed. “Where?”

Well, that was the question, wasn’t it?

If Duncan had so much as a fucking hint where the necromancer was keeping Callie, there wasn’t a force in nature that could keep him at Valhalla. He muttered a curse.

“Don’t you have some sort of mystical bond with her?” he challenged his companion.

Fane’s stony expression never altered, but there was no mistaking the heat boiling from his massive body. The Sentinel was as close to the edge as Duncan.

“I can sense she’s still alive, but there’s something cloaking our bond,” he admitted in stark tones.

“The necromancer?”

“Yes.”

The elevator came to a sudden halt, the door sliding silently open.

“Perfect,” Duncan snarled as he stepped out of the small cubical. “Just perfect.”

“Your frustration serves no purpose, cop,” a deep male voice chided.

Belatedly realizing that he’d stepped directly into a huge office, Duncan came to an abrupt halt.

Yow.

He was accustomed to the cramped police station with outdated equipment and shitty furniture.

This... this was a cop’s wet dream.

A long, brightly lit room with a state of the art computer system and heavy wooden furniture that was spaced far enough apart to give a person privacy. On the far wall was a line of monitors that hinted at surveillance equipment that could rival the Pentagon.

Hell, he was fairly sure that some of those monitors were connected to government satellites. Maybe the high-bloods had their own satellites.

On another wall there were several doors that were closed and monitored with motion and heat sensors, making Duncan wonder what kind of secrets were lurking just out of sight.

Military grade weapons?

Super heroes?

Elvis?

Shaking his head, Duncan turned his attention to the man standing in the center of the room.

Wolfe, the leader of the Sentinels.

There could be no doubt.

He didn’t have the tattoos or bulging muscles of Fane.

He didn’t even wear a symbol of his authority.

But there was an unmistakable authority stamped onto the dark, exotic features that were framed by glossy dark hair that was touched with a startling streak of silver. And a predatory power in the lean body that was covered by a pair of black jeans and white tee stretched tight over a broad chest.

His feet were encased in a pair of heavy shit-kickers and spread wide, his hands planted on his hips as he regarded Duncan with a suspicious glare.

Or as Duncan’s pa would say “giving him the stink-eye.”

Any other time, Duncan might have been intimidated. Wolfe was the kind of guy who could daunt anyone. But right now he was consumed by his fear for Callie and in no mood for a pissing match.

“You think I should be satisfied to sit around here with my thumb stuck up my ass?” he rasped, giving his own version of the stink-eye.

“Mind your manners, cop, or you’ll have something besides your thumb stuck up your ass,” a new voice growled.

Hissing in shock, Duncan turned his head to watch two men step out of the shadows. Christ. He would have sworn on his favorite Sig Sauer that they hadn’t been there a second ago.

So did they use a hidden entrance?

Or could they cloak themselves?

Smiling at his shock, the speaker halted next to Wolfe, looking every inch as dangerous as his Tagos.

Oh, he made a pretense of being civilized. He had his dark hair that was threaded with hints of autumn fire cut short and his lean body was attired in a blue silk shirt and black chinos.

His lean face was perfectly constructed with a wide brow and narrow nose. And while he was too masculine to be traditionally handsome, he had the sort of “tall, dark, and broody” looks that made women swoon.

His partner, on the other hand, had the beauty of an angel.

His features were delicate with a mop of light brown hair with honey highlights. And his eyes... in the bright light they shimmered a perfect gold.

No doubt he liked being dismissed as a lightweight, but Duncan didn’t miss the muscles honed to lean perfection beneath his casual T-shirt and faded jeans, and the ruthless willingness to kill that simmered deep in the gold eyes.

Hunter Sentinels.

Duncan resisted the urge to grab his gun as the angel-looking Sentinel gave a snort.

“I’d listen to him, cop,” he warned. “That size sixteen boot does some damage.”

Duncan shifted until he could glance toward Fane, who’d halted just behind him. “Friends of yours?”

Fane pointed toward the silk and chino man. “Niko.” His finger turned toward the angel. “Arel.” He continued on to the dark-haired bad-ass. “And Wolfe.” The finger shifted toward Duncan. “This is O’Conner.”

Niko narrowed his gaze, his expression one of suspicion. “I thought he was human.”

Wolfe smiled without humor. “He’s been fooling a lot of people.”

Duncan made a sound of disgust. How the hell had he ever thought his ability to see auras was a secret? Every Sentinel in the damned world could tell he wasn’t human.

“Is this meeting about Callie or just to bust my balls?” he snapped.

“This meeting is for Sentinels,” Wolfe answered, his words slow and deliberate. “You’ve been allowed to sit in because Fane is convinced of your loyalty to Callie.”

“If you’re asking if I’ll do anything to rescue her, the answer is yes.”

“Anything?” Wolfe prodded.

Duncan scowled. “What do you want from me?”

The man studied him for a long minute, his gaze seeming to strip Duncan to his soul. And maybe he could. Sentinels were proving to have a surprising range of talents.

“You can be a human cop or you can be a Sentinel,” Wolfe finally said. “You can’t be both.”

Ah.

Duncan had known the choice was coming.

From the minute he’d committed himself to a relationship with Callie it had been obvious that they couldn’t exist in two different worlds.

Hell, he didn’t
want
to exist in different worlds.

Now he didn’t hesitate.

“Then I’m a Sentinel,” he said, astonished at how
right
the words felt. As if a missing puzzle piece deep inside him had just fallen into place. Disturbed by the sensation, he gave a strained laugh. “I don’t have to get tattooed, do I?”

Fane rolled his eyes. “You aren’t special enough to get tattooed.”

“Don’t worry. There’ll be an initiation,” Arel promised. “Later.”

Duncan grimaced. The mind boggled at what these men might consider an initiation. “Great.”

Wolfe glanced toward Fane. “Tell me what you learned in Florida.”

Duncan abruptly recalled that Fane had spent the previous night searching for information on the coin.

“It’s not good,” the guardian admitted. “The monk warned me that we had to keep the necromancer from opening the pathway to the underworld.”

Duncan recalled Hektor’s warning. Hadn’t he said something about a pathway to the underworld?

“And if we’re too late?” Wolfe asked.

“Only an obscure ritual will close it again.”

“Did he happen to know the obscure ritual?”

“No.”

Wolfe swore beneath his breath. “Of course not.”

Fane didn’t look any happier than his leader, but with a shrug he nodded toward the wall of monitors. “What have you done here?”

“I have hunters trying to find Callie’s scent and the techs are working on tracing her phone,” Wolfe said. “I’ve also contacted the monasteries and halted all travel.”

Without warning Fane turned his attention to Duncan. “Cop?”

Three pairs of eyes were trained on him, and Duncan sensed it was his first test.

Unconsciously he squared his shoulders, speaking directly to Wolfe. “I spoke with the chief and she has an APB out on Frank,” he said, not surprised when the big, tough Sentinels shuddered. No one wanted to think about how many corpses might be wandering the streets of Kansas City. “They’re also tracing the GPS on his car.”

“Anything?” Wolfe asked.

Duncan shook his head. “Not yet. His car was parked at his house, but he wasn’t...” Duncan forgot what he was going to say as he sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh, shit.”

Fane stepped directly in front of him, the heat of his body a tangible force. “What?”

“Frank was driving a silver car.”

“So?”

“He doesn’t have a silver car,” Duncan muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he shifted through the information he’d managed to gather over the past few days. “The dress lady said the woman arrived in a silver car. And there was a silver car spotted on Calso’s street just before his murder. It has to belong to the necro.”

Fane scowled. “Is that supposed to make sense?”

Duncan glanced toward Wolfe, a near painful urgency pounding through his veins.

“Can your techs tap into government databases?”

The Tagos was on instant guard, his dark eyes narrowing in warning. “Why?”

Duncan waved an impatient hand. “I’m not going to tell anyone about any... supplementary methods you have to protect high-bloods.”

Wolfe hesitated before giving a nod. “Fine. What do you want?”

“I need to trace a license plate”.

Fane made a sound of surprise. “You got the number?”

Duncan unconsciously touched the bandage that covered his healing wound on his temple. “Just the last three as I flew by,” he said dryly. “But it might be enough to get a hit.”

Wolfe was already spinning to head toward a distant door. “This way.”

It was the sort of mansion that made Duncan shake his head in disgust.

Who needed a faux castle with twelve bedrooms, gold-plated toilets, and a helicopter pad? Hell, all that was missing was the drawbridge.

Either a man with a bloated ego, or one who had the need to hide in plain sight.

It was amazing how many top drug lords lived behind the high fences of gated communities, mixing with the neighbors as if he was just another tax-paying citizen.

Tonight, however, Duncan didn’t give a shit about the Olympic-sized pool or the outdoor bar that was bigger than his apartment. His only interest was standing poised at the narrow back gate as they waited for Niko to return from his scouting of the grounds.

“Cop—”

Duncan turned his head to glare at Wolfe, who stood with the silent Fane and Arel just a few feet away.

“Don’t even start,” he warned in low, fierce tones. “I’m going in.”

The Tagos arched a brow. “Your chief isn’t going to be happy if she finds out you did an illegal B and E.”

Duncan snorted. “I’ve done a lot of things that wouldn’t make my chief happy if she knew.”

“There might be hope for him yet,” Arel murmured with a cocky smile.

They all stiffened as there was a soft rush of air as Niko leaped over the high fence, landing with a silence that was terrifying.

Duncan had heard all the stories about Sentinels.

They were faster, stronger, with superior senses. And he’d even known he possessed a few of the qualities, even if he’d never wanted to admit it.

But to actually see them in action...

He grimaced. The humans would be far less complacent if they truly knew the sheer extent of the high-bloods’ powers. Which was no doubt why the Sentinels had gone to such trouble to remain hidden in a shroud of mystery.

Straightening, Niko slid through the shadows to stand directly before them.

“There’s a muting spell that makes it impossible to sense what’s inside.”

Fane was already moving. “I’ll do a sweep.”

“I’m coming with you,” Duncan announced, the biting urgency thundering through him making him twitchy as hell.

“Hold on, Rambo.” Wolfe grabbed his arm. “Fane’s the only one who can trigger the spells without killing us all.”

Duncan was forced to watch as Fane smoothly vaulted over the fence and disappeared.

He wanted to argue. Hell, he wanted to pull his gun and start shooting things. Beginning with the man holding him in a ruthless grip.

But he wasn’t completely insane.

Not yet.

He didn’t possess Fane’s protective tattoos or his magical ability to sense and destroy spells. He’d only be a liability if he went charging in like a bull in a china cabinet.

“Shit,” he muttered in frustration.

Wolfe released his arm, but his lean face remained hard with an undefinable emotion. “Callie is special to all of us.”

Duncan scowled at the Tagos. “Do you have a point?”

“Just listen.”

Duncan’s scowl deepened. Arrogant bastard. Unfortunately, he was an arrogant bastard that Callie needed if they were going to rescue her.

“I’m listening,” he managed between gritted teeth.

“When Callie was brought to Valhalla she was just a tiny scrap of a thing with eyes like jewels and a smile that could melt the hardest heart,” Wolfe said, a hint of affection softening the cruel curve of his mouth. “There wasn’t one of us who didn’t fall under her spell.”

Duncan could easily picture Callie as a tiny baby, slaying the hearts of the most cynical warriors. Who wouldn’t look into those magnificent eyes and fall in love?

“I’m not surprised.”

“So you understand that we’ll lay down our lives to keep her from being hurt.”

A command, not a question.

Duncan narrowed his eyes. “We’re not discussing the necromancer, are we?”

“I’ll accept your help in rescuing Callie. Hell, I’d accept the help of Satan if I thought it was necessary,” Wolfe said. “But trust is earned when it comes to Callie’s fragile heart.”

Duncan took a step forward, his hands clenched at his side.

Since becoming a cop he’d learned not to pick a fight he couldn’t win. But this was too important to back down.

The Sentinels considered Callie theirs to protect. They weren’t going to give him a place at her side.

He had to claim the right.

“I appreciate your concern, but Callie’s trust is all that matters to me,” he said, his expression warning he wasn’t looking for a debate on the issue. “I intend to devote my life to making her happy. With or without your approval.”

Arel snorted. “Either he’s a man with a death wish or a man in love.”

Duncan never allowed his gaze to waver from Wolfe’s lean face. You never took your eye off a predator.

Then the tension was shattered by a low whistle near the gate.

“That’s Fane,” Wolfe said, rapidly taking charge as he moved to shove open the gate, gesturing for the auburn-haired hunter to go first.

Duncan tried to charge forward, only to be halted once again by Wolfe’s hand grasping his upper arm.

The Tagos ignored Duncan’s string of curses as he watched his fellow Sentinel trot across the manicured yard, heading toward the front of the house, only to circle toward the back.

At last the man came to a halt, tilting back his head as if he was sniffing the air.

“Niko?” Wolfe prompted.

“I have her trail,” the man announced, heading toward the back terrace.

Wolfe released his grip and Duncan was in swift pursuit of Niko as he climbed the shallow steps and entered the house through a back door. Duncan didn’t know if it had been locked or not, and he didn’t care.

He wasn’t here as a cop. He was here as a man desperate to find the woman he loved.

Hold on, Callie. Hold on... he
silently urged.

They moved through a large kitchen, Niko in the lead followed by Duncan and then Wolfe. Fane and Arel brought up the rear, both turned to the side to make sure there were no surprises lurking in the dark.

Niko led them out of the kitchen and down a short hallway, halting when they came to a dead end.

What the hell?

Duncan frowned as Wolfe stepped past him, lifting his leg to smash his massive foot through the paneling.

Ah. A secret doorway.

Of course.

Every wicked villain had one, didn’t he?

And now that Duncan took the time to think about it, he could actually sense the emptiness that marked the opening behind the paneling. Perhaps with training he could ...

He gave a shake of his head at his inane thoughts, ducking as the splintered wood flew through the air.

Four more kicks and Wolfe had the hole large enough for Niko to squeeze through. Wolfe was next, but as Duncan moved to follow, he heard Fane give a low growl.

“Someone’s here.”

Duncan turned back, pulling his gun and clicking off the safety.

“The necro?”

“Not.”

A chill of warning inched down Duncan’s spine as he walked to stand at Fane’s side. For a minute he couldn’t see a damned thing in the darkness. Then a shadow shifted forward, stepping into a small shaft of moonlight.

“Frank,” Duncan breathed, more resigned than shocked. “I’ll distract him. Keep looking for Callie.”

Fane shifted to stand directly in front of him. “Cop.”

“What?”

The tattooed face was stark with the brutal strain of knowing Callie was in danger.

“He’s not your friend anymore.”

Duncan grimaced, ignoring the ache in the center of his chest.

Frank was dead.

This... thing that was approaching was a creation of the same necromancer that had stolen the woman he loved.

He wouldn’t hesitate to send it to the grave. Always assuming he could figure out how.

“I know.” He jerked his head toward the opening in the wall. “Hurry.”

Obviously reading the grim determination etched on his face, the Sentinel gave a sharp nod and slipped past Duncan.

Alone with his onetime friend, Duncan shifted to make sure he had plenty of room to fight.

And there was going to be a fight.

No doubt about that.

The only question was whether he was going to survive.

Halting a few feet from Duncan, the zombie regarded him with a blank expression, although there was nothing blank about the dark eyes.

They were filled with... awareness.

Duncan shuddered, his fingers tightening on the gun. It was pure instinct. He already knew it was a waste of bullets to shoot the bastard.

Besides, for now all he cared about was distracting Frank long enough for the Sentinels to find Callie and kill the necromancer.

“Hey, amigo,” he said, a queasy sensation joining the stark fear in the pit of his stomach. Logically he understood this wasn’t Frank. But shit... he looked like the man who’d taken him under his wing when he left the academy. The one who’d taught him to filet a catfish. And the one who’d taken him to a strip joint to get blotto the night his divorce was finalized. “Do you remember me?”

The creature smiled. “O’Conner.”

Duncan flinched. Christ. Did the thing truly remember him?

“Yeah, that’s right” He forced himself to keep talking. If he stopped to think, he would be overwhelmed by the sheer horror of the situation. “I’m looking for my friend Callie. Have you seen her?”

“She’s gone.”

Duncan sucked in a sharp breath. Gone? Could it be true?

He had no idea if Frank was lucid enough to know what was going on around him.

“Where did she go?”

“With the master.”

Duncan growled at the mention of the necromancer, but he kept his attention focused on Callie.

“Okay, I got that she’s with the... master.” He forced the word past his lips. “But where did they go?”

Frank hesitated, as if it took a minute to process the question.

Was he mentally connected with Lord Zakhar?

Not that it mattered.

The necromancer had to know he was being hunted by every Sentinel in Valhalla.

At last Frank spoke. “To raise an army.”

“An army?” Of zombies? Duncan shoved aside the horrifying thought. Nothing mattered but finding Callie. “In Kansas City?”

“No.”

“Somewhere close by?”

A ripple of emotion sluggishly flowed over Frank’s face. Anger. Frustration. Regret?

“You will soon discover.”

A vague answer that told Duncan nothing. Did he mean that he didn’t know? Or had he been commanded not to say?

Fine. He was trained in interrogation. If you couldn’t get the answer you wanted from a direct approach, you came at it from another angle.

“How can Callie raise an army?”

Frank smiled and Duncan shuddered. It was creepy as hell.

“She is to be the sacrifice.”

Sacrifice?

Duncan snapped.

Launching forward, he grabbed the front of his onetime friend’s polo shirt, shoving the barrel of his gun beneath his chin.

“You bastard. Tell me where she is,” he shouted.

Frank blinked, ignoring the gun.

Or maybe he just didn’t care.

Dead was dead, after all.

Then, without warning, he tilted back his dark head to release a shrill burst of laughter.

Duncan made a sound of horror.

If the smile was creepy, his laughter was downright hair-raising.

“Christ,” he muttered. “Why are you laughing?”

“I’ve been waiting for you, O’Conner,” Frank explained.

“Why?”

“To kill you.”

His disturbing smile remained intact even as he shoved his hands against Duncan’s chest and sent him flying against the wall with enough force to rattle his teeth.

Surging back to his feet, Duncan squeezed off two shots, hitting Frank directly between the eyes. The zombie never halted as he moved forward, the bullet holes closing with magical ease.

Holy... shit.

Duncan shoved his gun back in his holster. No sense in wasting bullets. Not when there might be other enemies lurking in the dark. Enemies that might actually die from a gunshot wound.

Besides, he was pissed-off, frustrated, and overwhelmed with terror for Callie.

A good old-fashioned beat down was just what he needed.

Waiting for Frank to take another step forward, Duncan swung his fist directly at the man’s chin, connecting with a satisfying crunch of bone.

Frank stumbled back, but swiftly recovering his balance, he resumed his stoic march toward Duncan.

Reaching behind him, Duncan grabbed a vase off a nearby table, tossing it at the zombie at the same time he kicked out with his foot.

The vase shattered against Frank’s face and his kick caught him in the middle of his stomach. But once again he barely recoiled before he took a last step to stand directly before Duncan.

And then the fun began.

Managing to dodge the first punch, Duncan couldn’t avoid the uppercut that banged his head against the wall and knocked him loopy. Next came the kick to the knee that made him stumble to the side, just in time to move in the path of the right hook.

Thankfully Duncan had spent his childhood being tortured by his older siblings, which meant he could not only take a beating, but could still get in a few good punches.

They might not do any good, but dammit, if he was going down, he was going down swinging.

He didn’t know how long he played the punching bag for his old friend, but he was seeing double when he heard Fane’s voice over the ringing in his ears.

“Cop.”

A vicious blow to his stomach doubled him over, but jerking up, he managed to clip Frank on the chin with the top of his head.