Born in Blood (The Sentinels) (20 page)

Caught off guard, she swiveled her head to regard him over her shoulder. “Duncan?”

The lean features were tight and bathed with a damp perspiration, as if he were struggling against a mighty force.

“Trust me,” he husked as he wrenched off his jeans and underwear. Then, he pressed his body to her back and buried his face in the curve of her neck. “I promise you’ll like this.”

“But . . .”

Her words came to a choked halt as his fingers slid down the gentle swell of her stomach and then through the dampness between her legs.

“I’ve spent a hundred nights tossing and turning on that bed, imagining what I would do with you if I ever managed to lure you here.” He gave a punishing nip on the curve of her shoulder while his finger slid inside her and began to stroke with a slow insistence. “This was number one.”

Her head fell back against his shoulder. A delicious pressure was beginning to build within her. Later she would tell him a few of her own fantasies.

But that would be later, she conceded as she felt his hard cock pressing between her legs. With gentle care he removed his finger and then with one slow thrust he was buried deep inside her.

 

 

Returning to Valhalla, Fane entered his apartment for a quick shower and a change of clothing. Not that anyone could tell the difference. His wardrobe consisted of cammos, khakis, T-shirts, and shit-kickers.

The hunter Sentinels liked to prance around in expensive clothes and drive cars that made a real man wonder if they were compensating for something. But guardians ... they knew what was important.

And it couldn’t be bought in a store.

Making a brief stop by the morgue, he eventually made his way to the Mave’s office to update her on the medics’ examination of Leah’s body. Then, stepping into the hall, he was debating whether to catch a quick lunch in the public dining room or to return to his apartment when a prickle of power raced over his skin.

Slowly turning, he already knew it was his Tagos approaching. Wolfe carried with him an electrical energy that was like a punch in the gut.

The tall man with a hawkish profile was dressed from head to toe in black. His dark hair was left free to flow down to his shoulders with the white streak next to his hard face shimmering in the sunlight that poured through the overhead skylight.

Wolfe halted a few feet away. They were both predators in their own way. Space was a necessity.

“Did the medics find anything?” the Tagos demanded.

He nodded. “The body was deteriorating at a normal rate.”

“Meaning?”

“The magic that animated her only offered the pretense of life.”

Wolfe grimaced. “Truly a walking corpse.”

“Yes.”

“Christ.” They exchanged a hard glance that spoke of their mutual resolve to put an end to the necromancer’s gruesome magic. That’s what Sentinels did. Solved problems. “Where are you off to next?”

“Florida.”

“What’s in Florida?”

“A monk who can hopefully give me information on ancient Sumerians.”

Wolfe didn’t probe. The connection between monks and guardians was a sacred trust that was never discussed outside the monastery.

“I heard you returned without Callie.”

Fane clenched his hands. It had gone against every protective instinct he possessed to leave her behind. But he wasn’t a fool. Callie was a grown woman who was going to do what she wanted to do.

Trying to stop her would only have made her dig in her heels.

Women.

“She insisted on remaining with the cop,” he admitted in sour tones.

“Insisted?” Wolfe arched a brow. “That doesn’t sound like Callie.”

“She’s infatuated with the bastard.”

Wolfe studied him with a steady gaze that held curiosity without judgment. “Does that trouble you?”

“Only because I can’t be sure her emotions aren’t clouding her mind,” he said. Callie would always hold a place in his heart. She was his to protect. But she wasn’t the woman who stirred his passions to a raging fire. “Right now I think she’d risk any danger to be with him.”

“I feel your pain, comrade.” The dark gaze briefly flicked toward the closed door of the Mave’s office. An instinctive action that Fane doubted the Tagos was even aware of. “Females can be unreasonable under the best circumstances.”

Fane shrugged. “I have to trust O’Conner will protect her.”

“Is he capable?”

“Not as capable as I am, but he has more skills than he realizes.”

Wolfe was instantly intrigued. “A potential Sentinel?”

Fane smiled without humor. He’d recognized Duncan O’Conner’s hidden talents the minute their paths had crossed. Not only his ability to read souls, but his superior strength. It was the only reason he’d allowed Callie to remain in his care.

Otherwise he’d have her locked in the dungeons so she couldn’t sneak off the minute his back was turned.

“If I don’t kill him first,” he muttered.

Wolfe smiled in understanding, then both men froze as the smell of expensive leather and dangerous woman wafted through the air. Seconds later Serra rounded the corner, her stunning beauty a perilous weapon.

“Ah” Wolfe cleared his throat, careful to avert his gaze from Serra’s lush body shown to perfection in the skintight leather pants and lacy bustier. “She looks like a woman on a mission. I think I’ll leave the two of you alone.”

“Traitor,” Fane muttered, composing his expression to hide the familiar sense of frustration and raw, aching desire.

This woman was his greatest temptation.

And the promise of his doom.

Duncan eventually called for the BBQ. He even allowed Callie to get dressed so they could eat like a civilized couple in the dining room with real forks and plates.

See ... he wasn’t a complete barbarian.

And astonishingly, he found amazing pleasure in sitting at the table arguing about music and movies and whether ice cream should be chocolate or vanilla while he fed her the finest brisket in the world.

This wasn’t about heat and lust and fireworks.

Instead it was fun and peaceful and so damned . . . right . . . that a part of him knew he should be terrified.

Snatching the last square of corn bread, he was busy buttering it when the ring of his phone broke the easy atmosphere.

Automatically he reached to answer it, then his gaze was snared by the faceted sapphire blue of her eyes and he deliberately returned to buttering the corn bread.

The ringing stopped. For all of two seconds.

“Ignore it,” he muttered as it started again. And again.

She reached to snatch the bread from his hand, a teasing grin tugging at her lips.

“I can if you can.”

His libido stirred as she took a bite, the butter shimmering on her lower lip. He should turn off the phone and haul her back to bed.

Or even sweep aside the dishes and indulge in his fantasy of eating dessert off that pale, satin skin.

The delectable image began to form in his mind.

Callie’s naked body stretched across the table. Her crimson hair shimmering in the late afternoon sunlight. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he ...

His phone once again intruded.

“Dammit.” Huffing out a resigned sigh, he reached to pluck the phone off the table. He was a Grade A idiot. It was no wonder Susan dumped his ass. “I’m sorry.”

Before he could answer, Callie reached to lightly touch his hand. “Duncan.”

He grimaced, bracing for the familiar lecture. “Yes?”

“Don’t ever apologize for being good at your job.”

Okay. That was the last thing he expected.

He studied her pale face, which revealed a calm acceptance that he was fairly certain he didn’t deserve.

“I think I’m apologizing for letting it consume me,” he muttered. “Or at least, that’s what I’ve been told.”

“By who?”

He shrugged. “My ex-wife, my mother, my sisters, the old lady next door—”

She held up a hand. “Yeah, I get it. They’re worried about you. But that doesn’t make your love for your job wrong.”

He reached to grasp her fingers, searching the depths of her stunning eyes for the truth.

Could she actually understand?

“I don’t want you to feel as if I’m putting you in second place.”

“I don’t” She leaned across the table to brush a light kiss over his mouth. “Of course, there’s a difference between being obsessed with your career and using it as a barrier to keep people at a distance.”

She did understand.

All too well.

“How did you know?” he demanded, grudgingly recalling the dates he’d broken because it was easier to stay at the station than spend a few empty hours trying to act interested. Or the Sunday family dinners he’d skipped because he didn’t want to be the target of his meddling sisters’ attempts to set him up with their endless parade of friends.

“Because I’ve used my fear of being rejected to do the same thing.”

He smiled with rueful amusement. “So what you’re saying is that we’re a match made in heaven?”

“Or we’re both so screwed up no one else could stand us.”

He chuckled, pressing her fingers to his lips. “I’ll go with that.”

On cue, the phone started its insistent ringing. Callie smiled, giving his arm a squeeze.

“Answer,” she commanded softly. “It might be important.”

He pressed the phone to his ear, knowing she was right. This wasn’t about burrowing himself in work so he could ignore the barrenness of his life. There was a crazed necromancer out there who had to be stopped.

“O’Conner,” he growled, his brows lowering as he listened to the crisp voice of his chief. “Where? I’ll be there in half an hour.”

He ended the connection and met Callie’s curious gaze.

“Who was it?” she demanded.

“The chief.” He absently gathered the dirty plates and took them into the kitchen. “She said that a man appeared at the station claiming that he was the rightful owner of Calso’s coin.”

He hadn’t realized Callie had followed him into the kitchen until she spoke directly behind him.

“Where are you supposed to meet him?”

He turned, frowning down at her expectant expression. “Callie, it’s too dangerous—”

She reached up to pinch his lips together, effectively halting his protest.

“Don’t go there,” she warned. “We’re in this together.”

He nipped the tips of her fingers before pulling them from his mouth.

“Stubborn.”

The aggravating female smiled, knowing she’d won. “Determined.”

“Same thing,” he muttered. “Come on.”

He led her out of the apartment and to his car, silently promising himself he’d go hunting for a new apartment on his first day off. He had high hopes that he could convince Callie to spend more than one afternoon with him. She deserved better than this run-down complex that’s only saving grace was that it happened to be close to the station.

Maybe he’d even look at a house, he decided, as he pulled out of the parking lot.

With a yard and dog and swing set . . .

He was just getting to the white picket fence when Callie thankfully yanked him from his ridiculous train of thoughts.

“You didn’t tell me where we’re going.”

He cleared his throat, feeling heat crawl up the back of his neck. Christ.

“The police station.”

She frowned. “Why did you say it might be dangerous?”

“Any place can be dangerous.”

She snorted. “You were just trying to keep me from going with you.”

It was true, but not for the reason she suspected.

The mere thought of the reception she was likely to receive at the police station was enough to make him grind his teeth.

Time for a distraction.

“Hey, the only time I got shot I was in a church.”

His tone was teasing, but her sapphire eyes widened with a genuine horror. “You were shot?”

“A grazing wound from a teenager who was trying to steal the silver candlesticks from the altar.” He hastily minimized the incident. His ma and sisters were still convinced he spent his days dodging bullets. “If I hadn’t startled him he would never have shot.”

She frowned. “Or he might have taken better aim.”

“I’m always careful.”

“No, you’re not,” she muttered, reaching into her purse to pull out her familiar reflective sunglasses. “But I suppose it’s who you are.”

Halting at a stoplight, he watched her slide on the glasses. The sight sent a tangle of emotion through him.

Fury that she had to hide who she was, combined with a sharp, aching need to return her to his apartment where he could protect her from the world.

“I could call Molinari back and tell her to reschedule the interview for tomorrow,” he said roughly.

She tilted her head to the side, her glasses making it impossible to read her emotions.

“Tempting, but Fane will be returning in the morning,” she reminded him.

“All the more reason to enjoy our rare time alone.”

She paused, as if sifting through the various reasons for his sudden urgency to return to his apartment. Then, a slow, achingly sad smile curved her lips.

“We’ll have tonight,” she promised softly.

He gripped the wheel, ignoring the jackass behind him that was blaring his horn as the light turned green.

“You do realize I just volunteered to forget work?” he asked. “That’s a first for me.”

With an obvious effort she managed a teasing expression, leaning across the seat to stroke her lips along the line of his jaw.

“I’m very proud of you.”

He sucked in a deep breath, allowing the warm, apple scent of her to ease his strange sense of foreboding.

“How proud?”

“I’ll show you,” she whispered in his ear before settling back in her seat. “Later.”

With a growl, he stomped his foot on the gas pedal.

Later couldn’t get there fast enough.

 

 

Zak knew that his body was lying on the floor of the temple. In a distant part of his brain he could feel the hard pebbles that poked into his chest and the fine grains of dirt that drifted from the ceiling to land on his face.

He could even feel the blood that trickled from his wound to pool at the base of his skull.

His consciousness, however, was traveling through the darkness, heading deep beneath the ziggurat, as if lured by a siren’s call.

At last he came to a halt, the shadows shifting to reveal that he hovered in front of an ornate sarcophagus.

He studied the elaborate symbols etched onto the gilded wood, knowing without a doubt that they had been created just for him.

He could sense it in his very soul.

Just as he could sense a presence that filled the barren tomb.

With no corporal body, he could only use his thoughts to try and communicate.

“Who are you?”

“We are the beginning.”

The words vibrated in the air, the sound of a thousand voices seeming to pierce straight through him.

Beginning?

That told him nothing.

Was it supposed to be some sort of riddle, like those of the Sphinx?

He tried a new approach. “Where am I?”

“At the mouth of the underworld.”

Ah. That would explain why he’d been drawn to this place. The dead had always spoken to him.

But it didn’t explain why he was lying unconscious in the main temple with a gaping wound that was even now bleeding out.

“Why have you brought me here?”

“There is a story to be told.”

The glyphs on the sarcophagus began to shimmer. “Your story?”

“Our story.” The scent of death swirled through the air. “Watch.”

Even without his body, Zak felt a stab of wary fury as the glyphs began to pulse, as if they were coming alive.

“Magic,” he hissed.

“Do not interrupt.”

There was an impression of pain. Zak couldn’t be sure if he actually felt it or not, but he wasn’t willing to risk that there was serious damage being done to his physical body.

Smothering his gut-deep hatred of being given commands, he focused on the glyphs that continued to pulse, the shimmering beneath them throwing strange shapes on the smooth walls of the tomb.

Zak watched the flickering shapes for a confused minute, at last realizing they were beginning to solidify to form a three-dimensional image of an ancient village.

He continued to watch the unfolding pictures, realizing that the village was built around this temple. There was no mistaking the vivid indigo glaze on the brick facade or the particular pattern to the window lattices.

“Who are those people?” he asked, frowning as he watched a group of robed figures descend the long staircase from the ziggurat to mingle among a gathered crowd.

“Your ancestors,” the multitude of voices answered.

“Necromancers?”

“High-bloods.”

He considered the unfolding drama in silence, intrigued by the strange images even as his clinical brain warned this all could be nothing more than a result of his head trauma.

Or more likely, a trick.

For now he was willing to play the game.

“Is this where high-bloods came from?”

“Yes,” the voices confirmed. “We were blessed by the gods. Their powers gave us the right to rule this world.”

The images shifted. Suddenly the crowd wasn’t bowing in awe of the robed figures, but they were surrounding the temple, weapons held in their hands as they battled their way past the high-bloods trying to block the stairways.

“Not for long,” he murmured.

The air filled with an anger that would have crushed him if he’d been in his physical form.

“The people grew jealous of our blessings.”

Hmm. He didn’t doubt that humans could be fickle and jealous and ready to destroy what they didn’t understand. Even in these supposedly enlightened ages they remained petty little cowards.

But he was a master of manipulating the emotions of others. He easily recognized when he was being finessed.

Lies wrapped in truths.

“They attacked?”

Flames engulfed the images, the distant sound of screams filling the tomb.

“The oracles were the first destroyed, burned in their own temple. Next were the witches.” The flames lowered to reveal the inner temple where the robed figures were being led into underground tunnels by armed warriors. “The Sentinels realized we were on the brink of extinction so they collected as many of our people as they could save and scattered them around the world.” The images began to shift, flickering from one isolated abbey to another. “We remained in hiding for centuries.”

“They created the monasteries,” Zak murmured.

“Yes, as well as the pathways so our people could remain connected.”

Ah. That made sense. No one spoke of the origins of the high-bloods, or the mysterious connection between the monks.

Not that he thought for a minute that he was getting the full story.

“What do you want from me?” he demanded.

The images abruptly returned to the earlier battle, this time revealing a robed figure standing at the top of the temple with a chalice held above his head, blood dripping down his arms from the deep wounds in his wrists.

The same image that was etched in the hieroglyphs in the upper temple, he recognized with a tiny jolt of shock.