Born in Blood (The Sentinels)

by Alexandra Ivy

  Duncan moved to make sure he could step between her and Boggs if he sensed a threat, his gun still in his hand.

  “There have been bodies found without their hearts.” Duncan took the lead. Of course. He was such a cop. “But there are no wounds. It’s as if the heart just disappeared from their bodies.”

  Boggs made a sound deep in his throat. Not shock. But ... resignation?

  “A bokor,” he muttered.

  Duncan frowned. “A what?”

  “One of the living dead.”

  Not surprising, the cop paled at the blunt explanation. “Like a zombie?”

  Callie wasn’t quite as stunned as Duncan. Since she’d left the cradle she’d heard stories of the walking dead and the necromancers who could raise them.

  Of course, she’d never believed them.

  Not until now.

  “I thought they were a myth,” she said.

  Boggs stroked a too-thin finger down the line of his jaw. “There has been only one necromancer capable of controlling the dead.”

  “Who?” she asked.

  “He’s been known by many names.”

  Duncan snorted. “I don’t suppose you know his current one?”

  Boggs shook his head. “No, but he was once Lord Zakhar.”

  Callie licked her dry lips. A true necromancer. It didn’t seem possible. Like discovering Santa Claus was real.

  Only scarier.

  “What can you tell us about him?”

  “Very little. He was a nobleman in the Russian court. From what I could learn he was growing in power when he was accused of being a sorcerer.”

  “Not uncommon,” Duncan surprisingly answered. “Russian politics were always dangerous and social climbers often accused their rivals of foul deeds.”

  Boggs tapped the tip of his finger on his chin. “True or not, he was burned at the stake three hundred years ago.”

  “Christ,” Duncan growled. “Necromancers can raise themselves from the dead?”

  He took the words straight from Callie’s mouth.

  “I didn’t say he died,” Boggs pointed out in sly tones.

  Callie arched a brow. Many high-bloods had extended lives. Something not commonly known among norms. But not many could survive being burned at the stake.

  “Then what happened to him?”

  “No one knows.” There was an edge in his voice that spoke of his annoyance at the lack of information. Boggs clearly understood that knowledge was power. “The locals assumed he died in the flames, but there were rumors a dark power swooped in to rescue him. Some say the devil rose up to claim him.”

  Callie wrapped her arms around her waist, suddenly chilled to the bone.

  Could it be him?

  Was it possible that the man she’d encountered in Leah’s mind was a three-hundred-year-old necromancer with the ability to raise the dead?

  “Do you know what he looked like?”

  “The stories claimed that he had eyes of diamond.”

  “Shit,” Duncan muttered as he watched the color drain from her face.

  Boggs released his breath with a low hiss. “You’ve seen him?”

  “Not in the flesh.” Callie shuddered. “He was in the mind of a dead woman.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to be answering the questions?” Duncan snapped.

  Boggs waved a thin hand. “It’s an exchange of information.”

  “He said that the question is—” She was forced to halt and clear her throat. “The question is ... Who are you?”

  The white eyes widened. “Interesting.”

  Callie frowned. It wasn’t interesting. It was ominous. And threatening. And spooky as hell.

  “What did you see when you demanded that we meet the first time?” she abruptly demanded.

  The doppelganger froze, as if caught off guard by her question. Then, with a twitch of his robe, he was turning to head toward his pile of junk.

  “A minute,” he murmured, delicately shifting through the strange collection. Duncan muttered something about lunatics, but she remained focused on Boggs as he made a sound of satisfaction. “Ah, here it is.”

  He returned to stand in front of her, holding up a tangled mound of pink yarn.

  “A baby blanket?” she guessed.

  Boggs held it to his face, his features becoming even more indistinct as he rubbed the material over his cheek.

  “It speaks of you.”

  Eek.

  She ignored the way he seemed to savor the tactile feel of the cashmere against his skin. Or maybe it was the silent communication between him and the blanket.

  “Why would a blanket speak of me?”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps it was once yours.”

  Highly doubtful, but she was willing to play along. “What does it say?”

  “You’re walking through a graveyard.”

  “That’s it?”

  “The dead are stirring beneath your feet.”

  A far too vivid image of hands reaching from the grave to touch her seared through her mind. It was a dream she’d been having all too frequently.

  “Are they trying to warn me?”

  “No, Callie Brown.”

  A cold ball of premonition formed in the pit of her stomach.

  “Then what?”

  “They’re trying to follow you.”

  The words hit Callie with the force of a tsunami, the stunned tidal wave of horror sweeping her under before she knew what was happening.

  Falling forward, she was vaguely aware of Duncan racing to catch her in his arms before the darkness swallowed her whole.

  Duncan muttered a string of curses, shifting Callie’s limp body against his side, and pointed his gun at the bastard who was surging forward.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  Duncan fired a warning shot close enough to the doppelganger’s head to make him duck in fear. “Stay back,” he warned.

  “Duncan, I’m fine,” Callie murmured, managing to regain her balance although he kept a stubborn arm wrapped around her waist.

  He turned to study her too-pale face with a scowl. “People who are fine don’t faint.”

  “I didn’t faint,” she ridiculously protested. “I was just ... surprised.”

  “Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.”

  She turned toward Boggs, her expression defiant despite the tiny tremors that Duncan could feel still racing through her body.

  “I don’t know what you saw, Boggs, but I can’t raise the dead.”

  He lifted his thin hands in a pretense of innocence. “I’m just the messenger.”

  Yeah, right. Duncan’s finger twitched as he tried to leash the urge to fire off another round. A bullet or two in Boggs’s spongy flesh might teach him that not everyone enjoyed his mysterious mumbo jumbo.

  “Did you see anything else?” Callie asked, her voice unsteady.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you going to share?” Duncan snapped.

  Boggs gave another lift of his hands. “I did.”

  Callie shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “He spoke to me,” Fane said, his voice coming from directly behind them.

  Duncan didn’t allow his attention to stray from the doppelganger as the Sentinel moved to stand beside a puzzled Callie.

  “Fane?” she muttered in disbelief.

  Duncan made a sound of disgust. “I presume there was a reason you didn’t offer a full disclosure.”

  “After our first visit to Boggs I took Callie back to Valhalla before returning to the cave.”

  “Why?”

  Boggs answered. “He threatened to kill me.”

  “I don’t like men who give little girls nightmares,” Fane growled, earning Duncan’s complete approval.

  Boggs, however, gave a click of his tongue. “The whispers were driving me nuts. Besides, I waited until she turned eighteen.”

  Duncan shot a brief glance towa
rd Fane, but it was Callie who asked the burning question.

  “What did he say to you?”

  “He warned me that a shadow was growing,” the Sentinel said, his gaze trained on the doppelganger. “And that if I failed in my duty to you, I would fail all high-bloods.”

  He heard Callie’s breath catch at the reluctant confession. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  Fane shrugged. “You had enough to worry about.”

  “It’s no wonder you’ve been uberprotective,” Callie muttered.

  Duncan frowned. The warning might be vague, but unless the creature was a complete fraud then they were in some deep shit.

  Corpses without hearts who disappeared from the morgue.

  A crazy necro who could actually raise the dead.

  And now some ominous shadow.

  “So what is this shadow?” he asked Boggs, not at all surprised when the thing shook his head.

  “I don’t know. All I see is a darkness creeping over the high-bloods with Callie standing in the center.” A genuine fear glowed in the white eyes. “If the darkness covers her then all is lost.”

  Duncan’s fingers tightened on the gun. The thought that Callie was at the center of the brewing danger made him want to shoot something.

  “You’re a master of melodrama with very few actual details that would help,” he snapped, glaring at the doppelganger.

  Boggs stiffened, clearly offended by Duncan’s sharp accusation. “I have offered all I have to give.”

  Callie sent him a chiding glance before stepping toward the creature. “Can you tell us anything more about the necromancer?” she asked, her voice pleading. “How do we find him?”

  A dense power filled the air as Boggs seemed to swell in size, his presence an overwhelming force.

  “Sometimes to see into the future you must look into the past,” he said in a voice that echoed through the room.

  Duncan flinched. Oh man. He’d been treating Boggs as if he were some harmless whack-job, not a magical high-blood that could quite possibly squash him like a bug.

  It was a wonder he was still standing.

  Then just to emphasize the point, Boggs spread his arms wide and with a shock wave of energy, he abruptly disappeared.

  Poof.

  Gone.

  “Fuck,” Duncan rasped in shock.

  Fane snorted. “That just about sums it up, cop.”

  Chapter Ten

  Callie was exhausted by the time they reported their encounter with Boggs to the Mave. Even by a high-blood’s standard it’d been one hell of a day and all she wanted was to crawl into her bed and tumble into oblivion.

  So why had she followed Duncan to his rooms instead of simply going to her apartment?

  He was a big boy. She was fairly certain he could make the short distance without an escort. But even as she told herself to turn around and walk away, her feet were carrying her through his doorway and straight to the window that offered a view of the surrounding countryside bathed in moonlight.

  “Doppelganger,” Duncan muttered as he shut the door. “What other creatures don’t I know about?”

  She didn’t bother to turn; she could see his reflection in the window. The lean, hard body. The stark features that were shadowed with weariness. The hazel gaze that was checking out her ass.

  He might be tired, but he was all male.

  “You know I won’t answer that question,” she said.

  He strolled to halt beside her. “You don’t think I have a right to know?”

  “It’s not my place to make those decisions.” She shrugged. “You’re welcomed to return to the Mave and ask her if you want.”

  He snorted at her helpful suggestion. “Yeah, thanks but no thanks.”

  She turned to study him with a lift of her brows. “Does it matter?”

  “Only if they’re dangerous.”

  “We have our own method of dealing with dangerous high-bloods.”

  “Hunters?”

  She nodded at the mention of the Sentinels who chased down renegades. Even now they were on the trail of a murderous high-blood who was creating chaos through Texas.

  “Sometimes.”

  “And other times?”

  “Psychics. Witches.” She grimaced. “And Wolfe.”

  “Wolfe?”

  “The head of the Sentinels. No one wants to piss him off,” she said before giving a sudden shake of her head. “Well, except the Mave. She does it on a regular basis.”

  “I’m not remotely surprised.”

  “Sometimes I think—” She bit off her words, startled to discover she’d come close to confessing her suspicion that there were more than control issues that set off sparks between the Tagos and the Mave.

  What was it about Duncan that made her feel as if she could share her most private thoughts and feelings?

  It was ... unnerving.

  His brow furrowed. “Callie?”

  “I should let you get some rest,” she abruptly said, turning to head for the door. “You can use the phone if you need to call your chief.”

  “Wait.”

  With a swift motion he was blocking her path, his hands lightly grasping her upper arms.

  “It’s late,” she protested, her heart fluttering at his gentle touch. “We can talk in the morning.”

  His gaze slid over her face, lingering on her lips before returning to meet her wary eyes. “You’re right.”

  “I am?”

  “I don’t want to talk.”

  She shivered. The heat of his fingers seared her skin, sending jolts of sensual electricity darting through her body. “Duncan,” she breathed.

  His hooded gaze sparked with gold in the dim overhead light. “Can I hold you?”

  She licked her dry lips. “What?”

  His fingers stroked up and down the back of her arm. “We’re both tired and more than a little freaked out.”

  “True.”

  “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

  “Is that another cheesy line?”

  “Not this time.” His expression was oddly somber. “I just want to feel you in my arms while I sleep.”

  Her heart missed a beat at the simple words. She’d never had a man who just wanted to hold her. Actually, most men who were willing to have sex with her would have been horrified by the thought of sharing her bed.

  She did, after all, peer into the minds of the dead.

  The fact that Duncan genuinely seemed to want to hold her touched her in a deep, vulnerable place.

  “Oh.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Too cheesy?”

  Cheesy? It was ... perilously perfect.

  Dammit.

  “No,” she husked.

  His jaw tightened, as if preparing to be rejected. “But?”

  There was a tense pause as Callie silently weighed her options.

  Logic warned that she should walk out the door and never look back.

  She didn’t understand what was happening between her and Duncan O’Conner, though she did know that it was more than the usual lust for a prime stud-muffin.

  But she didn’t want to be logical.

  Not tonight.

  She might be accustomed to her lonely bed, she might even have convinced herself she preferred to be on her own, but as Duncan had pointed out, it had been a long, freaky day. No doubt the first of many.

  Why shouldn’t she enjoy a few hours wrapped in the arms of this gorgeous, drop-dead sexy cop?

  A small smile curved her lips. “I don’t have my nightie.”

  An undefinable emotion flared through the hazel eyes as Duncan moved with a speed that would have rivaled a Sentinel to scoop her off her feet.

  “That’s okay,” he rasped, headed toward the bedroom. “Neither do I.”

  She allowed herself to relax against the hard muscles of his chest, her gaze caught by the golden stubble that shadowed the line of his jaw.

  He was so ... male.

  Uncompromisingly, rut
hlessly male.

  And yet, he held her with a gentle care that was oddly reassuring.

  He might be aggressive and even violent when necessary, but he would never, ever harm her.

  “I don’t believe you wear a nightie.”

  “Some night soon I’ll show you just what I do or don’t wear,” he promised with a wicked grin. “Tonight there are a couple robes hanging in the bathroon.” Entering the comfortable, if impersonal bedroom done in shades of black and silver, he lowered her until her feet were touching the carpet. “You can use the bathroom first.”

  With a nod she hurried into the attached bathroom and closed the door.

  It wasn’t that she was shy. Or scared.

  Or at least not exactly.

  But on the day of her eighteenth birthday she’d moved into her own apartment. She wasn’t used to sharing a private space with anyone.

  Stripping off her clothes, she stepped into the shower and turned it on hot enough to turn her skin rosy. Steam billowed around her as she soaped herself from head to toe before squeezing her favorite apple shampoo into her palm and quickly washing her hair.

  She admired women like Serra who could keep their long hair perfectly coiffed (whatever the hell that meant). She, however, ended up looking like a porcupine by the end of the day. Besides, the unique color attracted the sort of attention she didn’t want.

  Hopping out of the shower, she quickly dried herself and pulled on one of the thick terry cloth robes. Then, leaving the bathroom, she returned to the bedroom, keeping her gaze locked on her bare toes.

  “Your turn.”

  She felt him hesitate, as if he wanted to say something. Then she heard the steady tread of his footsteps as he headed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

  Callie released the breath she’d been unconsciously holding.

  This was what she wanted.

  It truly was.

  But she felt as awkward as a teenager about to go on her first date.

  No. This was worse. Her first date had been with a boy she’d known for years. He’d been warned by her foster mother, who happened to be a witch, that if he did anything more than hold her hand he would be turned into a slimy slug.

  Certainly she hadn’t been pacing the floor with the sensation of demented butterflies filling her belly.

  And what was the deal with the temperature?