Born in Blood (The Sentinels)

by Alexandra Ivy

  Victoria gave an impatient wave of her hand, the diamonds that were crammed onto her knobby fingers nearly blinding as they caught the overhead light. “I don’t discuss my customers—”

  “You can discuss your customers or I can get a warrant and start hauling them down to the station,” he warned, his expression grim. “Your call.”

  She paled, her spine so stiff it was a wonder it didn’t snap beneath the strain. “It’s impossible to answer your question,” Victoria at last managed to respond, her teeth clenched. “Each Your Sung piece is individually designed. No two are alike.”

  Without hesitation, he pulled up yet another image on his phone. If she wanted to play rough, he would play rough. “What about this one?” he demanded, showing her the picture of Leah lying on the bank of the Missouri River.

  For the first time the woman’s icy composure cracked, her hand lifting to press against her lips.

  “Oh my god. Is she—”

  “Dead,” Duncan supplied.

  “I need a . . .” She bit off her hasty words, looking with obvious longing toward the counter at the back of the store. No doubt she had a stash of prescription feel-good-pills hidden in her purse. “Water.”

  “You can pop your Prozac after you’ve told me who bought this particular outfit, Victoria,” he informed her, his flat tone revealing he didn’t give a shit about her rattled nerves.

  Her fingers fluttered to toy with the pearls hung around her neck. “I don’t know.”

  That was it. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

  “Lady, I’ve tried to be polite, but you’ve pissed on my last nerve,” he snarled. “Tell me what you know or I’ll haul you out of here in handcuffs.”

  “Please.” She took a hasty step backward. “I truly can’t”

  “Maybe you should just tell us what you know,” Callie suggested in soothing tones, sending him a chiding glare as she moved to stand at his side.

  “I . . .” The woman licked her lips. “She started coming in six months ago. Maybe a little longer.”

  She.

  Duncan wasn’t entirely shocked. It would have been too much to hope that the mysterious necromancer had waltzed into the shop and used his credit card to buy clothing for his macabre marionette.

  And Callie had mentioned that she’d discovered rumors of a witch who’d been his accomplice.

  Ignoring Callie’s disapproval, he allowed her to take the role of the good cop. He always sucked at it anyway. Bad cop? That was easy.

  “Her name?” he barked out.

  “She never told me.”

  “It had to be on her credit card.”

  Victoria shook her head until the starched silver-hair threatened to move. “She always paid in cash.”

  Cash? Who carried around the sort of cash necessary for designer clothes?

  “You didn’t think that was strange?”

  “It’s not unheard of.” The woman shrugged. “There are occasions when a woman needs to keep her liaison ... discreet.”

  Ah.

  Callie looked confused. Duncan, however, instantly understood.

  Unfortunately, he had friends who enjoyed the benefits of marriage while pursuing other women. The first rule of cheating was never, ever to leave a paper trail.

  “A mistress to a married man?” he asked.

  Victoria continued to tug at her pearls, discomfort etched into every line of her thin body. “I don’t ask uncomfortable questions.”

  Duncan believed her. A woman who peddled overpriced clothes to the lovers of the rich and powerful would learn to turn a blind eye to a lot of things.

  “Did she come in alone?”

  “Always.” The woman paused, and Duncan assumed she was frowning. Or would be if the Botox hadn’t frozen her brow. “Of course, she had a driver who waited for her outside.”

  “Make and model of the car?” he pounced.

  “It was silver, I think.” She shrugged. “I really didn’t pay attention.”

  Duncan glanced toward the ceiling. “Surveillance tapes?”

  “They aren’t saved unless there’s a reason to keep them.” She doused Duncan’s last hope. “As I said, this boutique promises discretion.”

  He swallowed his opinion about people who needed to hide their dirty laundry. He had a few secrets of his own.

  “What about the woman?” he instead demanded. “Can you describe her?”

  Another wave of her hand, another blinding flash of diamonds. “She was average height, a size four, with an autumn skin tone.”

  Duncan blinked. “Autumn?”

  “Pale skin. Green eyes.”

  Duncan made the notes on his phone. “Her hair?”

  “She always wore it hidden beneath a hat.”

  “Of course she did.” He grimaced. “Not that it matters. Women change hair color more often than most men change their underwear.” The older woman looked shocked while Callie rolled her eyes.

  “Anything else?” he continued.

  “No ...” Victoria appeared to be struck by a sudden thought. “Wait.”

  “What?”

  “She wore a strange bracelet.”

  “Describe it.”

  “It had a collection of small metal disks with strange symbols scratched on them.” Victoria gave a curl of her lip. “Not at all the sort of thing a true lady would wear.”

  Duncan turned his head to meet Callie’s wide gaze. “Witch,” he mouthed.

  “Anya,” she breathed.

  He squashed the urge to jump to conclusions. It, along with day old calamari, was dangerous.

  “Perhaps.” He reached into his back pocket to pull out a small business card. “This has the numbers of the station as well as my cell phone. Call me if she returns.”

  From a distance the ziggurat was nothing more than a crumbling ruin that had been left to the ravages of the desert. Constructed of sunbaked bricks, it had once been a part of a temple complex for the Sumerians. Now, there was nothing left but a brittle shell of four receding tiers with two sharply angled stone staircases. Even the shrine that had once been a magnificent crown on top of the temple had been swept away by the relentless blast of sand.

  It was a place of shattered dreams.

  Not even a ghost remained to speak for those long departed.

  Standing in the shifting landscape less than a mile from the temple, Zak sought to regain his balance. The witch’s trip to the Middle East hadn’t been nearly as pleasant as traveling with a Sentinel.

  In truth, it had been more like being jerked inside out by a raging vortex than a smooth transition from one place to another.

  Which was why he so rarely consented to enter a witch’s spell. It was almost always more trouble than it was worth.

  At last confident that he’d regained his equilibrium, Zak smoothed his hands down his robe, covertly ensuring the coin, along with a small pistol, was still in his pocket.

  In the other pocket was a tiny amulet that held a lethal spell.

  If this was a trap, he wouldn’t go down easily.

  Glancing toward the witch at his side, he waved a hand toward the ruin. “Get rid of the illusion, Anya.”

  Anya was on her knees, her pale face tight with exhaustion in the pool of moonlight. Unlike the Sentinels who used the established pathways that were held open by the monks, Anya was forced to use her own magic to travel. It left her on the brink of collapse.

  “I have to be closer,” she panted.

  Zak made a sound of impatience. He had no sympathy for his companion. Not when a thick layer of magic concealed the true temple, and anyone who might be hiding inside.

  “I’m not taking a step closer until the illusion is gone,” he warned, the chilled breeze tugging at his silver hair and stirring the sand beneath his feet.

  Anya cursed, but lifting an unsteady hand, she spoke the words that would temporarily lower the illusion.

  “There,” she croaked.

  There was a rippling shi
mmer, like a passing mirage, then the full splendor of the temple was revealed.

  The tiers were no longer crumbling shells, but complete walls made of blue glazed bricks that once had been the pride of the surrounding city. The windows were covered with delicate bronze lattices and at the top was an oval shrine that had been reserved for the priests who’d offered sacrifices to the gods.

  “Remain here,” he commanded, his eyes searching the shadows as he began walking toward the nearest staircase.

  “You’re just going to leave me?” Anya protested.

  “So it would seem.”

  Ignoring her demand for him to wait, Zak continued forward, the darkness that lived inside him pulsing with an intoxicating recognition.

  He’d been here once before. It had been shortly after Anya had appeared in Saint Petersburg and she’d convinced him that she’d seen his future etched on a wall in the middle of a desert.

  Naturally he’d demanded to see for himself.

  A grim smile touched his lips as he climbed the stairs and entered the narrow door that led into the first chamber of the temple. He crossed directly to the wall bathed in moonlight, his fingers reaching to trace the hieroglyphs that spoke of a man with eyes of diamonds who whispered to the dead. There was even a carved figurine on a nearby pedestal that possessed an eerie resemblance to him.

  He moved to the next wall, once again stroking his fingers over the hieroglyphics. These were centered on the same diamond-eyed man; this time he held a coin in his hand. The same coin that was now tucked in his pocket.

  The odd symbols continued over the smooth stone, displaying the man placing the coin in a shallow notch that had been carved at the base of the wall. From there the meaning became less clear.

  From his hours of studying the glyphs he’d concluded that the coin opened a doorway. Maybe a physical doorway, maybe a metaphysical doorway. It didn’t matter. What was important was the next image revealed the man holding a chalice over his head with an army of the dead walking behind him.

  His army.

  To rule the world.

  His gaze briefly rested on the marks that were etched onto the arms of the man. Long gouges with what appeared to be blood dripping from his elbows to pool at his feet.

  He understood that blood would be demanded.

  Power was never without cost.

  But, that didn’t mean he intended to die for a few brief moments of glory.

  Reaching the end of the glyphs, Zak lowered himself to his knees and pulled the coin from his pocket.

  A strange hush filled the air, an electric buzz racing over his skin.

  It was as if the world held its breath, waiting for him to complete his destiny.

  Barely aware he was moving, Zak leaned forward to place the coin in the shallow indention.

  He wasn’t sure what he expected.

  A burst of heavenly light.

  A chorus of angels.

  A lightning strike that would turn him to ash.

  Instead the ground shook beneath his knees and a rock dislodged from the ceiling to smack him on top of the head.

  Pain blasted through his skull, blood dripping down his neck as he toppled face first onto the stone floor.

  So much for his moment of glory.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Callie settled into the front seat of Duncan’s car, her mind shifting through what they’d discovered.

  It wasn’t much. They didn’t have an address. No phone number. Not even a name.

  But she was convinced that the clothing that Leah had been wearing had been bought by Anya. Which meant that the witch was still with Lord Zakhar. And that they were in the Kansas City area.

  It was a start.

  “Are you hungry?”

  Duncan’s question jerked her out of her thoughts and she turned her head to study his chiseled profile.

  Out of nowhere she was struck by a jolt of intense awareness.

  God Almighty.

  She struggled to breathe as she took in the stark beauty of his face. How many times over the past few years had she covertly snuck glances at the golden-haired cop with the grim expression? How many nights had her dreams been filled with ripping off his tight tee and faded jeans?

  And now that she actually knew just how it felt to spend the night in his arms, his lips kissing paths of destruction down her throat as he slid deep into her body . . .

  It was enough to make even nice girls think about handcuffing a man to her bed and having her wicked way with him.

  Obviously puzzled by her sudden silence, Duncan sent her a searching glance. “Callie?”

  A blush stained her cheeks as she cleared her throat. “Actually, I’m starving.”

  “Good.” Returning his attention to the growingly narrow streets, he weaved his way through the traffic with the ease of a native. “I know a little joint that has BBQ to die for.”

  Her gaze slid down to the broad chest outlined in magnificent detail by the T-shirt. Was the temperature rising? Suddenly it felt way too hot in the car.

  “Do they deliver?”

  “Of course.” He gave a lift of his shoulder. “It’s a beautiful day. We can go to the park or—”

  “Your apartment?”

  His knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. “That’s an option.”

  Callie lifted her brows at his carefully bland response. “But?”

  “But I thought I was supposed to behave myself.”

  She gave a relieved laugh. For a second she’d wondered if he’d lost interest.

  “You can’t behave yourself at your apartment?” she teased.

  The hazel eyes flashed in her direction, a searing desire turning the gold flecks into molten need. “No.”

  Her mouth went dry. “You’re at least honest.”

  “Not always, although my ma tried her best.” His lopsided grin was strained. Callie felt her shirt stick to her damp skin. “She was convinced washing out my mouth with soap would cure me of my tendency to bend the truth.”

  “She has my sympathy.” Callie tried to match his casual tone even as they both shivered beneath the sensual tension pulsing in the air. “My guess is that you were a precocious brat growing up.”

  “And you weren’t?” he challenged.

  “Not really. I was usually the shy kid sitting in the corner.”

  “Serra never talked you into breaking the rules?”

  She wrinkled her nose. Serra had been a vivacious child and a natural leader who’d taken huge pleasure in causing chaos. Of course, unlike Callie, she also had loving biological parents who often collected her from Valhalla when her teachers and foster family needed a break.

  She never had to fear she might lose her only home.

  “Maybe once or twice,” she conceded.

  Without warning, Duncan pulled into an empty parking lot, turning to study her with a somber expression.

  “Look, sweetheart, we can go anywhere you want, and I promise to try and keep my hands to myself.” His fingers brushed her cheek in a gentle caress. “But I want you in the worst way and I’m not entirely sure it wouldn’t be better to stay in public.”

  She stilled at the fierce edge in his voice and the tight knot of muscles that throbbed in his jaw.

  “Are you saying—”

  His finger moved to stroke her lower lip. “What?”

  “That you crave me?”

  Their gazes clashed at her deliberate choice of words. No doubt a more experienced woman would have kept the question to herself.

  Most men didn’t like to confess vulnerability. Not even with their lovers.

  And she’d all but demanded to know if he desired her more than he’d desired his own wife.

  Yeah, not too pushy. Yeesh.

  But even as she was desperately trying to find a way to laugh off the question, he was surging forward to claim her lips in a kiss that was all raw male possession.

  “Hell, yes,” he admitted without hesitation.
r />   Oh. Her heart melted.

  Tangling her fingers in the short strands of his hair, she determinedly ignored the warmth that spread like honey through her body.

  She wasn’t about to ruin the moment with silly emotions.

  “I want to be alone with you,” she murmured against his lips.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely, positively.”

  He pulled back, studying her for a long minute. Then clearly satisfied she was as ready as he was, he flashed a smile filled with sinful anticipation.

  “Hold on, baby.”

  Turning to face front, he shoved the car into gear, then with a flick of his finger he had the siren blaring.

  Callie’s lips parted, but before she could speak he was pulling out of the parking lot and hurtling across town with speed that made her grip the dashboard.

  She had brief glimpses of redbrick factories that gave way to warehouses. Then small, family-owned stores that were situated between shabby houses and squat apartment buildings.

  They squealed to a halt in a narrow parking lot. Duncan shut off the engine and the siren with a twist of the key, leaving them in a strangely thick silence.

  Callie swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “Are you allowed to do that?”

  An astonishing hint of color lined his narrow cheekbones. Was he embarrassed? “I’d rather you didn’t mention this to Molinari.”

  She hid her burst of amusement. He looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

  Well, maybe not a kid, she conceded as a white-hot lick of excitement curled through the pit of her stomach.

  More like a sexy beast who wasn’t entirely tamed.

  Clicking the lock to release her seat belt, Callie closed the small distance between them and pressed a kiss to the hollow just below his ear.

  She’d already learned it was a particularly sensitive spot. “My lips are sealed,” she promised softly.

  “Shit,” he groaned, fumbling with his own seat belt. “You’re killing me.”

  Lingering just long enough to suck in the intoxicating scent of his warm, male skin, Callie scooted back across the seat and out the door.

  She had time to glance at the faded brick structure that matched the connecting buildings to form a bland wall of depressing architecture before Duncan was scooping her off her feet and they were entering the nearest doorway.