Born in Blood (The Sentinels)

by Alexandra Ivy

  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.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  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.

  Frank lost his footing and Duncan took the opportunity to glance over his shoulder at the tattooed warrior who shoved his head through the hole in the wall.

  “Callie?” he demanded of the Sentinel.

  Fane gave a bleak shake of his head. “Gone.”

  “Goddammit.”

  The word had barely left his lips when Frank was on his feet and moving back in for the kill.

  The bastard was nothing if not persistent.

  Duncan braced for another beating, too consumed with his rage at the knowledge they’d wasted hours on a wild goose chase to give a shit.