Girard stopped struggling against Fane’s iron grip, a genuine fear flashing through his eyes.
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
The man licked his lips. “It’s too late.”
“No,” Duncan snapped. “The necromancer is dead and we have the chalice. We need the Brotherhood to perform the ceremony.”
Girard visibly weighed his options. If he revealed the location of the secret society and discovered Duncan had been lying, he would be toast.
But then again, if he didn’t contact the Brotherhood and Duncan wasn’t lying, he would be toast.
Duncan knew the second he’d conceded defeat.
“Let me go,” he choked out, glaring when Fane continued to hold him off the ground. “Do you want me to contact them or not?”
Fane leaned forward, until they were nose to nose, holding Girard’s weight with obnoxious ease.
The Sentinel could no doubt bench press the Hummer.
“You make one wrong twitch and you’re dead,” he promised in lethal tones, waiting for the man to give a jerky nod before he set him on his feet and stepped back.
“I hate high-bloods,” Girard muttered, pulling a cell phone from his pocket.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Callie woke to discover Duncan lying on the narrow bed next to her, his arm gently tucked around her waist.
His hair was rumpled, his face was lined with weariness, and his golden beard was at least three days old, but he was still the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” he murmured, the hazel eyes filling with relief as he realized she was awake.
She frowned. She had a vague recollection of Duncan carrying her back to Valhalla. Then Serra had come and she was able to warn them of the goblet.
After that it all became fuzzy.
“The chalice?”
He grimaced. “Fane took it along with the Brotherhood to some temple in the Middle East. That’s the only place they could close the doorway to the underworld.”
She blinked. Brotherhood? Temple? Middle East?
“Are you drunk?” she asked.
“I feel like it.” With a choked groan, he pressed his face into the curve of her neck. “God, Callie, you scared the hell out of me.”
She rubbed her cheek over the top of his head, savoring the heat of his body, which drove away the last of her father’s frigid power.
She was safe.
And in the arms of the man she loved.
“I was scared too,” she husked. Understatement of the year. She was going to have nightmares for decades.
He planted a kiss just below her ear. “I know you were, sweetheart, but you saved us all.”
She stiffened. She was fairly certain she’d shared the reason Lord Zakhar had chosen her as his sacrifice when Serra had been rummaging around in her brain, but she had to be sure he understood the blood that ran through her veins.
“Duncan.”
He concentrated on nuzzling a heated path down the line of her jaw.
“Mmm?”
“The necromancer ...” She was forced to halt and clear her throat. “He was my—”
“He’s dead.” He abruptly cut her words short, pulling back to send her a warning frown. “Along with the witch.”
“But they—”
“It doesn’t matter.” He pressed a swift, possessive kiss to her lips. “They’re dead and the zombies have been returned to their graves. It’s over.”
Callie hesitated before heaving a sigh.
Someday they would discuss the gory details. Not only of her father’s sick plot to rule the world and her desperate gamble to take control of the dead Sentinels, but what it meant to be the daughter of Lord Zakhar and his pet witch.
She also had a thousand questions about what had happened after she’d been kidnapped by her psycho father.
But that could wait until the wounds had healed and her emotions weren’t still raw.
“Really and truly over?” she murmured.
“Really and truly over.” Another lingering kiss. “I promise.”
“Thank god.”
He chuckled softly. “Shouldn’t you be thanking me as well?”
She snuggled against him, her heart skipping a beat as his lips found a sensitive pulse just below her jaw.
“Did you want a medal?” she teased.
“Hmm.” He nibbled down the curve of her neck. “I was thinking of a more personal thank you.”
“Perhaps that could be arranged,” she husked, already picturing Duncan spread naked across her bed while her tongue traced his washboard abs.
The things she intended to do to that hard, male body...
Her delicious thoughts were abruptly interrupted by an unwelcomed realization.
Oh... hell.
As Duncan had just said, it was over.
Her father was dead, the chalice had been returned to wherever it came from, and she was no longer in danger.
With an uncanny intuition, Duncan pulled back, his eyes narrowed as he sensed her distress.
“Callie, what’s wrong?” he asked, giving her a warning glare as her lips parted to dismiss his concern. “And don’t you dare try to tell me it’s nothing.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Bossy.”
“It’s part of my charm. Tell me what’s bothering you.”
She might as well. He would nag her to death if she didn’t.
“Now that the necromancer is dead, you’ll be returning to your old life,” she said, her voice deliberately stripped of emotion.
She wouldn’t pressure him into staying.
Or beg to be taken with him.
Only he could decide what he needed to make him happy.
Surprisingly, his expression eased, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. “Will I?”
“Of course.” She plucked at the sheet that covered her, belatedly realizing she must look like hell with her hair sticking up like a porcupine and her body wrapped like a mummy in her hospital gown. Not that it would make Duncan stay even if she was dressed like a movie star. He wasn’t that kind of guy. Still, she did have her pride. “You have your family. Your job—”
“Actually, I’ve taken a new job,” he smoothly interrupted.
She widened her eyes in shock. “A new job? But ... you love being a cop.”
He shrugged. “I love carrying a gun and telling people what to do.”
She shook her head, not about to be fooled by his light tone. This man had devoted his life to his career. He wouldn’t just toss it aside as if it meant nothing.
“Duncan.”
“Ssh.” He pressed a finger to her lips, something that might have been contentment shimmering in his hazel eyes. “Wolfe has made me a Sentinel. Or at least I’ll be one once I’m done with my training.”
“A Sentinel?”
“It’s perfect,” he assured her. “I still get to use my skills as a cop, and from now on I won’t have to hide my ability to read auras. It’s my best asset.” He smiled with wicked promise. “Well, one of my best assets,” he corrected, his finger stroking the lush softness of her bottom lip. “And more importantly, no one will be your guardian but me.”
She studied his face for any hint of hesitation. As desperately as she longed to have him become a part of her world, she would never forgive herself if he came to regret his decision.
“And this is what you want?” she pressed. “What you truly want?”
He framed her face in his hands, regarding her with a tender devotion that chased away any lingering doubts.
“You are what I want, Callie Brown.”
“Oh, Duncan,” she sniffed, feeling as silly and emotional as one of those girly girls she’d always mocked.
He kissed the tip of her nose. “There is one downside, I’m afraid.”
His teasing tone kept her from freaking out.
“What’s that?”
“The Mave mentioned something about me being a liais
on between Valhalla and the civil authorities.”
“I think that’s a brilliant idea.”
He lifted his head with a grimace. “Liaisons are supposed to be diplomatic. I have as much diplomacy as a rabid badger.”
“True.” She reached up to push a strand of golden hair off his forehead. Her touch sheer possession. This man was hers. Hers, all hers. Joy exploded in the center of her heart. “I can give you lessons.”
The wicked smile became downright sinful. “Really?”
“Yep.”
The hazel gaze slowly meandered downward, lingering on the neckline of her oversized gown that revealed the top of her breasts.
“It’s going to take the proper incentive.”
Breathe, Callie, breathe.
“And what incentive would that be?”
He brushed a gentle hand through her hair. “First I’m going to need a place to stay while we work on my lessons.”
“I do have an apartment I would be willing to share,” she offered.
“Perfect,” he breathed, gold beginning to shimmer in his eyes. A sure sign of his arousal. As if the hard thrust of his erection pressing into her hip wasn’t enough of a hint. “And we’ll need a private getaway,” he continued. “Maybe a small cabin in the woods where we can be completely alone.”
Completely alone with this man? Yes, please.
“That can be arranged.” She wiggled until she was lying on her side, her hand slipping beneath his T-shirt to stroke over the hard muscles of his stomach. “Anything else?”
He peered deep into her eyes. “Just one thing.”
“What?”
“Love me.”
She melted into a puddle of goo, wondering how the hell she’d ever survived without this man in her life.
“With all my heart,” she vowed, tears glistening in her eyes.
“Callie. My beautiful Callie.”
With a groan he kissed her with a stark hunger even as his hands stroked her with a gentle restraint, as if she were a fragile object that might shatter at his touch.
On the point of assuring him that she wasn’t an invalid, she was halted when he gave a sudden chuckle, speaking against her lips.
“Oh, I almost forgot.”
She plunged her fingers into his hair, not particularly interested in talking.
“Forgot what?”
“We’re having dinner with my family on Sunday.”
Her shriek could be heard throughout Valhalla.
“Duncan!”
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek
of the next novel in
Alexandra Ivy’s
Guardians of Eternity series,
HUNT THE DARKNESS,
coming in June 2014!
Prologue
Styx’s lair
Chicago, IL
Styx was fairly certain that hell had frozen over.
Nothing else could explain the fact that in the past year he’d become the Anasso (King of All Vampires), moved from his dank caves into a behemoth of a mansion that contained acres of marble, crystal, and gilt—gilt for Christ’s sake—and mated with a pure-blooded Were who also happened to be a vegetarian.
Then, as if fate hadn’t had enough laughs at his expense, he’d been in an epic battle against the Dark Lord, which meant he’d been forced to make allies out of former enemies.
Including the King of Weres, Salvatore, who was currently drinking Styx’s finest brandy as he smoothed a hand down his impeccable Gucci suit.
He pacified his battered pride by believing he would never have allowed the bastard over his doorstep if it wasn’t for the fact that their mates happened to be sisters. His own mate, Darcy, was very ... insistent that she be allowed to spend time with Harley, who was growing heavy with her first pregnancy.
Or was it litter?
Either way, Styx and Salvatore were forced to play nice.
Not an easy task for two über-alphas who’d been opponents for centuries.
Settling his six-foot-plus frame in a chair that had a view of the moon-drenched gardens, Styx waited for his companion to finish his drink.
As always, Salvatore looked more like a sophisticated mob boss than the King of Weres. His dark hair was pulled to a tail at his nape and his elegant features cleanly shaved. Only the feral heat that glowed in the dark eyes revealed the truth of the beast that lived inside him.
Styx on the other hand, didn’t even try to appear civilized.
An Aztec warrior, he was wearing a pair of leather pants, heavy shit-kickers, and a white silk shirt that was stretched to the limit to cover his broad chest. His long black hair was braided to hang down to his waist and threaded with tiny turquoise amulets. And to complete the image, he had a huge sword strapped to his back.
What was the point in being a bad-ass if you couldn’t look like one?
Setting aside his empty glass, Salvatore flashed a dazzling white smile. A sure sign he was about to be annoying.
“Let me see if I have this right,” the wolf drawled.
Yep. Annoying.
Styx narrowed his dark eyes, his features that were too stark for true beauty tight with warning.
“Do you have to?”
“Oh, yes.” The smile widened. “You asked the clan chief of Nevada to babysit a witch you had locked in your dungeons?”
Styx silently swore to have a chat with his mate once their guests were gone.
He hadn’t intended Salvatore to know that one of his most powerful vampires had been magically forced into a mating.
Hell, he’d had a hard enough time divulging the info with Jagr, his most trusted Raven. It was only because he needed the vampire to do research that he’d revealed the secret.
A mating was the rarest, most sacred, most intimate connection a demon could experience.
To think for a second that it could be inflicted on a vampire against his will was nothing less than ... rape.
You didn’t reveal that kind of weakness to your enemies. Even if you did have a peace treaty.
Darcy, however, was a genuine optimist who blithely assumed that Salvatore would never abuse privileged information.
Now Styx was stuck revealing the truth to the mangy mutt.
“Sally Grace was not only a powerful witch who was capable of black magic, but she worshipped the Dark Lord,” he grudgingly explained, not about to admit that it had been more habit than fear that had led him to lock the female in his dungeons. Sally Grace was barely over five foot and weighed less than a hundred pounds. She hadn’t looked like a threat. And she probably wouldn’t have been if she hadn’t been so scared. “Of course I wasn’t going to take any chances.”
“Why, Roke?”
Styx shrugged. “I was busy dealing with the ancient spirit that was trying to turn vampires into crazed killers.”
Naturally Salvatore wasn’t satisfied.
“And?” he prodded.
“And the prophet had warned that Roke would be important to the future,” he muttered. He’d truly thought keeping Roke in his lair would protect him. Ah, the best laid plans of mice and vampires ... “How the hell was I supposed to know Sally Grace was half-demon?”
Salvatore grimaced. “It must have been quite a shock to poor Roke to discover himself mated to a witch”
Styx’s humorless laugh echoed through the library at the memory of Roke’s fury.
“Shock isn’t the word I’d use.”
“She’s lucky he didn’t kill her on the spot.”
Frustration simmered deep inside Styx. Roke might be an arrogant pain in the ass, but he was a brother. And more importantly, he was a clan chief who had a duty to his people. They had to find a way to break the mating.
And how to make damned sure it never happened again.
“He might have killed her if the magic she used didn’t feel as real as any true mating.”
Salvatore’s amusement faded. “That bad?”
“Worse.” Styx surged to his feet. “W
ithout her knowing who or what fathered her, the witch doesn’t even know how to reverse the damage.”
“You’re certain this isn’t some trick?”
“I’m not certain of anything beyond the need to find a way to break the bond.”
Salvatore poured another shot of brandy. “Do you have a plan?”
Plan? Styx grimaced. The closest they’d had to a plan the past year had been to charge from one disaster to another.
Why would this be any different?
“Sally left almost three weeks ago to search for any clues that would reveal who her father might be,” he said.
“And Roke?”
“He’s trying to catch her.”
Salvatore arched a brow. “You let him go alone?”
“Of course not.” A slow smile curved Styx’s lips. “I allowed Levet to go with him.”
Salvatore choked on his brandy at the mention of the tiny gargoyle who’d attached himself to both Darcy and Harley. Like a freaking barnacle that couldn’t be scraped off.
A three-foot pest with delicate fairy wings in shades of blue and crimson and gold, Levet could drive a sane man to gargoyle-cide in three seconds flat.
“You are a bad, bad vampire,” Salvatore murmured.
“I try.”
Chapter One
Northern Canada
Roke hadn’t yet given in to his overwhelming desire to commit gargoyle-cide.
But it was a near thing.
Roke was antisocial by nature, and having to endure the endless chatter from a stunted gargoyle for the past three weeks had been nothing short of torture.
It was only the fact that Levet could sense Yannah, the demon who’d helped Sally flee from Chicago, that kept him from sending the annoying twit back to Styx.
His mating connection to Sally allowed him to sense her, but Yannah’s ability to teleport from one place to another in the blink of an eye meant by the time he could locate her, she was already gone.
Levet seemed to have a more direct connection to Yannah, although they still spent their nights chasing from one place to another, always one step behind them.
Until tonight.
With a small smile he came to a halt, allowing his senses to flow outward.
The sturdy cottage tucked on the eastern coast of British Columbia was perched to overlook the churning waves of the North Pacific Ocean. Built from the gray stones that lined the craggy cliffs, it had a steep, metal roof to shed the heavy snowfalls and windows that were already shuttered against the late autumn breeze. A handful of outhouses surrounded the bleak property, but it was far enough away from civilization to avoid prying eyes.
Born in Blood (The Sentinels) Page 33