Born in Blood (The Sentinels)

by Alexandra Ivy

  But just as Frank was close enough to continue the fight, three shadows appeared from behind him to drive him to the ground.

  Duncan leaped out of the path of Wolfe as he went flying past, hitting the same wall that Duncan had smashed into earlier.

  “We have to get him downstairs,” the Tagos muttered, jumping to his feet as he absently wiped the blood from his bottom lip.

  Duncan frowned, watching in horror as Frank pinned Arel to the floor, impervious to Niko’s vicious kicks to his head.

  “Why?”

  “There’s a panic room we can lock him in.”

  Duncan shuddered. “Do you think it will hold him?”

  “Hell, I don’t know,” the Sentinel muttered. “But it will give us a few hours to come up with a better plan.”

  Duncan grimaced.

  A better plan ...

  Yep, that about summed it up.

  Callie had heard horror stories over the years of abandoned children who’d gone in search of their birth parents.

  She knew one witch who had approached her mother only to have the hysterical woman pull out a gun and shoot her in the leg. Another psychic learned he’d been removed from the home by the police when it was discovered that his father was using him to read the minds of ATM customers to discover their PIN numbers.

  Still, she was fairly certain that she took first prize in the Worse-Parents-Ever contest.

  Seated in the back of the silver car, she kept her gaze firmly on the passing scenery. It didn’t matter she couldn’t see a damn thing in the darkness. Anything was better than having to look at her psychopathic father seated next to her in the backseat of the car.

  Or worse, catching sight of her dead mother, who was driving the car with unnerving skill.

  She didn’t know how far they’d driven. It seemed like they’d been in the car for days, although she knew it couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours.

  There was a ripple in the chilled air as Lord Zakhar shifted on the seat. Callie grimaced. There was a temptation to stick her head in the sand and pretend they weren’t speeding toward some gruesome destiny.

  If she couldn’t change the future, then why know the gory details before she had to?

  But while cowardice seemed the preferable option, she couldn’t ignore the stern voice in the back of her head that reminded her that she had a duty.

  She might not know what had happened to Duncan or Fane or any of her friends, but she grimly held on to the belief that they were unharmed and searching for her.

  If they managed to contact her, she needed to be able to warn them what her crazy relatives were plotting.

  And how they could be stopped.

  “Are you ever going to tell me where we’re going?” She forced the question past her stiff lips, her gaze remaining trained on the window.

  “And spoil the surprise?” her father taunted.

  Callie rolled her eyes. “I thought evil geniuses liked to boast about their clever plots.”

  “It’s true I am a genius, but I refute the claim that I’m evil.”

  She jerked at the soft denial. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Most people admire ambition,” he purred.

  “Ambition doesn’t include killing your family or sacrificing your child,” she said with blatant revulsion. “And it certainly doesn’t include defiling the dead to make them your personal slaves.”

  “I see you inherited your mother’s tendency for melodrama.” His heavy sigh drifted through the air. “Unfortunate.”

  Her dead mother who was currently playing chauffeur?

  She squashed the hysterical urge to laugh.

  “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

  There was a tense pause before she heard the sound of his silk robe brushing the fabric of his seat, as if he were shrugging.

  “You should be happy. I’m taking you home.”

  She jerked her head around to meet his smug expression. “Home?”

  “Valhalla.”

  The breath was wrenched from her lungs. “Why?”

  He pretended to be surprised by her question. “I would think that was obvious. To lead the world I’ll need the power of the high-bloods.”

  Valhalla.

  Dammit. He was right. She should have known this was their destination. A man with Lord Zakhar’s bloated ego wouldn’t be satisfied starting his coup anywhere but at the top.

  “You can’t believe they’ll go along with your crazy plan?”

  “Not without a proper incentive.” His long fingers stroked the golden chalice he held in his lap. “Which is where you come in, my dear.”

  Callie battled back the bile that threatened to choke her. The people she loved most were at Valhalla. To think for even a second that she could be a part in their destruction was sickening.

  Still, she wasn’t about to let her father see the level of her desperation.

  It was a weakness he’d use against her.

  “You expect me to convince them?” she managed to mock.

  “Not you.” His diamond eyes glowed with an eerie light. “The army that will be called by your blood.”

  She forced a disdainful smile to her lips. “Oh yes. An army of the dead.”

  “Yes.” He frowned, as if disturbed by her seeming lack of concern.

  Good. Maybe if she could keep him off guard she could find a way to escape.

  “Where is this dead army going to come from?” she taunted. “Do you have the corpses stashed in the trunk?”

  The diamond eyes glittered with a cold satisfaction. “The previous Mave was kind enough to insist that all high-bloods be buried in a communal crypt,” he murmured. “A dozen indestructible Sentinels should offer sufficient destruction to force Valhalla to surrender, don’t you think, my dear?”

  Callie was shaken out of her momentary pretense of indifference.

  By law all high-bloods were sent to Valhalla grounds to be buried. Not only to ensure that their bodies were given proper respect, but to prevent humans from sending the corpses to their scientists to be tested like lab rats.

  And the Sentinels were given special burial crypts near the distant lake to honor them for their service. Which meant that they were outside the protective dome that covered Valhalla.

  “You... bastard,” she breathed.

  He waved aside her insult. “You’re becoming repetitive.”

  Callie sucked in a deep, steadying breath. Anger was a waste of energy, she sternly reminded herself.

  “You can’t believe this will work,” she hissed.

  Lord Zakhar regarded her with frigid arrogance. “Of course it will.”

  She shook her head. He was so ... confident. It was damned unnerving.

  “The high-bloods will never follow you.”

  “Then they’ll be destroyed.”

  Callie grimaced at his aloof dismissal. Like genocide was just an everyday occurrence.

  “And what about me?”

  “What about you?”

  “Will I die?”

  “Once I have taken my place as ruler,” he said with a shrug.

  She snorted. Yeah, she really hit the lottery in the father sweepstakes.

  “And then what will happen to your army?”

  “Without your blood they’ll no longer be under my control,” he admitted, a hint of frustration rippling over his startlingly beautiful face before it was quickly banished. “A pity, but fortunately I can produce as many children as necessary in the future if I need new armies. Highly doubtful, of course. Once the world has tasted my power they’ll be eager to bow before me.”

  Callie’s heart missed a beat. A horde of magical, indestructible Sentinels out of control?

  God Almighty.

  “When you say they’ll be out of your control—”

  “They’ll destroy anything that crosses their path,” he helpfully supplied.

  Why the coldhearted, amoral son of a bitch.

  She clenched her han
ds into fists of frustrated rage. “You’ll be stopped.”

  He arched a brow, his smile condescending. “No, my dear, I won’t.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “My destiny has been foreseen.” His smile widened as Anya pulled the car onto the road that led to the lake. “Nothing can stop me now.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Duncan was distantly aware of the muted bustle that filled the Sentinel office hidden in the bowels of Valhalla.

  He was too much a cop not to notice the herd of techies who were tapping on their laptops in a frantic attempt to track Callie’s cell phone. Or the warriors who lined the long table where Wolfe was sharing the latest information from his trackers who continued to scour the streets of Kansas City.

  There were more Sentinels standing in front of the bank of monitors, occasionally punching in new coordinates to change the satellite angles or barking orders in their cell phones to direct the trackers.

  But while he tactically approved of the grim, perfectly coordinated efforts to find Callie, he wasn’t a cop tonight.

  He was a man who had failed to protect the woman who had become the most important person in his world.

  Pacing from one end of the room to the other, he absently rubbed his chest. At some point, Wolfe had halted him long enough to take away his gun. No doubt a wise decision considering Duncan was hovering on the edge of sanity. It wouldn’t take much for him to snap.

  Reaching the end of the room, he turned to continue his mindless stride when he discovered his path was being blocked by a tattooed behemoth.

  “You look like shit, cop,” Fane informed him, his own face haggard with strain.

  Duncan flipped him off. “Go to hell”

  “Already there.” Fane shoved a glass into Duncan’s hand. “Drink.”

  Duncan lifted the glass to cautiously sniff the amber liquid. “What is it?”

  “Relax,” Fane commanded, folding his arms over his massive chest. “If I decide to kill you I’ll rip out your heart, not ruin my finest aged whiskey with poison.”

  Duncan snorted. “Comforting.”

  The warrior waited for Duncan to toss the fiery whiskey down his throat before taking the empty glass and setting it on a nearby desk.

  “We’re all worried,” he at last growled.

  Duncan grimaced. “She’s hurt.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I feel it” He pressed a hand to his aching heart. “Here.”

  Fane stilled, his dark eyes flaring with fury.

  Duncan had half expected the Sentinel to laugh. Or at least to tell him he was being a moron.

  A man might be afraid for his lover. He could be worried that she was harmed. But he couldn’t actually feel when she was hurting.

  Could he?

  Judging by Fane’s reaction, he could.

  Without warning a bone-deep relief surged through him.

  Long ago, he might have stubbornly denied the mystic connection to Callie. He was magnificently skilled in denying what he didn’t want to accept.

  Now he readily clung to that fragile connection. She was hurt, but she was alive.

  That’s all that mattered.

  Concentrating on the strange sensations that clenched at his heart, Duncan was caught off guard when the first alarm set off a shrill warning.

  Instinctively reaching for his missing gun, he braced for an attack as overhead lights began to flash and the room exploded in a flurry of motion.

  “Fuck,” Fane muttered as he hurried toward the monitors along with the other Sentinels.

  Duncan detoured to snatch his gun off the table before joining the huddle in front of the monitors.

  “What’s going on?”

  It was Wolfe who answered. “The outside perimeter just went down.”

  Duncan frowned. Valhalla’s security system was the stuff of legends. There wasn’t a norm in the entire world who didn’t realize it was impossible to try and breach the magical barriers.

  Even the cops understood that their jurisdiction ended at the edge of the high-bloods’ property. Anyone suicidal enough to stray beyond that point... well, they were on their own.

  “The necro?” he demanded.

  “It has to be,” Fane seethed. “No one else would have the cojones.”

  Wolfe growled deep in his throat. “We should have suspected Valhalla was his ultimate goal. The arrogant bastard wouldn’t settle for anything less.”

  True.

  Not that Duncan gave a shit what brought him to Valhalla.

  If he was here, then Callie couldn’t be far.

  “Can you locate them?”

  “I’m about to find out.”Wolfe reached to press the edge of the monitor, switching it from camera to camera.

  The images flickered so swiftly that Duncan couldn’t make out more than dark shadows and a silver shimmer he assumed was the magical dome that surrounded Valhalla.

  Could the Sentinels see through the darkness?

  His silent question was answered when Fane gave a low growl.

  “Wolfe.”

  Freezing the image, Wolfe frowned as Fane pointed to several large figures standing at the edge of the dome.

  “There.”

  What the hell?

  Duncan leaned forward, struggling to make out more than fuzzy outlines.

  He could see that they were large. Maybe as large as Fane and Wolfe. And each of them carried a different weapon. Swords, bows and arrows, even clubs with long spikes that looked like something out of a Renaissance fair.

  Beyond that was hard to say.

  To his eyes they seemed to be shrouded in fabric from head to toe, disguising their faces and any clothing that might have given a hint to their identity. Although... he leaned closer, studying the hands that were only faintly visible.

  Tattoos.

  He sucked in a sharp breath at the same time that Wolfe cursed.

  “Sentinels?” the Tagos snarled. “Impossible.”

  “Obviously not impossible,” Duncan muttered, desperately searching the monitors for any sign of Callie. “Why would they join with the necromancer?”

  “They wouldn’t,” Wolfe said, his voice flat with denial. “Not if they’re any of mine.”

  “Do you recognize any of them?” Fane demanded.

  “Not without seeing their faces.” Wolfe studied the monitor, his savage fury boiling through the air with enough heat to make Duncan sweat. “What are they wearing?”

  A good question. They looked like shrouds to Duncan ...

  He made a choked sound, struck by a sudden suspicion.

  “I need to see them.”

  Wolfe frowned. “A different camera angle?”

  “No,” he rasped. “I need to physically see them”

  Without hesitation, Wolfe nodded.

  There were no annoying questions. No demands for explanations.

  Just acceptance that Duncan was a part of the team and that he needed information to help them defeat the enemy.

  And this was why hardened soldiers offered their complete loyalty to the Tagos. Trust was a two-way street. A truth too many leaders never learned.

  “Niko, stay on coms,” Wolfe commanded as he led the way to one of the back doors. “Arel, find the Mave.” He pointed toward two guardian Sentinels who were nearly hidden beneath the layers of guns, swords, and... Holy shit, was that a rocket launcher? “You two, come with me.”

  They left the office and entered a cement tunnel that angled upward, Wolfe taking the lead with Duncan and Fane behind him with the arsenal twins bringing up the rear.

  Duncan didn’t have to ask where they were going.

  This was clearly an emergency exit. One that was not only equipped with steel doors every ten feet that could block off pursuers or protect against bomb blasts, but unlike the elevators it didn’t depend on electricity.

  They moved in silence, each of them on high-alert as they headed upward.

  Who the hell knew w
hat might be hiding ahead?

  Crazed necromancers. Demented witches.

  Flesh-eating zombies.

  Duncan sensed when they reached the surface, but Wolfe opened a door that led to a steep flight of stairs. Puzzled, Duncan climbed behind the Tagos, sensing they were several feet in the air.

  It wasn’t until they stepped onto a narrow ledge that he realized they were standing on a watchtower that offered a perfect panorama of the perimeter. And more importantly, an unimpeded view of the ten—no wait, twelve—warriors who were chanting in low, rough voices as they laid their hands upon an invisible barrier.

  “Well, cop?” Wolfe prompted in a low voice pitched to keep it from carrying on the light breeze. “What are you looking for?”

  Duncan shifted to stand near the low stone wall that surrounded the ledge, thankful for the full moon that drenched the landscape in a silver light. Unlike his companions, he didn’t have the ability to see in the dark.

  “Auras,” he said.

  Wolfe and Fane moved to stand at his side while the other two Sentinels paced to the other side of the narrow ledge. Nothing would be allowed to sneak up from behind.

  “Why?” Fane asked.

  His lips twisted at the brutal pain that sliced through his heart, his gaze trained on the distant intruders.

  “It was Callie who realized the dead wouldn’t have auras.”

  “Shit,” Fane breathed softly.

  Duncan pointed toward the inner perimeter, cold dread lying heavy in his stomach. “Those men are like Frank.”

  Wolfe scowled. “Explain”

  “A dead body has no aura. No ... spark of life,” he muttered, shuddering as he studied the men who moved with the same grace they must have possessed when they were alive. It was just wrong. On so many levels. “But these are surrounded by a darkness.”

  Fane made a tortured sound deep in his throat. “He’s trapped their souls.”

  Duncan shuddered again. Poor Frank. Was he aware that he was being abused by the necromancer? It had to be torture to be trapped in his own body while it was being controlled by a psychotic megalomaniac.

  “The son of a bitch,” he rasped.

  Wolfe gripped the top of the wall, the granite crumbling beneath his fingers. “A clever son of a bitch,” he snarled, studying the warriors with a bleak expression.