Born in Blood (The Sentinels) Read online

  “Are you saying I’m not well trained?”

  She ignored the open invitation to point out that he was barely civilized and instead returned her attention to the victim.

  “The door, please.”

  He slowly straightened, swallowing his groan as his head gave another protesting throb. Whiskey was the devil’s brew, just as his ma had always claimed.

  “No one’s coming in,” he muttered, “but I’ll keep guard at the door if it makes you feel better.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant.”

  “Duncan.” His headache forgotten, he flashed a smile of pure challenge. “One day you’ll say it. Hell, one day you might even scream it.”

  No response. With a low growl, Duncan made his way to the door, leaning on the doorjamb to make sure no one could enter, while keeping his attention on the woman kneeling beside the corpse.

  She ignored his unwavering attention, lifting a hand to remove her sunglasses and setting them aside. At the same time the slanting sunlight spilled over her, catching in the sapphire blue of her eyes.

  Duncan’s heart forgot how to beat.

  He’d seen them before. At a distance. At the time he’d thought they looked like expensive gems, perfectly faceted and shimmering with an inner light. Up close they were even more magnificent.

  Christ.

  The beauty of those eyes was hypnotizing.

  Priceless jewels that revealed this was no ordinary woman.

  Duncan would be pleased to know that it was only her years of training that allowed Callie to ignore his raw sexual magnetism.

  He was the sort of primitive male that should have infuriated her, not tantalized her deepest fantasies.

  Of course, the Mave would tell her that fantasies were meant to be filled with unsuitable desires. Why not lust after a bad boy cop? It wasn’t as if she was going to do anything about it. She didn’t know if his flirtations were a way to taunt her or if he was one of those groupies who got off on sleeping with “freaks,” but either way, it had nothing to do with her as a person.

  Still, it was only with an effort that she managed to crush the tiny tingles of excitement fluttering in the pit of her stomach and the dampness of her palms.

  Now wasn’t the time or place.

  Tonight in her dreams ... well, that was a different story.

  Clearing her thoughts, she laid her hands on the victim’s arm and closed her eyes.

  It took a second to slip from her own mind and into the female stretched on the floor. There was always a strange sense of ... floating. As if her consciousness was hovering between one body and the next. Then, focusing on the feel of the female’s arm beneath her fingers, she murmured her name.

  “Leah.”

  The soft word was enough.

  With a hair-raising jolt, she was sucked from her body and into Leah’s mind.

  She could easily sense the female soul, just as she could sense she was fading.

  Fast.

  Despite the ridiculous myths, a necromancer couldn’t control or raise the dead. Her only ability was to tap into the mind of the murdered victim to see the last few minutes of their life.

  And only within a very short time frame.

  Once the ... spark, for lack of a better word ... was extinguished and the soul moved on, the memories were lost.

  A meaningless talent for the most part. But on rare occasion it could mean the opportunity for justice.

  With a well-honed skill, Callie touched on the female’s memory center. Just being born a diviner didn’t automatically mean that a person would be capable of reading memories. There were many necromancers who were never able to do more than enter the body and hopefully catch a stray thought.

  Callie, however, was one of the most talented.

  Which was why she was always sent when there was a suspicion the death might have been caused by a high-blood, as the freaks preferred to call themselves.

  Finding the spot she was searching for, she delicately slipped into the fading memories and allowed them to flow through her.

  Suddenly she was no longer kneeling on the hard floor. Instead she was in the attached garage, stepping out of her sleek black Jag. She sensed a pleasant weariness in her limbs, as if she’d just finished a vigorous workout at the gym, a suspicion confirmed when she glanced down to see she was wearing a pair of stretchy pants and a matching sports bra.

  Rounding the car, she moved to unlock the door that led to the house. She stepped into the small laundry room and stripped off her sweaty clothes to toss them in the washing machine. Now naked, she moved into the sun-drenched kitchen.

  As she headed for the stainless steel refrigerator to pull out a bottle of water there was an ease in her steps that hinted this was a routine morning for her, and a comfort with her surroundings that said she had lived in the house for at least a few weeks.

  Callie, however, could sense a faint surge of pride as she turned to study the large kitchen that looked like a picture out of a fancy magazine.

  Leah had recently moved up in the world.

  And she was fully enjoying her elevation.

  Callie had barely managed to grasp the knowledge when Leah was stiffening, her head turning toward the French doors.

  Was there a shadow lurking by the trimmed hedges that lined the patio?

  She gave a strained laugh, lifting the bottle to drink the last of the water before tossing it into the recycle bin next to the fridge.

  The neighborhood was the safest in the city. Besides, the house was guarded by a security system.

  If there was a creep out there trying to sneak a peek through the windows, then he’d set off a hundred bells and whistles the minute he stepped on the patio.

  Brave thoughts, but a tiny shiver inched down the female’s spine as the shadow moved, stepping away from the hedges to reveal—

  Without warning the image was snatched away.

  Just like that.

  Callie blinked, expecting to have been returned to her body. When the spark left, it destroyed any connection that Callie had to the dead.

  But instead she found she remained in Leah’s body, standing in the center of the kitchen as if she were still in the memory ... without Leah.

  What the hell?

  “I’m afraid I can’t allow you to see any more,” an unexpected male voice drawled.

  Callie turned in shock to watch the tall man with silver hair pulled from his lean, darkly bronzed face stroll through the door leading into the dining room.

  She pressed a hand to her racing heart.

  No one should be here.

  No one but her and the soul she’d connected to in the physical world.

  Unfortunately, no one had given the stranger the handbook on necromancy. Instead of disappearing, he continued forward, the muted light revealing his painfully beautiful features. His brow was high and intelligent, his nose a thin blade, and his lips carved along full lines. And his eyes ...

  They were gemstone like hers, only instead of blue they were perfectly clear, like diamonds glittering with a cold light.

  A male necromancer? Of the few she’d met, none had those color eyes. And certainly they didn’t have the sort of bone-chilling strength she could feel swirling through the air around him.

  His muscular body was covered by a thick gray robe that covered him from neck to feet, although she caught a glimpse of slender fingers the same bronze shade as his face.

  More terrified than she’d ever been in her life, Callie struggled to speak. “Are you the one who killed Leah?”

  He halted a mere foot from her, studying her as if she were a rare bug beneath a microscope.

  “A diviner,” he at last said, his words edged with a faint accent. “And one of astonishing power.”

  “How is this possible? Are you in Leah’s mind?”

  He seemed to pause, his eyes widening before he suddenly tilted back his head to laugh with a cold amusement.

  “Callie Brown. How very ironic.” Th
e diamond eyes glittered with a blinding light. “It must be fate that brought us here together.”

  He knew who she was? The thought disturbed her on a cellular level.

  “Who are you?” she rasped.

  A slow, mysterious smile curved his sensuous lips. “That’s not the right question.”

  Did he think this was a game?

  “Okay.” She forced herself to hold the diamond gaze. “What are you?”

  “That’s not right, either,” he warned, lifting a hand toward her face.

  Callie leaped backward, her heart slamming against her ribs with the force of a steam hammer.

  “Don’t touch me.”

  His low chuckle seemed to wrap around her like sinful magic. “The question, my beautiful Callie, is”—he deliberately paused—“who are you?”

  Her pulsing fear was disturbed by the unexpected sensation of Fane tugging her back to reality.

  “No.” She tried to fight against her Sentinel’s ruthless pull, knowing that there was more at risk than the death of one young female. “Wait. Damn you.”

  Her last sight was of the stranger blowing her a taunting kiss.

  Chapter Two

  Callie opened her eyes, puzzled to discover she was sprawled on the hard floor, her head cradled in Fane’s lap.

  As always the Sentinel looked like he’d been carved from granite. At six-foot-three he had the chiseled muscles of a warrior and the strength of an ox. Not surprising considering he’d been honed from the cradle to become a weapon.

  He was also covered from the top of his shaved head to the tips of his toes in intricate tattoos that protected him from all magic.

  There were two sects of Sentinels.

  The first sect contained warriors who were born with superior senses and reflexes as well as innate strength but no magic. They were made into hunters since they were easily able to “pass” as human and were often used by the Mave to track down renegade high-bloods who had committed a crime or were a danger to themselves or others.

  Those few born with superior physical abilities as well as a claim to magic were taken by the monks and trained to become guardian Sentinels. They were Sentinels that guarded high-bloods who were incapable of protecting themselves.

  The monks did everything in their power to make them the most proficient, most feared killers ever to walk the earth.

  And they surpassed all expectations with Fane.

  He was death walking to his enemies.

  And his enemies included anyone who threatened Callie.

  She frowned, focusing on the bleak face of her guardian. The dark eyes were harder than usual and the stark features that were savagely beautiful beneath the swirls of black tattoos were set in a fierce expression.

  “Fane, what are you doing?” she demanded, startled when her voice came out as a croak.

  “The cop came for me,” the Sentinel said, his voice a low rumble. “He said you were in trouble.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” Duncan’s lean, annoyingly handsome face swam into focus as he moved to stand over her, the hazel eyes snapping with a combination of combustible emotions. “Are you fucking kidding me? You fell backward and started flopping like a damned fish out of water. I thought you were having a seizure.”

  Abruptly she recalled what had happened during her last seconds inside Leah’s mind. “Oh,” she breathed.

  The hazel eyes narrowed. “You can say thank you now.”

  “Thank you,” she forced herself to mutter as she sat upright.

  A part of her was furious at having been pulled away from the stranger before she could determine what the hell he was. But a larger part realized that she’d been in grave danger. Perhaps more danger than she wanted to imagine, if her throbbing head was anything to go by.

  Duncan snorted. “Your gratitude overwhelms me.”

  She reached to slide her glasses on. Usually, they were her personal armor against a world that considered her a freak.

  Now, she used them to conceal the raw fear pulsing through her.

  “I need to speak to Fane.”

  Duncan’s features sharpened to his cop face. Hard. Unyielding. Pain-in-the-ass. “No one’s stopping you.”

  “In private.”

  “No.”

  She met his glare with a lift of her brow, allowing Fane to help her to her feet. Her knees briefly protested, threatening to crumble, but with a ruthless resolve she willed them to hold steady. She’d survived being tossed in a Dumpster when she was less than a week old. She’d survived thirty years of being hated, feared, and even hunted by crazy-ass norms.

  She would survive this.

  “That wasn’t a request, Sergeant.”

  “This is my crime scene, Ms. Brown,” he growled. “And anything you saw in Leah’s mind is evidence.”

  She paused. Legally he was right. Anything she discovered during her investigation went into an official transcript that could be used in court.

  But technically Leah had already passed on when the stranger had popped into her mind. So that left jurisdiction ... fuzzy.

  At least as far as she was concerned.

  “This has nothing to do with your case.”

  “Oh yeah?” He stepped closer. “I’ll decide what does or doesn’t have to do with my case,” he retorted, reaching to grab her arm. As if he thought she was intending to disappear in a puff of smoke.

  Not an unreasonable fear.

  Most people didn’t understand how a Sentinel was capable of traveling. They simply assumed they popped place to place with some mysterious magic.

  The cop, however, had forgotten an important rule when working with a diviner.

  His hand was still inches away from her when Fane reached out to grasp his wrist in a punishing grip.

  “Don’t. Touch. Her.”

  Duncan hissed, his gaze never shifting from Callie as he used his free hand to grasp the butt of the handgun that was holstered at his side.

  “Call off your dog,” he commanded through clenched teeth.

  Fane kept his grip as he stepped forward to stand at Callie’s side. “I’m her Sentinel, not her servant. If I decide someone is a threat I’ll do whatever necessary to protect her.” Although casually dressed in a pair of combat pants and white muscle shirt, no one, absolutely no one, could mistake Fane as anything less than lethal. “That badge doesn’t scare me.”

  “Fane.” She laid a light hand on his arm. This went beyond Fane protecting her. The air was choking with male testosterone. One wrong word and things could get very, very messy. “Please.”

  “Someday we’re going to settle this,” Fane snarled before grudgingly releasing his hold.

  Duncan made a show of releasing his gun. “Sooner rather than later.”

  Callie rolled her eyes.

  Men.

  “Perhaps the sergeant should hear this,” she said, accepting that Duncan was going to dig and prod and generally make a nuisance of himself until he had what he wanted.

  Or until Fane snapped and killed him.

  As if to prove her point, Fane wrapped an arm around her shoulders, his touch as much a warning to Duncan as a support for her shaky balance. “You need to rest,” he said.

  She shook her head. “There’s no time.”

  Fane frowned, not missing the edge of fear in her voice. “What happened?”

  “I’m not entirely sure.”

  “Did you—” Duncan tried to hide his grimace.

  She completed his sentence. “I was able to locate her memories.”

  “Then you know what happened to her?” Duncan asked.

  “Not exactly.”

  Duncan frowned. “Not exactly?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “How can you not be sure?”

  “Her soul left before I could access her final memory.”

  “Dammit,” Duncan muttered, frustration smoldering in his hazel eyes. As annoying as he might be, his dedication to his job was never in doubt.
He was as tenacious as a bulldog when it came to solving a case. “Then you didn’t see her murderer?”

  She shivered, vividly recalling the diamond-bright eyes.

  “Actually ... he was still there.”

  Duncan stepped forward, his lean face tight with shock. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Back off.” Fane lifted a warning hand before turning to study her with a searching gaze. “Callie?”

  “A man appeared. I think it was the same man who killed Leah.”

  Fane hissed, turning her so he could run an assessing gaze over her. “Did he hurt you?” he rasped. “Is that why you were having a seizure?”

  She lifted an unconscious hand to her head. It was beginning to throb with an uncomfortable persistence. “It must have been, but I didn’t feel his attack while we were speaking.”

  “You need to see a healer.”

  “Later.” She placed a hand on his wide neck. It was a gesture of intimacy without being sexual. Trust between partners. “I promise.”

  “How is this possible?” Duncan sharply intruded, his voice filled with annoyance. “Was he a necro?”

  She turned back to meet his narrowed gaze, inanely noticing the bruises beneath the hazel eyes and the unusual pallor of his tanned face. Sick? Or just a late night?

  Not that either was her business.

  “He must have some powers of necromancy, but he was more than that,” she said, wrapping her arms around her waist as she returned her attention to Fane. “Much more,” she emphasized. “I must speak with the Mave. She may know who, or at least what, he might be.”

  Fane didn’t hesitate, moving toward the door. On the point of following him, Callie was halted as Duncan moved to stand in her way.

  “I’m going with you,” he said, stubbornly holding his ground, although he was smart enough not to touch her.

  Fane was on edge. One wrong move and he would explode.

  She shook her head. “It’s not possible.”

  He leaned forward, wrapping her in the scent of warm male and ... was that whiskey?

  Ah. So not sick, but hungover.

  “Then make it possible.”

  In the blink of an eye Fane’s huge body was between them, his muscles primed for violence. “A man with a death wish,” he drawled.