Born in Blood (The Sentinels) Read online

  “What I am is a cop with a victim who’s missing her heart with no visible wounds,” Duncan countered.

  Callie gave a soft gasp, stepping around Fane to regard the cop in horror. She never asked how a victim died. It might influence her when she was reliving their memories.

  “She’s missing her heart?”

  “Gone, just like magic.” He held her gaze, his expression grim. “That means the killer is a freak. I’m not letting you out of my sight until I know what’s going on.”

  It took a minute for her to realize she’d just been insulted. Odd considering it happened with tedious regularity.

  “Are you implying I would try and hide the identity of a murderer?”

  He ignored the bristling Fane as he moved to stand directly in front of her.

  “I’m implying that you’re stuck with me, Callie Brown.”

  Fane growled, but before he could give in to his desire to smash his fist into Duncan’s face, Callie turned to distract his attention.

  “Would you contact the Mave and tell her we’ll be bringing a visitor?”

  Fane’s lips tightened, but he gave a ready nod of his head.

  When it came to her safety, Fane was in charge. But when she was making decisions as a diviner, she was boss.

  Pulling the phone from his pocket, he moved toward the door. Calls to Valhalla were always made in private.

  Of course, the Sentinel couldn’t leave without halting long enough to offer Duncan a warning. “You’re going to be on my territory, cop,” he murmured.

  “Can’t wait,” Duncan assured him, turning to watch the dangerous warrior exit the room.

  “Is that really necessary?” Callie demanded in exasperation.

  Duncan turned his head back with a snap. “Is he your lover?”

  She blinked at the abrupt question. “That’s none of your business.”

  He boldly reached to grasp her chin in his hand. “Since you’re going to be sharing my bed, I’d say it’s very much my business.”

  She scowled, pretending that her stomach wasn’t fluttering with excitement. “Fane was right.”

  His gaze lowered to her lips, the heat smoldering in the hazel eyes promising all sorts of wicked pleasure.

  “Right about what?”

  “You are a menace.”

  Duncan paced the long room that was painted in soothing shades of blue and filled with sleek furniture built of steel and upholstered with black leather.

  It looked more like a reception room for an upscale plastic surgeon than the Funny Farm. No, not the Funny Farm. Valhalla, he grimly corrected himself.

  He doubted the residents would appreciate the nickname the norms used to reference the strange compound hidden beneath the shimmering dome. And since more than a few of them could read his thoughts, he would be an idiot to deliberately provoke them.

  His lips twisted as he came to the end of the room where images were being projected onto the smooth wall. It looked like the local news program, although he didn’t bother to try and read the lips of the pretty anchorwoman. Instead he turned on his heels and continued his pacing.

  He had to keep moving. If he stopped then he might remember being taken to a small monastery on the outskirts of Kansas City where he’d stepped into a hidden chamber with Callie and her guard dog, Fane. At first he’d assumed he was going to have to endure a few prayers to whatever gods the freaks worshipped. After all, Sentinels were raised by monks and while they never seemed overly pious, it had to have some effect on them.

  But there’d been no praying when Fane demanded they all touch the strange copper post set in the middle of the barren room.

  In fact there’d been nothing but silence before the world abruptly melted.

  There were no other words to explain what’d happened.

  One minute Duncan was standing close to Callie, breathing in her delicate scent and thinking thoughts that could get him arrested, and the next there was ... nothing.

  A vast emptiness that made his stomach fall to his feet and his mouth dry.

  For a frantic few minutes he feared that he’d been tossed into an endless oblivion. Which was strange. His ma had always assured him that he was destined for the fiery pits of hell.

  But the blackness lasted only seconds before the world flickered back into focus and he found himself in a room so similar to the one that they’d just left that he wondered if it’d been no more than an elaborate joke to scare the stupid human.

  Then he’d been led out of the room and through a labyrinth of hallways that could only mean they were at the infamous Valhalla. A knowledge that had done nothing to soothe his raw nerves.

  Neither had Fane’s gruff command to stay in the room and not touch anything before he’d left with Callie to speak with the elusive Mave.

  “Walk here, O’Conner. Wait there, O’Conner,” Duncan mocked beneath his breath. “Lie down and play dead like a good doggie, O’Conner.”

  “And you call us freaks?” a female voice drawled from behind him. “At least we don’t talk to ourselves.”

  Pulling his gun, he whirled to watch a stranger stroll into the room from a hidden door, his fingers instinctively tightening on the trigger.

  Not that she looked like someone who needed to be shot. Hell, she looked like she’d been created to fulfill a man’s deepest fantasy.

  Statuesque, with lush curves that were shown to jaw-dropping perfection by a pair of black leather pants and red bustier, she had a long mane of raven hair that contrasted with her pale skin.

  But there was a dangerous glint in the light green eyes that warned that this was no harmless sex kitten. This woman had claws she wouldn’t hesitate to use.

  Especially on him, if her slow smile of anticipation was any indication.

  “Who are you?” he demanded.

  She halted in the center of the room, her legs spread wide and looking impossibly long in her knee-high boots with three-inch heels.

  “Serra,” she offered, a hint of a Russian accent edging her voice.

  He studied her. Not as a male interested in a woman. He’d already chosen his next lover, even if Callie hadn’t accepted the inevitable.

  But as a cop assessing a loaded weapon.

  “You’re not a necro.”

  “No, my power isn’t necromancy. And no”—her lips curled in a taunting smile—“I’m not a witch.”

  He hissed. That hadn’t been a lucky guess.

  “A reader.”

  “Ding, ding. Give the dog a Milk-Bone.”

  He didn’t try to hide his unease. Why bother? A reader was capable of rummaging around in people’s minds. Or at least, that was the word on the streets.

  But that didn’t mean he was going to roll over and let the bitch intimidate him.

  “Let me go out on a limb and guess you don’t like me,” he said, his smile designed for maximum annoyance. “Is it because I’m not a—”

  “Watch it,” she murmured, her eyes crystallizing with a dangerous power.

  “High-blood?” he finished.

  She sashayed forward, her every move a wicked invitation. “You upset my friend.”

  He frowned. Okay. That wasn’t what he was expecting. “You mean Callie?”

  “That would be the one.”

  “Obviously you didn’t get the memo.” He shoved the gun back in his holster. No sense asking for trouble. He couldn’t shoot the female just because she pissed him off. Besides, it was more likely she would force him to put a bullet in his own head before he could squeeze off a round in her direction. “I wasn’t the one who upset her.”

  “You aren’t the one who scared the hell out of her, but you upset her every time she’s forced to work with you.”

  Upset her? How the hell could he ... ah. This time his smile was genuine.

  So the lovely, frustratingly aloof diviner wasn’t completely indifferent to him.

  Thank god.

  “Because I remind her that she’s a woman?” He shru
gged. “How can that be a bad thing?”

  “Are you a ‘freak’ groupie?”

  “Hell no.”

  “Hmmm.” She narrowed her gaze. “What do you want from her?”

  He arched a brow. “You don’t have to read my mind to guess what I want.”

  “Callie might not be a virgin, but she’s an innocent.”

  “I know.”

  There was a startled pause before the female strolled forward, circling him like a predator sizing up her prey.

  “Well, well,” she at last drawled. “What secrets are you hiding, Sergeant O’Conner?”

  Duncan went rigid with fury. “Get the fuck out of my mind.”

  She chuckled, but before she could continue her tormenting there was a prickle in the air and a misty shape began to form in the center of the room.

  “Serra,” a soft voice chastised.

  Astonishingly, the Queen Bitch was hastily stepping forward to perform a deep bow.

  “Forgive me, Inhera.”

  Duncan frowned. The figure remained misty, making him assume that it was some sort of projected image. Like the TV on the far wall.

  Technology or magic?

  Impossible to say.

  “Please see that a room is prepared for our guest,” Inhera commanded, the misty vision hinting at a female, although it was impossible to determine her features. “Then return to me so we can continue your studies.”

  “At once,” Serra instantly agreed, her tone deeply reverent. Then, the second the image flickered she turned to send Duncan a glare. “O’Conner?”

  He kicked his chin up a notch. “What?”

  “You hurt Callie in any way, shape, or form and I’ll give you nightmares that will make you scream.” She smiled with an evil intent. “Literally.”

  She left the room with the fluid grace that most freaks seemed to possess, her heels clicking on the polished wood floor.

  Once again alone, Duncan heaved a shaky sigh. Teleportation with tattooed Sentinels, mind-reading chicks in SMBD leather, projections of females that could appear and disappear, and a necro who made his blood run hot even when she was treating him as if she were cold as ice.

  “My da warned me to stay away from the freaks,” he muttered.

  Chapter Three

  The office of the Mave was designed for maximum impact.

  Done in shades of black and white, it was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and low leather chairs set opposite the heavy ebony desk. The floor was covered by a white carpet with a black geometric pattern. And the far wall was made entirely of glass to provide a stunning view of the formal rose gardens.

  Not that the female currently seated behind the desk needed the traditional trappings to prove her authority.

  The leader of the high-bloods barely looked thirty and was a stunning beauty with her smooth curtain of black hair and pale, oval face. But there was a thunderous power that shimmered in her storm gray eyes and a dignified calm that was oddly intimidating. And while the more daring men might covertly lust after the tall, slender body that was casually displayed in a pair of faded jeans and a cashmere sweater, it only took one glance at the birthmark on the upper curve of her breast that she deliberately exposed to make them treat her with respect.

  The small mark in the shape of an eye proved that she was a born witch, and the brilliance of the shimmering emerald color revealed that her powers were off the charts. The darker the color, the greater her magic.

  The fact she was also one of the most talented telepaths ever recorded only added to her considerable arsenal.

  And her reputation.

  Being called to the Mave’s office had been known to make the most bad-ass Sentinels piss their pants.

  Thankfully Callie had already had all the piss terrified out of her by her unexpected powwow with the stranger in the mind of a dead woman. Now she was just desperate for answers.

  The Mave sat perfectly still, her classically beautiful face unreadable as she considered Callie’s bizarre story.

  “You say his eyes were clear?” she at last asked, her slender fingers drumming a steady beat on the glossy desktop.

  “Yes.” Callie shivered as she recalled the cold brilliance of the stranger’s eyes. “They were faceted and shimmered like diamonds.”

  “And his hair was gray?”

  “More silver, I think,” she clarified, not entirely sure what might be relevant.

  “From age?”

  “I’m not certain.” Callie felt Fane’s hand gently land on her shoulder. The warrior stood behind her chair, offering a silent support that she desperately needed. “His face looked mature, but it’s impossible for me to guess his age.”

  “Unusual.” Tap, tap, tap went the finger.

  Callie didn’t know if that meant the Mave was troubled by what she was saying, or simply bored.

  And she didn’t care.

  She wasn’t leaving until she had some answers.

  “And his power ...” She gave another shiver. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”

  Fane gave her shoulder a squeeze, his growing disapproval heating the air. Sentinels’ body temperature naturally ran higher than others’. And the heat spiked with their mood.

  It gave a whole new meaning to a man being smoking hot in bed. Not that Callie knew from personal experience, but she’d heard the rumors.

  “She’s been over this a dozen times,” he growled, his tone respectful—barely. “She needs to rest.”

  Callie reached up to pat her guardian’s hand, worried he was going to get himself tossed in the dungeons. And yes, there were dungeons.

  “I’m fine, Fane.”

  “No, he’s right. You’re weary and I need to do some research.” She sent them both a warning gaze. “For now I want this kept strictly between us. Until I know more there’s no point in allowing the gossips to get ahold of the story and cause an uproar.”

  Callie nodded. “Of course.”

  The Mave smoothly rose to her feet. “Rest for an hour or so and we’ll speak again.”

  Callie was out of the chair before she even realized she was moving.

  “What about Sergeant O’Conner?” Callie demanded.

  A wry amusement shimmered in the smoke eyes. “A very stubborn man.”

  “I can get rid of him if you want,” Fane promptly offered.

  “No, we must work with the authorities. Our”—the Mave hesitated as she searched for the proper word—“relationship is difficult enough without humans worrying that we’re trying to hide a murderer. Besides, I have a few questions I must ask him.” She headed toward the door leading to her private quarters, pausing long enough to glance over her shoulder, a mysterious smile on her lips as she looked directly at Callie. “I’ve had him taken to the guest quarters if you’re interested.”

  “Pity,” Fane muttered as the Mave left the office and closed the door.

  Callie frowned. “What’s a pity?”

  “I was hoping for the opportunity to kick his ass out of here.”

  “Why do you dislike him?”

  “Don’t ask foolish questions, Callie.” He moved to stand directly in front of her, capturing her chin between his fingers as he studied the faint bruises beneath her eyes. “What did the healer say?”

  Fane had insisted on carrying her directly to the healers, growling at anyone who came close to her. Including Duncan, who’d been led off before she could say a word to him.

  “There was evidence of pressure on my frontal lobe, but no damage.” She wrinkled her nose. “They suspect the stranger was searching my mind.”

  The dark eyes glittered with the promise of revenge. “Bastard.”

  She bit her bottom lip, disturbed by the mere thought of Fane coming up against the stranger who’d stolen a young female’s heart without leaving a trace. “I’m worried.”

  “A premonition?”

  “No, I don’t have any talent for seeing the future, but I do know that whoever, or whatever, I
encountered isn’t done.” A chill crawled down her spine. “There’s going to be more deaths.”

  His expression was as hard as granite. “We should go to the Tabuk.”

  The monastery that was tucked in the Himalayas was a safe house for high-bloods who needed a time-out from civilization. It was not only hidden from the norms, it was so off the grid that it couldn’t be found by the usual technology.

  She gently tugged free of his hold. If it was up to Fane she would be locked away for the rest of her life.

  “I told you I’m fine.”

  “You’re in danger.” The magnificent swirls and arcs of his tattoos appeared even more vivid against his skin as his muscles clenched with frustration. “This creature knows you. He’s been inside your head. I won’t allow you to be the next victim.”

  She lifted a brow. “Allow?”

  “I am your protector.”

  “And I appreciate your dedication, Fane,” she said softly. “But if he had wanted me dead he could already have killed me.”

  Fane wasn’t impressed with her logic. “Maybe he likes the hunt.”

  She couldn’t argue. She sensed the predatory nature of the stranger. But who or what it was hunting remained a mystery.

  “It doesn’t matter. I can’t leave. I’m the only one who can identify the man.”

  The Sentinel scowled. “You won’t be able to identify him if you’re dead.”

  She reached to brush her fingers down the rigid muscles of his forearm. “Fane, with this man’s power there’s nowhere I would be safe.”

  “I won’t lose you.”

  She felt a familiar tide of affection for this man who’d committed his life to keeping her safe. “I’m not going anywhere,” she assured him, then dropped her hand when his cell phone beeped. It didn’t take a genius to know who was trying to contact him. Fane lacked the sort of friends who would call him just to chat. “Wolfe?” she asked as he pulled the phone from his pocket with a soft curse.

  “He’s waiting for me to report.”

  Callie grimaced. Wolfe was the Tagos, the current leader of the Sentinels, and the only man scarier than Fane.

  An amazing accomplishment.

  “He’s going to cause a riot,” she muttered. “You know how he hates to be kept out of the loop.”