Born in Blood

Page 44

“In part.” She ran her hands down the length of his rigid back, her touch soothing. “He believes you’re devastated by the marriage of your wife.”
“Ex-wife.”
She tried not to be pleased by his fierce correction.
But hey, she was human. Or at least, she had the usual human emotions.
Her fingers skimmed back to his shoulders. “He’s convinced that she was your soul mate and that you’re going to regret our relationship once you come to your senses.”
The hazel eyes darkened with the threat of violence. “He said that?”
She grimaced. “Yes.”
“The bastard. I’ll kill him.”
“No, Duncan, he’s your friend,” she said in urgent tones. This was exactly what she feared. “Of course he’s going to be worried about you.”
“He hurt you.”
She shook her head. “No he didn’t.”
His fingers cupped her chin as he held her gaze with a somber intensity. “Callie, if this is going to work we have to be honest with each other.”
He was right. The words that Frank had spoken were already festering deep inside her. Threatening to destroy the joy she felt when she was with Duncan.
The only way to deal with it was to get it out in the open.
Like lancing an infected wound.
“He didn’t hurt me, but he did remind me of the cost you’ll have to pay to be with me,” she said, her voice so low he had to lower his head to catch her words. “It’s . . . not going to be easy for you.”
He stilled, as if surprised by her words. “Not just me, Callie,” he finally said. “It’s going to be difficult for both of us.”
She reached up to touch his jaw. “Are you sure you’re ready for it?”
He studied her concerned expression before he slowly dipped down to kiss her with a tenderness that brought tears to her eyes.
“I’m trying,” he murmured against her lips. “Although I can’t guarantee that I won’t get pissed off when I think you’re being insulted.”
“I don’t want you losing your friends.”
Another kiss. Slower . . . deeper.
“If they’re truly my friends then they’ll understand when I tell them to fuck off.” His tongue stroked a damp path along her lower lip. “And if they want to be turd-heads, then they can get the hell out of my life.”
She gave a reluctant chuckle. “Turd-heads?”
“Yep, turd-heads.” He trailed a line of kisses up her jaw before he lifted his head to regard her with a hint of question. “And you? Are you ready for it?”
She held his gaze. “When I’m with you I feel like I can face anything.”
His expression softened, some undefinable emotion smoldering in his eyes.
“Even jackass cops?” he rasped.
“I’m more afraid of your mother.”
He smiled with a sinful intent, his hand sliding over her shoulder and down to cup the swell of her breast.
“You know, I have a perfect way of taking your mind off my ma and interfering friends.” His thumb rubbed the tip of her nipple into a tight peak. “Oh, and the potential end of the world.”
“Hmm.” Her nails scraped down his back, a honey-heat flowing through her body. “This had better be a damned good distraction,” she teased, her foot stroking up the back of his calf.
He gave a soft moan, burying his face in the curve of her neck. “Oh, I think you’ll like it.”
“Just like it?”
His lips found the pulse that thundered at the base of her throat.
“If I’m very lucky, you’ll love it,” he whispered, angling his hips and sliding deep into her body with one smooth stroke.
“Duncan—”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dawn had barely crested when Zak left his private chambers and entered the small room at the back of the house. As always, a full breakfast was waiting for him, along with a stack of the morning papers.
He ignored the sizzling sense of anticipation that filled his veins like the finest champagne as he went through his morning routine with a careful precision. The lure of the chalice had haunted him the entire night, but now wasn’t the time to be bewitched by the whispers of power.
No.
He needed an orderly mind.
An utter state of calm.
And the realization that the closer he came to achieving his destiny, the more careful he had to be.
Today he put his pawns in position and prepared the last of his strategy.
And of course, cleaned up his loose ends.
On cue, Tony entered the room, looking worse than many corpses Zak had raised.
The servant had clearly not slept. Or even bathed. His dark hair was sticking up in small clumps and his cheeks were unshaved. He’d made an effort to dress in a clean pair of slacks and a white shirt, but he’d forgotten his shoes and his belt hung unfastened around his thick waist.
“Tony,” Zak murmured softly. “Where’s the cop?”
The servant anxiously shifted his feet. “He’s in the kitchen having a cup of coffee. I told him I had to check and make sure my employers weren’t up yet.”
“Excellent.” Zak laid aside his napkin and rose to his feet. “He doesn’t suspect he’s being led to a trap?”
“Nope.” Tony did more shifting. “He knows I occasionally . . . barter information for cash.”
Zak rounded the table, absently straightening the cuffs of his black Armani suit. Unlike Tony, he understood the importance of presenting an image of strength.
“Use the tunnels to bring him into the basement.”
The man scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “He’s going to be armed.”
“Human weapons don’t frighten me.”
“They do me,” Tony muttered.
Zak shrugged. “Once the cop is in my private laboratory you may leave.”
“Always supposing he doesn’t shoot me in the back before we get there.”
Zak smiled with a cold indifference. “It’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
Tony lost what little color he had left. “Fantastic.”
Indifferent to his servant’s barely contained panic, Zak strolled out of the room and down the hall. It was still early, but he had tasks to finish before the cop arrived.
Reaching his office, his steps slowed as he caught the unmistakable scent of candle wax and blood.
Anya.
An icy smile touched his lips as he cautiously pressed open the door and scanned the room to make sure there were no unwelcome surprises.
Nothing was out of place. Not unless he counted the slender, redheaded woman who was covertly searching through the drawers of his desk.
Stepping into the room, he closed the door and silently glided across the carpet to stand directly behind the intruder.
“I thought I might find you here, witch,” he murmured.
With a gasp, Anya whirled around to face him, her eyes wide with fear.
“Zak.”
Holding her wide gaze, Zak leaned to the side and released the hidden lever. With a click the panel slid open and he reached into the compartment to remove the chalice.
“Is this what you were searching for?”
She wisely shrank back as he straightened to hold the chalice between them.
“Of course not.” She swallowed, then with an obvious effort, she forced a stiff smile to her lips. “I was searching for an amulet that I dropped here yesterday.”
Zak clicked his tongue, carefully setting the chalice on the desk.
“You really are a terrible liar,” he drawled.
“I . . . I have no reason to lie.”
“True. Such days are behind us.” He reached to wrap his fingers lightly around her throat. Not hard enough to hurt. Not yet. “Tell me, Anya, why did you do it?”
She went rigid, but she was smart enough not to try and break free.
“Do what?” she croaked.
“Betray me.”
“I don’t . . .” She gave a choked cry as his fingers tightened. “Zak, no.”
“I’m not stupid, Anya.” The words were edged with ice. “There’s no one else who could have kept the coin out of my grasp for so long.”
“The Brotherhood—”
“A band of idiots who would never have been capable of outwitting me if they hadn’t had a spy to warn them when I was about to strike,” he interrupted, his narrowed gaze watching the emotions dart over her face.
Fear . . . desperation ... cunning.
“A spy?” she finally tried to bluff.
His thumb pressed against the pulse that thundered just below her jaw.
“You.”
Her laugh was laced with a barely concealed hysteria. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I’m very, very serious,” he said softly.
“But—” She struggled to recall the glib excuses she’d used for years to divert his suspicions. “If it was me, then why wouldn’t I have warned Calso?”
His gaze drifted down to the unsteady line of her lips. “I admit I thought that it was a trap until I had my hands on the chalice. Now I can only assume that something went wrong.” Her breath quickened, a certain sign that his guess had been a good one. “So what happened, my dear? Did they fail to heed your warning? Or did you realize I was becoming suspicious and decide it wasn’t worth the risk?”
“It makes no sense, Zak,” Anya stubbornly insisted. She was nothing if not tenacious. It was the only reason she’d survived over the centuries. “My fate is tied to yours.”
“So I thought.”
She licked her lips, growing alarmed by his refusal to accept her innocence.
“I rescued you from the flames,” she reminded him. “I stood guard over your mutilated body for a century. I led you to the hidden temple. Why would I sacrifice so much only to betray you?”
He arched his brows. Surely she wasn’t hoping to stir a sense of gratitude? This woman better than anyone should know he didn’t indulge in human emotions.