Born in Blood

Page 52

The Sentinels considered Callie theirs to protect. They weren’t going to give him a place at her side.
He had to claim the right.
“I appreciate your concern, but Callie’s trust is all that matters to me,” he said, his expression warning he wasn’t looking for a debate on the issue. “I intend to devote my life to making her happy. With or without your approval.”
Arel snorted. “Either he’s a man with a death wish or a man in love.”
Duncan never allowed his gaze to waver from Wolfe’s lean face. You never took your eye off a predator.
Then the tension was shattered by a low whistle near the gate.
“That’s Fane,” Wolfe said, rapidly taking charge as he moved to shove open the gate, gesturing for the auburn-haired hunter to go first.
Duncan tried to charge forward, only to be halted once again by Wolfe’s hand grasping his upper arm.
The Tagos ignored Duncan’s string of curses as he watched his fellow Sentinel trot across the manicured yard, heading toward the front of the house, only to circle toward the back.
At last the man came to a halt, tilting back his head as if he was sniffing the air.
“Niko?” Wolfe prompted.
“I have her trail,” the man announced, heading toward the back terrace.
Wolfe released his grip and Duncan was in swift pursuit of Niko as he climbed the shallow steps and entered the house through a back door. Duncan didn’t know if it had been locked or not, and he didn’t care.
He wasn’t here as a cop. He was here as a man desperate to find the woman he loved.
Hold on, Callie. Hold on... he silently urged.
They moved through a large kitchen, Niko in the lead followed by Duncan and then Wolfe. Fane and Arel brought up the rear, both turned to the side to make sure there were no surprises lurking in the dark.
Niko led them out of the kitchen and down a short hallway, halting when they came to a dead end.
What the hell?
Duncan frowned as Wolfe stepped past him, lifting his leg to smash his massive foot through the paneling.
Ah. A secret doorway.
Of course.
Every wicked villain had one, didn’t he?
And now that Duncan took the time to think about it, he could actually sense the emptiness that marked the opening behind the paneling. Perhaps with training he could ...
He gave a shake of his head at his inane thoughts, ducking as the splintered wood flew through the air.
Four more kicks and Wolfe had the hole large enough for Niko to squeeze through. Wolfe was next, but as Duncan moved to follow, he heard Fane give a low growl.
“Someone’s here.”
Duncan turned back, pulling his gun and clicking off the safety.
“The necro?”
“Not.”
A chill of warning inched down Duncan’s spine as he walked to stand at Fane’s side. For a minute he couldn’t see a damned thing in the darkness. Then a shadow shifted forward, stepping into a small shaft of moonlight.
“Frank,” Duncan breathed, more resigned than shocked. “I’ll distract him. Keep looking for Callie.”
Fane shifted to stand directly in front of him. “Cop.”
“What?”
The tattooed face was stark with the brutal strain of knowing Callie was in danger.
“He’s not your friend anymore.”
Duncan grimaced, ignoring the ache in the center of his chest.
Frank was dead.
This... thing that was approaching was a creation of the same necromancer that had stolen the woman he loved.
He wouldn’t hesitate to send it to the grave. Always assuming he could figure out how.
“I know.” He jerked his head toward the opening in the wall. “Hurry.”
Obviously reading the grim determination etched on his face, the Sentinel gave a sharp nod and slipped past Duncan.
Alone with his onetime friend, Duncan shifted to make sure he had plenty of room to fight.
And there was going to be a fight.
No doubt about that.
The only question was whether he was going to survive.
Halting a few feet from Duncan, the zombie regarded him with a blank expression, although there was nothing blank about the dark eyes.
They were filled with... awareness.
Duncan shuddered, his fingers tightening on the gun. It was pure instinct. He already knew it was a waste of bullets to shoot the bastard.
Besides, for now all he cared about was distracting Frank long enough for the Sentinels to find Callie and kill the necromancer.
“Hey, amigo,” he said, a queasy sensation joining the stark fear in the pit of his stomach. Logically he understood this wasn’t Frank. But shit... he looked like the man who’d taken him under his wing when he left the academy. The one who’d taught him to filet a catfish. And the one who’d taken him to a strip joint to get blotto the night his divorce was finalized. “Do you remember me?”
The creature smiled. “O’Conner.”
Duncan flinched. Christ. Did the thing truly remember him?
“Yeah, that’s right” He forced himself to keep talking. If he stopped to think, he would be overwhelmed by the sheer horror of the situation. “I’m looking for my friend Callie. Have you seen her?”
“She’s gone.”
Duncan sucked in a sharp breath. Gone? Could it be true?
He had no idea if Frank was lucid enough to know what was going on around him.
“Where did she go?”
“With the master.”
Duncan growled at the mention of the necromancer, but he kept his attention focused on Callie.
“Okay, I got that she’s with the... master.” He forced the word past his lips. “But where did they go?”
Frank hesitated, as if it took a minute to process the question.
Was he mentally connected with Lord Zakhar?
Not that it mattered.
The necromancer had to know he was being hunted by every Sentinel in Valhalla.
At last Frank spoke. “To raise an army.”
“An army?” Of zombies? Duncan shoved aside the horrifying thought. Nothing mattered but finding Callie. “In Kansas City?”
“No.”
“Somewhere close by?”
A ripple of emotion sluggishly flowed over Frank’s face. Anger. Frustration. Regret?
“You will soon discover.”
A vague answer that told Duncan nothing. Did he mean that he didn’t know? Or had he been commanded not to say?
Fine. He was trained in interrogation. If you couldn’t get the answer you wanted from a direct approach, you came at it from another angle.
“How can Callie raise an army?”
Frank smiled and Duncan shuddered. It was creepy as hell.
“She is to be the sacrifice.”
Sacrifice?
Duncan snapped.
Launching forward, he grabbed the front of his onetime friend’s polo shirt, shoving the barrel of his gun beneath his chin.
“You bastard. Tell me where she is,” he shouted.
Frank blinked, ignoring the gun.
Or maybe he just didn’t care.
Dead was dead, after all.
Then, without warning, he tilted back his dark head to release a shrill burst of laughter.
Duncan made a sound of horror.
If the smile was creepy, his laughter was downright hair-raising.
“Christ,” he muttered. “Why are you laughing?”
“I’ve been waiting for you, O’Conner,” Frank explained.
“Why?”
“To kill you.”
His disturbing smile remained intact even as he shoved his hands against Duncan’s chest and sent him flying against the wall with enough force to rattle his teeth.
Surging back to his feet, Duncan squeezed off two shots, hitting Frank directly between the eyes. The zombie never halted as he moved forward, the bullet holes closing with magical ease.
Holy... shit.
Duncan shoved his gun back in his holster. No sense in wasting bullets. Not when there might be other enemies lurking in the dark. Enemies that might actually die from a gunshot wound.
Besides, he was pissed-off, frustrated, and overwhelmed with terror for Callie.
A good old-fashioned beat down was just what he needed.
Waiting for Frank to take another step forward, Duncan swung his fist directly at the man’s chin, connecting with a satisfying crunch of bone.
Frank stumbled back, but swiftly recovering his balance, he resumed his stoic march toward Duncan.
Reaching behind him, Duncan grabbed a vase off a nearby table, tossing it at the zombie at the same time he kicked out with his foot.
The vase shattered against Frank’s face and his kick caught him in the middle of his stomach. But once again he barely recoiled before he took a last step to stand directly before Duncan.
And then the fun began.
Managing to dodge the first punch, Duncan couldn’t avoid the uppercut that banged his head against the wall and knocked him loopy. Next came the kick to the knee that made him stumble to the side, just in time to move in the path of the right hook.
Thankfully Duncan had spent his childhood being tortured by his older siblings, which meant he could not only take a beating, but could still get in a few good punches.
They might not do any good, but dammit, if he was going down, he was going down swinging.
He didn’t know how long he played the punching bag for his old friend, but he was seeing double when he heard Fane’s voice over the ringing in his ears.
“Cop.”
A vicious blow to his stomach doubled him over, but jerking up, he managed to clip Frank on the chin with the top of his head.
Frank lost his footing and Duncan took the opportunity to glance over his shoulder at the tattooed warrior who shoved his head through the hole in the wall.
“Callie?” he demanded of the Sentinel.
Fane gave a bleak shake of his head. “Gone.”
“Goddammit.”
The word had barely left his lips when Frank was on his feet and moving back in for the kill.
The bastard was nothing if not persistent.
Duncan braced for another beating, too consumed with his rage at the knowledge they’d wasted hours on a wild goose chase to give a shit.