Born in Blood

Page 53

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 hands 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.”