Born in Blood (The Sentinels #1)(100)

“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.”

The warrior waited for Duncan to toss the fiery whiskey down his throat before taking the empty glass and setting it on a nearby desk.

“We’re all worried,” he at last growled.

Duncan grimaced. “She’s hurt.”

“How do you know?”

“I feel it” He pressed a hand to his aching heart. “Here.”

Fane stilled, his dark eyes flaring with fury.

Duncan had half expected the Sentinel to laugh. Or at least to tell him he was being a moron.

A man might be afraid for his lover. He could be worried that she was harmed. But he couldn’t actually feel when she was hurting.

Could he?

Judging by Fane’s reaction, he could.

Without warning a bone-deep relief surged through him.

Long ago, he might have stubbornly denied the mystic connection to Callie. He was magnificently skilled in denying what he didn’t want to accept.

Now he readily clung to that fragile connection. She was hurt, but she was alive.

That’s all that mattered.

Concentrating on the strange sensations that clenched at his heart, Duncan was caught off guard when the first alarm set off a shrill warning.

Instinctively reaching for his missing gun, he braced for an attack as overhead lights began to flash and the room exploded in a flurry of motion.

“Fuck,” Fane muttered as he hurried toward the monitors along with the other Sentinels.

Duncan detoured to snatch his gun off the table before joining the huddle in front of the monitors.

“What’s going on?”

It was Wolfe who answered. “The outside perimeter just went down.”

Duncan frowned. Valhalla’s security system was the stuff of legends. There wasn’t a norm in the entire world who didn’t realize it was impossible to try and breach the magical barriers.

Even the cops understood that their jurisdiction ended at the edge of the high-bloods’ property. Anyone suicidal enough to stray beyond that point... well, they were on their own.