Born in Blood (The Sentinels #1)(105)

But it did take one warrior out of the fight for a few minutes.

Duncan turned his attention to Wolfe, who was swinging a massive sword at a Sentinel who held a battle ax.

The Tagos was surprisingly skilled in wielding the heavy weapon, striking blow after blow before dancing away to avoid the swinging ax. But no matter how skilled he might be, there was no way to win against an opponent who couldn’t be killed. With every passing second Wolfe was losing ground.

Further away the gathered Sentinels engaged in similar fights with the zombies, grimly struggling to keep the monsters at bay.

Pausing long enough to grab another chain from the jeep, Duncan sprinted forward. Behind him he could feel the witch following, clearly trained in battle tactics.

Good girl.

Halting a few feet from the zombie who fought against Wolfe, Duncan was preparing to throw the chain at the creature’s legs when there was an odd sizzle in the air.

And then... the zombies abruptly froze.

Just like that.

One minute they were silently slicing and dicing their way through the line of Sentinels, and the next they were standing like mannequins, their gazes blank, as if they’d been switched off.

Cautiously lowering his sword, Wolfe circled the unmoving zombie who still held his ax midair.

“What the hell?” the Tagos muttered.

“Callie,” Duncan breathed, dropping the chain as he pressed a hand to his heart.

Wolfe scowled, a shallow cut marring his cheek and a deeper slice dripping blood down his neck.

“She did this?”

Duncan gave a slow nod. He had no explanation, but he could catch Callie’s scent mingled among the warriors. As if they were somehow connected to her.

“It has to be her,” he muttered, hissing as he realized the sense of her deep in his heart was fading. “Dammit, we have to find her. Now.”

On cue, there was a sharp whistle.

Fane.

Wolfe raised his hand, motioning to the Sentinels, who were staring at the frozen zombies in wary horror. “This way.”

They jogged across the grass, entering a small clump of trees that circled a gray stone building that was nearly hidden beneath a layer of ivy.

It had to be the opening to the lower crypts, Duncan inanely acknowledged, and where the now frozen warriors had come from.

The thought had barely flickered along the edge of his mind when he caught sight of Fane, who had his hands wrapped around the neck of the tall man with silver hair and diamond eyes.

The necromancer.

A red haze filled Duncan’s mind.

It was the same haze that had risen when he’d been fourteen and he’d seen the high-school quarterback slap his sister when she wouldn’t let him stick his hand down her shirt.

At the time Duncan had barely been over five-foot-five and weighed less than a buck thirty, but he’d launched himself on the quarterback and managed to break the bastard’s nose and knocked out three teeth before he was pulled off.

Now he was impervious to the biting chill in the air, or the fact that Fane was turning a dangerous shade of blue as the necromancer’s eyes flared with a blinding light.

All he knew was that he at last had the chance to kill the man who’d taken away the woman he loved.

Charging forward, he was mere steps away when his rage was shaken by a faint scent of blood.

Shit.

Jerking to the side, he frantically searched the darkness. Callie was near.

And injured.

Any male need to personally get his hands on the necromancer was forgotten as he circled a tree to discover Callie curled on the ground, a golden chalice lying at her side.

Oh... Christ.

The entire world halted as he took in her pale, pale face and the blood dripping down her arms.

She looked like a broken, exotic flower that had been tossed aside by a careless hand.

Then, her lips parted on a soft sigh and Duncan’s heart remembered how to beat.

“Callie,” he groaned, preparing to drop to his knees at her side.

It was only the shout of warning from Wolfe that allowed him to jump to the side in enough time to avoid the nasty bolt of magic that slammed into the tree with enough force to split it in two.

Whirling around, he spotted the crimson-haired woman who was stalking toward him with obvious intent.

The witch.

And not just a witch, he realized, seeing her aura was a black swirl of death.

But a zombie witch.

Just f**king perfect.

The female raised her hand again, preparing to launch yet another offensive spell, but even as Duncan braced himself for the attack, Wolfe was stepping behind her, shoving his large sword through her back and out through her chest.

Duncan grimaced.

He’d seen some gory things in his time, but watching Wolfe lift the skewered witch off the ground made his stomach heave. It didn’t help when the Sentinel walked forward and then, with a mighty thrust of his arm, had the woman pinned to a nearby tree.

The witch struggled, but for the moment she was effectively trapped.

Moving back to Callie, Duncan lowered himself to his knees, carefully slipping his arms beneath her limp body to pull her onto his lap.

He needed to feel her against him.

The beat of her heart against his chest, the brush of her breath against his cheek.

Then, wrapping his arms carefully around her fragile form, he lifted his head to watch Fane in action.