Born in Blood (The Sentinels #1)(27)

He didn’t know when he’d discovered the ability to go beyond glimpsing into the minds of the dead. He’d been too young to be frightened when the power had risen to consume him and yet old enough to realize that he needed to keep it a secret.

Living on a remote estate in Russia, it had been a simple matter to practice his growing skills away from prying eyes. And if he’d been caught once or twice by a serf, well they were easy enough to dispose of.

In time his powers had become more than a source of fascination.

He’d used them to climb his way from a minor nobleman to a favorite among the czar’s court, surrounded by the wealth and luxury his weak, feebleminded father could never have imagined.

Of course, he was no longer a man who would be satisfied by such shallow desires.

His blessings weren’t given to him for pleasure.

They were given to him to rule.

And that’s exactly what he intended to do.

“Bring me the urn,” he said, his body numb from the cold power thundering through him.

“As you command,” the witch grumbled, moving to pull the ceramic urn from the nearest freezer.

“If you wish to act like a child, you may leave.”

She muttered beneath her breath, but she was wise enough to handle the urn with care as she set it on the counter next to him. “Here.”

Zak ignored his petulant companion, reaching into the urn to pull out a frozen heart. He returned to his chanting as he set the delicate organ in the bowl and covered it with his hands.

He ignored the witch, who fidgeted with growing impatience, and even the heavy tread of Tony walking upstairs, no doubt heading to the kitchen to raid the fridge. The man ate on a continuous basis.

Nothing was allowed to distract him from the biting power. Not when it was hammering through him with a growingly painful force.

The ability to wrench a person from the jaws of death wasn’t a gift for the weak. Not like those ridiculous diviners who hid behind the walls of Valhalla and barely scratched the surface of what was possible.

With every second he risked being consumed by the icy darkness that pulsed through him.

He battled with the grim reaper, never certain he would win.

At last the force that churned inside him burst through his hands and arrowed into the heart beneath his palms.

The heart shuddered, the ice abruptly melting as it was filled with a magic as old as time.

Sucking in a deep breath, Zak turned to make his way back to the gurney. He kept his steps steady despite the weariness seeping through his body.

He never revealed weakness.

Especially not in front of Anya.

The witch might have pledged her loyalty, but she was a treacherous bitch who’d turn on him in the blink of an eye.

Halting next to the gurney, Zak placed his hand on the female’s forehead. “Leah, wake,” he commanded, watching as her lashes fluttered upward.

The light brown eyes were devoid of emotion, but they held an awareness that was all he needed.

Duncan squeezed his eyes shut, desperately clinging to the copper post while trying not to scream like a wussy.

Had it only been a quarter of an hour ago that he’d been in the rose-scented darkness with Callie in his arms?

He’d been lost in the intoxicating pleasure of her kiss, trying to ignore the world around them, when Fane had made his untimely arrival.

From there things had only gone downhill.

The tattooed pain-in-the-ass had arrived in silence, filling the air with a bristling antagonism that had Callie awkwardly pulling from Duncan’s grasp, a stain of color on her cheeks.

For a crazed minute, Duncan had curled his hands into fists. As if he was going to slug the bastard.

It was only the knowledge that the Sentinel had devoted his entire life to protecting Callie, and that she might very well need his considerable powers before this was all said and done, that kept him from breaking his knuckles on Fane’s arrogant jaw.

A choice he regretted as the Sentinel led them to the small chapel. Duncan was barely allowed to glance around his barren surroundings when Fane roughly grasped his hand to shove it against the post in the center of the room and the world melted to nothingness.

A punch wouldn’t actually damage the bastard, and broken hand or not, it would have been satisfying to have landed a blow.

The sense of emptiness abruptly vanished as the world once again coalesced around him. Briefly disoriented, Duncan clutched the post, his head whirling.

“Shit.”

“Troubles, cop?”

Duncan scowled at the Sentinel, who was watching his discomfort with a smug smile. “Nothing that couldn’t be solved with a well-placed bullet.”

“Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better.”

Ignoring their squabble, Callie walked across the stone floor to study the strange etchings on the wall.

“This is a different place.”

Duncan moved to join her. “What?”

“This isn’t where Boggs was when I met him last time,” she explained, glancing toward Fane. “Where are we?”

“Germany.”

Without another word, the warrior turned to leave the cramped room, clearly expecting them to follow.

For once Duncan didn’t mind the man’s arrogance.

Not only was he still trying to find his balance, but his mind was reeling from the casual announcement he’d just been zipped halfway around the world.