Born in Blood (The Sentinels #1)(28)

Holy shit.

The furthest he’d ever been from KC was his honeymoon in Key West.

And that’d taken him two days to drive.

In the process of wondering if Sentinels kept passports and foreign money stashed around the world, Duncan realized that Callie was moving.

With a shake of his head he was following her, stepping out of the circular chapel into the refectory.

The long room was what he’d expected of an ancient abbey. Made of plain stone and lined with towering arches that opened to side passages, it had several tables shoved at the back, as if the monks gathered in the space to eat. Or maybe pray.

The ceiling was vaulted to give the impression of a vast space and painted with the same hieroglyphs that were tattooed on Fane.

Protection against magic.

And god only knew what else.

Callie came to a halt as they caught sight of Fane at the far end of the room, quietly speaking with a hooded monk. Clearly it was bad manners to interrupt.

“What’s going on?” Duncan instead demanded.

“I assume that we’ll need transportation to travel to Boggs,” she said, her arms wrapping around her body in an unconsciously defensive motion.

He stepped behind her, gently massaging the taut muscles of her shoulders. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he swore.

She glanced back, her eyes catching and reflecting the lights of the candelabras. “Haven’t you heard that the days of damsels in distress are over?”

His breath caught. How could he be constantly caught off guard by her beauty? His hands skimmed up and down her arms, driven by a compulsive need to touch her.

“I don’t doubt you can take care of yourself, Callie, but we all need someone to watch our backs,” he said in a husky voice.

“Even macho cops?”

“Especially macho cops.”

Silence. The sort filled with potent fascination, licks of treacherous heat, and a mutual wariness of the bonds forming between them.

This hadn’t been in the cards.

For either of them.

“Come on,” Fane intruded, his heightened temper heating the air as he glared at Duncan. “We have to hurry.”

“What’s the rush?” Duncan snarled, promising himself that as soon as he was certain Callie was safe he was whisking her far away from her guard dog. Intrusive, pushy bastard.

He didn’t care if he had to chain the warrior to the wall and throw away the keys.

As if sensing his dark promise, Fane sent him a last searing glare before leading them through one of the arches.

“Boggs refuses to speak once the sun rises.”

Falling into step, Duncan grimaced. “He’s not a vampire, is he?”

Fane shrugged. “You’ll see.”

Duncan glanced toward the silent Callie. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“As the Mave said ... he’s eccentric.”

He shook his head. There was no use speculating what might be waiting for him.

They walked through the narrow hallways of the abbey, the occasional flicker of candlelight the only thing to hold back the thick gloom.

Although for him it was seven or eight in the evening (he never wore a watch), the abbey was shrouded in sleep with only an occasional glimpse of robed figures who were unfortunate enough to have the night shift.

They passed through an empty workroom filled with wooden tables piled high with rolls of parchment and bottles filled with a dark liquid he assumed was ink. There were even feathered quills piled on a far bench.

Scribes? In this day and age?

That seemed ... redundant.

Fane kept his pace brisk as they left the abbey and crossed a paved courtyard to stand next to a large building that looked like it had once been the stables. Within minutes a black SUV with tinted windows appeared from around the corner of the building and Fane pulled open the back door to help Callie into the backseat.

Duncan was quick to slide in after her, sinking into the buttery leather seat so that the Sentinel was forced to climb into the front seat with the hooded monk.

Childish?

Hell, yeah.

But it was common knowledge that most men stopped maturing about the age of five.

Closing the door, he’d barely managed to click his seat belt in place when the monk shoved his foot down on the accelerator and they were hurtling away from the abbey at a speed that had to be illegal.

Silence filled the interior of the expensive vehicle as Callie retreated inside her thoughts. Fane appeared to be in some Zen-like zone. The monk presumably had made some sort of vow of silence, or maybe he was just enjoying his pretense they were racing the Grand Prix.

And Duncan ... well, his jaws were clenched too tight to utter more than a squeak.

Duncan caught a glimpse of a wide river that he assumed was the Rhine following the narrow road that wound through a dense forest. They raced through a tiny village so fast he barely made out the quaint shops with their wooden signs and polished front windows that were filled with hand-carved cuckoo clocks, squishy teddy bears, and the inevitable beer steins.

His ma would be enchanted, he acknowledged, making a mental note to have his siblings chip in to send his parents on a well-deserved vacation. His da would insist on visiting Ireland, but would make sure his ma had a say in the plans.

They’d been traveling less than a quarter of an hour when the SUV made a sharp turn onto an overgrown path. He instinctively reached to tuck Callie against him as they jolted over the uneven path, wondering who taught the damned monk how to drive.