Born in Blood (The Sentinels #1)(29)

Thankfully the bone-jarring journey at last came to an end at the top of a hill, and with a low groan, Duncan shoved open the door and climbed out of the vehicle. He turned to help Callie out, not surprised that she’d barely stepped onto the path when Fane was smoothly taking his place at her side.

Duncan clenched his teeth and concentrated on his surroundings. Now wasn’t the time to play caveman. The only thing that mattered was getting the answers they needed without putting Callie at risk.

It took a moment of peering through the gloom to realize that the mound that was rising from the trees wasn’t another hill, but a stone structure that was being slowly consumed by the forest.

“He lives in a castle?” he muttered in surprise.

“I doubt he has an actual home,” Fane said, pulling a clear crystal that was hung on a leather strap from his pocket. “He’s more of a squatter.”

Duncan grimaced, taking in the crumbling curtain wall that had once surrounded the grounds. “He couldn’t have squatted at the Ritz?”

Fane spoke a soft word and the crystal began to glow. “Be on guard, cop,” he warned, urging Callie toward the bridge that crossed the long-forgotten moat.

Bringing up the rear, Duncan pulled his gun and searched the shadows for something to shoot. “You expect trouble?”

Fane passed beneath the barbican and entered what must have been the lower bailey. Now it was just a rough patch of weeds and bramble. “Don’t you?” he growled.

“Yeah.” Duncan felt a chill trickle over his skin, as if he was being watched by unseen eyes.

They crossed the open ground, Fane neatly leading them past the gaping hole where there’d once been a drinking well and around the nearly hidden cannon.

Before them the inner keep loomed three stories high with empty windows and the appearance of a hollow shell. No doubt it was a treasure trove for the local historians, but it was making Duncan twitch.

He was a cop who’d mastered the urban landscape.

He could spot a suspicious perp in the middle of a crowd. He could tail a car for days without being noticed. He could enter a room and instantly tell you the number of exits, the placement of obstructions if he needed to move in a hurry, and if anyone in the room was carrying a concealed weapon.

But suddenly surrounded by the untamed wildness of nature, he felt like a fish out of water.

It wasn’t the thick foliage that was a constant threat to trip him, or the clinging shadows that could hide anything. Or even the silence that made it impossible to sneak up without giving away his position.

It was the strange pulse of power that brushed the very edge of his awareness.

He’d heard rumors of norms who could feel magic. As if it was a tangible force. He suspected they were recruited by the government to keep track of the high-bloods.

Until now, he’d never thought it was a talent he possessed. He still didn’t. No. If he had to guess he would say that everyone had some ability to sense when there was a disturbance in the air. It was simply the degree of sensitivity to that disturbance. And when it was as strong as it was in the lower bailey even the most oblivious person could feel it.

Fane led them up the steps of the keep, kicking open the heavy wooden door and continuing forward without missing a step.

“No knocking?” Duncan mocked, glancing up at the open-beamed ceiling that was swathed in cobwebs.

Fane held his crystal over his head, bathing the open space in a soft light.

There wasn’t much to see.

Stone walls. Stone floor. Stone fireplace.

At one time the room was no doubt made homey by a blazing fire that danced light over the ornate tapestries that had been draped on the walls and the air had been filled with the scent of fresh straw spread over the floor.

Now it was just ... stone.

And dust.

A damned tidal wave of dust.

“If he didn’t want us to enter he would have put up wards,” Fane was saying, his pace cautious as he walked toward the steps that led to the floor above. “Of course, that doesn’t mean he didn’t create a few traps for the unwary. Hermits have an odd sense of humor.”

Duncan rolled his eyes. Of course they did.

They climbed the stairs, finding yet another empty room that matched the one below. Except the floor was rotting wood, not stone.

Fane halted, his body coiled for attack. “He’s above us.”

Duncan clicked off the safety on his gun. “You can sense him?”

The Sentinel flashed Duncan a mocking smile. “I don’t have the same talent as a hunter Sentinel, but I can sense a high-blood when they have Boggs’s level of power.”

Duncan grimaced. Just f**king perfect. Another freak who obviously suspected that he wasn’t entirely normal.

Not that this was the time to worry about his little secret.

“Do you sense anything else?”

“No. He’s alone.” Fane stepped to the side, his gaze in constant movement. “I’ll keep guard here.”

The dark gaze briefly rested on Duncan, silently warning him that the Sentinel was trusting him to keep Callie safe. And that if he failed there would be hell to pay.

Duncan resisted the urge to flip him off as he wrapped his arm around Callie and started up the next flight of stairs. He might logically appreciate Fane’s fierce loyalty to Callie, but he didn’t need the bastard telling him to keep this woman safe.