Born in Blood (The Sentinels #1)(57)

“Your Sung.”

“My Sung?”

“Your Sung. A local designer,” Frank said. “Very high end.”

Weird. Why would the necro go to the expense of designer clothes for a corpse he was going to toss in the river?

“Thanks, amigo,” he said, making a mental note to check with the more exclusive salons.

Frank stiffened, his glance shooting over Duncan’s shoulder. “The cavalry has arrived.”

Duncan turned, prepared for the uniformed medics who were swiftly moving to wrap Leah in a protective bag that would hide her from prying eyes as well as preserve any evidence on her body.

What he wasn’t prepared for was the sight of Callie and Fane, who followed closely behind the medics.

Had they already traveled to Russia and back? The thought would have boggled his mind if he hadn’t been even more boggled by the lightning strike of awareness that sizzled through him.

Dressed in casual jeans with a white tee and her stunning eyes covered by sunglasses, she should have been easily overlooked. She was certainly tiny enough to be lost in the crowd.

But there wasn’t a male gaze that didn’t linger on the exotic crimson of her spiky hair and the grace of her movements as she halted several feet away while Fane moved to place himself directly between the medics and the gathered human police.

Like a rabid guard dog.

“So it would seem,” he murmured to Frank in absent tones.

“I heard you stayed at Valhalla.” Frank cleared his throat. “And not alone.”

Duncan sent his companion a warning glare. “You have a problem?”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Frank lifted his hands. “I was just wondering what’s going on with you.”

With a snort Duncan began walking toward Callie. “Tell you what, Frank. When I figure it out you’ll be the first to know.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, amigo,” the coroner called behind him.

Callie stood, stiff and uncomfortable as Duncan casually strolled in her direction.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t pleased to see him.

She snorted softly. Not pleased? Why not just admit it?

She was tingling from head to toe.

Just catching sight of him with his golden hair shimmering in the sunlight and his lean body shown to advantage in the faded jeans and black tee made her heart leap and her mouth go as dry as the Sahara.

She wanted to cross the rough ground and wrap her arms around him. Not just because she remembered the pleasure of being pressed against those hard muscles; delving into the dark history of Lord Zakhar had left her feeling edgy. As if a shadow was looming over her. She could definitely use a hug.

Instead, she wrapped her arms around herself, acutely aware of the suspicious glances from Duncan’s human friends. They’d clearly heard rumors of Duncan staying at Valhalla and were keeping watch to make sure he hadn’t been “contaminated” by the freaks.

And, besides, she hadn’t yet decided if seeking comfort from this particular male was really a wise choice.

Had she?

The disturbing question whirled through her mind as Duncan halted in front of her, making her even more edgy.

“Hello, Sergeant O’Conner,” she murmured in a tight voice.

“Sergeant O’Conner?” He blinked. “Is that a joke?”

“I didn’t expect you to be here. We just returned to Valhalla when the Mave asked that we bring the medics to collect the body,” she found herself babbling, taking a step backward. “She hopes that an autopsy of Leah might reveal the precise magic the necromancer used to animate her.”

Duncan frowned as he studied her wary expression. “What the hell is going on?”

She licked her lips at his impatient question. “I just told you.”

“You told me why you’re here,” he growled. “You haven’t told me why you’re acting like I didn’t spend the morning kissing every satin inch of you.”

Heat stained her cheeks. “Shh.”

“Answer the question or I’m going to get a hell of a lot louder.”

“It’s . . . I didn’t know—”

“Know what?”

“If you wanted people to realize that we’d been together,” she said, giving a startled grunt when he grasped her arm and tugged her toward a trail leading back up the bluff. Far enough away to make sure no one could overhear them, although they remained in full view of the gawking cops. “Duncan. What are you doing?”

“I want to make sure I have this right.” The hazel eyes sparked with gold, warning his temper was roused. “Are you implying that you thought I might be ashamed of sleeping with you?”

Put that way it sounded . . . bad.

She shot a glance toward the crowd, shifting her feet. She hated being the center of attention. Especially when she was surrounded by norms. “Can we discuss this later?”

His jaw hardened. He was well and truly pissed.

“No, we damned well can’t discuss this later. We discuss this now.”

“People are staring.”

“I don’t give a shit.” He leaned close enough to whisper directly in her ear, his scent teasing her nose and making her blood heat. Man. She loved the smell of him. Blood rushed to her cheeks as she realized her ni**les had hardened and excitement was buzzing through her lower stomach. She wanted to shove her fingers into his hair and trail a line of kisses over his stubborn jaw. Or bury her face in the curve of his neck and savor his intoxicating scent. “Just like I don’t give a damn if they know I’ve taken you as my lover,” he continued, placing an intimate kiss just below her ear before he pulled back to study her with a brooding gaze. “Unless that’s not the problem?”