Born in Blood (The Sentinels #1)(66)

It was a place of shattered dreams.

Not even a ghost remained to speak for those long departed.

Standing in the shifting landscape less than a mile from the temple, Zak sought to regain his balance. The witch’s trip to the Middle East hadn’t been nearly as pleasant as traveling with a Sentinel.

In truth, it had been more like being jerked inside out by a raging vortex than a smooth transition from one place to another.

Which was why he so rarely consented to enter a witch’s spell. It was almost always more trouble than it was worth.

At last confident that he’d regained his equilibrium, Zak smoothed his hands down his robe, covertly ensuring the coin, along with a small pistol, was still in his pocket.

In the other pocket was a tiny amulet that held a lethal spell.

If this was a trap, he wouldn’t go down easily.

Glancing toward the witch at his side, he waved a hand toward the ruin. “Get rid of the illusion, Anya.”

Anya was on her knees, her pale face tight with exhaustion in the pool of moonlight. Unlike the Sentinels who used the established pathways that were held open by the monks, Anya was forced to use her own magic to travel. It left her on the brink of collapse.

“I have to be closer,” she panted.

Zak made a sound of impatience. He had no sympathy for his companion. Not when a thick layer of magic concealed the true temple, and anyone who might be hiding inside.

“I’m not taking a step closer until the illusion is gone,” he warned, the chilled breeze tugging at his silver hair and stirring the sand beneath his feet.

Anya cursed, but lifting an unsteady hand, she spoke the words that would temporarily lower the illusion.

“There,” she croaked.

There was a rippling shimmer, like a passing mirage, then the full splendor of the temple was revealed.

The tiers were no longer crumbling shells, but complete walls made of blue glazed bricks that once had been the pride of the surrounding city. The windows were covered with delicate bronze lattices and at the top was an oval shrine that had been reserved for the priests who’d offered sacrifices to the gods.

“Remain here,” he commanded, his eyes searching the shadows as he began walking toward the nearest staircase.

“You’re just going to leave me?” Anya protested.

“So it would seem.”

Ignoring her demand for him to wait, Zak continued forward, the darkness that lived inside him pulsing with an intoxicating recognition.

He’d been here once before. It had been shortly after Anya had appeared in Saint Petersburg and she’d convinced him that she’d seen his future etched on a wall in the middle of a desert.

Naturally he’d demanded to see for himself.

A grim smile touched his lips as he climbed the stairs and entered the narrow door that led into the first chamber of the temple. He crossed directly to the wall bathed in moonlight, his fingers reaching to trace the hieroglyphs that spoke of a man with eyes of diamonds who whispered to the dead. There was even a carved figurine on a nearby pedestal that possessed an eerie resemblance to him.

He moved to the next wall, once again stroking his fingers over the hieroglyphics. These were centered on the same diamond-eyed man; this time he held a coin in his hand. The same coin that was now tucked in his pocket.

The odd symbols continued over the smooth stone, displaying the man placing the coin in a shallow notch that had been carved at the base of the wall. From there the meaning became less clear.

From his hours of studying the glyphs he’d concluded that the coin opened a doorway. Maybe a physical doorway, maybe a metaphysical doorway. It didn’t matter. What was important was the next image revealed the man holding a chalice over his head with an army of the dead walking behind him.

His army.

To rule the world.

His gaze briefly rested on the marks that were etched onto the arms of the man. Long gouges with what appeared to be blood dripping from his elbows to pool at his feet.

He understood that blood would be demanded.

Power was never without cost.

But, that didn’t mean he intended to die for a few brief moments of glory.

Reaching the end of the glyphs, Zak lowered himself to his knees and pulled the coin from his pocket.

A strange hush filled the air, an electric buzz racing over his skin.

It was as if the world held its breath, waiting for him to complete his destiny.

Barely aware he was moving, Zak leaned forward to place the coin in the shallow indention.

He wasn’t sure what he expected.

A burst of heavenly light.

A chorus of angels.

A lightning strike that would turn him to ash.

Instead the ground shook beneath his knees and a rock dislodged from the ceiling to smack him on top of the head.

Pain blasted through his skull, blood dripping down his neck as he toppled face first onto the stone floor.

So much for his moment of glory.

Chapter Nineteen

Callie settled into the front seat of Duncan’s car, her mind shifting through what they’d discovered.

It wasn’t much. They didn’t have an address. No phone number. Not even a name.

But she was convinced that the clothing that Leah had been wearing had been bought by Anya. Which meant that the witch was still with Lord Zakhar. And that they were in the Kansas City area.

It was a start.