Born in Blood (The Sentinels #1)(78)

Since being burned at the stake by his rabid serfs, he’d learned to take excessive precautions not to put himself in a position where he might wake up in strange places with oozing wounds.

It wasn’t just paranoia.

Not when he knew he was surrounded by enemies.

Both those who openly worked against him, and those who hid in the shadows ...

Ignoring the pain that pounded through his skull, Zak turned his head, a grim satisfaction replacing his momentary confusion.

Even in the shadows he could make out the unmistakable glint of gold.

The chalice.

Grasping his trophy, Zak awkwardly forced himself to his feet.

It hadn’t been a dream. Or a trap.

He’d spoken to the ghosts of his ancestors. And he’d been found worthy.

More than worthy, he silently gloated, forcing his heavy feet to carry him out of the temple.

Unlike the previous necromancer, he had no intention of jeopardizing his life to acquire the power necessary to raise an army. The martyr routine had never appealed to him. Not when he’d been clever enough to prepare a proper sacrifice.

What was the point of power if you couldn’t use it to rule the world?

Making his way down the long staircase, he paused at the bottom, gathering his strength before he walked the short distance to the waiting witch.

His head might be throbbing and his knees threatening to collapse, but he would never show weakness.

He was too close to his ultimate success to risk a knife in the back.

Halting in front of Anya, who was still on her knees, her head bent in weariness, he reached down to grasp her arm. Yanking her to her feet, he slipped the chalice into the deep pocket of his robe.

“Is the pathway still open?” he growled.

Anya blinked, her eyes unfocused as if she’d been asleep. “Yes, but—”

“Let’s go.”

“What happened?” she demanded, glancing around the barren desert. “Did the coin work?”

He offered a tight-lipped smile. “I have what I need.”

She studied him in the fading moonlight, her brows drawn together. “Are you bleeding?”

“How very astute of you, Anya,” he drawled, refusing to speak of what had happened in the temple. “Do you intend to continue this inquest? Or perhaps we can finish it when we aren’t standing knee deep in sand?”

“Fine.” Her chin tilted as she held out her hand. “Let’s go.”

His hesitation lasted less than a heartbeat before he grasped her fingers and braced himself for the journey. He was weary, but not helpless.

And besides, being on constant guard meant that he was prepared for any trap.

Keeping the chalice hidden in his pocket, Zak clenched his teeth as the world dissolved and he was shrouded in a choking blackness.

He hated making himself vulnerable to Anya’s magic, even when it was necessary.

There was a sickening lurch as they traveled through the strange fold in space, then the world abruptly reappeared and they were standing in his private study.

With a groan, Anya dropped to her knees, her brilliant curtain of hair tumbling over her shoulders to brush the Persian carpet.

Taking a step back, Zak regarded his companion with impatience.

“Go to bed, Anya. You will be of no use until you’ve regained your strength,” he said with a brutal lack of sympathy for her fatigue.

With an obvious effort, the witch rose to her feet, her face pale with the strain to remain upright.

“I want to know what happened in the temple.”

Zak paused before giving a shrug. There was no point in hiding his success.

Not when he intended to begin the final stages of his plan within the next few days.

Perhaps even hours.

“I was given what I need to take my place as the ruler of the high-bloods,” he admitted, removing the chalice from his pocket and moving to place it on the desk.

Anya sucked in a sharp breath, no doubt sensing the magic that pulsed around the golden artifact.

“What does it do?”

He ran a loving finger along the rim of the chalice. “With this I can raise armies to fight my battles.”

Anya swayed, her face more pale than usual as she grasped the back of a nearby chair.

“Zak, this is too dangerous.”

He sent her a frown. “What?”

“The last time we tried—”

“I have no need to be reminded of my previous failures,” he snapped.

“I just want you to take this slow.” Anya licked her lips. “You may mock the Mave and Valhalla, but they aren’t helpless.”

His cold smile hid his stab of fury.

Over the centuries he’d watched from the shadows as the high-bloods had started to ban together in small, secretive groups. He understood the philosophy that it was safer to surround yourself with people who were like you. Especially when the humans began to realize that the myths and legends they’d always thought were nothing more than fairy tales were actually true.

There were monsters in the dark.

But he’d seen the hieroglyphs on the temple wall and he understood what happened when high-bloods lived in communities, their powers revealed for the world to see.

He had no intention of becoming a visible enemy for the violent humans who were always eager to destroy what they feared.