Born in Blood (The Sentinels #1)(93)

“Yes, I am,” he smoothly claimed, a vast, all-consuming emptiness briefly flaring through the diamond eyes. “A creator who will soon have an entire army of followers who are indestructible and utterly loyal.”

Her gaze jerked back to her father’s arrogant face.

She tried to tell herself that he was just a blowhard.

A megalomaniac who was lost in his delusions of grandeur.

But there was nothing delusional about the dead woman standing obediently next to him. Or the pulsing power that filled the air with a suffocating chill.

She didn’t know if he could raise an army, but it was obvious he could control the dead.

She had to find some way to stop him.

“How?”

She hadn’t noticed he’d been hiding a hand behind his back until he held it out to reveal a battered golden goblet.

“This.”

Okay. That wasn’t what she’d expected.

“A cup?”

“A chalice,” he corrected in chiding tones. “It was made from the magic of necromancers. True necromancers like us, not the pathetic diviners who cower behind their Sentinels.”

On the point of informing him that she wasn’t anything like him, Callie was distracted by the small cut on his inner wrist.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Power demands a sacrifice.”

“Blood?”

“It’s the source of my life force.” He lifted his arm, revealing the bead of blood that appeared from the wound only to disappear. “The chalice opens the doorway, but it’s the blood that controls my children.”

Callie frowned.

Was the chalice absorbing his blood?

It seemed like the most logical explanation in a world that had gone insane.

“Each... child takes a part of your life force?”

“Yes.” He lowered his arm, his gaze trained on her pale face. “Which is why you were created, dear Callie.”

She flinched.

A part of her wanted to slap her hands over her ears. Yeah, it was childish, but there was only so much a poor girl could take. And she’d had more than her share of shocks over the past half hour, thank you very much.

Unfortunately, a larger part understood there was no more running, no more hiding from her destiny.

This was what Boggs had warned of all those years ago. She knew it in the very depths of her soul.

All she could do was hope that she was strong enough to prevent her father from using her in his quest to ... Wait, she still didn’t know what his actual quest was.

“What do you mean, why I was created?”

“To take my rightful place I must have an army, but unlike my predecessor, I have no intention of becoming a martyr.” He glanced toward the small wound on his wrist before his eyes lifted to meet her wary gaze. “It will be your blood that is sacrificed.”

It was exactly what she expected, but that didn’t halt the black wave of dread that threatened to overwhelm her.

With an effort she forced back her despair, instinctively tucking her hands behind her back. As if that would stop the lunatic.

“And if I don’t want to become your sacrifice?” she croaked.

Her father smiled with cold indifference.

“It really isn’t optional, my dear.”

Duncan paced the inner garden of Valhalla, his seething impatience making it impossible for him to stand still.

He’d awoken two hours ago with his head aching and his shoulder on fire, but ignoring the young healer who’d insisted he remain in bed, he’d gone in search of the Mave.

He had to get back to Kansas City.

And he didn’t care who he had to piss off to get there.

Unfortunately the Mave had been impossible to track down and Fane had refused to allow him to leave, claiming they were doing everything possible to locate Callie.

It wasn’t that Duncan doubted the Sentinel’s word; Fane would lay down his life to rescue Callie. But being forced to pace the floor while Callie was in danger was nothing short of torture.

Trying to pass the time without doing something crazy that would get himself locked in the dungeons, Duncan had called his chief to explain to her why there was a dead body in the parking lot of his apartment building.

And, oh yeah, to warn her that her most trusted coroner was not only dead, but now under the control of Lord Zakhar.

His heart squeezed at the memory of Molinari’s shocked grief, but he refused to give in to his own seething emotions. He would mourn Frank once Callie was safe.

Until then... he was the enemy.

Pausing long enough to slam his fist into a marble fountain, he abruptly stiffened, but not in pain.

Someone had entered the garden.

Spinning around, he watched as Fane stepped from behind a trimmed hedge, his tattooed face as hard as granite.

“It’s about damned time,” Duncan growled, stomping his way through the flower beds to stand in front of the Sentinel. “Where’s the Mave?”

Folding his arms over his bare chest, Fane met Duncan’s fierce scowl with a shuttered expression and said, “She’s called together the witches.”

“Why?”

“She hopes they can combine their powers to locate Callie.”

Duncan narrowed his gaze. He knew jack-squat about witches and their powers. “What are the odds they can?”