Born in Blood (The Sentinels #1)(94)

“Not good enough.” Fane gave a jerk of his head. “Come on.”

Duncan followed the man out of the garden and into a narrow hall. Then, halting in front of a seemingly blank wall, he placed his hand flat against a small scanner that was hidden in a potted plant.

The wall slid open with a soft hiss, revealing an elevator that was lined with steel and high-tech security alarms.

“Where are we going?” Duncan muttered. “The Batcave?”

Fane shoved him into the elevator and pushed the one button on the control panel. “To meet with the Tagos.”

“Goddammit,” Duncan snapped, watching the door slide close in frustration. “We’ve wasted enough time. We should be out searching for Callie.”

Fane leaned against the smooth wall as they headed downward at heart-stopping speed. “Where?”

Well, that was the question, wasn’t it?

If Duncan had so much as a f**king hint where the necromancer was keeping Callie, there wasn’t a force in nature that could keep him at Valhalla. He muttered a curse.

“Don’t you have some sort of mystical bond with her?” he challenged his companion.

Fane’s stony expression never altered, but there was no mistaking the heat boiling from his massive body. The Sentinel was as close to the edge as Duncan.

“I can sense she’s still alive, but there’s something cloaking our bond,” he admitted in stark tones.

“The necromancer?”

“Yes.”

The elevator came to a sudden halt, the door sliding silently open.

“Perfect,” Duncan snarled as he stepped out of the small cubical. “Just perfect.”

“Your frustration serves no purpose, cop,” a deep male voice chided.

Belatedly realizing that he’d stepped directly into a huge office, Duncan came to an abrupt halt.

Yow.

He was accustomed to the cramped police station with outdated equipment and shitty furniture.

This... this was a cop’s wet dream.

A long, brightly lit room with a state of the art computer system and heavy wooden furniture that was spaced far enough apart to give a person privacy. On the far wall was a line of monitors that hinted at surveillance equipment that could rival the Pentagon.

Hell, he was fairly sure that some of those monitors were connected to government satellites. Maybe the high-bloods had their own satellites.

On another wall there were several doors that were closed and monitored with motion and heat sensors, making Duncan wonder what kind of secrets were lurking just out of sight.

Military grade weapons?

Super heroes?

Elvis?

Shaking his head, Duncan turned his attention to the man standing in the center of the room.

Wolfe, the leader of the Sentinels.

There could be no doubt.

He didn’t have the tattoos or bulging muscles of Fane.

He didn’t even wear a symbol of his authority.

But there was an unmistakable authority stamped onto the dark, exotic features that were framed by glossy dark hair that was touched with a startling streak of silver. And a predatory power in the lean body that was covered by a pair of black jeans and white tee stretched tight over a broad chest.

His feet were encased in a pair of heavy shit-kickers and spread wide, his hands planted on his hips as he regarded Duncan with a suspicious glare.

Or as Duncan’s pa would say “giving him the stink-eye.”

Any other time, Duncan might have been intimidated. Wolfe was the kind of guy who could daunt anyone. But right now he was consumed by his fear for Callie and in no mood for a pissing match.

“You think I should be satisfied to sit around here with my thumb stuck up my ass?” he rasped, giving his own version of the stink-eye.

“Mind your manners, cop, or you’ll have something besides your thumb stuck up your ass,” a new voice growled.

Hissing in shock, Duncan turned his head to watch two men step out of the shadows. Christ. He would have sworn on his favorite Sig Sauer that they hadn’t been there a second ago.

So did they use a hidden entrance?

Or could they cloak themselves?

Smiling at his shock, the speaker halted next to Wolfe, looking every inch as dangerous as his Tagos.

Oh, he made a pretense of being civilized. He had his dark hair that was threaded with hints of autumn fire cut short and his lean body was attired in a blue silk shirt and black chinos.

His lean face was perfectly constructed with a wide brow and narrow nose. And while he was too masculine to be traditionally handsome, he had the sort of “tall, dark, and broody” looks that made women swoon.

His partner, on the other hand, had the beauty of an angel.

His features were delicate with a mop of light brown hair with honey highlights. And his eyes... in the bright light they shimmered a perfect gold.

No doubt he liked being dismissed as a lightweight, but Duncan didn’t miss the muscles honed to lean perfection beneath his casual T-shirt and faded jeans, and the ruthless willingness to kill that simmered deep in the gold eyes.

Hunter Sentinels.

Duncan resisted the urge to grab his gun as the angel-looking Sentinel gave a snort.

“I’d listen to him, cop,” he warned. “That size sixteen boot does some damage.”

Duncan shifted until he could glance toward Fane, who’d halted just behind him. “Friends of yours?”