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.
“Are you hungry?”
Duncan’s question jerked her out of her thoughts and she turned her head to study his chiseled profile.
Out of nowhere she was struck by a jolt of intense awareness.
God Almighty.
She struggled to breathe as she took in the stark beauty of his face. How many times over the past few years had she covertly snuck glances at the golden-haired cop with the grim expression? How many nights had her dreams been filled with ripping off his tight tee and faded jeans?
And now that she actually knew just how it felt to spend the night in his arms, his lips kissing paths of destruction down her throat as he slid deep into her body . . .
It was enough to make even nice girls think about handcuffing a man to her bed and having her wicked way with him.
Obviously puzzled by her sudden silence, Duncan sent her a searching glance. “Callie?”
A blush stained her cheeks as she cleared her throat. “Actually, I’m starving.”
“Good.” Returning his attention to the growingly narrow streets, he weaved his way through the traffic with the ease of a native. “I know a little joint that has BBQ to die for.”
Her gaze slid down to the broad chest outlined in magnificent detail by the T-shirt. Was the temperature rising? Suddenly it felt way too hot in the car.
“Do they deliver?”
“Of course.” He gave a lift of his shoulder. “It’s a beautiful day. We can go to the park or—”
“Your apartment?”
His knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. “That’s an option.”
Callie lifted her brows at his carefully bland response. “But?”
“But I thought I was supposed to behave myself.”
She gave a relieved laugh. For a second she’d wondered if he’d lost interest.
“You can’t behave yourself at your apartment?” she teased.
The hazel eyes flashed in her direction, a searing desire turning the gold flecks into molten need. “No.”
Her mouth went dry. “You’re at least honest.”
“Not always, although my ma tried her best.” His lopsided grin was strained. Callie felt her shirt stick to her damp skin. “She was convinced washing out my mouth with soap would cure me of my tendency to bend the truth.”
“She has my sympathy.” Callie tried to match his casual tone even as they both shivered beneath the sensual tension pulsing in the air. “My guess is that you were a precocious brat growing up.”
“And you weren’t?” he challenged.
“Not really. I was usually the shy kid sitting in the corner.”
“Serra never talked you into breaking the rules?”
She wrinkled her nose. Serra had been a vivacious child and a natural leader who’d taken huge pleasure in causing chaos. Of course, unlike Callie, she also had loving biological parents who often collected her from Valhalla when her teachers and foster family needed a break.
She never had to fear she might lose her only home.
“Maybe once or twice,” she conceded.