Thankfully Duncan had spent his childhood being tortured by his older siblings, which meant he could not only take a beating, but could still get in a few good punches.
They might not do any good, but dammit, if he was going down, he was going down swinging.
He didn’t know how long he played the punching bag for his old friend, but he was seeing double when he heard Fane’s voice over the ringing in his ears.
“Cop.”
A vicious blow to his stomach doubled him over, but jerking up, he managed to clip Frank on the chin with the top of his head.
Frank lost his footing and Duncan took the opportunity to glance over his shoulder at the tattooed warrior who shoved his head through the hole in the wall.
“Callie?” he demanded of the Sentinel.
Fane gave a bleak shake of his head. “Gone.”
“Goddammit.”
The word had barely left his lips when Frank was on his feet and moving back in for the kill.
The bastard was nothing if not persistent.
Duncan braced for another beating, too consumed with his rage at the knowledge they’d wasted hours on a wild goose chase to give a shit.
But just as Frank was close enough to continue the fight, three shadows appeared from behind him to drive him to the ground.
Duncan leaped out of the path of Wolfe as he went flying past, hitting the same wall that Duncan had smashed into earlier.
“We have to get him downstairs,” the Tagos muttered, jumping to his feet as he absently wiped the blood from his bottom lip.
Duncan frowned, watching in horror as Frank pinned Arel to the floor, impervious to Niko’s vicious kicks to his head.
“Why?”
“There’s a panic room we can lock him in.”
Duncan shuddered. “Do you think it will hold him?”
“Hell, I don’t know,” the Sentinel muttered. “But it will give us a few hours to come up with a better plan.”
Duncan grimaced.
A better plan ...
Yep, that about summed it up.
Callie had heard horror stories over the years of abandoned children who’d gone in search of their birth parents.
She knew one witch who had approached her mother only to have the hysterical woman pull out a gun and shoot her in the leg. Another psychic learned he’d been removed from the home by the police when it was discovered that his father was using him to read the minds of ATM customers to discover their PIN numbers.
Still, she was fairly certain that she took first prize in the Worse-Parents-Ever contest.
Seated in the back of the silver car, she kept her gaze firmly on the passing scenery. It didn’t matter she couldn’t see a damn thing in the darkness. Anything was better than having to look at her psychopathic father seated next to her in the backseat of the car.
Or worse, catching sight of her dead mother, who was driving the car with unnerving skill.
She didn’t know how far they’d driven. It seemed like they’d been in the car for days, although she knew it couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours.
There was a ripple in the chilled air as Lord Zakhar shifted on the seat. Callie grimaced. There was a temptation to stick her head in the sand and pretend they weren’t speeding toward some gruesome destiny.
If she couldn’t change the future, then why know the gory details before she had to?
But while cowardice seemed the preferable option, she couldn’t ignore the stern voice in the back of her head that reminded her that she had a duty.
She might not know what had happened to Duncan or Fane or any of her friends, but she grimly held on to the belief that they were unharmed and searching for her.
If they managed to contact her, she needed to be able to warn them what her crazy relatives were plotting.
And how they could be stopped.
“Are you ever going to tell me where we’re going?” She forced the question past her stiff lips, her gaze remaining trained on the window.
“And spoil the surprise?” her father taunted.
Callie rolled her eyes. “I thought evil geniuses liked to boast about their clever plots.”
“It’s true I am a genius, but I refute the claim that I’m evil.”
She jerked at the soft denial. “Are you kidding me?”
“Most people admire ambition,” he purred.
“Ambition doesn’t include killing your family or sacrificing your child,” she said with blatant revulsion. “And it certainly doesn’t include defiling the dead to make them your personal slaves.”
“I see you inherited your mother’s tendency for melodrama.” His heavy sigh drifted through the air. “Unfortunate.”
Her dead mother who was currently playing chauffeur?
She squashed the hysterical urge to laugh.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
There was a tense pause before she heard the sound of his silk robe brushing the fabric of his seat, as if he were shrugging.
“You should be happy. I’m taking you home.”
She jerked her head around to meet his smug expression. “Home?”
“Valhalla.”
The breath was wrenched from her lungs. “Why?”
He pretended to be surprised by her question. “I would think that was obvious. To lead the world I’ll need the power of the high-bloods.”
Valhalla.
Dammit. He was right. She should have known this was their destination. A man with Lord Zakhar’s bloated ego wouldn’t be satisfied starting his coup anywhere but at the top.
“You can’t believe they’ll go along with your crazy plan?”
“Not without a proper incentive.” His long fingers stroked the golden chalice he held in his lap. “Which is where you come in, my dear.”
Callie battled back the bile that threatened to choke her. The people she loved most were at Valhalla. To think for even a second that she could be a part in their destruction was sickening.
Still, she wasn’t about to let her father see the level of her desperation.
It was a weakness he’d use against her.
“You expect me to convince them?” she managed to mock.
“Not you.” His diamond eyes glowed with an eerie light. “The army that will be called by your blood.”
She forced a disdainful smile to her lips. “Oh yes. An army of the dead.”
“Yes.” He frowned, as if disturbed by her seeming lack of concern.
Good. Maybe if she could keep him off guard she could find a way to escape.
“Where is this dead army going to come from?” she taunted. “Do you have the corpses stashed in the trunk?”