There was a faint prickle of power before the tall, dark-haired Mave stepped onto the ledge, standing proud and strong as she met Wolfe’s fierce gaze.
A dangerous warrior in her own right, Duncan inanely realized.
“Tell me what you need,” she commanded, her pale face calm, although her dark hair was escaping from the once neat bun and there were shadows beneath her magnificent eyes.
In the moonlight her emerald birthmark seemed to shimmer even brighter than usual.
“I’ll need the witches,” he answered, his voice decisive. “If nothing else, they can slow down the warriors with new barriers.”
The Mave nodded. “What about the diviners?”
“Shit.” Wolfe scowled, clearly just realizing the potential disaster of the necromancer getting his hands on the diviners. They might not have the power of Callie, but they still had a connection to the dead. Who knew what he might be able to do with them. “Until we discover if they can be controlled by the necromancer we need to get them far away. Use the helicopters.”
“The psychics?”
Wolfe considered a minute before shaking his head. “They might as well leave through the tunnels along with any humans. The healers—”
“Won’t go,” the Mave interrupted, her gaze straying toward the dead Sentinels who had managed to break through yet another layer of magic. “Not if they think there will be injuries.”
Wolfe didn’t argue. Instead he unfastened the AK-47 he’d strapped to his back on his way through the tunnel.
“I’ll let you sort out the others,” he said, no doubt referring to the numerous high-bloods who didn’t fall into specific groups. Mutations didn’t always follow a pattern. “You need to evacuate as many as possible.”
There was a strange pause as the two powerful leaders exchanged a silent, emotion-charged glance that made Duncan glance away in embarrassment.
What the hell was going on between the two of them?
He heard the Mave speak softly to her Tagos. “Be careful.”
“You as well,” Wolfe answered, his voice thick.
Then, the tension snapped and with a brisk step the Mave was returning down the steep steps and Wolfe was barking into the com in his ear.
“Niko, take ten of your best trackers and start patrolling the perimeter. Send the rest to me.”
“Weapons?” Niko’s voice floated through the air.
Wolfe cast a grim glance toward the approaching Sentinels.
“Everything we have.”
Callie knelt on the hard ground, her head lowered.
It wasn’t a gesture of respect to the man who towered over her, his bronzed features set in an expression of icy anticipation.
Hell, no.
She’d swallow broken glass before she’d kneel before her psycho dad.
But after arriving at the entrance to the underground crypts, the necromancer hadn’t wasted any time in dragging her from the car and producing a dagger to slice long wounds the length of her inner forearms.
The cuts hadn’t been that deep, but they’d stung like a bitch. Then, before she could catch her breath, the bastard had called on some dark power that had slammed through Callie with the force of a freight train.
Black flecks had danced in front of her eyes as the frigid energy crashed through her, threatening to suck her down into some murky, endless hell. Desperately she’d fought against the relentless waves, knowing that one slip and she’d be consumed by the darkness.
She had no idea how long the battle lasted.
It could have been seconds or hours, but when her head cleared she’d found herself on her knees with the golden goblet perched against her thigh.
Even worse, she could feel a strange tug deep inside her. As if she were connected to something—or rather many things—just beyond her sight.
The sensations only intensified as a dozen warriors slowly stepped from the crypts, still wrapped in their funeral shrouds with their weapons in hand.
Callie cried out in horror, but her strength was being drained with every drip of blood that slid down her arms and vanished into the goblet. There was nothing she could do as they silently moved past her, the once proud warriors now under the compulsion of Lord Zakhar.
“So glorious,” her father murmured, watching in pride as his monsters dismantled the layers of magic that protected her home.
“They were glorious when they were alive,” she tried to snarl, startled when her voice came out in a shaky whisper. The warriors were sucking her life force at an alarming rate. “They should be respected and honored for their service to their people, not treated as disposable minions.”
He flicked an indifferent glance in her direction. “So passionate, but my dear Callie, you are all disposable minions to me.”
Nice.
She grimaced, squashing her flare of revulsion toward the man who’d spawned her.
Hate wasn’t a productive emotion.
She needed resolve. Purpose. Stubborn, pigheaded obstinacy.
She had the last three in spades.
Sucking in a deep breath, she turned her attention inward, concentrating on the mystical bond that ran from her father through her and onto the warriors. At the same time, she began to babble. She didn’t know if the necromancer could sense her trying to destroy the bond, but it seemed smart to try and keep him distracted.
Just in case.
“Do you imagine that even if you take Valhalla you’ll be satisfied?” she asked, her brow furrowed as she opened herself to the icy power that pulsed through her.
She grimaced. Christ. It was like an evil umbilical cord that connected them all together.
Her father arched a puzzled brow. “Of course I will not be satisfied,” he said, his chilling calm assuring her that he didn’t yet sense her attempt to destroy his connection to the warriors. “I intend to rule the world.”
Well of course he did.
“And then what?” she prompted, inwardly judging the amount of life she was losing against the progress of the warriors.
Even as she watched the second barrier went down.
God dammit.
Too fast.
There was only one more layer before they would have a direct shot at Valhalla.
And then ...
She shook her head. She couldn’t bear the thought.
“Then my destiny will be fulfilled,” Lord Zakhar was saying, a smile on his lips as he contemplated his glorious future.
Arrogant ass.
“And you’ll still be empty,” she accused, turning her attention from the ruthless drain on her life to her connection to her father.