Especially not in front of Anya.
The witch might have pledged her loyalty, but she was a treacherous bitch who’d turn on him in the blink of an eye.
Halting next to the gurney, Zak placed his hand on the female’s forehead. “Leah, wake,” he commanded, watching as her lashes fluttered upward.
The light brown eyes were devoid of emotion, but they held an awareness that was all he needed.
Duncan squeezed his eyes shut, desperately clinging to the copper post while trying not to scream like a wussy.
Had it only been a quarter of an hour ago that he’d been in the rose-scented darkness with Callie in his arms?
He’d been lost in the intoxicating pleasure of her kiss, trying to ignore the world around them, when Fane had made his untimely arrival.
From there things had only gone downhill.
The tattooed pain-in-the-ass had arrived in silence, filling the air with a bristling antagonism that had Callie awkwardly pulling from Duncan’s grasp, a stain of color on her cheeks.
For a crazed minute, Duncan had curled his hands into fists. As if he was going to slug the bastard.
It was only the knowledge that the Sentinel had devoted his entire life to protecting Callie, and that she might very well need his considerable powers before this was all said and done, that kept him from breaking his knuckles on Fane’s arrogant jaw.
A choice he regretted as the Sentinel led them to the small chapel. Duncan was barely allowed to glance around his barren surroundings when Fane roughly grasped his hand to shove it against the post in the center of the room and the world melted to nothingness.
A punch wouldn’t actually damage the bastard, and broken hand or not, it would have been satisfying to have landed a blow.
The sense of emptiness abruptly vanished as the world once again coalesced around him. Briefly disoriented, Duncan clutched the post, his head whirling.
“Shit.”
“Troubles, cop?”
Duncan scowled at the Sentinel, who was watching his discomfort with a smug smile. “Nothing that couldn’t be solved with a well-placed bullet.”
“Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better.”
Ignoring their squabble, Callie walked across the stone floor to study the strange etchings on the wall.
“This is a different place.”
Duncan moved to join her. “What?”
“This isn’t where Boggs was when I met him last time,” she explained, glancing toward Fane. “Where are we?”
“Germany.”
Without another word, the warrior turned to leave the cramped room, clearly expecting them to follow.
For once Duncan didn’t mind the man’s arrogance.
Not only was he still trying to find his balance, but his mind was reeling from the casual announcement he’d just been zipped halfway around the world.
Holy shit.
The furthest he’d ever been from KC was his honeymoon in Key West.
And that’d taken him two days to drive.
In the process of wondering if Sentinels kept passports and foreign money stashed around the world, Duncan realized that Callie was moving.
With a shake of his head he was following her, stepping out of the circular chapel into the refectory.
The long room was what he’d expected of an ancient abbey. Made of plain stone and lined with towering arches that opened to side passages, it had several tables shoved at the back, as if the monks gathered in the space to eat. Or maybe pray.
The ceiling was vaulted to give the impression of a vast space and painted with the same hieroglyphs that were tattooed on Fane.
Protection against magic.
And god only knew what else.
Callie came to a halt as they caught sight of Fane at the far end of the room, quietly speaking with a hooded monk. Clearly it was bad manners to interrupt.
“What’s going on?” Duncan instead demanded.
“I assume that we’ll need transportation to travel to Boggs,” she said, her arms wrapping around her body in an unconsciously defensive motion.
He stepped behind her, gently massaging the taut muscles of her shoulders. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he swore.
She glanced back, her eyes catching and reflecting the lights of the candelabras. “Haven’t you heard that the days of damsels in distress are over?”
His breath caught. How could he be constantly caught off guard by her beauty? His hands skimmed up and down her arms, driven by a compulsive need to touch her.
“I don’t doubt you can take care of yourself, Callie, but we all need someone to watch our backs,” he said in a husky voice.
“Even macho cops?”
“Especially macho cops.”
Silence. The sort filled with potent fascination, licks of treacherous heat, and a mutual wariness of the bonds forming between them.
This hadn’t been in the cards.
For either of them.
“Come on,” Fane intruded, his heightened temper heating the air as he glared at Duncan. “We have to hurry.”
“What’s the rush?” Duncan snarled, promising himself that as soon as he was certain Callie was safe he was whisking her far away from her guard dog. Intrusive, pushy bastard.
He didn’t care if he had to chain the warrior to the wall and throw away the keys.
As if sensing his dark promise, Fane sent him a last searing glare before leading them through one of the arches.
“Boggs refuses to speak once the sun rises.”
Falling into step, Duncan grimaced. “He’s not a vampire, is he?”
Fane shrugged. “You’ll see.”
Duncan glanced toward the silent Callie. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”
“As the Mave said ... he’s eccentric.”
He shook his head. There was no use speculating what might be waiting for him.
They walked through the narrow hallways of the abbey, the occasional flicker of candlelight the only thing to hold back the thick gloom.
Although for him it was seven or eight in the evening (he never wore a watch), the abbey was shrouded in sleep with only an occasional glimpse of robed figures who were unfortunate enough to have the night shift.
They passed through an empty workroom filled with wooden tables piled high with rolls of parchment and bottles filled with a dark liquid he assumed was ink. There were even feathered quills piled on a far bench.
Scribes? In this day and age?
That seemed ... redundant.
Fane kept his pace brisk as they left the abbey and crossed a paved courtyard to stand next to a large building that looked like it had once been the stables. Within minutes a black SUV with tinted windows appeared from around the corner of the building and Fane pulled open the back door to help Callie into the backseat.
Duncan was quick to slide in after her, sinking into the buttery leather seat so that the Sentinel was forced to climb into the front seat with the hooded monk.
Childish?
Hell, yeah.
But it was common knowledge that most men stopped maturing about the age of five.
Closing the door, he’d barely managed to click his seat belt in place when the monk shoved his foot down on the accelerator and they were hurtling away from the abbey at a speed that had to be illegal.
Silence filled the interior of the expensive vehicle as Callie retreated inside her thoughts. Fane appeared to be in some Zen-like zone. The monk presumably had made some sort of vow of silence, or maybe he was just enjoying his pretense they were racing the Grand Prix.
And Duncan ... well, his jaws were clenched too tight to utter more than a squeak.
Duncan caught a glimpse of a wide river that he assumed was the Rhine following the narrow road that wound through a dense forest. They raced through a tiny village so fast he barely made out the quaint shops with their wooden signs and polished front windows that were filled with hand-carved cuckoo clocks, squishy teddy bears, and the inevitable beer steins.
His ma would be enchanted, he acknowledged, making a mental note to have his siblings chip in to send his parents on a well-deserved vacation. His da would insist on visiting Ireland, but would make sure his ma had a say in the plans.
They’d been traveling less than a quarter of an hour when the SUV made a sharp turn onto an overgrown path. He instinctively reached to tuck Callie against him as they jolted over the uneven path, wondering who taught the damned monk how to drive.
Thankfully the bone-jarring journey at last came to an end at the top of a hill, and with a low groan, Duncan shoved open the door and climbed out of the vehicle. He turned to help Callie out, not surprised that she’d barely stepped onto the path when Fane was smoothly taking his place at her side.
Duncan clenched his teeth and concentrated on his surroundings. Now wasn’t the time to play caveman. The only thing that mattered was getting the answers they needed without putting Callie at risk.
It took a moment of peering through the gloom to realize that the mound that was rising from the trees wasn’t another hill, but a stone structure that was being slowly consumed by the forest.
“He lives in a castle?” he muttered in surprise.
“I doubt he has an actual home,” Fane said, pulling a clear crystal that was hung on a leather strap from his pocket. “He’s more of a squatter.”
Duncan grimaced, taking in the crumbling curtain wall that had once surrounded the grounds. “He couldn’t have squatted at the Ritz?”
Fane spoke a soft word and the crystal began to glow. “Be on guard, cop,” he warned, urging Callie toward the bridge that crossed the long-forgotten moat.
Bringing up the rear, Duncan pulled his gun and searched the shadows for something to shoot. “You expect trouble?”
Fane passed beneath the barbican and entered what must have been the lower bailey. Now it was just a rough patch of weeds and bramble. “Don’t you?” he growled.
“Yeah.” Duncan felt a chill trickle over his skin, as if he was being watched by unseen eyes.
They crossed the open ground, Fane neatly leading them past the gaping hole where there’d once been a drinking well and around the nearly hidden cannon.