Born in Blood

Callie felt a sudden surge of hope.

This man clearly had some knowledge of the coin. Was it possible he could help them find the necromancer responsible for stealing it?

Duncan sent her an expressive glance that revealed he’d noticed the symbol as well, then, with a nod toward the chief, he led Callie into the interrogation room.

“Hektor,” he murmured, heading toward the long table. “I’m Sergeant O’Conner and this—”

“High-blood,” the man hissed, surging to his feet as he stared at Callie with open contempt.

Callie came to an abrupt halt, astonished by the man’s reaction.

Not by his obvious hatred for high-bloods. That was all too common.

But his ability to instantly realize that she was more than human.

Most of the local cops had seen her at crime scenes. They would easily recognize her, even if they hadn’t already known she was coming to the station with Duncan.

But without Fane at her side, and her eyes hidden by her reflective glasses, it should be impossible for a stranger to know she was a high-blood.

Duncan, on the other hand, didn’t seem remotely interested in how the man had known. He was stiff with a fury that made the air prickle with a sudden heat.

“This is Ms. Brown,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “She’s a partner in this police investigation”

Hektor’s dark eyes flashed with a matching fury. “I won’t speak in front of my enemies.”

“Watch your mouth, you—”

“Duncan, it’s okay,” Callie hastily interrupted, scenting violence in the air.

“No, it’s not,” he growled. “The bastard can learn some manners or I can kick his ass.”

“Either she leaves, or I do,” Hektor muttered, unwilling to back down an inch.

A true fanatic, Callie acknowledged with a grimace.

“I’ll wait outside.”

Duncan jutted his chin to a stubborn angle. “That’s not necessary.”

She reached to lightly brush her hand down the rigid muscles of his forearm. She wouldn’t allow Duncan to risk his job because of her.

“There’s no use in wasting time,” she said, turning toward the stranger with a cold smile. “Besides, the stench of prejudice is making me queasy.”

There was a long silence as Duncan struggled to contain his urge to shove his fist into the man’s face. At last, his cop training allowed him to resist his thirst for blood, although his expression warned he was just waiting for an excuse to snap.

With a muttered curse, he walked with her back into the hall, his hands clenched at his side.

“There’s a private conference room next to the chief’s office,” he said, his voice rough. Callie understood. He’d already been infuriated by his fellow cops’ reactions to her. Now he had to allow a complete stranger to insult her. For a man who was devoted to protecting others, it had to be making him nuts. “Wait for me there.”

She discreetly brushed her fingers against his tight fist, her smile teasing. “I’ll be fine.”

His lips parted, but before he could remind her that her welcome wouldn’t be any warmer among his friends, she was turning to make her way down the hall.

The sooner Duncan could question the stranger, the sooner they could get out of here. And she really, really wanted out.

Stepping back into the main room, Callie kept her gaze trained on the open door on the back wall, her pace steady. She hoped to slip past unnoticed. Hey, cops might be trained to be observant, but shouldn’t they be busy doing police things?

Eating donuts, playing poker, harassing high-bloods ...

As if to punish her for her snarky thoughts, she’d just entered the empty conference room when someone stepped in behind her, firmly closing the door.

Spinning around, she came face to face with the gray-haired coroner she’d seen at more than one crime scene.

“I need to speak with you, necro.”

Her heart sank even as her chin tilted. She’d known this was coming. Duncan’s friends weren’t going to be any more pleased with their relationship, no matter how brief it might be, than Fane and her friends.

Still, she’d hoped it could be avoided until after they’d captured the mysterious Lord Zakhar.

As unlikely as it might seem, there was the possibility that they would need the humans.

Resisting the urge to tell him to go to hell, she instead calmly met his dark scowl. She would try not to be a total bitch, but then again, she wasn’t going to be a damned wimp.

“I have a name,” she pointed out in deliberately cool tones.

“Brown, right?”

“Callie.”

“Callie.” He shrugged, clearly not interested in becoming BFFs. “I’m Frank. I’m a friend of O’Conner.”

“I know who you are.”

“I think we need to have a little talk.”

She nodded, her expression bland. “So talk.”

The cop frowned, almost as if caught off guard by her calm reaction. Maybe he assumed all freaks were raised by wolves and incapable of common manners?

“Do you want to sit?”

“No.” She had no sympathy for his sudden unease. “Say what you have to say.”

He hesitated before he squared his shoulders. “Did you know O’Conner’s ex-wife just got remarried?”

Ah. So that was the direction this was going to take.

“He told me,” she said.

“He was gutted when his marriage ended,” Frank informed her, the sincerity in his tone revealing he truly believed what he was saying. “It was even worse when he found out she was going to become another man’s wife. Susan was his soul mate.”

Callie might have been devastated by the stark claim if she didn’t know the truth. Now she merely shrugged. “Why are you telling me this?”

His mouth thinned at her refusal to react as he expected. “A man does crazy things when he’s been hurt,” he pressed. “Things he later regrets.”

“By crazy, I assume you mean spending time with me?”

“I’m sorry, but if he was in his right mind, he would never be with a—”

“Freak?” she helpfully supplied.

Heat crawled beneath his skin, his gaze shifting to the rows of chairs that faced the podium at the far end of the room.

“I’m not a fanatic. I don’t hate high-bloods,” he said in gruff tones. “I just know that you sort of people aren’t meant to mix with humans.”

She made a sound of disgust. How many people over the centuries had been made to feel isolated by those precise words?

“Separate but equal?” she said in a cold voice.

He hunched his shoulder. “Something like that.”

Her lips twisted. Okay. Maybe not so equal.

Jerk.

“I appreciate your concern for your friend, but Duncan is a big boy,” she said, hiding her disgust behind a mask of indifference. This man was Duncan’s friend and colleague. If their relationship continued then she would have to at least pretend she didn’t find him a total tool. “Don’t you think he should be allowed to make his own decisions?”

Frank’s expression hardened. Like most cops, he was used to people falling in line when he gave an order.

“Around here we take care of each other; it’s the only way to survive,” he growled. “If you truly care for O’Conner, you’ll walk away and let him find a woman who fits into his life.”

“His life or yours?”

“Think about it,” he warned before turning to leave the conference room, slamming the door behind him.

Callie rolled her eyes, wryly wondering why she hadn’t returned to Valhalla where she so obviously belonged.

“Welcome to the real world, Callie Brown,” she muttered.

Duncan returned to the interrogation room in a mood that was on the wrong side of shitty.

Studying the smug little bastard, he wanted nothing more than to shove his foot up his ass. Or maybe he would shove a few of his too-white teeth down his throat . . .

Unable to do either, he folded his arms over his chest and met the dark gaze that was studying him with blatant suspicion.

“What the fuck are you staring at?” he snapped.

The dark eyes narrowed, his nose flaring as if he was sniffing the air. Or could he be sensing that Duncan wasn’t entirely human?

“Are you—”

“You have until the count of five to tell me what you know about the coin before I throw your ass in jail for obstruction of justice,” he abruptly interrupted.

As much as he wanted to beat the fool to a bloody pulp and leave him for the trash, he needed whatever information he might have about the coin. And he wasn’t going to get anything out of the man if he feared Duncan was a high-blood.

Hektor bristled, but thankfully accepted that Duncan was human.

“I came here for your assistance, not to be threatened,” he said stiffly.

“I don’t give a shit. Tell me about the coin”

The man licked his thin lips. “It has a long history.”

“Sumerian?”

Hektor hesitated, clearly not willing to give away more than he had to.

“It doesn’t matter. The coin was created by the Brotherhood in the earliest days of civilization.”

Necromancers. Mysterious coins. Secret brotherhoods. It sounded like a cheesy plot from Indiana Jones.

Unfortunately, Duncan couldn’t laugh off the possibility that the man was speaking the truth.

“What does the coin do?”

Hektor grimaced. “It shields the chalice.”

“Chalice?” Duncan rolled his eyes. “What chalice?”

“The one that opens a pathway to the underworld.”

Duncan scowled. He hated mystic mumbo jumbo. “Does underworld mean hell?”

“Call it whatever you want.”

“And this chalice . . . What?” He gave a wave of his hand. “It’s a key to hell?” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">