“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.

If she could snap her bond with the dead, then maybe she could cut off the power at its source.

“Empty of what?”

“Love, happiness ... contentment.”

He turned to stab her with an annoyed glare.

Ah. Hit a nerve, did she?

“I have no need for human emotions.”

She held his gaze, finding it an anchor to help search along the cord that bound them together.

“If that were true you wouldn’t have such a gaping hole inside you,” she said, weirdly able to feel the howling abyss inside her father.

God. It was no wonder he was as cold and empty as Siberia. He’d been stripped of everything but a raw, unrelenting hunger for power.

She shivered, crushing her instinctive pity.

There were few people on the face of the earth less deserving of sympathy than Lord Zakhar.

Instead she concentrated on the odd darkness at the very center of his soul.

There.

The doorway to the underworld.

She didn’t know how she knew it.

She just did.

“There is no hole,” he mocked, his voice suspiciously bland. “Gaping or otherwise.”

“Why are your hands clenched, Father? Are you afraid I might be right?” Callie mocked in return, glancing down at his tight fists while she inwardly surveyed the doorway.

Crap. It was more a smooth portal than an actual doorway. Like a black hole. So how the hell was she supposed to close it?

He sucked in a deep breath, forcing his hands to relax. “Stupid, child. I fear nothing.”

He did, of course.

He feared being weak.

Or failing in his grand quest.

So how did she use it to her advantage?

“Yet another worthless human emotion?” she absently taunted.

He frowned, as if belatedly sensing she wasn’t fully concentrating on their bickering.

“Precisely.”

Oh hell.

A distraction was needed. Pronto.

“What a pathetic excuse for a man you are.” She tossed out the first insult that came to mind, still anxiously probing for a weakness in the bond between them.

His eyes narrowed. “Do you hope to anger me?”

She blinked in confusion. “What?”

“You are deliberately provoking my temper.”

“Why would I want that?”

“Perhaps you hope that I will become enraged enough to kill you.”

Ah. That had certainly been her first thought.

Until he’d ruined the plan by saying the dead warriors would plunder, pillage, and ravage their way across the country once she lost her control over them...

Her control over them.

Her heart slammed against her ribs as she realized she had the answer.

If she couldn’t cut the connection, or close the doorway, she had no choice but to take command of the bond.

“Is that what you hope for, Callie?” her father impatiently snapped, forcing her to realize he was studying her with a growing suspicion.

She licked her lips, her mouth dry.

She had to keep him distracted a few more minutes.

Just long enough to call on her powers.

“Why would you think I want to die?”

“People burdened with morals are always eager to become martyrs,” he said in obvious disgust.

Clearly he had no hopes for earning a sainthood.

“Maybe I just truly believe you’re pathetic,” she pointed out with a humorless smile.

“You’re wasting your energy, my dear.” He tilted his chin, turning back toward Valhalla. “I have waited too long for this moment to be goaded into a rash act of stupidity.”

“It’s my energy to waste.”

“No longer. It’s mine to control.” He gave a sudden chuckle as a group of Sentinels appeared to stand in front of the dead warriors, Duncan’s golden blond hair unmistakable in the moonlight. “Ah. Shall I demonstrate?”

Callie forced herself to her feet, her hand pressed to her lips as she watched the man she loved charging straight at the nearest warrior.

“No,” she breathed, knowing there was no way he could survive for even a few minutes against an indestructible Sentinel. “Please—”

“You see?” Lord Zakhar sneered. “Emotions make you weak.”

“You’re wrong.” Knowing it was now or never, Callie opened herself to her powers, allowing them to flow through her. “They give me a strength you never dreamed possible.”

Her father continued to watch the unfolding battle, a cold smile of anticipation touching his lips as one Sentinel fell beneath the onslaught, and then another.

Callie frantically closed her eyes, knowing she’d never be able to concentrate if she knew Duncan was injured. The only way to protect him was to wrench away her father’s command of the warriors.

Not bothering to try and control the natural power that flowed through her, Callie focused on the bond that spanned between herself and her father.

It is just like entering the mind of the dead, she assured herself.

Slip in, take command, and ...