Born in Blood (The Sentinels) (4 page)

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Authors: Alexandra Ivy

BOOK: Born in Blood (The Sentinels)

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She stiffened. What the hell had she been thinking? She should have gone straight to her apartment. She could have been relaxing in a hot bubble bath with a nice glass of Chardonnay. Instead she was fighting the urge to kick this aggravating man in the nuts.

“Fine. I’m off duty.” She turned on her heel, marching back down the hallway. “Which means that we have nothing left to discuss.”

With a speed worthy of a Sentinel, Duncan had moved to block her path.

“Where’s your guard dog?”

She blinked at the unexpected question. “If you’re referring to Fane, he’s also off duty.”

A sinful smile curved his lips as he reached forward to grasp her wrist and tugged her back down the hall.

“Good.”

Duncan had never been a Zen sort of guy.

His temper ran hot, his foot was perpetually stuck in his mouth, and he had all the charm of a pissed-off badger. But he was smart enough to know when he was being a jackass.

There’d been no need to bark out orders like he was at the station house dealing with the usual dregs of society. Callie was an intelligent, reasonable female who would already have realized that she couldn’t be called in on police cases. Not when there was some stranger lurking in the minds of the dead.

Unfortunately a dark fear that he’d never felt before had roared through him with enough force to knock his brain off-line, leaving him at the mercy of his most primitive male instincts.

Never a good thing.

Now it was time for damage control.

And if he hadn’t truly screwed this up ... maybe a chance to catch a glimpse of the woman beneath the diviner.

Reaching the door to his rooms, he pushed it open and pulled Callie over the threshold, getting her far enough inside to close the door before she was whirling to send him a wary scowl.

“What are you doing?”

“We need to speak in private.”

Duncan watched as her gaze shifted to the small but tidy living room that was furnished with a pale green couch and matching chairs. There was a large window that offered a view of the surrounding countryside and a built-in kitchen painted a cheery yellow. He assumed the connecting door led to a bedroom, but he hadn’t had time to check it out.

“We have no need for privacy,” she at last muttered.

He deliberately leaned against the door, folding his arms over his chest. “Afraid, Callie?”

“Should I be?”

“My morals might be questionable, my manners are often compared to a rabid pit bull, but I would never hurt you, Callie Brown.” He held her wary gaze, his expression somber. “And I’ll kill anyone who tries.”

She blinked, clearly caught off guard by the lethal edge in his voice. And she wasn’t alone, he wryly acknowledged. This female brought out a side of him he didn’t recognize.

“Do you have a thing for freaks?” she demanded.

“Only one.”

Blink, blink. “Why?”

His lungs tightened at the sight of the gemstone eyes glittering in the overhead light. Oh man. With those eyes and her flame-kissed hair she reminded him of the birds his ma used to take him to see in the zoo.

Brilliant. Exotic. And so fucking fragile.

“Why what?” he asked in a distracted voice.

“You barely know me.”

“Something I intend to correct.” He straightened, catching a whiff of her sweet, feminine scent. Instantly he was hard. As if the enticing aroma had a direct connection to his cock. “Do I need to lock the door?”

She took a step backward. “Only if you intend to hold me prisoner.”

“My charm is all I need to hold you prisoner,” he said with a smug smile. “I’m more concerned with Fane charging in here to rip off my balls.”

“If he decides to rip off your balls a locked door isn’t going to stop him,” she informed him, not appearing particularly worried at the fate of his dangly bits.

“Not comforting.”

She shrugged. “He’s only my guardian when I’m traveling away from Valhalla.”

“Have you told him that?”

“There’s no need.” A mysterious smile curved her lips. The sort of smile that should make a sane man run in the opposite direction. “I’m confident that someone else will soon convince him.”

Hmm. He strolled forward, pleased by the thought of Fane being distracted by someone other than Callie.

“Should I ask?”

“No.” A nervous color touched her cheeks as she abruptly turned to pace toward the window. “Are you satisfied with your rooms?”

With a snort he followed in her wake, careful not to crowd her. He might enjoy poking at her shell of composure, but he never wanted her to feel threatened.

Not by him.

“You wouldn’t ask that question if you’d ever seen my apartment,” he told her.

She glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t understand.”

“My ex-wife was smart enough to hire a barracuda for a lawyer. She ended up with the house, the larger chunk of my paycheck, and the dog.” His lips twisted. “Oh, and the delivery man, who she married yesterday.”

She tilted her head, the gemstone gaze studying him with open curiosity. “And you?”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “A shitty apartment and a case of perfectly aged whiskey that I polished off last night.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said gruffly.

He never discussed his ex-wife. And he sure the hell didn’t talk about the wracking guilt he felt at the painful demise of his marriage. But he needed Callie to understand that he wasn’t living in the past. That he might have regrets, but deep inside he was relieved that Susan had moved on. Which, of course, made him a true ass.

Why was it important that she know? A question to be considered ... never.

Yeah, never seemed perfect.

“Duncan?” she softly prompted.

“Susan was a decent woman who got tired of waiting for me to be a husband instead of a cop,” he confessed. “I couldn’t give her what she needed so she found someone who could.”

She nodded, her expression thankfully free of censure. “So you’re one of those men who live for their jobs?”

“Being a cop is who I am.” Truer words had never been spoken. “I can’t leave it at the office.”

“I don’t suppose you can.”

He risked moving closer, laying a hand on her shoulder so he could gently turn her to face him. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“You spend a lot of time in very bad places. It can’t be easy.”

He felt her stiffen at his question, as if no one had ever considered the cost of her gift. Strange considering she spent the last hideous moments in the mind of a victim watching a murder unfold in Technicolor.

“No,” she whispered, a shadow dimming the brilliance of her eyes. “It isn’t easy.”

His gaze swept over the pale perfection of her face. “Do you have nightmares?”

She frowned. “How did you know?”

“Because a man who’s had as many sleepless nights as I have recognizes the symptoms.”

“What symptoms?”

His hand trailed down the line of her arm until he could circle her tiny wrist with his fingers.

“For all your pretense of serenity you’re all hard angles and fragile edges.” He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the center of her palm. “One day I’m afraid you’re going to shatter.”

Chapter Four

Nightmares ...

Callie forgot to breathe as she allowed his words to seep through her fierce barriers.

He understood.

He truly, truly understood.

How odd.

She was surrounded by high-bloods, including three fellow diviners, and they all knew precisely what she did. But not one had ever asked her if she had nightmares.

Oh, it wasn’t that they didn’t care. The people of Valhalla were her family and they loved her. Not to mention the fact they would fight to the death for her.

But high-bloods were excessively protective of each other’s privacy. A much needed rule considering that many of them were psychics, telepaths, and a rare few empaths. They would never press her to share more than she was willing.

But this man ... this supposed norm ... had peered deep in her eyes and seen far too much.

Not only seen, but understood.

She ignored the warnings in the back of her mind. She already knew that his ability to pierce through her walls of protection was dangerous. Almost as dangerous as the jolts of excitement from the press of his lips to her palm.

Instead, she squarely met his knowing gaze. “How do you deal with the nightmares?”

“Whiskey.” His lips drifted to her inner wrist. “Work.” His tongue pressed against her thundering pulse. “Sex.”

She shivered, trying to pretend his touch wasn’t setting her on fire.

“Predictable.”

“Well, I’m a norm,” he murmured, a teasing hint of gold in his hazel eyes. “What did you expect?”

“Are you?”

If she hadn’t been watching him so closely she would never have noticed his sudden tension.

“Am I what?”

“A norm?”

He nipped the pad of her thumb, his gaze watchful. “What are you asking?”

“You ... see more than most humans.”

“I’m a cop,” he smoothly retorted. Too smoothly. “It’s my job to see what other people don’t.”

“Hmm.” She didn’t try to hide her disbelief. “I suspect there’s more.”

Without warning his arms were wrapped around her waist and she was tugged against his hard frame. He lowered his head until they were nose to nose.

“Become my lover and I’ll tell you.”

Logically, she knew he was trying to distract her. Physically, she didn’t give a shit.

White-hot excitement curled through the pit of her stomach, searing away her usual discomfort with allowing anyone to touch her beyond her most intimate friends.

It was ... terrifying, exhilarating. Glorious.

“Blackmail?”

“Incentive.”

She lifted a teasing brow. “Not so certain of those O’Conner charms you claimed would imprison me, are you?”

“It hasn’t just been my nightmares that are keeping me up at night, sweet Callie.” He placed her hand flat against the rapid beat of his heart, his breath brushing her cheek. “You share part of the blame.”

She quivered even as she tried to pretend that his touch wasn’t magic.

“Does that line actually work?”

He traced a line of kisses to the corner of her mouth. “For once it isn’t a line.”

She sucked in a shallow breath. “Yeah, right.”

He splayed his hands at her lower back, pressing her against his hardening cock.

“I don’t know why, but I can’t get you out of my head.”

“Because you want sex?”

His sharp laugh ricocheted off the walls. “That would be the preferable explanation.”

She tilted back her head to meet his brooding survey. “As opposed to what?”

“Yet another question I don’t intend to consider,” he muttered, his hand lifting to lightly cup her cheek. “Were your eyes this color when you were born?”

Wow. She struggled to follow his conversational leapfrog. Duncan O’Conner clearly had a narrow list of subjects he was willing to discuss.

“Yes.” She shrugged. “I assume they were the reason my parents abandoned me.”

“You were abandoned?”

She shrugged. “It’s not that uncommon. People expect to have a child who’s exactly like them. They don’t know how to handle a mutant.”

His expression tightened, as if he were angered by her answer.

“People can be shitty.”

“True.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t feel sorry for your parents, but I do.”

She frowned, wondering if she’d heard him right. Few among the high-bloods felt sympathy for the families who abandoned their own children. No matter how hard it might be to accept a freak.

“Feel sorry for them?”

His thumb stroked her cheek, as if fascinated by the texture of her skin.

“They have a beautiful, intelligent, outrageously sexy daughter who uses her gifts to make the world a better place.” He lowered his head to speak directly into her ear. “But they’ll never know you and that’s their very great loss.”

Desire, along with a far more dangerous sensation, spread through her until she feared she might melt into a puddle of need at his feet. Instinctively she lifted her arms to wrap them around his neck.

“Maybe you do have a small smidgeon of charm,” she grudgingly admitted.

The hazel eyes smoldered with pure sin. “There’s nothing small about me, Callie.” He tilted his hips forward, as if she’d somehow missed the rigid length of his arousal pressing against her lower stomach. “Let me prove it.”

She breathed in his warm, sexy scent. She’d never noticed the smell of a man before.

Of course, there were a lot of things about Duncan she noticed. The way his ass perfectly filled out his jeans. The stubborn line of his jaw that was usually shadowed by a hint of golden beard. The utter focus on his goal. Whether it was finding the bad guy, or making her tremble in anticipation.

“A friend warned me that if a man has to brag about his size it’s because he knows it’s going to be a disappointment,” she murmured, her fingers teasing the hair at his nape.

“Let me take a stab in the dark,” he said wryly. “Was this friend named Serra?”

Callie made a sound of astonishment. “You know her?”

“Our paths have crossed.” His lips found an exquisitely tender spot just below her ear. “Unfortunately.”

She arched against the welcome hardness of his body, strangely pleased he didn’t have the usual male reaction to her dearest friend.

“Most men find her irresistible.”

He kissed down the curve of her throat, the rasp of his whiskers making her tremble in pleasure.

“She’s a man-eater.”

It was growing difficult to think. “What does that mean?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he assured her, his hand gripping the back of her neck, his tongue doing wicked things as it traced the bodice of her stretchy top. “The only opinion I care about is yours.”

Her head fell back, offering Duncan greater access. He seemed to know what he was doing. Why interfere?

“Hmm.”

“I’ve never touched such soft skin,” he rasped, his lips lingering on the gentle swell of her breast. “It’s like heated satin.”

Her nipples tightened, the tingles of excitement becoming a sharp-edged hunger that made her hesitate.

Okay. This was spiraling out of control way too fast.

And one of the first things all high-bloods learned was that bad things happened when they let themselves be out of control.

“What do you want from me?” she abruptly demanded.

“A kiss. That’s all.” He shifted to nibble her bottom lip. “Just a kiss.”

“I don’t—”

“Trust me, Callie. I won’t ever ask for more than you’re willing to give.”

Trust? Fane would tell her that she was crazy. That she couldn’t trust anyone.

Especially not a norm who all but accused the Mave of being willing to harbor a murderer.

But just for a few minutes she didn’t want to be a necromancer who was feared and even hated by others. Or the shy woman who often faded into the shadows.

And more importantly, she wanted to kiss this man.

“Okay.”

The word had barely formed before he covered her lips in a kiss that seared her to the tips of her toes.

Oh ... baby.

Serra’s three-inch heels clicked against the floor of the hallway as she walked past the wide doors to the dining hall and then the art center.

As always the two floors directly beneath the main structure were crowded with high-bloods. The shared area was a place to relax and mingle. Or, for those who were of a more solitary nature, there was a vast library and a Japanese rock garden.

And for the elusive Sentinels, there was a fully equipped gym and attached firing range that allowed them to hone their skills to a lethal edge, while releasing the aggression that was so much a part of their nature.

And that’s where she was headed.

Indifferent to the male, and a few female, gazes that followed her elegant body, shown to lush advantage in the black leather pants and red bustier, she gave a toss of her long, raven hair.

She was far more interested in the tall, lean man storming away from the gym with a thunderous scowl.

Even at a distance, Wolfe, the current Tagos and leader of all Sentinels, looked like a dangerous predator.

He was a hunter rather than a guardian like Fane, which meant he had no magic and no tattoos, but anyone stupid enough to think he’d earned his position by being a slick politician was quickly taught the error of their ways.

He was faster, stronger, and more ruthless than any other warrior. He was also a cunning bastard who could charm the birds from the trees when it suited his purpose. And of course, he wasn’t above using his potent sexual appeal to manipulate others.

With copper skin and eyes that were as black as ebony, he resembled an ancient Egyptian deity. He had a proud, hawkish nose and prominent cheekbones. His dark brows were heavy and his lips carved along generous lines. It was a striking face rather than handsome and so fiercely masculine that some women found it intimidating.

Just as striking was the glossy dark hair that brushed his shoulders with a startling streak of silver that started at his right temple. It was rumored that he’d been touched by the devil when he was in the cradle. Something he never bothered to deny.

Hanging back until he’d continued his ill-tempered stomping in the opposite direction, Serra headed into the gym. She might be fearless, but no one crossed paths with a rabid Wolfe.

Bypassing the mats and the boxing ring, she entered the weight room, honing in on her prey with practiced skill.

Too practiced, she wryly conceded, catching sight of Fane bench-pressing enough weight to crush most men.

How long had she been stalking this stoic, aloof Sentinel?

It seemed like an eternity.

Halting next to the stack of weights, she admired the ripple of muscle as Fane seamlessly lifted the massive weights in a smooth rhythm.

God Almighty. He was a masterpiece.

From the top of his bald head to the tip of his bare toes he was hard, chiseled perfection. As if he’d been created by the hand of Michelangelo. Was it any wonder he’d managed to capture her jaded interest?

And there was the added bonus of his sacred tattooing. The powerful spells made it impossible for her to read his mind, even by accident.

A necessary barrier for any psychic. Nothing like being in the moment and realizing your partner was fantasizing about another woman.

Yeah ... real turn-off.

Of course, the whole lack of high-def peekaboos into his mind wasn’t all good.

The man kept his emotions locked down as if they were some precious commodity that could only be doled out in sparse measure.

His conversations were just as meager. A yes. A no. And an occasional grunt if she was lucky.

There’d been times when she would have given her favorite Fendi boots just for a glimpse of what was going on behind the grim visage.

“I just saw Wolfe stomping off,” she said as Fane continued with his self-imposed task, ignoring her arrival despite the fact he would have sensed her presence the minute she entered the gym.

Aggravating asshole.

Good thing he was so edible.

“He’s not happy that I’ve been forbidden to answer his questions,” Fane said, at least speaking to her.

Sometimes he went into a deep trance that allowed him to block out everything but what he wanted to concentrate on.

A trick he was taught by the monks. As well as how to kill a man in three seconds flat.

“I’m hoping he doesn’t plan on confronting the Mave in his current mood,” she murmured. The only person not afraid of Wolfe when he was on the warpath was the Mave.

She might turn him into a toad if he went charging into her office half cocked.

“Wolfe doesn’t always choose the path of wisdom,” Fane pointed out.

She grimaced. “Few of us do.” No answer. Okay, new subject. “How’s Callie?”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to ask her that question?”

“I went by her apartment but she wasn’t there.”

Clank. The weights were slammed onto the rack behind his head. Flowing to his feet, Fane grabbed a towel to wipe his bare chest, clearly determined to go in search of his missing chick. “Dammit.”

Serra felt the familiar irritation scour through her body. She adored Callie. They were, in fact, as close as sisters.

But the knowledge that this man was bound to the beautiful diviner on a level so deep it could never be broken was a constant source of frustration.

“You aren’t her babysitter, Fane,” she said in sour tones. “She’s allowed to travel around Valhalla without asking your permission.”

The dark eyes held an unspoken censor. “She’s mine to protect.”

“Yours to protect or just yours?”

“Now isn’t the time for this conversation.”