Fane grimaced. “Don’t tell me your door is always open so we can chat about our feelings?”
“Hell, no.” Wolfe shuddered. “But I’m always available if you need a partner who isn’t terrified to spar with you.”
“Ah, so you’re offering to kick my ass?”
A hint of a smile softened Wolfe’s austere features. “And offering you a place at Valhalla. I’m in constant need of good warriors.” The smile faded. “Especially after our battle with the necromancer. We lost too many.”
Fane ground his teeth at the sharp stab of loss that pierced his heart. During the battle against the necromancer they’d lost far too many Sentinels. Many of them brothers who Fane had served with for decades.
And while the threat of death was a constant companion for warriors, they rarely lost so many at one time.
It had left them dangerously weakened.
“All the more reason for me to train the next generation,” Fane pointed out.
Wolfe refused to budge. Stubborn bastard.
“Someone else can handle the training. These are dangerous times. I need experienced warriors.”
Smart enough to avoid ramming his head into a brick wall, Fane instead changed the conversation.
“Did you find any information on the Brotherhood?”
Wolfe muttered a curse at the mention of the secret society of humans that had been discovered three months ago. Like many norms they held a profound hatred toward “mutants,” but they were far more organized than most. And more troubling, they possessed a dangerous ability to sense high-bloods merely by being in their presence.
They were a new, unexpected complication.
The zealots might be nothing more than a pain in the ass. Or they might be . . . genocidal.
“Nothing useful,” Wolfe admitted, his tone revealing his barely leashed desire to pound the truth out of the bastards.
“I can do some digging at the monastery if you want,” Fane offered. “Their library is the most extensive in the world. If there’s information on the secret society, it will be there.”
“Actually I have Arel working on gathering intel.”
Wolfe nodded his head toward a young hunter Sentinel who was running on a treadmill. The overhead lights picked up the honey highlights in Arel’s light brown hair and turned his eyes to molten gold. He looked like an angel unless you took time to notice the honed muscles and the merciless strength that simmered deep in the gold eyes.
He also had the kind of charm that made women buzz around him like besotted bees.
Including one woman in particular for a short period of time.
Fane’s hands unconsciously clenched. “Arel?” he ground out.
Wolfe made a sad attempt at looking innocent. “Is that a problem?”
“He’s young.” Fane forced his hands to relax, his expression stoic. He’d lost his right to make a claim on any woman years before. “And he has no magic,” he continued.
Wolfe deliberately allowed his gaze to roam over Fane’s distinctive tattoos. “Which means he has a shot at infiltrating the group if we decide they’re going to be a danger in the future. Something that would be impossible for most of us.”
Fane couldn’t argue.
Although guardian Sentinels had the benefit of magic, as well as the protection of their tattooing to avoid spells and psychic attacks, they did tend to stand out in a crowd.
Understatement of the year.
Arel, on the other hand, looked like a kid fresh out of college.
“It’s risky,” Fane at last muttered. “We don’t know how powerful this Brotherhood is.”
Wolfe lifted a shoulder. “He’s a Sentinel.”
“True.” Fane tried to dismiss the problem from his mind. Soon enough he would be in the seclusion of the monastery, and the dangers of the world would no longer be his concern. Right? “It sounds like you have it covered. I’ll send you more warriors when they’ve completed their training.”
“Dammit, Fane . . .” Wolfe bit off his words as the atmosphere in the gym abruptly changed.
Both men turned to discover what had happened.
Or rather . . . who . . . had happened.
“Shit,” Fane breathed, a familiar ache settling in the center of his chest at the sight of the beautiful female who had sashayed into the room.
Serra Vetrov had the habit of changing the atmosphere in rooms since she’d left the nursery.
Hell, he’d seen men walk into walls and cars drive off the road when she strolled past.
An elegantly tall woman with long, glossy, black hair that contrasted with her pale, ivory skin, she had lush curves that she emphasized with her tight leather pants and matching vest that was cut to reveal a jaw-dropping amount of her generous breasts.
Her features were delicately carved. Her pale green eyes were thickly lashed, her nose narrow, and her lips so sensually full they gave the impression of a sex kitten.
Although anyone foolish enough to underestimate her was in for an unpleasant surprise.
Serra was not only a powerful psychic, but she was a rare telepath who could use objects to connect with the mind of the owner. Over the years, she’d used her talents more than once to find missing children or to track down violent offenders.
On the darker side, she could also use her skills to force humans, and those high-bloods without mental shields, to see illusions and could even implant memories in the more vulnerable minds.
Still, it wasn’t her dangerous powers that made grown men scramble out of her path. Serra had a tongue that could flay at a hundred yards, and she wasn’t afraid to use it.
Wolfe sent Fane a mocking smile. “It appears I’m not the only one who listens to the grapevine. Good luck, amigo.”
Turning, Wolfe strolled toward the cluster of Sentinels who were watching Serra cross the gym like a pack of starving hounds.
Bastards.
Serra kept her head held high and a smile pinned to her lips as she marched past the gaping men. She was female enough to appreciate being noticed by the opposite sex. Why not? But today she barely noticed the audible groans as she took a direct path toward her prey.
She felt a tiny surge of amusement at the thought of Fane being anyone’s prey.
The massive warrior was two-hundred-fifty pounds of pure muscle and raw male power. He was also one of the rare few who were completely impervious to her ability to poke around in people’s minds.
Which was a blessing and a curse.
A blessing because it was impossible for a psychic to completely block out an intimate partner, which was a distraction that would make any lover cringe. There was nothing quite so demeaning as being in the middle of sex and realizing your partner was picturing Angelina Jolie.
And a curse because Fane was about as chatty as a rock. His feelings were locked down so tightly, Serra feared that someday they would explode.
And not in a good way.
Or maybe it would be good, she silently told herself, gliding to a halt directly in front of his half-naked form.
There weren’t many things worse than watching all emotions being stripped away as you approached the man you’d loved for the past two decades.
Especially when she was a seething mass of emotions.
She wanted to grab his beautiful face in her hands and kiss him until he melted into a puddle of goo. No. She wanted to kick him in the nuts for being such a prick.
Maybe she’d kick him and then kiss it better.
To make matters worse, she was on a lust-driven adrenaline high.
Just standing next to his half-naked body coated in sweat made her heart pump and her mouth dry.
God. She was so fucking pathetic.
Accepting that her companion wasn’t going to break the awkward silence, she tilted her chin up another notch.
Any higher and she was going to be staring at the ceiling.
“Fane,” she purred softly.
His dark gaze remained focused on he
r face, resisting any temptation to glance at her skimpy vest. Of course, if it hadn’t been for the rare times she’d caught him casting covert glances at her body, she might suspect he hadn’t yet realized she was a woman.
“Serra.”
On the way to the gym she’d practiced what she was going to say. She was going to be cool. Composed. And in complete control.
Instead, the fear lodged in the pit of her belly made her strike out like a petulant child.
“You’re leaving?”
He gave a slow dip of his head. “I’m returning to Tibet.”
The fear began to spread through her body, her hands clenching at her sides. “Did you ever intend to tell me?”
“Yes.”
“When?” she snapped. “On your way out the door?”
“Does it matter?”
Oh yeah. He was definitely getting kicked in the nuts.
“Yes, it damned well matters.”
He remained stoic. Unmoved by her anger. “What do you want from me?”
She lowered her voice. It wasn’t that she gave a shit that they had an audience. Living in Valhalla meant that privacy was a rare commodity. But she had some pride, dammit. She didn’t want them to hear her beg.
“You know what I want.”
Something flared through the dark eyes. Something that sliced through her heart like a dagger.
“It’s impossible,” he rasped. “I’ll always care for you, Serra, but not in the way you need.”
She should walk away.
It’s what any woman with an ounce of sense would do.
But when had she claimed any sense when it came to this man?
Instead she stepped forward, bringing them nose to nose. Well, they would be nose to nose if he didn’t have six inches on her.
“Liar.”
He frowned, the heat from his body brushing over her bare skin like a caress. Serra shuddered. Oh God. She’d wanted him for so long.
It was like a sickness.
“A Sentinel doesn’t lie.”
She snorted at the ridiculous claim. “Maybe not, but you can twist the truth until it screams. And the truth is that you’ve always used your duty to Callie as a shield between us.”
His fists landed on his hips, his eyes narrowing at her accusation. “My duty was more than a shield.”
Okay. He had a point.
His bond with Callie had been very real.
But that didn’t mean he hadn’t hidden behind his obligation as a guardian.
“Fine.” She held his gaze. “And now that duty is done.”
He was shaking his head before she finished speaking. “My duty to Callie is done, but my duty to the Sentinels remains.”
She clenched her teeth. It was true most Sentinels never married. But it wasn’t against any rules.
Niko had just returned to Valhalla with a wife who promised to be a valuable healer, and Callie had married Duncan, who’d recently become a Sentinel.
It might demand compromise and sacrifice on both sides, but it could be done.
So why was Fane so unwilling to even give it a try?
“I assume that’s going to be your new excuse?” she forced between gritted teeth.
Without warning his expression softened, and his fingers lightly brushed down her bare arm.
“Serra, I don’t need an excuse,” he said, the hint of regret in his eyes more alarming than his previous remoteness. She was used to his pretending to be indifferent to her. Now it felt like . . . good-bye. Shit. “I’ve never made promises I can’t keep,” he continued, his tone soft. “In fact, I’ve been very clear that you should find a man who can give you the happiness you deserve.”
For one weak, tragic moment she allowed herself to savor the brief touch of his fingers. Then her pride came galloping to her rescue, and she was jerking away with a brittle smile.
She would endure anything but his pity.
Hell no.
“Very generous of you.”
He grimaced at her sarcastic tone. “I know you don’t believe me, but all I’ve ever wanted was your happiness.”
“And you assume I’ll find it in the arms of another man?” She went straight for the jugular.
The hesitation was so fleeting she might have imagined it. “Yes.”
She leaned forward, infuriated by her inability to read his mind. Dammit. Just when she needed her talents the most, she was flying blind.
Was this how humans felt?
This maddening helplessness?
It sucked.
“It won’t bother you at all to know that I belong to another?”
“I will be . . .” He took a beat to find the right word. “Content.”
“Bullshit,” she breathed, unable to accept that he was actually prepared to walk away from her.
“Serra—”
“Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want me.”
He refused to be provoked. Worse, that pity continued to shimmer in his dark gaze. “I’m not going to play games with you.”
“Because you can’t do it,” she snarled. “You want me. You’re just too much a coward to do anything about it.”
“Find another, Serra,” he warned, a muscle in his jaw bulging as he reached down to grab his towel and then stepped around her. “Be happy.”
Her heart screeched to a painful halt. “Where are you going?”
He hesitated, but he refused to turn around. “To pack.”
She glared at the broad back covered in swirling tattoos. God. He was destroying her.
Did he even care her heart was breaking?
“When are you leaving?”
“In the morning.”
Not giving her the opportunity for further discussion he simply walked away, his shoulders squared and his head held high.
“Bastard,” she breathed.
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2014 by Debbie Raleigh
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
First Electronic Edition: October 2014
ISBN: 978-1-4201-3488-9
Published in the United States of America
A Very Levet Christmas Page 8