If Callie didn’t love her like a sister she would have been obligated to shove her off a high, high ledge.
“Oh, Serra.” She offered an apologetic smile as she placed her thumb on the tiny screen that released the door lock. “I’m sorry but I have to meet with the Mave. Maybe we can get together later.”
Callie entered the small but tidy living room painted a soft cream with lavender accents. Her sofa and chairs were the same cream with glass coffee tables in the center of the floor and a plasma TV on the wall. The floors were a polished hardwood with hand-woven rugs tossed in a casual pattern.
There was nothing fancy about it, but it was comfortable. More importantly, it was home.
She headed directly for the back bedroom, which was decorated in the same cream tones, but with peach accents, not at all surprised when Serra followed in her wake.
The two had been raised by the same foster parents. Which meant she knew that nothing was going to make Serra leave until she’d dug out whatever information she wanted.
“Does that mean you won’t be spending more quality time with your cop?”
Ah. She’d heard that she’d spent the night with Duncan.
Predictable.
Gossip traveled with hyperspeed through Valhalla.
“He’s not mine,” she denied, trying to ignore the tiny pang at the truth of her words.
What would she do with him if he was hers?
Serra moved to sit on the edge of the bed, leaning back on her elbows as she studied Callie with a knowing gaze. “But you’re not denying the quality time you spent with him?”
Callie tugged off the robe, heat jolting through her body at the memory of Duncan’s demanding touch.
Her previous experiences had been with callow youths.
The cop had been all man.
“It was top-notch quality.”
“You go, girl.”
In the process of pulling on a clean pair of panties and matching bra, Callie regarded her visitor in confusion.
“I thought you didn’t trust him.”
Serra’s lips curled. “I don’t trust any man. They’re all bastards.”
Callie carefully considered her response. Despite their unbreakable bond, they had learned never to discuss Serra’s fierce attraction toward Fane. It wasn’t that Serra was jealous. But she was frustrated by the Sentinel’s refusal to think of anything beyond his duty to Callie.
“Not all,” Callie protested, pulling on a pair of faded jeans. “What about Arel?”
Arel was a hunter Sentinel who was sinfully beautiful with honey brown hair and eyes of pure gold. Serra had dated him the previous year.
“Charming. Beautiful. And a thorough bastard.” Serra paused, studying Callie with a searching gaze. “Still, I haven’t seen that pretty flush on your cheeks for a long time. And if he hurts you I can always kick his ass.”
Callie chose a stretchy top in a bright yellow, pulling it over her head and tucking it into her jeans.
“I can do my own ass-kicking, thank you very much.”
“You could, but you’re far too softhearted,” Serra pointed out. The lovely psychic was three years older than Callie and had appointed herself Callie’s ass-kicker from the day she’d been brought as a baby to Valhalla. “How long is the cop going to be hanging around?”
Callie moved to the attached bathroom to run a comb through the short strands of her hair, pretending she didn’t notice the lingering glow that blushed her cheeks and shimmered in her eyes.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you know?”
She returned to the bedroom, slipping on a pair of running shoes before turning to meet her friend’s curious gaze.
“He scares me,” she admitted with blunt honesty.
Without warning Serra was on her feet, her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “Okay, that’s it. I’m going to chop off his dick.”
Oh hell. Callie dashed to block the dangerous psychic from leaving the room. “No, Serra.”
“What?”
“What I meant was that he makes me feel things that scare me.”
Serra blinked, startled. Callie was the sensible one. The one who never took risks. Who never tumbled in and out of lust with every cute guy who crossed her path. Who preferred an evening spent with a good book to hitting the nightclubs.
“Are you falling in love with him?”
Callie bit her lower lip. “That’s what concerns me.”
Seeming to wrap her brain around Callie’s startling confession, Serra gave a slow shake of her head. “Why are you concerned?” she asked. “I was only with him for a few minutes, but I can promise that he’s obsessed with you.”
“Obsessed?”
“You’re constantly on his mind.” Serra’s lips twisted in a self-derisive smile. “Something most women would envy.”
Callie reached to lightly touch her friend’s arm, offering an unspoken comfort.
“Whether I’m on his mind or not, we live in two different worlds.” She wrinkled her nose. “And that’s not a cliché. We literally live in two different worlds.”
Serra arched a brow. “Are you so sure?”
“What do ...” Callie made a sound of disapproval. Clearly her friend had used her powers to peek into Duncan’s thoughts. It was the only way she could know that the cop wasn’t entirely normal. “Serra, you know you’re not supposed to be rummaging through the minds of our guests.”
Serra shrugged. “I wanted to make sure he was no threat to you.”
Callie gave her companion’s arm a squeeze. “I love you, too.”
Serra shifted her feet, as always embarrassed by Callie’s open display of affection. She was far more comfortable in her role as bad-ass.
“So he confessed his secret powers to you?”
“After a little prompting.”
“Then you realize you’re not from separate worlds. He’s one of us.”
Callie shook her head. Duncan had been painfully clear.
“Not so long as he chooses to keep his gift secret,” she said. “For now he prefers his life with the norms.”
Serra snorted. “Why?”
“He loves his job as a cop, which he’d never be allowed to keep if it was discovered he is a soul-gazer. Plus, he’s very close to his family.” She heaved a faint sigh. “Both potent reasons to keep the status quo.”
Serra slowly smiled. “Then I suppose you’ll have to give him a more potent reason to switch teams.”
Could she?
More importantly, did she want to?
She hastily shoved aside the question. She wasn’t ready to open that particular can of worms.
Not until she had the time to deal with the consequences.
“Something to consider,” she murmured vaguely. “First, however, I have to survive whatever latest disaster is waiting for me.”
Duncan wasn’t overly fussy.
He had only a handful of items on his “never want to do” list:
Wrestle a gator.
Eat a turnip.
See his wife banging the delivery man.
And share a private tête-à-tête with Fane the pain-in-his-ass Sentinel.
A damned shame that he’d been forced to endure every single item on his list.
Pacing the hall, he did his best to ignore the tattooed bastard who leaned against the wall, standing so still he could have passed as a statue. Well, if a statue had obsidian eyes that held the promise of death and could pump enough heat into the air to make any man sweat.
“You seem nervous, cop,” the Sentinel drawled, folding his arms across his bare, tattooed chest, which was broad enough to put an ox to shame.
Steroids? It’d be nice to think so.
“I doubt we were called here because of good news,” Duncan growled. “Unless you know something I don’t.”
Fane snorted. “What I know that you don’t could fill libraries.”
Duncan ignored the taunt, studying the man’s face. It looked like it had been carved from stone, giving it an ageless quality.
“Just how old are you?” Duncan felt the temperature in the hall amp up another degree.
“That’s not a question you ask a high-blood.”
Yeah, like I give a shit. “There are rumors that the Sentinels are immortal.”
“There are a lot of rumors about Sentinels.”
“At least one of them is true.”
“Oh yeah?”
“You’re all pricks.”
The door to the office opened, revealing the impressive form of the Mave dressed in a white cashmere sweater that was scooped low enough to reveal the shimmering emerald of her witch mark and a black pencil skirt with black pumps. Her hair was pulled into a tidy bun at the nape of her neck to enhance the pale perfection of her face and the slender length of her neck.
“You two done playing?” she murmured with a lift of her brow.
Fane shoved away from the wall, his gaze never leaving Duncan. “For now.”
She stepped back. “You may come in.”
Duncan frowned. “Callie—”
“I’m here,” Callie announced, rounding the corner on cue.
Well, maybe not on cue. The Mave no doubt had seen her approach on a security monitor. Or perhaps she had witchy powers that warned who was in the vicinity.
Either way, Duncan was far more concerned about the pale strain he could easily detect on Callie’s pretty face.
What the hell had happened? When she’d left his rooms she’d been flushed and sated and delightfully flustered.
Now she could barely meet his gaze.
He reached out, intending to halt her and demand an explanation of what had caused her sudden discomfort with him only to let his hand drop as the Mave sent him a curious glance and Fane gave a low growl, deep in his throat.
Shit.
Any private chat was going to have to wait.
In silence they shuffled into the elegant office, Fane taking his familiar position in the corner so he could keep an eye on the door and window, his large body leaning against the wall even as his muscles remained coiled to attack.
