Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(64)

He gave a tiny shake of his head, his lips twisting into a self-derisive smile.

All very noble.

Or it would have been if there wasn’t a tiny voice of honesty whispering in the back of his mind that he didn’t want this woman anywhere near Bas Cavrilo.

“I have never doubted that. Not ever,” he said, the sincerity in his voice unmistakable. “But there’s an unknown threat out there and someone needs to be in charge of Valhalla.”

The anger prickling in the air eased, but her determination remained.

“I understand my duty, but on this occasion I believe my talents will be necessary.”

Wolfe frowned. Okay. This was more than mere curiosity about an old flame.

Lana would always put the safety of Valhalla and her people first.

If she was demanding to travel with him then she believed there was a threat only she could eliminate.

He straightened from the door, his weariness abruptly replaced by a swelling sense of unease.

“What do you know?”

She turned back to the display case, effectively hiding her expression.

“Nothing more than rumors.”

“Are you going to share?” He stepped forward, lightly touching her shoulder. “Lana, talk to me.”

There was a long pause before she at last turned to meet his searching gaze.

“It was a difficult time when Valhalla was being formed and the high-bloods were exposing their presence to the world.”

Wolfe frowned. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it sure as hell wasn’t that.

“I have a vague memory, but I was still in my training behind the walls of the monastery,” he said. “There was little contact with the outside world.”

Long before the first Mave had started her crusade to convince the high-bloods to come out of the shadows and band together, the monks had already formed their monasteries to train Sentinels. Actually, if the recent information that’d been uncovered in the depths of the Middle East was to be believed, the monasteries might have been around since the original high-bloods had been driven underground by infuriated humans who’d once worshipped them as gods.

Whatever the truth, the Sentinels had been tracked down by the monks and separated from the world for as long as even the eldest warrior could remember.

Valhalla had been well established before they’d agreed to become a part of the community.

“The founders of Valhalla tried to present a unified front. They realized that the humans’ fear of them could escalate into violence with the least provocation,” Lana continued.

He glanced toward his desk where a file folder was growing thicker every passing day with information they were gathering on the Brotherhood. A secret society of humans that considered high-bloods their enemies.

“Things haven’t changed that much.”

Lana absently lifted a hand to touch the witch mark just above the curve of her lush breast.

At one time that tiny mark would have been a death sentence.

“I hope we’ve gained some trust.”

“Some.” Wolfe’s mouth went dry as he forced his gaze away from the temptation of her low neckline. Humans might be terrified of the emerald birthmark, but for him it was a tantalizing invitation. Sentinels rarely mixed with humans. They were simply too fragile. A powerful man needed a powerful woman. He cleared his throat. “But it’s human nature to destroy what they don’t understand, just as it’s the nature of high-bloods to consider themselves superior to mere norms.”

“True.” She grimaced. “As I said, we gave the image of a united front.”

Wolfe searched her pale face, sensing the tumultuous emotions that she kept sternly trapped behind her calm composure.

The creation of Valhalla wasn’t just a history lesson for her. It had been a personal journey.

“But you weren’t so united?”

“No. There were factions who were horrified by the thought of revealing ourselves to the humans.”

Wolfe shrugged, well aware that even today there were high-bloods who remained in the shadows.

He’d never understood the desire to fit in with norms. Why be another sheep when you could be the wolf? A philosophy that had earned him his name.

“It wasn’t as if they hadn’t realized there were people who were different,” he pointed out.

“Yes, but so long as they were allowed to pretend those people were nothing more than charlatans then they didn’t have to accept that their neighbor could actually read their mind. Or that their son’s little playmate was able to set things on fire with a stray thought.”

“True.” Another shrug. “But if they wanted to hide their gifts then I assume they weren’t forcibly outed?”

“No, but that didn’t keep them from doing everything in their power to undermine the Mave.” Her eyes darkened to charcoal, as if remembering a long buried pain. “And there were other factions.”

He folded his arms over his chest. It was that or doing something stupid. Like stroking his fingers over her satin-soft cheek. Or worse, pulling her into his arms to offer her comfort.

“Tell me.”

“The original Mave was a brilliant, eloquent leader who also happened to be a powerful psychic,” she continued, her voice flat. “She had the ability to sway large numbers of people to follow her lead.”