Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(7)

“Yes, I saw him earlier,” Serra said, recalling a brief glimpse of Arel as she’d entered the gym. He was looking as fine as ever. “This might be his lucky night.”

“Good.” Callie brushed a quick kiss over Serra’s cheek before she was heading out of the kitchen. “Just remember, my door is always open.”

Serra waited until her friend had left the apartment before she aimlessly returned to the living room.

If she truly intended to go out for the evening she needed a shower and some quality time spent on her mani-pedi, but she found it nearly impossible to stir up the necessary enthusiasm.

With a grimace, she instead reached to pluck the forgotten package off the table. Maybe her parents’ gift would lift her drooping spirits.

Untying the bow, she made swift work of the wrapping paper to find a flat jewelry box. She smiled. Her mother knew how she loved her bling.

Almost as much as she loved designer footwear.

Flipping off the lid, she felt an odd chill inch down her spine as she reached for the silver locket that was snuggled in a square of cotton.

A frown touched her brow. The simple heart-shaped necklace wasn’t really her style, which was strange, considering her mother usually knew her so well.

She pulled the locket from the box and studied it in confusion. Maybe it was a family heirloom, she at last decided, running a finger over the edge of the locket to search for the latch that would open it. Didn’t lockets usually have pictures inside? There. She felt the tiny lever and pressed it. But instead of popping open, the stupid thing poked a hole through her skin.

With a hiss she stuck her finger into her mouth, sucking the drop of blood that welled from the tiny wound.

Damn. Heirloom or not, she didn’t want anything to do with the locket.

Debating the best place to hide the thing until she had to wear it when her parents came for their next visit, Serra was distracted when she abruptly sensed the approach of an unexpected visitor.

Fane.

What the hell?

She was in no mood for another round of “good-byes.”

Especially when a clammy sweat was suddenly coating her skin and a distracting buzz was beginning to fill her mind.

Damn tequila.

For a frantic moment she considered the possibility of scurrying into her shower. Fane had the superior senses of a Sentinel; he would hear the water and know she was unavailable.

Then she squared her shoulders and told herself to stop being a coward.

In a few hours he would be gone. Surely she could pretend she didn’t give a damn until then?

Licking her dry lips, Serra pulled open the door and confronted the current pain-in-her-neck.

He’d showered and changed since she’d last seen him. The scent of his clean male skin teased at her senses, while the tight muscle shirt that was tucked into his green khakis emphasized the beauty of his sculpted muscles.

She had a sudden vision of licking her way over the swirling tattoos exposed by his shirt before the buzzing in her head overrode the treacherous thought.

“Fane, what do you want?” she muttered, pressing her fingers to her temple.

“I didn’t like how we left things.”

She shrugged, holding on to the door as a dizzy spell nearly sent her to her knees. Damn. How much had she had to drink?

“If you want me to pretend I’m happy you’re leaving then you’re wasting your time,” she muttered, the words coming out with an unexpected slur.

Fane frowned, studying her with a searching gaze. “Have you been drinking?”

“None of your damn business.”

His jaw tightened, but his expression remained carved from granite. “Can I come in?”

She hesitated. It was more than a reluctance to spend time with Fane. The weird buzzing in her head was slowing to become a persistent murmur. As if someone was whispering directly in her mind.

Obviously she needed to spend some time working on the shields that protected her from random conversations that floated on the psychic plane.

Sensing Fane’s growing concern, Serra heaved a sigh and stepped back, giving a mocking wave of her hand.

“Please . . . enter.”

Stepping over the threshold, Fane glanced down at the locket that was still clutched in her fingers.

“What is that?”

“A gift.”

Without thought Serra slid the chain over her head to allow the locket to nestle against her cleavage.

There was a burst of heat as Fane narrowed his gaze. Anger? Jealousy? Lust?

Impossible to say.

“From who?” he growled.

She took a sharp step back. “None of your business.”

His lips parted, as if he intended to argue. Then, muttering a curse, he gave a regretful shake of his head.

“Serra, I’m sorry. I . . .” His words were cut off as she turned away, her fingers rubbing her temple as she struggled against persistent murmurs. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Of course he couldn’t leave it there.

Fane might not allow her any place in his life, but he was happy enough to shove his handsome nose in hers.

“You seem distracted.”

“You’re not the only one who has a life and duties.”

“Serra.” He gently touched her shoulder. “Look at me.”

She hissed at the pleasure that seared through her, desperately wanting to turn and bury herself against his hard body. She didn’t know what was wrong with her, but she was certain being in his arms would make it all better.