Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(8)

A dangerous illusion, she sharply reminded herself.

Fane didn’t want her in his arms.

Not now. Not ever.

“Go away, Fane,” she commanded, shrugging off his hand.

“You’re in pain.”

“I’m tired.” She grimaced, not about to admit she was feeling increasingly queasy. “I want you to leave so I can lie down.”

“Do you need a healer?”

“Oh for Christ’s sake.” She whirled back to stab him with a furious glare. Was he deliberately trying to piss her off? “Just go.”

He studied her for a long moment. A romantic fool might think he was trying to preserve his last memory of her.

But she wasn’t a romantic fool. Not anymore.

Perhaps sensing her fierce need to have him gone, Fane gave a slow, solemn dip of his head.

“Good-bye, Serra.”

She didn’t bother with good-bye as he turned and left her apartment.

They’d said everything that needed to be said.

At midafternoon the corridors of Valhalla were mostly empty. A good thing since Fane was in the mood to knock aside anyone stupid enough to get in his way.

Why had he gone to Serra?

He knew that she was hurting. And that he was the cause.

But the memory of her wounded expression as he’d walked away from her earlier had haunted him until he’d been driven into seeking her out. As if he could somehow ease her pain.

Idiot.

Clearly his decision to leave Valhalla for Tibet was a good one.

All he’d done was make matters worse.

Taking the elevator down to the apartments reserved for Sentinels, he entered the sparse space and methodically began to pack his few belongings.

Unlike Serra who’d created a home that reflected her strong, unique personality, he kept his own apartment supplied with nothing more than the bare necessities. A bed, a couch, and a kitchen table. Except for his workroom. Everything in there had been handcrafted from the tools he used to sculpt his figurines to the workbench where he spent countless hours.

That was the one place he could go to find the peace denied to him in most of his life.

He’d packed his few clothes and was just placing the last of his tools in a heavy crate to take with him when a knock on his door interrupted the silence.

His first impulse was to ignore the visitor. Protracted good-byes weren’t on his agenda. But catching a familiar scent, he realized this was one farewell he couldn’t avoid.

Moving through the apartment, he pulled open the front door to reveal the small, red-haired necromancer who’d been in his care for the past decade.

His expression softened. “Callie.”

She smiled, reaching up to touch his neck in a gesture that revealed the depth of their friendship.

“How are you?” she asked softly.

He grimaced. Only the two of them would ever comprehend the bond that had formed when he’d been chosen as her guardian. Or the wrenching sense of loss when the bond had been broken.

“Adjusting,” he said.

She wrinkled her nose, moving her hand to lay it over her heart that now belonged to Duncan O’Conner.

“Yeah, me too.”

Fane narrowed his gaze, suddenly wondering if there was more to this visit than a chance to say good-bye.

“The bastard is treating you right?”

She rolled her eyes. “He has a name. And he’s treating me very right.”

He hurriedly held up a hand. “No details, little one,” he muttered.

It wasn’t jealousy. But Callie was like a sister to him. He found it impossible to think of her with any man.

She flashed a teasing grin. “Deal.”

“If you don’t need me to beat Duncan to a bloody pulp, then what are you doing here?”

Her smile abruptly disappeared, concern darkening the sapphire of her eyes. “I was hoping that you knew where Serra is.”

Fane froze, his instincts on full alert. “Why would I know?”

“Fane.” Callie gave a chiding shake of her head. “You can fool most people, but not me.”

His jaw clenched. He didn’t share his feelings for Serra with anyone. Not even Callie.

“I spoke with her earlier. She said she was tired. Have you checked her rooms?”

“Of course.”

Fane frowned. “Why are you concerned?”

“She told Arel she was going to meet him in the dining hall, but she never showed.”

Jealousy ripped through Fane. The younger Sentinel had been panting after Serra for years. He’d even managed to lure her into a brief affair that had tormented Fane. It was one thing to tell Serra he wanted her to find a man to love, and another to watch her being seduced by a male half his age.

He wasn’t a damned saint.

“Maybe she changed her mind,” he said, taking pleasure in the thought of the arrogant cub being stood up.

“She would have let him know,” Callie insisted. Although cell phones didn’t work, there were landlines placed throughout Valhalla that made communication easy. “Arel came to me when he searched Valhalla and couldn’t find her.”

Abruptly Fane remembered Serra’s strange behavior when he’d last seen her.

At the time he’d put it down to anger and wounded pride. Now he had to wonder if there hadn’t been something else wrong.