Born in Blood (The Sentinels #1)(11)

His head snapped down as he realized he wasn’t alone, his hand shifting to reveal the cell phone tucked in his palm.

“Trying to find a damned signal.”

“Oh.” She pointed toward the skylight that offered a view of the darkening sky, reminding him of the invisible spell that was wrapped around the area. “Cell phones don’t work at Valhalla.”

“Of course not,” he muttered, shoving the phone into the front pocket of his jeans even as he prowled toward her, his hazel eyes studying her with an unnerving intensity.

“There should be a landline in your rooms,” she said, barely resisting the urge to back away. She didn’t know what it was with this man. He fascinated her even as he made her as twitchy as a deer caught in headlights. “Or if it’s an emergency the Mave can send a telepathic message.”

“It can wait.”

His husky growl brushed over her skin like a physical caress. She shivered. Oh god. This was crazy.

She licked her dry lips. “I should go.”

“No.” His hand lifted to cup her cheek, his brows drawing together as his piercing gaze seared over her face. Belatedly she remembered that she’d left her glasses in the Mave’s office. “Stay,” he husked.

She stilled, wondering what he saw. “Is something wrong?”

“You have shadows.” His finger brushed the fragile skin below her eyes. His expression was grim, but his touch was gentle. “Are you in pain?”

“No. The healers took care of the damage.”

His expression only hardened. “Do you know who ... or what ... it was?”

“Not yet,” she admitted. “The Mave will want to speak with you. She has some questions.”

His finger stroked down her cheek to trace the lower curve of her mouth.

“So do I.”

Her eyes abruptly narrowed at the reminder. “Yes, you’ve made your suspicions of our intent to protect a killer very clear.”

He didn’t apologize. She doubted he knew how.

“At least tell me that your Mave has some way to make sure the bastard can’t get inside your head.”

Her skin tingled beneath his light caress, as if every nerve ending was being set on fire.

“No one can say for sure, but I suspect his powers are similar to a diviner’s, not a telepath’s.”

“Which means?”

She hesitated. The golden rule of every high-blood was never to discuss mutant powers with the norms. Not only did it give them another reason to fear the freaks, but talking about a person’s talent was like talking about sex.

Way too intimate to be shared with just anyone.

But Duncan’s position as a cop meant he had greater access to the secrets of Valhalla than most.

And more importantly, she suspected that he had a few secrets of his own.

“I doubt he’ll be able to touch my mind unless I’m using my powers to enter the memories of the dead.”

“Then you’re officially off duty.”

Briefly lost in the gold-flecked hazel of his eyes, it took a beat for Callie to realize she’d just been given an order.

Big mistake.

Pulling away from his lingering touch, she planted her hands on her hips. “Not your call, Sergeant.”

“Duncan,” he insisted, the muscle in his jaw bulging with frustration. “And I can make it my call. All it takes is one word whispered into the ear of the Head of Justice.”

Oh, he didn’t just go there, did he?

“I don’t need your protection.”

“It’s not just about you,” he shot back. “If word gets out there was some sort of interference during your divining, then any info you manage to get will be tossed out of court.”

She stiffened. What the hell had she been thinking? She should have gone straight to her apartment. She could have been relaxing in a hot bubble bath with a nice glass of Chardonnay. Instead she was fighting the urge to kick this aggravating man in the nuts.

“Fine. I’m off duty.” She turned on her heel, marching back down the hallway. “Which means that we have nothing left to discuss.”

With a speed worthy of a Sentinel, Duncan had moved to block her path.

“Where’s your guard dog?”

She blinked at the unexpected question. “If you’re referring to Fane, he’s also off duty.”

A sinful smile curved his lips as he reached forward to grasp her wrist and tugged her back down the hall.

“Good.”

Duncan had never been a Zen sort of guy.

His temper ran hot, his foot was perpetually stuck in his mouth, and he had all the charm of a pissed-off badger. But he was smart enough to know when he was being a jackass.

There’d been no need to bark out orders like he was at the station house dealing with the usual dregs of society. Callie was an intelligent, reasonable female who would already have realized that she couldn’t be called in on police cases. Not when there was some stranger lurking in the minds of the dead.

Unfortunately a dark fear that he’d never felt before had roared through him with enough force to knock his brain off-line, leaving him at the mercy of his most primitive male instincts.

Never a good thing.

Now it was time for damage control.

And if he hadn’t truly screwed this up ... maybe a chance to catch a glimpse of the woman beneath the diviner.