Born in Blood (The Sentinels #1)(12)

Reaching the door to his rooms, he pushed it open and pulled Callie over the threshold, getting her far enough inside to close the door before she was whirling to send him a wary scowl.

“What are you doing?”

“We need to speak in private.”

Duncan watched as her gaze shifted to the small but tidy living room that was furnished with a pale green couch and matching chairs. There was a large window that offered a view of the surrounding countryside and a built-in kitchen painted a cheery yellow. He assumed the connecting door led to a bedroom, but he hadn’t had time to check it out.

“We have no need for privacy,” she at last muttered.

He deliberately leaned against the door, folding his arms over his chest. “Afraid, Callie?”

“Should I be?”

“My morals might be questionable, my manners are often compared to a rabid pit bull, but I would never hurt you, Callie Brown.” He held her wary gaze, his expression somber. “And I’ll kill anyone who tries.”

She blinked, clearly caught off guard by the lethal edge in his voice. And she wasn’t alone, he wryly acknowledged. This female brought out a side of him he didn’t recognize.

“Do you have a thing for freaks?” she demanded.

“Only one.”

Blink, blink. “Why?”

His lungs tightened at the sight of the gemstone eyes glittering in the overhead light. Oh man. With those eyes and her flame-kissed hair she reminded him of the birds his ma used to take him to see in the zoo.

Brilliant. Exotic. And so f**king fragile.

“Why what?” he asked in a distracted voice.

“You barely know me.”

“Something I intend to correct.” He straightened, catching a whiff of her sweet, feminine scent. Instantly he was hard. As if the enticing aroma had a direct connection to his cock. “Do I need to lock the door?”

She took a step backward. “Only if you intend to hold me prisoner.”

“My charm is all I need to hold you prisoner,” he said with a smug smile. “I’m more concerned with Fane charging in here to rip off my balls.”

“If he decides to rip off your balls a locked door isn’t going to stop him,” she informed him, not appearing particularly worried at the fate of his dangly bits.

“Not comforting.”

She shrugged. “He’s only my guardian when I’m traveling away from Valhalla.”

“Have you told him that?”

“There’s no need.” A mysterious smile curved her lips. The sort of smile that should make a sane man run in the opposite direction. “I’m confident that someone else will soon convince him.”

Hmm. He strolled forward, pleased by the thought of Fane being distracted by someone other than Callie.

“Should I ask?”

“No.” A nervous color touched her cheeks as she abruptly turned to pace toward the window. “Are you satisfied with your rooms?”

With a snort he followed in her wake, careful not to crowd her. He might enjoy poking at her shell of composure, but he never wanted her to feel threatened.

Not by him.

“You wouldn’t ask that question if you’d ever seen my apartment,” he told her.

She glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t understand.”

“My ex-wife was smart enough to hire a barracuda for a lawyer. She ended up with the house, the larger chunk of my paycheck, and the dog.” His lips twisted. “Oh, and the delivery man, who she married yesterday.”

She tilted her head, the gemstone gaze studying him with open curiosity. “And you?”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “A shitty apartment and a case of perfectly aged whiskey that I polished off last night.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said gruffly.

He never discussed his ex-wife. And he sure the hell didn’t talk about the wracking guilt he felt at the painful demise of his marriage. But he needed Callie to understand that he wasn’t living in the past. That he might have regrets, but deep inside he was relieved that Susan had moved on. Which, of course, made him a true ass.

Why was it important that she know? A question to be considered ... never.

Yeah, never seemed perfect.

“Duncan?” she softly prompted.

“Susan was a decent woman who got tired of waiting for me to be a husband instead of a cop,” he confessed. “I couldn’t give her what she needed so she found someone who could.”

She nodded, her expression thankfully free of censure. “So you’re one of those men who live for their jobs?”

“Being a cop is who I am.” Truer words had never been spoken. “I can’t leave it at the office.”

“I don’t suppose you can.”

He risked moving closer, laying a hand on her shoulder so he could gently turn her to face him. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“You spend a lot of time in very bad places. It can’t be easy.”

He felt her stiffen at his question, as if no one had ever considered the cost of her gift. Strange considering she spent the last hideous moments in the mind of a victim watching a murder unfold in Technicolor.

“No,” she whispered, a shadow dimming the brilliance of her eyes. “It isn’t easy.”