Born in Blood (The Sentinels #1)(16)

Fane hesitated, as if wrestling with some inner demon. Then, at last, he gave a dip of his head. “For now.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“No.”

She shrugged. She didn’t expect him to share. Even routine duties the Sentinels performed were kept top secret. But her curiosity was making her nuts. She was desperate to know what was going on.

“It must have something to do with Callie’s trip into the memories of the dead woman,” she reasoned out loud. “Otherwise the cop would never have been allowed into Valhalla.”

With a speed that was always unnerving, Fane was standing directly in front of her, the sudden heat in the air warning that she was at last provoking a reaction.

Even if it wasn’t the one she wanted.

“This isn’t a game, Serra. The Mave has taken personal command of the ... situation,” he growled. “She won’t be forgiving if she discovers you’re poking your nose into her business.”

She shrugged. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d pissed off the higher powers.

“But it’s such a cute nose.”

“Not cute,” he denied in gruff tones, his finger lightly tracing the line of her nose. “Forceful. Proud. Unique. I wouldn’t want to see it hurt.”

Silence. And shock. And a whole lot of what-the-hell as Fane belatedly jerked his hand back.

It was a toss-up which of them was more astonished by his display of affection, but it was Serra who spoke first.

“Don’t tell me you care?” she tried to tease, although the words came out as a croak.

“I’ve always cared,” he said, crawling back behind his emotional no-go zone as he reached to pull on a cammo tee. “Which is why I’ve told you to find a man who can offer you the relationship that you deserve.”

Fury burned through her. “Damn you, Fane, you’re not my guardian,” she hissed.

He didn’t meet her glare. “I’m aware of that.”

“Then stop trying to protect me.”

Afraid she might do something like punch him—or worse ... kiss him—Serra turned on her heel and stomped away.

She was going to find out what Callie had gotten herself into.

One way or another.

Chapter Five

Rocking a Hogwarts vibe, the lakefront house on the outskirts of Kansas City had over twenty rooms built among the sprawling wings and towering turrets.

Most people assumed that a reclusive rock star lived behind the high gates and armed security that patrolled the massive grounds. That or a gunrunner.

The last thing they would have expected was a professor.

Well, at least he called himself a professor.

Dr. Zakary had appeared in Kansas City eight months before, moving into the secluded mansion in the middle of the night. No one in the neighborhood had seen him, although if they’d been looking they might have caught sight of the stretch limo that pulled between the heavy gates before disappearing into the five-car garage.

Which meant, of course, they were eaten up with curiosity.

Not that Zak gave a shit. The nosy neighbors were the least of his concern.

Sitting in the library that was surrounded by shelves that towered two stories beneath the alcove ceiling, he studied the ancient scroll that was carefully stretched on the cherry-wood desk.

Light from the overhead chandelier spilled over his silver hair, which he’d left loose to frame his lean, darkly bronzed face, and shimmered in his diamond eyes.

Eyes that marked him as different despite his deliberate choice of a black turtleneck sweater and silk slacks.

Of course, even if he kept his eyes covered he would never pass as a norm.

Not when his powers filled the air with a constant chill.

Few people could remain in the same room with him without being battered by the urge to flee. Not if they had a functioning brain.

In the middle of trying to decipher a particularly difficult passage, Zak reached for the Baccarat crystal glass that was filled with a priceless cognac.

He basked in the warm glow that slid down his throat, setting it aside as a knock on the door interrupted his blessed silence.

“Enter,” he called, resting back in his leather chair as the young, burly man hesitantly stepped into the room.

Stanley York had been released from jail less than a year before and anxious for a quick influx of cash. Which meant he was willing to do anything with no questions asked.

Wearing faded jeans and a sleeveless tee, his features were blunt with dark, cunning eyes and his hair buzzed to his skull. He had several tattoos, but none of them were magical. A ridiculous waste of ink.

Always edgy in Zak’s presence, the ex-con lingered near the open door, his gaze darting around the room as if sensing unseen eyes. “Forgive me.”

“You have news?” Zak asked in a soft, accented voice.

“Yes.” The henchman glanced toward Zak without meeting his gaze. For all his tough-guy attitude, he was as spineless as everyone else beneath Zak’s diamond stare. “Tony retrieved the ... bundle.”

Zak tapped a slender finger on the edge of the desk, his flawless features impossible to read. “He packed it precisely as I told him to?”

The man grimaced. “I promise he followed your directions as if his life depended on it.”

“A wise choice,” Zak murmured.