Born in Blood (The Sentinels #1)(44)

Yeah. Not happy.

Not happy at all.

Swallowing a sigh, Callie briefly rued ever leaving Duncan’s bed. Tucked against him, she’d felt warm and secure and almost normal. Like any other woman who’d spent the night in the arms of her lover.

Now reality had intruded. With a vengeance.

“I need to go to my apartment and change,” she murmured, still standing in the doorway gazing down the empty hallway. “I’ll meet you at the Mave’s office.”

With surprising speed, Duncan snapped out his hand to grasp her upper arm. “Callie.”

She kept her gaze averted. “We should hurry.”

He muttered something beneath his breath before slowly dropping his hand.

“Fine. But don’t think for a minute that I’m going to let you lock me out,” he warned, his voice cop-hard. “We’re way beyond those games.”

“I need to go.”

Dashing away like a naughty child, Callie ignored the feel of his glare burning a hole in the back of her head.

I am a coward.

A genuine, Grade A coward.

But it wasn’t entirely her fault. She’d made the decision to have sex with Duncan. She was a grown, unattached woman who was free to share the bed of an equally grown, unattached man.

And the sex had been magnificent. The stuff of fantasies.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite the uncomplicated night of fun she’d been hoping for.

Taking the elevator to the private quarters, she’d actually managed to reach her door when she at last realized someone was calling her name.

“Callie.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she caught sight of the tall woman with long raven hair and light green eyes. As always Serra looked ravishing, with her lush curves shown to advantage in a pair of black satin pants and halter top. She was sex walking in Manolo Blahnik boots.

She was also intelligent, witty, loyal, and one of the most powerful psychics ever recorded.

If Callie didn’t love her like a sister she would have been obligated to shove her off a high, high ledge.

“Oh, Serra.” She offered an apologetic smile as she placed her thumb on the tiny screen that released the door lock. “I’m sorry but I have to meet with the Mave. Maybe we can get together later.”

Callie entered the small but tidy living room painted a soft cream with lavender accents. Her sofa and chairs were the same cream with glass coffee tables in the center of the floor and a plasma TV on the wall. The floors were a polished hardwood with hand-woven rugs tossed in a casual pattern.

There was nothing fancy about it, but it was comfortable. More importantly, it was home.

She headed directly for the back bedroom, which was decorated in the same cream tones, but with peach accents, not at all surprised when Serra followed in her wake.

The two had been raised by the same foster parents. Which meant she knew that nothing was going to make Serra leave until she’d dug out whatever information she wanted.

“Does that mean you won’t be spending more quality time with your cop?”

Ah. She’d heard that she’d spent the night with Duncan.

Predictable.

Gossip traveled with hyperspeed through Valhalla.

“He’s not mine,” she denied, trying to ignore the tiny pang at the truth of her words.

What would she do with him if he was hers?

Serra moved to sit on the edge of the bed, leaning back on her elbows as she studied Callie with a knowing gaze. “But you’re not denying the quality time you spent with him?”

Callie tugged off the robe, heat jolting through her body at the memory of Duncan’s demanding touch.

Her previous experiences had been with callow youths.

The cop had been all man.

“It was top-notch quality.”

“You go, girl.”

In the process of pulling on a clean pair of panties and matching bra, Callie regarded her visitor in confusion.

“I thought you didn’t trust him.”

Serra’s lips curled. “I don’t trust any man. They’re all bastards.”

Callie carefully considered her response. Despite their unbreakable bond, they had learned never to discuss Serra’s fierce attraction toward Fane. It wasn’t that Serra was jealous. But she was frustrated by the Sentinel’s refusal to think of anything beyond his duty to Callie.

“Not all,” Callie protested, pulling on a pair of faded jeans. “What about Arel?”

Arel was a hunter Sentinel who was sinfully beautiful with honey brown hair and eyes of pure gold. Serra had dated him the previous year.

“Charming. Beautiful. And a thorough bastard.” Serra paused, studying Callie with a searching gaze. “Still, I haven’t seen that pretty flush on your cheeks for a long time. And if he hurts you I can always kick his ass.”

Callie chose a stretchy top in a bright yellow, pulling it over her head and tucking it into her jeans.

“I can do my own ass-kicking, thank you very much.”

“You could, but you’re far too softhearted,” Serra pointed out. The lovely psychic was three years older than Callie and had appointed herself Callie’s ass-kicker from the day she’d been brought as a baby to Valhalla. “How long is the cop going to be hanging around?”

Callie moved to the attached bathroom to run a comb through the short strands of her hair, pretending she didn’t notice the lingering glow that blushed her cheeks and shimmered in her eyes.