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Synopsis
They are the outcasts of humanity. Blessed with power. Cursed by fate. Driven by passion. The Sentinels have returned. . .At six-foot-three and two-hundred-fifty pounds, Fane is a natural born guardian. A flawless mix of muscled perfection and steely precision, he has devoted years of his life to protecting a beautiful necromancer. But after she found love in the arms of another, Fane has been a warrior adrift. He swears allegiance only to the Sentinels. And no woman will ever rule his heart again. . .Not only a powerful psychic, Serra is that rare telepath who can connect to minds through objects. When the daughter of a high-blood businessman is kidnapped, Serra agrees to help. But when she stumbles onto a conspiracy involving secrets sects and ancient relics, her life is in mortal danger--and Fane is her only hope. Is the warrior willing to risk his body, his soul, and his heart, for Serra? Or will one last betrayal destroy them both?
Release date: December 30, 2014
Publisher: Zebra Books
Print pages: 432
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Blood Assassin
Alexandra Ivy
One glance into the private gym would send most humans fleeing in humiliation.
What normal male would want to lift weights next to a dozen Sentinels?
Not only were the warriors six foot plus of pure chiseled muscles and bad attitudes, but the very air reeked of aggression and testosterone-fueled competition.
Hardly a place for the weekend jock trying to battle the bulge.
It was, however, the perfect place for the Sentinels to work off a little steam.
The vast fitness center was filled with mats, punching bags, and treadmills. And, at the back of the room, there was a row of weight machines where the baddest of the badasses was currently bench-pressing enough weight to crush a mortal.
Fane looked like he’d been sculpted from stone. A six foot three behemoth, he had the strength of an ox and the speed of a cheetah. A result of the natural talents that came from being born a Sentinel, and the fact he’d been honed from his youth to become a weapon.
He was also covered from the top of his shaved head to the tips of his toes in intricate tattoos that protected him from all magic.
The monks who’d taken him in as a young child had trained him in all the known martial arts, as well as the most sophisticated weapons.
He was walking, talking death.
Which meant very few bothered to notice the dark eyes that held a razor-sharp intelligence or the starkly beautiful features beneath the elegant markings.
Something that rarely bothered Fane. For the past decade he’d been a guardian to Callie Brown. All people needed to know about him was that he would kill them the second they threatened the young diviner.
Now, he . . .
Fane blew out a sigh, replacing the weights on the bar so he could wipe the sweat from his naked chest.
Three months ago Callie had nearly died when they’d battled the powerful necromancer Lord Zakhar, and during the battle she’d fallen in love with a human policeman. Or at least Duncan O’Conner had been passing as human. Turned out he had the extra powers of a Sentinel as well as being a soul-gazer, which meant he could read the souls of others. He was perfectly suited to take over the protection of Callie.
Fane’s hand absently touched the center of his chest where he’d once felt the constant connection to Callie. They’d transferred the bond last week, but he still felt the strange void that was wearing on his nerves.
He needed a distraction.
The thought had barely passed through his mind when a shadow fell over him and he glanced up to discover a tall, lean man with copper-tinted skin and ebony eyes. Wolfe, the current Tagos (leader of all Sentinels) had a proud, hawkish nose, with heavy brows and prominent cheekbones that all combined to give him the appearance of an ancient Egyptian deity.
It was a face that spoke of power and fierce masculinity. The sort of face that intimidated men and made women wonder if he was as dangerous as he looked.
He was.
Just as arresting was the shoulder-length black hair that had a startling streak of gray that started at his right temple. There were whispers that when Wolfe was a babe he’d been touched by the devil.
Something Fane fully believed.
Swallowing a curse, Fane tossed aside his sweaty towel. Damn. This wasn’t the distraction he’d been wanting.
Wolfe was dressed in jeans and a loose cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had his arms folded over his chest and was studying Fane with an expression that warned he wasn’t pleased.
Around them the gym went silent as the other Sentinels pretended they weren’t straining to overhear the potential confrontation.
“I heard through the grapevine you’ve taken a position as a trainer,” he said. That was Wolfe. Always straight to the point.
Fane scowled. It’d been less than twenty-four hours since he’d made the decision to seek a position as trainer in a monastery halfway around the world. How the hell had word spread so fast?
“The grapevine should mind its own business.”
The ebony eyes narrowed. “And I shouldn’t have to listen to gossip to learn when one of my Sentinels is leaving Valhalla.”
Fane met his Tagos glare for glare. “I have no direct duties here, at least not anymore. I’m allowed to return to the monastery without clearing it with you.”
The air heated. Sentinels’ body temperature ran hotter than humans, and when their emotions were provoked they could actually warm the air around them.
“Don’t be an ass. This isn’t about duties, I’m worried about you.”
Oh hell.
This was exactly what Fane didn’t want.
He’d rather be shot in the head than have someone fussing over him.
“There’s nothing to worry about. You know that I was a trainer for years before coming to Valhalla. I’m simply returning to my brothers in Tibet.”
“You’ve just endured the removal of a long-standing bond. A traumatic experience for any guardian,” the older man ruthlessly pressed. “And we’re your brothers, you thankless son-of-a-bitch.”
Fane gave an impatient shake of his head. Wolfe was a hunter Sentinel, not a guardian, which meant he could never understand the truth of the bond.
“I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong.”
Wolfe slowly arched a brow. There weren’t many who had the chutzpah to stand up to him.
“What am I thinking?”
“Callie and I never had a sexual relationship.”
“Did you want one?”
“No,” Fane growled. “Jesus Christ. She was like a sister to me. She still is.”
The dark gaze never wavered. “And it doesn’t bother you that she’s with Duncan?”
“Not so long as he treats her right.” Fane allowed a humorless smile to touch his lips. “If he doesn’t . . . I’ll rip out his heart with my bare hands.”
Wolfe nodded. They both understood it wasn’t an empty threat.
“Good,” the Tagos said. “But that wasn’t my concern.”
Fane surged to his feet, his tattoos deepening in response to his rising temper. It was barely past noon, but it’d already been a long day.
“Does this conversation have an end in sight?”
Wolfe stood his ground.
No shocker.
The man always stood his ground.
“This past decade has been dedicated to protecting Callie. Now you’re going to have a void where the bond used to be. It’s going to make you . . .” He paused, as if sorting through his brain for the right word. “Twitchy.”
“Twitchy?”
Wolfe shrugged. “I was going to say as mean as a viper, but that would be an insult to the viper.”
There was a snicker from the front of the room. Fane sent a glare that instantly had the younger Sentinel scurrying from the gym.
He returned his attention to his leader, his gaze narrowed. “And fuck you too.”
“I’m serious, Fane.” Wolfe insisted, standing with the calm of a born predator who could explode into violence in the blink of an eye. “You need to take time to adjust.”
Fane grimaced. “Don’t tell me your door is always open so we can chat about our feelings?”
“Hell, no.” Wolfe shuddered. “But I’m always available if you need a partner who isn’t terrified to spar with you.”
“Ah, so you’re offering to kick my ass?”
A hint of a smile softened Wolfe’s austere features. “And to offer you a place at Valhalla. I’m in constant need of good warriors.” The smile faded. “Especially after our battle with the necromancer. We lost too many.”
Fane ground his teeth at the sharp stab of loss that pierced his heart. During the battle against the necromancer they’d lost far too many Sentinels. Many of them brothers that Fane had served with for decades.
And while the threat of death was a constant companion for warriors, they had rarely lost so many at one time.
It had left them dangerously weakened.
“All the more reason for me to train the next generation,” he pointed out.
Wolfe refused to budge. Stubborn bastard.
“Someone else can handle the training. These are dangerous times. I need experienced warriors.”
Smart enough to avoid ramming his head into a brick wall, Fane instead changed the topic of conversation.
“Did you find any information on the Brotherhood?”
Wolfe muttered a curse at the mention of the secret society of humans who had been discovered three months ago. Like many norms they held a profound hatred toward “mutants,” but they were far more organized than most. And more troubling, they possessed a dangerous ability to sense high-bloods merely by being in their presence.
They were a new, unexpected complication.
The zealots might be nothing more than a pain in the ass. Or they might be . . . genocidal.
“Nothing useful,” Wolfe admitted, his tone revealing his barely leashed desire to pound the truth out of the bastards.
“I can do some digging at the monastery if you want,” Fane offered. “Their library is the most extensive in the world. If there’s information on the secret society, it will be there.”
“Actually I have Arel working on gathering intel.”
Wolfe nodded his head toward a young hunter Sentinel who was running on a treadmill. The overhead lights picked up the honey highlights in Arel’s light brown hair and turned his eyes to molten gold. He looked like an angel unless you took time to notice the honed muscles and the merciless strength that simmered deep in the stunning eyes.
He also had the kind of charm that made women buzz around him like besotted bees.
Including one woman in particular for a short period of time.
His hands unconsciously clenched.
“Arel?” he ground out.
Wolfe made a sad attempt at looking innocent. “Is that a problem?”
“He’s young.” Fane forced his hands to relax, his expression stoic. He’d lost his right to make a claim on any woman years before. “And he has no magic,” he continued.
Wolfe deliberately allowed his gaze to roam over Fane’s distinctive tattoos. “Which means he has a shot at infiltrating the group if we decide they’re going to be a danger in the future. Something that would be impossible for most of us.”
Fane couldn’t argue.
Although guardian Sentinels had the benefit of magic, as well as the protection of their tattooing to avoid spells and psychic attacks, they did tend to stand out in a crowd.
Understatement of the year.
Arel, on the other hand, looked like a kid fresh out of college.
“It’s risky,” Fane at last muttered. “We don’t know how powerful this Brotherhood is.”
Wolfe lifted a shoulder. “He’s a Sentinel.”
“True.” Fane tried to dismiss the problem from his mind. Soon enough he would be in the seclusion of the monastery and the dangers of the world would no longer be his concern. Right? “It sounds like you have it covered. I’ll send you more warriors when they’ve completed their training.”
“Dammit, Fane . . .” Wolfe bit off his words as the atmosphere in the gym abruptly changed.
Both men turned to discover what had happened.
Or rather . . . who . . . had happened.
“Shit,” Fane breathed, a familiar ache settling in the center of his chest at the sight of the beautiful female who sashayed into the room.
Serra Vetrov had the habit of changing the atmosphere in rooms since she’d left the nursery.
Hell, he’d seen men walk into walls and drive cars off the road when she strolled past.
An elegantly tall woman with long, glossy black hair that contrasted with her pale, ivory skin, she had lush curves that she emphasized with her tight leather pants and matching vest that was cut to reveal a jaw-dropping amount of her generous breasts.
Her features were delicately carved. Her pale green eyes were thickly lashed, her nose narrow, and her lips so sensually full they gave the impression of a sex kitten.
Although anyone foolish enough to underestimate her was in for an unpleasant surprise.
Serra was not only a powerful psychic but she was also a rare telepath who could use objects to connect with the mind of the owner. Over the years, she’d used her talents more than once to find missing children or to track down violent offenders.
On the darker side, she could also use her skills to force humans, and those high-bloods without mental shields, to see illusions and could even implant memories in their more vulnerable minds.
Still, it wasn’t her dangerous powers that made grown men scramble out of her path. Serra had a tongue that could flay at a hundred yards and she wasn’t afraid to use it.
Wolfe sent Fane a mocking smile. “It appears I’m not the only one who listens to the grapevine. Good luck, amigo.”
Turning, he strolled toward the cluster of Sentinels who were watching Serra cross the gym like a pack of starving hounds.
Bastards.
Serra kept her head held high and a smile pinned to her lips as she marched past the gaping men. She was female enough to appreciate being noticed by the opposite sex. Why not? But today she barely noticed the audible groans as she took a direct path toward her prey.
She felt a tiny surge of amusement at the thought of Fane being anyone’s prey.
The massive warrior was 250 pounds of pure muscle and raw male power. He was also one of the rare few who was completely impervious to her ability to poke around in his mind.
Which was a blessing and a curse.
A blessing because it was impossible for a psychic to completely block out an intimate partner, which was a distraction that would make any lover cringe. There was nothing quite so demeaning as being in the middle of sex and to realize your partner was picturing Angelina Jolie.
And a curse because Fane was about as chatty as a rock. His feelings were locked down so tight Serra feared that someday they would explode.
And not in a good way.
Or maybe it would be good, she silently told herself, gliding to a halt directly in front of his half-naked form.
There weren’t many things worse than watching all emotions being stripped away as you approached the man you’d loved for the past two decades.
Especially when she was a seething mass of emotions.
She wanted to grab his beautiful face in her hands and kiss him until he melted into a puddle of goo. No. She wanted to kick him in the nuts for being such a prick. Maybe she’d kick him and then kiss it better.
To make matters worse she was on a lust-driven adrenaline high.
Just standing next to his half-naked body coated in sweat made her heart pump and her mouth dry.
God. She was so fucking pathetic.
Accepting that her companion wasn’t going to break the awkward silence, she tilted her chin up another notch.
Any higher and she was going to be staring at the ceiling.
“Fane,” she purred softly.
His dark gaze remained focused on her face, resisting any temptation to glance at her skimpy vest. Of course, if it hadn’t been for the rare times she’d caught him casting covert glances at her body, she might suspect he hadn’t yet realized she was a woman.
“Serra.”
On the way to the gym she’d practiced what she was going to say. She was going to be cool. Composed. And in complete control.
Instead the fear lodged in the pit of her belly made her strike out like a petulant child.
“You’re leaving?”
He gave a slow dip of his head. “I’m returning to Tibet.”
The fear began to spread through her body, her hands clenching at her sides. “Did you ever intend to tell me?”
“Yes.”
“When?” she snapped. “On your way out the door?”
“Does it matter?”
Oh yeah. He was definitely getting kicked in the nuts.
“Yes, it damned well matters.”
He remained stoic. Unmoved by her anger. “What do you want from me?”
She lowered her voice. It wasn’t that she gave a shit that they had an audience. Living in Valhalla meant that privacy was a rare commodity. But she had some pride, dammit. She didn’t want them to hear her beg.
“You know what I want.”
Something flared through the dark eyes. Something that sliced through her heart like a dagger.
“It’s impossible,” he rasped. “I’ll always care for you, Serra, but not in the way you need.”
She should walk away.
It’s what any woman with an ounce of sense would do.
But when had she claimed any sense when it came to this man?
Instead she stepped forward, bringing them nose to nose. Well, they would be nose to nose if he didn’t have six inches on her.
“Liar.”
He frowned, the heat from his body brushing over her bare skin like a caress. Serra shuddered. Oh God. She’d wanted him for so long.
It was like a sickness.
“A Sentinel doesn’t lie.”
She snorted at the ridiculous claim. “Maybe not, but you can twist the truth until it screams. And the truth is that you’ve always used your duty to Callie as a shield between us.”
His fists landed on his hips, his eyes narrowing at her accusation. “My duty was more than a shield.”
Okay. He had a point.
His bond with Callie had been very real.
But that didn’t mean he hadn’t hidden behind his obligation as a guardian.
“Fine.” She held his gaze. “And now that duty is done.”
He was shaking his head before she finished speaking. “My duty to Callie is done, but my duty to the Sentinels remains.”
She clenched her teeth. It was true most Sentinels never married. But it wasn’t against any rules.
Niko had just returned to Valhalla with a wife who promised to be a valuable healer, and Callie had recently married Duncan who’d lately become a Sentinel.
It might demand compromise and sacrifice on both sides, but it could be done.
So why was Fane so unwilling to even give it a try?
“I assume that’s going to be your new excuse?” she forced between gritted teeth.
Without warning his expression softened and his fingers lightly brushed down her bare arm.
“Serra, I don’t need an excuse,” he said, the hint of regret in his eyes more alarming than his previous remoteness. She was used to him pretending to be indifferent to her. Now it felt like . . . good-bye. Shit. “I’ve never made promises I can’t keep,” he continued, his tone soft. “In fact, I’ve been very clear that you should find a man who can give you the happiness you deserve.”
For one weak, tragic moment she allowed herself to savor the brief touch of his fingers. Then her pride came galloping to her rescue and she was jerking away with a brittle smile.
She would endure anything but his pity.
Hell no.
“Very generous of you.”
He grimaced at her sarcastic tone. “I know you don’t believe me, but all I’ve ever wanted was your happiness.”
“And you assume I’ll find it in the arms of another man?” She went straight for the jugular.
The hesitation was so fleeting she might have imagined it. “Yes.”
She leaned forward, infuriated by her inability to read his mind. Dammit. Just when she needed her talents the most she was flying blind.
Was this how humans felt?
This maddening helplessness?
It sucked.
“It won’t bother you at all to know that I belong to another?”
“I will be . . .” He took a beat to find the right word. “Content.”
“Bullshit,” she breathed, unable to accept he was actually prepared to walk away from her.
“Serra—”
“Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want me.”
He refused to be provoked. Worse, that pity continued to shimmer in his dark gaze. “I’m not going to play games with you.”
“Because you can’t do it,” she snarled. “You want me. You’re just too much of a coward to do anything about it.”
“Find another, Serra,” he warned, a muscle in his jaw bulging as he reached down to grab his towel and stepped around her. “Be happy.”
Her heart screeched to a painful halt. “Where are you going?”
He hesitated, but he refused to turn around. “To pack.”
She glared at the broad back covered in swirling tattoos. God. He was destroying her.
Did he ever care?
“When are you leaving?”
“In the morning.”
Not giving her the opportunity for further discussion he simply walked away, his shoulders squared and his head held high.
“Bastard,” she breathed.
Serra left the gym and headed toward her private apartment three floors below.
Valhalla was the official home for many high-bloods, and by far the largest of all the various compounds that were based throughout the world. Including the monasteries where the Sentinels were raised, and where they were able to use the portals to travel from abbey to abbey.
Located in the Midwest, it was a vast community that had workshops, garages, and a large school spread over several thousand acres. There were also extensive vegetable gardens, a lake large enough to support a fishery, and heavily timbered hills that were home to protected wildlife.
In the center was a massive building constructed in the shape of a pentagon with a large inner courtyard.
There were few visitors who could claim to have ventured beyond the official offices on the main floor or the formal reception rooms, although they did have a few guest rooms for VIPs. Absolutely no one who wasn’t a high-blood was allowed to explore the nine levels of private quarters and secret labs that were dug deep into the earth.
Leaving the gym, Serra took the elevator to the lower floors and stomped her way down the long corridor.
The thick-skulled, tattooed lummox.
He wanted to scurry back to his monastery and forget she existed?
Fine.
More power to him.
She hoped . . .
She hoped one of his students accidentally chopped off his dick during sword practice.
Then he could be a real eunuch and not just a man too scared to take on a real woman.
She grimaced, her steps slowing as she neared her door. Okay. She didn’t want him to be castrated. Not even she was that vindictive. But she did hope he was miserable without her.
Jackass.
Reaching her apartment, she placed her hand on the touch screen, waiting for her prints to be scanned. The door was sliding open when she noticed the tiny, gift-wrapped box by the doorjamb.
She leaned down to pick it up, frowning as she stepped into her private rooms.
It wasn’t her birthday. And Christmas was five months away. So who would be leaving her gifts?
A secret admirer? Yeah, right. More likely it was something her biological parents had sent.
When Serra had first displayed her psychic talents when she was barely five, her parents had wisely brought her to Valhalla where she could not only be trained, but where she would grow up surrounded by others like her. But despite not living beneath their roof, her parents had remained in close contact. Not only taking her home whenever she felt the need to bond with them, but often sending her little surprises just so she knew they were thinking about her.
She crossed her living room that was decorated in shades of silver and plum. The furniture was sleek stainless steel with overstuffed cushions and a large mirrored coffee table in the center of the tiled floor. She had one wall that was covered from floor to ceiling with shelves to hold her collection of romance novels and in one corner a curio cabinet that held the exquisitely carved wooden figurines that Fane had given her over the years.
It’d never failed to astonish her that a man who was prized for his strength was capable of creating such delicate beauty.
Jerking her gaze away from the painful reminder of the man who’d just ripped out her heart and stomped on it, Serra tossed the box onto a table before heading into the kitchen.
She rarely drank since it affected her ability to shield out the psychic noises that constantly bombarded her, but she was in desperate need of something to wash away the bad taste in her mouth.
A shot of tequila might just do the trick.
She’d just entered the kitchen that echoed the rest of the rooms’ sleek, minimalist style, when she heard the sound of her front door opening.
“Can I come in?”
Serra rolled her eyes. She didn’t need her psychic ability to know who was intruding into her privacy.
Callie Brown . . . no, wait, she was O’Conner now . . . was more than just a friend.
They’d been raised together as foster sisters and were as close as any blood sisters despite the fact that it was Callie whom Fane had bonded himself to.
Today, however, Serra wasn’t in the mood for company. She wanted to be alone so she could get shit-faced and forget the miserable day.
She was dusting off a shot glass her parents had sent her from Paris when Callie entered the room, looking gorgeous as usual with her red hair, cut short and spiky to emphasize her pale features, and her slender body, displayed in a lemon cotton sundress. But few people noticed anything about Callie once they caught a glance at her eyes.
They were the gemstone eyes of a necromancer. Perfectly faceted they shimmered with a pure sapphire glow. The beauty of those eyes was breathtaking, which was why she usually kept them hidden behind sunglasses when she left Valhalla.
Serra would have been jealous as hell of the younger woman if Callie weren’t so impossibly sweet and utterly loyal.
“It’s not really a good time,” Serra said, pulling the bottle of tequila from the glass-paned cabinet.
Callie wrinkled her nose, moving to lean against the marble-topped counter. “I know, you’ve been leaking.”
Serra clicked her tongue, pouring herself a shot. Because they’d grown up together they’d become connected on a psychic level. Which meant that Callie could sense the vibrations when Serra’s thoughts were slipping past her mental walls.
“I told you not to call it that. You make me sound like I have a bladder dysfunction.”
Callie smiled, but it didn’t disguise her concern. “What’s going on?”
Serra swallowed the tequila, savoring the fire as it slid down her throat. “Fane,” she at last admitted, knowing there was no point in trying to keep it a secret.
By now all of Valhalla would have heard of her latest, embarrassing encounter with the aggravating Sentinel.
Callie’s smile faded. “What’s he done?”
“You haven’t heard?”
“No.”
Serra shrugged, pouring another shot. “It doesn’t matter.”
“He’s still being an ass?”
Serra lifted her shot glass in a mock toast. “A grade-A, platinum-plated ass.”
Cassie shook her head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”
“Join the crowd,” Serra muttered before heaving a sigh. “Maybe I’m just deluding myself.”
“About what?”
“Maybe he truly doesn’t want me.”
Callie gave a sharp shake of her head. “He wants you.”
The tequila was spreading a warm glow through Serra. So why the hell was she shivering with cold?
“How can you possibly know?”
“I’ve seen how he stares at you when he thinks no one is watching. How he always waits until he knows you’re in the dining hall before he goes to dinner. How he takes twice as long to carve the figurines he creates for you.” Callie pushed away from the counter and crossed the short distance to gently remove the shot glass from Serra’s hand. “He wants you bad.”
“Then why the hell won’t he do anything about it?” Serra snapped, fiercely holding back the tears. By God, she wasn’t going to cry over the bastard. Not one tear. “I’m tired of being treated like I carry the plague.”
Callie set the glass on the countertop, biting her lower lip before she tentatively made the suggestion that Serra had been dreading.
“Do you want me to talk to him?”
“No.” She unconsciously pressed a hand to her heaving stomach.
Fane had not only been connected to Callie on a spiritual level, he’d also indulged her every whim.
God. The mere thought that he would force himself to show an interest in her to please Callie . . .
A low groan escaped her lips and Callie grabbed her hands to give them a gentle squeeze. “This can’t go on, Serra.”
Serra gave a sad smile. Callie was right.
This was it.
She’d tossed herself at Fane for the last time.
She wasn’t wasting another day on something so stupid as unrequited love.
“I know,” she admitted, a humorless smile twisting her lips.
Easily sensing Serra’s sudden resolve, Callie regarded her with open concern.
Understandable.
Serra tended to act on impulse. Especially when her feelings were hurt.
“What are you going to do?”
Serra shrugged. “What I should have done a long time ago.”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“I’m going to find a man who isn’t afraid to love me.”
It was a promise that Serra had made a dozen times before, but this time there was no mistaking the grim sincerity in her voice.
Callie gave a slow nod. “If you need me—”
“I know.” It was Serra’s turn to give her friend’s fingers a comforting squeeze. “I’ve always known.”
“Good.” Callie took a step back, continuing to keep a worried gaze on Serra’s face. “Come to dinner tonight.”
Serra forced a teasing smile to her lips. “And watch you make goo-goo eyes at Duncan? No thanks.”
“Goo-goo eyes?”
Serra gave a dramatic shudder. “It’s sickening.”
“Okay, okay.” Callie gave a small chuckle, then her smile slowly faded. “Serra, I don’t want you to be alone.”
“I won’t. At least not for long,” she swore, abruptly deciding she needed more than tequila to improve her dark mood. “I have a new pair of Fendi boots that are just dying to go out dancing. I intend to oblige them.”
Callie hesitated, as if weighing her chances at insisting that Serra spend the evening in the protective custody of her and her new husband. It took only one glance at Serra’s stubborn expression for her to accept defeat.
“Arel’s here,” she instead murmured.
Serra’s smile became g
What normal male would want to lift weights next to a dozen Sentinels?
Not only were the warriors six foot plus of pure chiseled muscles and bad attitudes, but the very air reeked of aggression and testosterone-fueled competition.
Hardly a place for the weekend jock trying to battle the bulge.
It was, however, the perfect place for the Sentinels to work off a little steam.
The vast fitness center was filled with mats, punching bags, and treadmills. And, at the back of the room, there was a row of weight machines where the baddest of the badasses was currently bench-pressing enough weight to crush a mortal.
Fane looked like he’d been sculpted from stone. A six foot three behemoth, he had the strength of an ox and the speed of a cheetah. A result of the natural talents that came from being born a Sentinel, and the fact he’d been honed from his youth to become a weapon.
He was also covered from the top of his shaved head to the tips of his toes in intricate tattoos that protected him from all magic.
The monks who’d taken him in as a young child had trained him in all the known martial arts, as well as the most sophisticated weapons.
He was walking, talking death.
Which meant very few bothered to notice the dark eyes that held a razor-sharp intelligence or the starkly beautiful features beneath the elegant markings.
Something that rarely bothered Fane. For the past decade he’d been a guardian to Callie Brown. All people needed to know about him was that he would kill them the second they threatened the young diviner.
Now, he . . .
Fane blew out a sigh, replacing the weights on the bar so he could wipe the sweat from his naked chest.
Three months ago Callie had nearly died when they’d battled the powerful necromancer Lord Zakhar, and during the battle she’d fallen in love with a human policeman. Or at least Duncan O’Conner had been passing as human. Turned out he had the extra powers of a Sentinel as well as being a soul-gazer, which meant he could read the souls of others. He was perfectly suited to take over the protection of Callie.
Fane’s hand absently touched the center of his chest where he’d once felt the constant connection to Callie. They’d transferred the bond last week, but he still felt the strange void that was wearing on his nerves.
He needed a distraction.
The thought had barely passed through his mind when a shadow fell over him and he glanced up to discover a tall, lean man with copper-tinted skin and ebony eyes. Wolfe, the current Tagos (leader of all Sentinels) had a proud, hawkish nose, with heavy brows and prominent cheekbones that all combined to give him the appearance of an ancient Egyptian deity.
It was a face that spoke of power and fierce masculinity. The sort of face that intimidated men and made women wonder if he was as dangerous as he looked.
He was.
Just as arresting was the shoulder-length black hair that had a startling streak of gray that started at his right temple. There were whispers that when Wolfe was a babe he’d been touched by the devil.
Something Fane fully believed.
Swallowing a curse, Fane tossed aside his sweaty towel. Damn. This wasn’t the distraction he’d been wanting.
Wolfe was dressed in jeans and a loose cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had his arms folded over his chest and was studying Fane with an expression that warned he wasn’t pleased.
Around them the gym went silent as the other Sentinels pretended they weren’t straining to overhear the potential confrontation.
“I heard through the grapevine you’ve taken a position as a trainer,” he said. That was Wolfe. Always straight to the point.
Fane scowled. It’d been less than twenty-four hours since he’d made the decision to seek a position as trainer in a monastery halfway around the world. How the hell had word spread so fast?
“The grapevine should mind its own business.”
The ebony eyes narrowed. “And I shouldn’t have to listen to gossip to learn when one of my Sentinels is leaving Valhalla.”
Fane met his Tagos glare for glare. “I have no direct duties here, at least not anymore. I’m allowed to return to the monastery without clearing it with you.”
The air heated. Sentinels’ body temperature ran hotter than humans, and when their emotions were provoked they could actually warm the air around them.
“Don’t be an ass. This isn’t about duties, I’m worried about you.”
Oh hell.
This was exactly what Fane didn’t want.
He’d rather be shot in the head than have someone fussing over him.
“There’s nothing to worry about. You know that I was a trainer for years before coming to Valhalla. I’m simply returning to my brothers in Tibet.”
“You’ve just endured the removal of a long-standing bond. A traumatic experience for any guardian,” the older man ruthlessly pressed. “And we’re your brothers, you thankless son-of-a-bitch.”
Fane gave an impatient shake of his head. Wolfe was a hunter Sentinel, not a guardian, which meant he could never understand the truth of the bond.
“I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong.”
Wolfe slowly arched a brow. There weren’t many who had the chutzpah to stand up to him.
“What am I thinking?”
“Callie and I never had a sexual relationship.”
“Did you want one?”
“No,” Fane growled. “Jesus Christ. She was like a sister to me. She still is.”
The dark gaze never wavered. “And it doesn’t bother you that she’s with Duncan?”
“Not so long as he treats her right.” Fane allowed a humorless smile to touch his lips. “If he doesn’t . . . I’ll rip out his heart with my bare hands.”
Wolfe nodded. They both understood it wasn’t an empty threat.
“Good,” the Tagos said. “But that wasn’t my concern.”
Fane surged to his feet, his tattoos deepening in response to his rising temper. It was barely past noon, but it’d already been a long day.
“Does this conversation have an end in sight?”
Wolfe stood his ground.
No shocker.
The man always stood his ground.
“This past decade has been dedicated to protecting Callie. Now you’re going to have a void where the bond used to be. It’s going to make you . . .” He paused, as if sorting through his brain for the right word. “Twitchy.”
“Twitchy?”
Wolfe shrugged. “I was going to say as mean as a viper, but that would be an insult to the viper.”
There was a snicker from the front of the room. Fane sent a glare that instantly had the younger Sentinel scurrying from the gym.
He returned his attention to his leader, his gaze narrowed. “And fuck you too.”
“I’m serious, Fane.” Wolfe insisted, standing with the calm of a born predator who could explode into violence in the blink of an eye. “You need to take time to adjust.”
Fane grimaced. “Don’t tell me your door is always open so we can chat about our feelings?”
“Hell, no.” Wolfe shuddered. “But I’m always available if you need a partner who isn’t terrified to spar with you.”
“Ah, so you’re offering to kick my ass?”
A hint of a smile softened Wolfe’s austere features. “And to offer you a place at Valhalla. I’m in constant need of good warriors.” The smile faded. “Especially after our battle with the necromancer. We lost too many.”
Fane ground his teeth at the sharp stab of loss that pierced his heart. During the battle against the necromancer they’d lost far too many Sentinels. Many of them brothers that Fane had served with for decades.
And while the threat of death was a constant companion for warriors, they had rarely lost so many at one time.
It had left them dangerously weakened.
“All the more reason for me to train the next generation,” he pointed out.
Wolfe refused to budge. Stubborn bastard.
“Someone else can handle the training. These are dangerous times. I need experienced warriors.”
Smart enough to avoid ramming his head into a brick wall, Fane instead changed the topic of conversation.
“Did you find any information on the Brotherhood?”
Wolfe muttered a curse at the mention of the secret society of humans who had been discovered three months ago. Like many norms they held a profound hatred toward “mutants,” but they were far more organized than most. And more troubling, they possessed a dangerous ability to sense high-bloods merely by being in their presence.
They were a new, unexpected complication.
The zealots might be nothing more than a pain in the ass. Or they might be . . . genocidal.
“Nothing useful,” Wolfe admitted, his tone revealing his barely leashed desire to pound the truth out of the bastards.
“I can do some digging at the monastery if you want,” Fane offered. “Their library is the most extensive in the world. If there’s information on the secret society, it will be there.”
“Actually I have Arel working on gathering intel.”
Wolfe nodded his head toward a young hunter Sentinel who was running on a treadmill. The overhead lights picked up the honey highlights in Arel’s light brown hair and turned his eyes to molten gold. He looked like an angel unless you took time to notice the honed muscles and the merciless strength that simmered deep in the stunning eyes.
He also had the kind of charm that made women buzz around him like besotted bees.
Including one woman in particular for a short period of time.
His hands unconsciously clenched.
“Arel?” he ground out.
Wolfe made a sad attempt at looking innocent. “Is that a problem?”
“He’s young.” Fane forced his hands to relax, his expression stoic. He’d lost his right to make a claim on any woman years before. “And he has no magic,” he continued.
Wolfe deliberately allowed his gaze to roam over Fane’s distinctive tattoos. “Which means he has a shot at infiltrating the group if we decide they’re going to be a danger in the future. Something that would be impossible for most of us.”
Fane couldn’t argue.
Although guardian Sentinels had the benefit of magic, as well as the protection of their tattooing to avoid spells and psychic attacks, they did tend to stand out in a crowd.
Understatement of the year.
Arel, on the other hand, looked like a kid fresh out of college.
“It’s risky,” Fane at last muttered. “We don’t know how powerful this Brotherhood is.”
Wolfe lifted a shoulder. “He’s a Sentinel.”
“True.” Fane tried to dismiss the problem from his mind. Soon enough he would be in the seclusion of the monastery and the dangers of the world would no longer be his concern. Right? “It sounds like you have it covered. I’ll send you more warriors when they’ve completed their training.”
“Dammit, Fane . . .” Wolfe bit off his words as the atmosphere in the gym abruptly changed.
Both men turned to discover what had happened.
Or rather . . . who . . . had happened.
“Shit,” Fane breathed, a familiar ache settling in the center of his chest at the sight of the beautiful female who sashayed into the room.
Serra Vetrov had the habit of changing the atmosphere in rooms since she’d left the nursery.
Hell, he’d seen men walk into walls and drive cars off the road when she strolled past.
An elegantly tall woman with long, glossy black hair that contrasted with her pale, ivory skin, she had lush curves that she emphasized with her tight leather pants and matching vest that was cut to reveal a jaw-dropping amount of her generous breasts.
Her features were delicately carved. Her pale green eyes were thickly lashed, her nose narrow, and her lips so sensually full they gave the impression of a sex kitten.
Although anyone foolish enough to underestimate her was in for an unpleasant surprise.
Serra was not only a powerful psychic but she was also a rare telepath who could use objects to connect with the mind of the owner. Over the years, she’d used her talents more than once to find missing children or to track down violent offenders.
On the darker side, she could also use her skills to force humans, and those high-bloods without mental shields, to see illusions and could even implant memories in their more vulnerable minds.
Still, it wasn’t her dangerous powers that made grown men scramble out of her path. Serra had a tongue that could flay at a hundred yards and she wasn’t afraid to use it.
Wolfe sent Fane a mocking smile. “It appears I’m not the only one who listens to the grapevine. Good luck, amigo.”
Turning, he strolled toward the cluster of Sentinels who were watching Serra cross the gym like a pack of starving hounds.
Bastards.
Serra kept her head held high and a smile pinned to her lips as she marched past the gaping men. She was female enough to appreciate being noticed by the opposite sex. Why not? But today she barely noticed the audible groans as she took a direct path toward her prey.
She felt a tiny surge of amusement at the thought of Fane being anyone’s prey.
The massive warrior was 250 pounds of pure muscle and raw male power. He was also one of the rare few who was completely impervious to her ability to poke around in his mind.
Which was a blessing and a curse.
A blessing because it was impossible for a psychic to completely block out an intimate partner, which was a distraction that would make any lover cringe. There was nothing quite so demeaning as being in the middle of sex and to realize your partner was picturing Angelina Jolie.
And a curse because Fane was about as chatty as a rock. His feelings were locked down so tight Serra feared that someday they would explode.
And not in a good way.
Or maybe it would be good, she silently told herself, gliding to a halt directly in front of his half-naked form.
There weren’t many things worse than watching all emotions being stripped away as you approached the man you’d loved for the past two decades.
Especially when she was a seething mass of emotions.
She wanted to grab his beautiful face in her hands and kiss him until he melted into a puddle of goo. No. She wanted to kick him in the nuts for being such a prick. Maybe she’d kick him and then kiss it better.
To make matters worse she was on a lust-driven adrenaline high.
Just standing next to his half-naked body coated in sweat made her heart pump and her mouth dry.
God. She was so fucking pathetic.
Accepting that her companion wasn’t going to break the awkward silence, she tilted her chin up another notch.
Any higher and she was going to be staring at the ceiling.
“Fane,” she purred softly.
His dark gaze remained focused on her face, resisting any temptation to glance at her skimpy vest. Of course, if it hadn’t been for the rare times she’d caught him casting covert glances at her body, she might suspect he hadn’t yet realized she was a woman.
“Serra.”
On the way to the gym she’d practiced what she was going to say. She was going to be cool. Composed. And in complete control.
Instead the fear lodged in the pit of her belly made her strike out like a petulant child.
“You’re leaving?”
He gave a slow dip of his head. “I’m returning to Tibet.”
The fear began to spread through her body, her hands clenching at her sides. “Did you ever intend to tell me?”
“Yes.”
“When?” she snapped. “On your way out the door?”
“Does it matter?”
Oh yeah. He was definitely getting kicked in the nuts.
“Yes, it damned well matters.”
He remained stoic. Unmoved by her anger. “What do you want from me?”
She lowered her voice. It wasn’t that she gave a shit that they had an audience. Living in Valhalla meant that privacy was a rare commodity. But she had some pride, dammit. She didn’t want them to hear her beg.
“You know what I want.”
Something flared through the dark eyes. Something that sliced through her heart like a dagger.
“It’s impossible,” he rasped. “I’ll always care for you, Serra, but not in the way you need.”
She should walk away.
It’s what any woman with an ounce of sense would do.
But when had she claimed any sense when it came to this man?
Instead she stepped forward, bringing them nose to nose. Well, they would be nose to nose if he didn’t have six inches on her.
“Liar.”
He frowned, the heat from his body brushing over her bare skin like a caress. Serra shuddered. Oh God. She’d wanted him for so long.
It was like a sickness.
“A Sentinel doesn’t lie.”
She snorted at the ridiculous claim. “Maybe not, but you can twist the truth until it screams. And the truth is that you’ve always used your duty to Callie as a shield between us.”
His fists landed on his hips, his eyes narrowing at her accusation. “My duty was more than a shield.”
Okay. He had a point.
His bond with Callie had been very real.
But that didn’t mean he hadn’t hidden behind his obligation as a guardian.
“Fine.” She held his gaze. “And now that duty is done.”
He was shaking his head before she finished speaking. “My duty to Callie is done, but my duty to the Sentinels remains.”
She clenched her teeth. It was true most Sentinels never married. But it wasn’t against any rules.
Niko had just returned to Valhalla with a wife who promised to be a valuable healer, and Callie had recently married Duncan who’d lately become a Sentinel.
It might demand compromise and sacrifice on both sides, but it could be done.
So why was Fane so unwilling to even give it a try?
“I assume that’s going to be your new excuse?” she forced between gritted teeth.
Without warning his expression softened and his fingers lightly brushed down her bare arm.
“Serra, I don’t need an excuse,” he said, the hint of regret in his eyes more alarming than his previous remoteness. She was used to him pretending to be indifferent to her. Now it felt like . . . good-bye. Shit. “I’ve never made promises I can’t keep,” he continued, his tone soft. “In fact, I’ve been very clear that you should find a man who can give you the happiness you deserve.”
For one weak, tragic moment she allowed herself to savor the brief touch of his fingers. Then her pride came galloping to her rescue and she was jerking away with a brittle smile.
She would endure anything but his pity.
Hell no.
“Very generous of you.”
He grimaced at her sarcastic tone. “I know you don’t believe me, but all I’ve ever wanted was your happiness.”
“And you assume I’ll find it in the arms of another man?” She went straight for the jugular.
The hesitation was so fleeting she might have imagined it. “Yes.”
She leaned forward, infuriated by her inability to read his mind. Dammit. Just when she needed her talents the most she was flying blind.
Was this how humans felt?
This maddening helplessness?
It sucked.
“It won’t bother you at all to know that I belong to another?”
“I will be . . .” He took a beat to find the right word. “Content.”
“Bullshit,” she breathed, unable to accept he was actually prepared to walk away from her.
“Serra—”
“Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want me.”
He refused to be provoked. Worse, that pity continued to shimmer in his dark gaze. “I’m not going to play games with you.”
“Because you can’t do it,” she snarled. “You want me. You’re just too much of a coward to do anything about it.”
“Find another, Serra,” he warned, a muscle in his jaw bulging as he reached down to grab his towel and stepped around her. “Be happy.”
Her heart screeched to a painful halt. “Where are you going?”
He hesitated, but he refused to turn around. “To pack.”
She glared at the broad back covered in swirling tattoos. God. He was destroying her.
Did he ever care?
“When are you leaving?”
“In the morning.”
Not giving her the opportunity for further discussion he simply walked away, his shoulders squared and his head held high.
“Bastard,” she breathed.
Serra left the gym and headed toward her private apartment three floors below.
Valhalla was the official home for many high-bloods, and by far the largest of all the various compounds that were based throughout the world. Including the monasteries where the Sentinels were raised, and where they were able to use the portals to travel from abbey to abbey.
Located in the Midwest, it was a vast community that had workshops, garages, and a large school spread over several thousand acres. There were also extensive vegetable gardens, a lake large enough to support a fishery, and heavily timbered hills that were home to protected wildlife.
In the center was a massive building constructed in the shape of a pentagon with a large inner courtyard.
There were few visitors who could claim to have ventured beyond the official offices on the main floor or the formal reception rooms, although they did have a few guest rooms for VIPs. Absolutely no one who wasn’t a high-blood was allowed to explore the nine levels of private quarters and secret labs that were dug deep into the earth.
Leaving the gym, Serra took the elevator to the lower floors and stomped her way down the long corridor.
The thick-skulled, tattooed lummox.
He wanted to scurry back to his monastery and forget she existed?
Fine.
More power to him.
She hoped . . .
She hoped one of his students accidentally chopped off his dick during sword practice.
Then he could be a real eunuch and not just a man too scared to take on a real woman.
She grimaced, her steps slowing as she neared her door. Okay. She didn’t want him to be castrated. Not even she was that vindictive. But she did hope he was miserable without her.
Jackass.
Reaching her apartment, she placed her hand on the touch screen, waiting for her prints to be scanned. The door was sliding open when she noticed the tiny, gift-wrapped box by the doorjamb.
She leaned down to pick it up, frowning as she stepped into her private rooms.
It wasn’t her birthday. And Christmas was five months away. So who would be leaving her gifts?
A secret admirer? Yeah, right. More likely it was something her biological parents had sent.
When Serra had first displayed her psychic talents when she was barely five, her parents had wisely brought her to Valhalla where she could not only be trained, but where she would grow up surrounded by others like her. But despite not living beneath their roof, her parents had remained in close contact. Not only taking her home whenever she felt the need to bond with them, but often sending her little surprises just so she knew they were thinking about her.
She crossed her living room that was decorated in shades of silver and plum. The furniture was sleek stainless steel with overstuffed cushions and a large mirrored coffee table in the center of the tiled floor. She had one wall that was covered from floor to ceiling with shelves to hold her collection of romance novels and in one corner a curio cabinet that held the exquisitely carved wooden figurines that Fane had given her over the years.
It’d never failed to astonish her that a man who was prized for his strength was capable of creating such delicate beauty.
Jerking her gaze away from the painful reminder of the man who’d just ripped out her heart and stomped on it, Serra tossed the box onto a table before heading into the kitchen.
She rarely drank since it affected her ability to shield out the psychic noises that constantly bombarded her, but she was in desperate need of something to wash away the bad taste in her mouth.
A shot of tequila might just do the trick.
She’d just entered the kitchen that echoed the rest of the rooms’ sleek, minimalist style, when she heard the sound of her front door opening.
“Can I come in?”
Serra rolled her eyes. She didn’t need her psychic ability to know who was intruding into her privacy.
Callie Brown . . . no, wait, she was O’Conner now . . . was more than just a friend.
They’d been raised together as foster sisters and were as close as any blood sisters despite the fact that it was Callie whom Fane had bonded himself to.
Today, however, Serra wasn’t in the mood for company. She wanted to be alone so she could get shit-faced and forget the miserable day.
She was dusting off a shot glass her parents had sent her from Paris when Callie entered the room, looking gorgeous as usual with her red hair, cut short and spiky to emphasize her pale features, and her slender body, displayed in a lemon cotton sundress. But few people noticed anything about Callie once they caught a glance at her eyes.
They were the gemstone eyes of a necromancer. Perfectly faceted they shimmered with a pure sapphire glow. The beauty of those eyes was breathtaking, which was why she usually kept them hidden behind sunglasses when she left Valhalla.
Serra would have been jealous as hell of the younger woman if Callie weren’t so impossibly sweet and utterly loyal.
“It’s not really a good time,” Serra said, pulling the bottle of tequila from the glass-paned cabinet.
Callie wrinkled her nose, moving to lean against the marble-topped counter. “I know, you’ve been leaking.”
Serra clicked her tongue, pouring herself a shot. Because they’d grown up together they’d become connected on a psychic level. Which meant that Callie could sense the vibrations when Serra’s thoughts were slipping past her mental walls.
“I told you not to call it that. You make me sound like I have a bladder dysfunction.”
Callie smiled, but it didn’t disguise her concern. “What’s going on?”
Serra swallowed the tequila, savoring the fire as it slid down her throat. “Fane,” she at last admitted, knowing there was no point in trying to keep it a secret.
By now all of Valhalla would have heard of her latest, embarrassing encounter with the aggravating Sentinel.
Callie’s smile faded. “What’s he done?”
“You haven’t heard?”
“No.”
Serra shrugged, pouring another shot. “It doesn’t matter.”
“He’s still being an ass?”
Serra lifted her shot glass in a mock toast. “A grade-A, platinum-plated ass.”
Cassie shook her head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”
“Join the crowd,” Serra muttered before heaving a sigh. “Maybe I’m just deluding myself.”
“About what?”
“Maybe he truly doesn’t want me.”
Callie gave a sharp shake of her head. “He wants you.”
The tequila was spreading a warm glow through Serra. So why the hell was she shivering with cold?
“How can you possibly know?”
“I’ve seen how he stares at you when he thinks no one is watching. How he always waits until he knows you’re in the dining hall before he goes to dinner. How he takes twice as long to carve the figurines he creates for you.” Callie pushed away from the counter and crossed the short distance to gently remove the shot glass from Serra’s hand. “He wants you bad.”
“Then why the hell won’t he do anything about it?” Serra snapped, fiercely holding back the tears. By God, she wasn’t going to cry over the bastard. Not one tear. “I’m tired of being treated like I carry the plague.”
Callie set the glass on the countertop, biting her lower lip before she tentatively made the suggestion that Serra had been dreading.
“Do you want me to talk to him?”
“No.” She unconsciously pressed a hand to her heaving stomach.
Fane had not only been connected to Callie on a spiritual level, he’d also indulged her every whim.
God. The mere thought that he would force himself to show an interest in her to please Callie . . .
A low groan escaped her lips and Callie grabbed her hands to give them a gentle squeeze. “This can’t go on, Serra.”
Serra gave a sad smile. Callie was right.
This was it.
She’d tossed herself at Fane for the last time.
She wasn’t wasting another day on something so stupid as unrequited love.
“I know,” she admitted, a humorless smile twisting her lips.
Easily sensing Serra’s sudden resolve, Callie regarded her with open concern.
Understandable.
Serra tended to act on impulse. Especially when her feelings were hurt.
“What are you going to do?”
Serra shrugged. “What I should have done a long time ago.”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“I’m going to find a man who isn’t afraid to love me.”
It was a promise that Serra had made a dozen times before, but this time there was no mistaking the grim sincerity in her voice.
Callie gave a slow nod. “If you need me—”
“I know.” It was Serra’s turn to give her friend’s fingers a comforting squeeze. “I’ve always known.”
“Good.” Callie took a step back, continuing to keep a worried gaze on Serra’s face. “Come to dinner tonight.”
Serra forced a teasing smile to her lips. “And watch you make goo-goo eyes at Duncan? No thanks.”
“Goo-goo eyes?”
Serra gave a dramatic shudder. “It’s sickening.”
“Okay, okay.” Callie gave a small chuckle, then her smile slowly faded. “Serra, I don’t want you to be alone.”
“I won’t. At least not for long,” she swore, abruptly deciding she needed more than tequila to improve her dark mood. “I have a new pair of Fendi boots that are just dying to go out dancing. I intend to oblige them.”
Callie hesitated, as if weighing her chances at insisting that Serra spend the evening in the protective custody of her and her new husband. It took only one glance at Serra’s stubborn expression for her to accept defeat.
“Arel’s here,” she instead murmured.
Serra’s smile became g
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