Born in Blood (The Sentinels) (7 page)

Callie hadn’t expected to eat.

The choice of taking Duncan to the dining hall and settling at a table next to the windows overlooking the inner courtyard had been more a case of self-preservation than a desire for food.

She wasn’t sure what would happen if they were alone together in a room, but she did know it would include heated kisses and missing clothes ...

A tempting way to spend the night, but not when they were destined to be interrupted.

When she finally had this man in her bed she intended to devote several hours to exploring his naked body.

But once the plates of salad, lasagna, and garlic bread arrived, she found herself polishing her plate and even indulging in a serving of tiramisu.

The chefs of Valhalla could work at any five-star hotel. Thank god her metabolism burned at an accelerated rate.

At last pushing back her empty plates, she looked up to discover Duncan glancing around the crowded room with a wary expression.

“Are they glaring at me because I’m a norm or because I’m with you?” he demanded sourly.

She shrugged. When this was all over with she was going to have her friends lining up for an explanation of why she’d looked so cozy with Duncan O’Conner, but for now she didn’t care what they thought.

“Probably because you’re a cop.”

He sent her a disgruntled frown. “What’s wrong with cops?”

“Many high-bloods have had unpleasant encounters with authority figures.”

He reached for his chilled bottle of beer. “Haven’t we all?”

She narrowed her gaze at his casual disregard for what her people had suffered over the years. “It’s not the same. Most police assume we’re evil by nature.”

“You shouldn’t take it personal,” he denied. “Cops are always suspicious.”

“Yeah right.”

Perhaps recalling his coroner’s reaction to her presence only hours ago, he took a deep swig of the beer.

“Change takes time.”

“So they say.”

He leaned back in his seat, setting aside the beer bottle. In the overhead lights his pale hair had the smooth sheen of polished gold and his lean features were more starkly beautiful than ever.

It made her regret her decision to choose the public dining room instead of her apartment.

At least until the next words fell from his lips. “Tell me what happened with Boggs.”

It was the question she’d been expecting since they’d left the Mave’s office, but it still managed to catch her off guard.

“That’s none of your business.”

He focused on her with that stubborn concentration that made him such a good cop.

And an annoying dinner companion.

“And what if I want it to be my business?”

She shifted to make sure her back was to the rest of the room. If any of her friends caught sight of her scowl they’d be charging over in a heartbeat to rescue her.

“Are you willing to let me pry into your privacy?”

He lifted one shoulder. “What do you want to know?”

“Did you love your wife?”

He sucked in a deep breath, his hand clenched on top of the table. “Straight for the jugular, eh, Callie?”

“Not so eager to play now?” she taunted.

There was a short, explosive pause before he folded his arms over his chest. “I knew Susan from the first day of kindergarten,” he said in clipped tones, his expression screwed down tight. “She was a good Catholic girl from the neighborhood who seemed exactly the sort of woman I should marry. My parents were delighted.”

She knew she should back off. It was obviously still difficult for him to discuss his wife.

Ex-wife.

And she had no right to press. But a part of her had to know. It was like a thorn beneath her skin that was becoming unbearable.

“That didn’t answer my question,” she said, her gaze never leaving his hard expression.

There was another long, painful pause.

“I was truly fond of Susan, but I didn’t crave her like a man should crave his wife,” he abruptly admitted.

“Crave?” She blinked in surprise. “That’s an interesting choice of words.”

He surged forward, grabbing her hand and pressing her inner wrist to his lips.

“A relationship shouldn’t be a comfortable arrangement,” he growled against her racing pulse. “It should be heat and passion and raw emotions.”

An electric jolt of excitement arrowed straight through her, making her squirm in her seat.

Yow. Talk about heat. She felt singed.

“I get the picture,” she breathed.

Lowering her hand, he kept his fingers wrapped around her wrist, his thumb teasing the spot he’d just kissed.

“Tell me about Boggs.”

She sighed, but she made no move to pull away from his light grasp. If she were to be honest, she needed the comforting warmth of his touch. The memory of her visit to Boggs wasn’t something she wanted to dredge up.

Not ever.

“He sent word to the Mave that he’d come across an artifact that spoke about a coming threat,” she said in low tones.

“The usual mumbo jumbo of supposed prophets?”

“Exactly,” she said, her skin growing clammy as she remembered the dark cave that had been filled with stale air and piles of strange objects that looked like they’d come from a Hollywood set. It’d been creepy as hell. Especially for a girl who’d rarely left Valhalla. “He insisted that he needed to speak with the
‘young diviner with the eyes like sapphires.’”

“He did get the eyes right,” Duncan murmured. “Are they unusual?”

“Most diviners have green or brown eyes.”

“How many diviners are there? Or is that a secret?”

“There are less than twenty spread around the world.”

He seemed startled by her confession. “A rare gift.”

She shrugged. “Yes, but not the most rare.”

He frowned, as if wanting to know exactly what else might be out there that was even more rare than a necro, but then he gave a sharp shake of his head.

“So Boggs demanded to see you?” he asked, clearly refusing to be distracted.

“Yes.”

“And what did he say?”

She shuddered. Even after twelve years she could still recall the sight of Boggs when he shed his robe and revealed his hidden power.

“That the dead rest uneasy in their graves.”

He studied her carefully bland expression. “You weren’t impressed?”

Her lips stretched in a humorless smile. “I’d have been more impressed if he hadn’t kept me waiting in a damp cave for ten hours only to tell me the exact same thing I’d heard from a carnival fortune-teller when I was twelve.”

“The fortune-teller told you the same thing?”

Damn. She wished she hadn’t let that slip.

It made the coincidence seem far more important than it was.

Or at least, more important than she’d always hoped it was.

Now ... well, she wasn’t so sure.

“It’s no secret I’m a diviner,” she said in what she hoped was dismissive tones. “What else would they say?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” The hint of gold was suddenly more pronounced in the hazel eyes. A sure sign he was imagining her naked. “Maybe that you were destined to meet a handsome cop who was going to rock your world.”

The tight bands closing around her chest eased at his deliberate teasing. “You really have the most god-awful pickup lines,” she said with a shake of her head.

“Good thing I’m gorgeous.”

“And so modest.”

His brief smile faded, his expression somber. “Are you sure it wasn’t more than just a fluke that you received the same warning from two different sources?”

She wrinkled her nose. It’d been a question that had haunted her more than once over the years. And always, she came to the same conclusion.

“What if it was?” she asked with growing impatience. “What am I supposed to do about restless corpses?”

He couldn’t disguise his shudder of horror. “I’m the wrong person to ask.”

“You’re the wrong person for a lot of things,” Fane mocked as he came to a halt beside their table.

Duncan was instantly bristling with an overdose of male aggression. “You know I still have my gun?”

“I could kill you before you ever got it out of the holster,” the guardian promised, laying his hands flat on the table as he smiled with lethal promise.

Callie heaved a sigh as the entire room went eerily silent. Just like a Wild West movie when there was a looming gunfight.

Idiots.

She pulled her hand away from Duncan. No need to throw gasoline on a smoldering fire.

“Did you need something, Fane?”

“The Mave contacted me. We leave in an hour.” His dark gaze shifted to study her pale face. “You should rest.”

“I will.” She offered a reassuring smile. “I promise.”

“We’ll meet at the chapel.”

“Okay.” She held his gaze, allowing him to see that she was strong enough to face the upcoming ordeal. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I intend to make sure of that,” he swore, shooting a scowl toward Duncan. “Watch yourself.”

With his warning delivered, Fane turned to stroll out of the dining hall, impervious to the avid gazes that followed his exit.

Fane really and truly didn’t give a shit what people thought.

Knowing the attention was bound to shift back to them the minute the Sentinel disappeared from view, Callie surged to her feet.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Duncan breathed a sigh of relief as they left the dining hall by a side door and entered the moon-drenched gardens.

He’d always assumed that he knew how the freaks must feel when they were out and about in the world. The covert (and not so covert) stares. The bristling fear of those around them. The active dislike that could fill the atmosphere with a dark threat.

Now he had to accept that he hadn’t had a clue. Logically understanding the basic concept of bigotry and actually enduring it in action were two separate things.

For several minutes they walked in silence, Duncan trying to shake off the lingering feel of suspicious gazes, and Callie clearly worrying over the upcoming encounter with Boggs.

At last he sucked in a deep breath and glanced around the rose beds that were already in full bloom despite the fact that it was only April. Velvet petals from deep burgundy to purest white perfumed the air while a marble fountain sent water dancing in a sparkling display. There were beautifully carved benches and birdbaths, and along the edge of the gardens were low hedges so perfectly trimmed they didn’t seem real.

His lips twitched as he recalled his enthusiastic attempts to trim the hedges when he’d owned a house. They’d not only ended up as barren stumps, but he’d accidentally taken out a few of the neighbors’. Needless to say he hadn’t been invited to the block party.

One upside to living in a shitty apartment building ... no yard work.

“I didn’t realize it would be so beautiful,” he murmured, allowing his hand to brush hers as they walked along the flagstone path.

A strained smile curved her lips. “Mother Nature is always spectacular, but it doesn’t hurt to have a witch as a gardener.”

“True.” He studied her upturned face, his cock twitching at the sight of her in the moonlight. She looked lovely. As always. But she didn’t belong in this garden. She wasn’t a hothouse rose. She was too rare, too exotic. Like a flower plucked from a distant, tropical island. “Were you happy growing up here?”

“I was.” Her smile lost its tension, pleasant memories replacing her looming fear. “Children who are brought to Valhalla are given to foster families, but everyone is involved in raising them. I had a dozen mothers fussing over me.”

“You never considered tracking down your birth parents?”

“They stopped being my parents when they dumped me in the trash,” she said with blunt dismissal. “I’ve never had any urge to know anything about them.”

He nodded. She had obviously been given all the love and protection she needed. Why would she want to know the bastards who’d tossed her away like garbage? “Fair enough.”

She tilted her head to the side. “What about your childhood?”

He instinctively slowed his pace as they neared a shadowed corner of the garden conveniently hidden by a trellis covered in climbing roses.

“Loud, messy.” He shot her a grin. “Occasionally painful.”

She came to a startled halt. “Painful?”

“I had two older brothers who threw me out our bedroom window, hog-tied me and left me in the back shed until my da found me. They also dared me to kiss my fourth-grade teacher, who promptly kicked me out of school for a week.”

She arched a brow, not a hint of sympathy to be found.

“Any sisters?”

“Three.”

“Older?”

“Yep.”

“That explains it.”