For a frantic few minutes he feared that he’d been tossed into an endless oblivion. Which was strange. His ma had always assured him that he was destined for the fiery pits of hell.
But the blackness lasted only seconds before the world flickered back into focus and he found himself in a room so similar to the one that they’d just left that he wondered if it’d been no more than an elaborate joke to scare the stupid human.
Then he’d been led out of the room and through a labyrinth of hallways that could only mean they were at the infamous Valhalla. A knowledge that had done nothing to soothe his raw nerves.
Neither had Fane’s gruff command to stay in the room and not touch anything before he’d left with Callie to speak with the elusive Mave.
“Walk here, O’Conner. Wait there, O’Conner,” Duncan mocked beneath his breath. “Lie down and play dead like a good doggie, O’Conner.”
“And you call
us
freaks?” a female voice drawled from behind him. “At least we don’t talk to ourselves.”
Pulling his gun, he whirled to watch a stranger stroll into the room from a hidden door, his fingers instinctively tightening on the trigger.
Not that she looked like someone who needed to be shot. Hell, she looked like she’d been created to fulfill a man’s deepest fantasy.
Statuesque, with lush curves that were shown to jaw-dropping perfection by a pair of black leather pants and red bustier, she had a long mane of raven hair that contrasted with her pale skin.
But there was a dangerous glint in the light green eyes that warned that this was no harmless sex kitten. This woman had claws she wouldn’t hesitate to use.
Especially on him, if her slow smile of anticipation was any indication.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
She halted in the center of the room, her legs spread wide and looking impossibly long in her knee-high boots with three-inch heels.
“Serra,” she offered, a hint of a Russian accent edging her voice.
He studied her. Not as a male interested in a woman. He’d already chosen his next lover, even if Callie hadn’t accepted the inevitable.
But as a cop assessing a loaded weapon.
“You’re not a necro.”
“No, my power isn’t necromancy. And no”—her lips curled in a taunting smile—“I’m not a witch.”
He hissed. That hadn’t been a lucky guess.
“A reader.”
“Ding, ding. Give the dog a Milk-Bone.”
He didn’t try to hide his unease. Why bother? A reader was capable of rummaging around in people’s minds. Or at least, that was the word on the streets.
But that didn’t mean he was going to roll over and let the bitch intimidate him.
“Let me go out on a limb and guess you don’t like me,” he said, his smile designed for maximum annoyance. “Is it because I’m not a—”
“Watch it,” she murmured, her eyes crystallizing with a dangerous power.
“High-blood?” he finished.
She sashayed forward, her every move a wicked invitation. “You upset my friend.”
He frowned. Okay. That wasn’t what he was expecting. “You mean Callie?”
“That would be the one.”
“Obviously you didn’t get the memo.” He shoved the gun back in his holster. No sense asking for trouble. He couldn’t shoot the female just because she pissed him off. Besides, it was more likely she would force him to put a bullet in his own head before he could squeeze off a round in her direction. “I wasn’t the one who upset her.”
“You aren’t the one who scared the hell out of her, but you upset her every time she’s forced to work with you.”
Upset her? How the hell could he ... ah. This time his smile was genuine.
So the lovely, frustratingly aloof diviner wasn’t completely indifferent to him.
Thank god.
“Because I remind her that she’s a woman?” He shrugged. “How can that be a bad thing?”
“Are you a ‘freak’ groupie?”
“Hell no.”
“Hmmm.” She narrowed her gaze. “What do you want from her?”
He arched a brow. “You don’t have to read my mind to guess what I want.”
“Callie might not be a virgin, but she’s an innocent.”
“I know.”
There was a startled pause before the female strolled forward, circling him like a predator sizing up her prey.
“Well, well,” she at last drawled. “What secrets are you hiding, Sergeant O’Conner?”
Duncan went rigid with fury. “Get the fuck out of my mind.”
She chuckled, but before she could continue her tormenting there was a prickle in the air and a misty shape began to form in the center of the room.
“Serra,” a soft voice chastised.
Astonishingly, the Queen Bitch was hastily stepping forward to perform a deep bow.
“Forgive me, Inhera.”
Duncan frowned. The figure remained misty, making him assume that it was some sort of projected image. Like the TV on the far wall.
Technology or magic?
Impossible to say.
“Please see that a room is prepared for our guest,” Inhera commanded, the misty vision hinting at a female, although it was impossible to determine her features. “Then return to me so we can continue your studies.”
“At once,” Serra instantly agreed, her tone deeply reverent. Then, the second the image flickered she turned to send Duncan a glare. “O’Conner?”
He kicked his chin up a notch. “What?”
“You hurt Callie in any way, shape, or form and I’ll give you nightmares that will make you scream.” She smiled with an evil intent. “Literally.”
She left the room with the fluid grace that most freaks seemed to possess, her heels clicking on the polished wood floor.
Once again alone, Duncan heaved a shaky sigh. Teleportation with tattooed Sentinels, mind-reading chicks in SMBD leather, projections of females that could appear and disappear, and a necro who made his blood run hot even when she was treating him as if she were cold as ice.
“My da warned me to stay away from the freaks,” he muttered.
Chapter Three
The office of the Mave was designed for maximum impact.
Done in shades of black and white, it was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and low leather chairs set opposite the heavy ebony desk. The floor was covered by a white carpet with a black geometric pattern. And the far wall was made entirely of glass to provide a stunning view of the formal rose gardens.
Not that the female currently seated behind the desk needed the traditional trappings to prove her authority.
The leader of the high-bloods barely looked thirty and was a stunning beauty with her smooth curtain of black hair and pale, oval face. But there was a thunderous power that shimmered in her storm gray eyes and a dignified calm that was oddly intimidating. And while the more daring men might covertly lust after the tall, slender body that was casually displayed in a pair of faded jeans and a cashmere sweater, it only took one glance at the birthmark on the upper curve of her breast that she deliberately exposed to make them treat her with respect.
The small mark in the shape of an eye proved that she was a born witch, and the brilliance of the shimmering emerald color revealed that her powers were off the charts. The darker the color, the greater her magic.
The fact she was also one of the most talented telepaths ever recorded only added to her considerable arsenal.
And her reputation.
Being called to the Mave’s office had been known to make the most bad-ass Sentinels piss their pants.
Thankfully Callie had already had all the piss terrified out of her by her unexpected powwow with the stranger in the mind of a dead woman. Now she was just desperate for answers.
The Mave sat perfectly still, her classically beautiful face unreadable as she considered Callie’s bizarre story.
“You say his eyes were clear?” she at last asked, her slender fingers drumming a steady beat on the glossy desktop.
“Yes.” Callie shivered as she recalled the cold brilliance of the stranger’s eyes. “They were faceted and shimmered like diamonds.”
“And his hair was gray?”
“More silver, I think,” she clarified, not entirely sure what might be relevant.
“From age?”
“I’m not certain.” Callie felt Fane’s hand gently land on her shoulder. The warrior stood behind her chair, offering a silent support that she desperately needed. “His face looked mature, but it’s impossible for me to guess his age.”
“Unusual.” Tap, tap, tap went the finger.
Callie didn’t know if that meant the Mave was troubled by what she was saying, or simply bored.
And she didn’t care.
She wasn’t leaving until she had some answers.
“And his power ...” She gave another shiver. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”
Fane gave her shoulder a squeeze, his growing disapproval heating the air. Sentinels’ body temperature naturally ran higher than others’. And the heat spiked with their mood.
It gave a whole new meaning to a man being smoking hot in bed. Not that Callie knew from personal experience, but she’d heard the rumors.
“She’s been over this a dozen times,” he growled, his tone respectful—barely. “She needs to rest.”
Callie reached up to pat her guardian’s hand, worried he was going to get himself tossed in the dungeons. And yes, there were dungeons.
“I’m fine, Fane.”
“No, he’s right. You’re weary and I need to do some research.” She sent them both a warning gaze. “For now I want this kept strictly between us. Until I know more there’s no point in allowing the gossips to get ahold of the story and cause an uproar.”
Callie nodded. “Of course.”
The Mave smoothly rose to her feet. “Rest for an hour or so and we’ll speak again.”
Callie was out of the chair before she even realized she was moving.
“What about Sergeant O’Conner?” Callie demanded.
A wry amusement shimmered in the smoke eyes. “A very stubborn man.”
“I can get rid of him if you want,” Fane promptly offered.
“No, we must work with the authorities. Our”—the Mave hesitated as she searched for the proper word—“relationship is difficult enough without humans worrying that we’re trying to hide a murderer. Besides, I have a few questions I must ask him.” She headed toward the door leading to her private quarters, pausing long enough to glance over her shoulder, a mysterious smile on her lips as she looked directly at Callie. “I’ve had him taken to the guest quarters if you’re interested.”
“Pity,” Fane muttered as the Mave left the office and closed the door.
Callie frowned. “What’s a pity?”
“I was hoping for the opportunity to kick his ass out of here.”
“Why do you dislike him?”
“Don’t ask foolish questions, Callie.” He moved to stand directly in front of her, capturing her chin between his fingers as he studied the faint bruises beneath her eyes. “What did the healer say?”
Fane had insisted on carrying her directly to the healers, growling at anyone who came close to her. Including Duncan, who’d been led off before she could say a word to him.
“There was evidence of pressure on my frontal lobe, but no damage.” She wrinkled her nose. “They suspect the stranger was searching my mind.”
The dark eyes glittered with the promise of revenge. “Bastard.”
She bit her bottom lip, disturbed by the mere thought of Fane coming up against the stranger who’d stolen a young female’s heart without leaving a trace. “I’m worried.”
“A premonition?”
“No, I don’t have any talent for seeing the future, but I do know that whoever, or whatever, I encountered isn’t done.” A chill crawled down her spine. “There’s going to be more deaths.”
His expression was as hard as granite. “We should go to the Tabuk.”
The monastery that was tucked in the Himalayas was a safe house for high-bloods who needed a time-out from civilization. It was not only hidden from the norms, it was so off the grid that it couldn’t be found by the usual technology.
She gently tugged free of his hold. If it was up to Fane she would be locked away for the rest of her life.
“I told you I’m fine.”
“You’re in danger.” The magnificent swirls and arcs of his tattoos appeared even more vivid against his skin as his muscles clenched with frustration. “This creature knows you. He’s been inside your head. I won’t allow you to be the next victim.”
She lifted a brow. “Allow?”
“I am your protector.”
“And I appreciate your dedication, Fane,” she said softly. “But if he had wanted me dead he could already have killed me.”
Fane wasn’t impressed with her logic. “Maybe he likes the hunt.”
She couldn’t argue. She sensed the predatory nature of the stranger. But who or what it was hunting remained a mystery.
“It doesn’t matter. I can’t leave. I’m the only one who can identify the man.”
The Sentinel scowled. “You won’t be able to identify him if you’re dead.”
She reached to brush her fingers down the rigid muscles of his forearm. “Fane, with this man’s power there’s nowhere I would be safe.”
“I won’t lose you.”
She felt a familiar tide of affection for this man who’d committed his life to keeping her safe. “I’m not going anywhere,” she assured him, then dropped her hand when his cell phone beeped. It didn’t take a genius to know who was trying to contact him. Fane lacked the sort of friends who would call him just to chat. “Wolfe?” she asked as he pulled the phone from his pocket with a soft curse.
“He’s waiting for me to report.”
Callie grimaced. Wolfe was the Tagos, the current leader of the Sentinels, and the only man scarier than Fane.
An amazing accomplishment.
“He’s going to cause a riot,” she muttered. “You know how he hates to be kept out of the loop.”
“I’ll deal with the Tagos.” He sent her a warning glare. “You ... be careful.”
She flashed a teasing smile, drawing her finger over the middle of her chest. “Cross my heart.”
With a shake of his head, he left the office.
Callie waited. No point in leaving until she was certain Fane was out of sight. If he knew she didn’t intend to return directly to her apartment, he would throw her over his shoulder and carry her there.
At last she slipped from the room and headed down the white corridor, which was painted pink by the encroaching dusk. The overhead skylights offered a perfect view of the sky, despite the magical dome that surrounded the compound. From the outside the spell hid Valhalla from prying eyes, but from the inside it was invisible.
She turned the corner, ignoring the gleaming silver elevators that would take her to her apartment.
Valhalla was a vast complex that sprawled over several thousand acres, with a number of workshops, garages, barns, a school, and a fully equipped hospital. The central building was constructed in the shape of a pentagon with a large inner courtyard.
Most people never saw beyond the official offices on the main floor or the formal reception rooms, although a small number were allowed the rare honor of being given guest rooms if their visit was expected to last more than a few hours. Certainly no one was allowed to explore the nine levels of private quarters and secret labs that were dug deep into the earth.
Ignoring the speculative glances from the occasional high-blood she passed, she followed the corridor until she took another turn. This one into the guest quarters.
Her steps slowed as she suddenly realized that she didn’t know what the hell she was doing.
Well, she knew that she didn’t want to return to her empty apartment.
And that she had an odd compulsion to speak with the aggravating, sinfully sexy human cop.
But beyond that ... what was the plan?
It wasn’t like she intended to march up to Duncan O’Conner’s door and start pounding. And she could hardly spend hours walking up and down the hallway, could she?
Busy mulling the wisdom of turning around and heading to her apartment, fate took the choice out of her hands as the door just down the corridor was yanked open and the man who’d been gnawing at the edge of her thoughts since they’d arrived at Valhalla stepped out of his rooms.
She came to a halt, her brows arching as he wandered in an absent pattern, his arm lifted over his head and his head tilted back.
“Duncan?” She cleared her throat. “What are you doing?”
His head snapped down as he realized he wasn’t alone, his hand shifting to reveal the cell phone tucked in his palm.
“Trying to find a damned signal.”
“Oh.” She pointed toward the skylight that offered a view of the darkening sky, reminding him of the invisible spell that was wrapped around the area. “Cell phones don’t work at Valhalla.”
“Of course not,” he muttered, shoving the phone into the front pocket of his jeans even as he prowled toward her, his hazel eyes studying her with an unnerving intensity.
“There should be a landline in your rooms,” she said, barely resisting the urge to back away. She didn’t know what it was with this man. He fascinated her even as he made her as twitchy as a deer caught in headlights. “Or if it’s an emergency the Mave can send a telepathic message.”
“It can wait.”
His husky growl brushed over her skin like a physical caress. She shivered. Oh god. This was crazy.
She licked her dry lips. “I should go.”
“No.” His hand lifted to cup her cheek, his brows drawing together as his piercing gaze seared over her face. Belatedly she remembered that she’d left her glasses in the Mave’s office. “Stay,” he husked.
She stilled, wondering what he saw. “Is something wrong?”
“You have shadows.” His finger brushed the fragile skin below her eyes. His expression was grim, but his touch was gentle. “Are you in pain?”
“No. The healers took care of the damage.”
His expression only hardened. “Do you know who ... or what ... it was?”
“Not yet,” she admitted. “The Mave will want to speak with you. She has some questions.”
His finger stroked down her cheek to trace the lower curve of her mouth.
“So do I.”
Her eyes abruptly narrowed at the reminder. “Yes, you’ve made your suspicions of our intent to protect a killer very clear.”
He didn’t apologize. She doubted he knew how.
“At least tell me that your Mave has some way to make sure the bastard can’t get inside your head.”
Her skin tingled beneath his light caress, as if every nerve ending was being set on fire.
“No one can say for sure, but I suspect his powers are similar to a diviner’s, not a telepath’s.”
“Which means?”
She hesitated. The golden rule of every high-blood was never to discuss mutant powers with the norms. Not only did it give them another reason to fear the freaks, but talking about a person’s talent was like talking about sex.
Way too intimate to be shared with just anyone.
But Duncan’s position as a cop meant he had greater access to the secrets of Valhalla than most.
And more importantly, she suspected that he had a few secrets of his own.
“I doubt he’ll be able to touch my mind unless I’m using my powers to enter the memories of the dead.”
“Then you’re officially off duty.”
Briefly lost in the gold-flecked hazel of his eyes, it took a beat for Callie to realize she’d just been given an order.
Big mistake.
Pulling away from his lingering touch, she planted her hands on her hips. “Not your call, Sergeant.”
“Duncan,” he insisted, the muscle in his jaw bulging with frustration. “And I can make it my call. All it takes is one word whispered into the ear of the Head of Justice.”
Oh, he didn’t just go there, did he?
“I don’t need your protection.”
“It’s not just about you,” he shot back. “If word gets out there was some sort of interference during your divining, then any info you manage to get will be tossed out of court.”