She shouldn’t press. She didn’t need to be a psychic to know something was going on. Something bad. And that Fane would be hypercrazy—well, even more hypercrazy than usual—with his need to keep Callie safe.
But she was a female. Which meant she was allowed to be completely illogical when it came to the man she wanted.
Hell, it was her duty.
“When will be the time?”
His forbidding expression never altered. “I don’t know.”
“And if I decide not to wait?”
“I’ve never lied to you, Serra.”
The soft, unyielding response stole her thunder.
Dammit. Why couldn’t he at least get mad like any normal man? A good shouting match was just what she needed to release the resentment that had reached a boiling level.
Instead she ran face first into a wall of truth. Never fun.
“No, you’ve always been brutally honest,” she admitted, her lips twisting in a self-derisive smile.
He frowned, tossing aside the towel. “You can have any man you desire.”
Her gaze compulsively slid over the broad chest, then down to the six-pack that begged to be licked.
“Obviously not any man,” she muttered.
“Serra—”
“Don’t.” She held up a pleading hand. “It’s so ... fucking tragic.” Taking a step back, she folded her arms over her stomach in an unconsciously defensive gesture. “At least tell me that Callie is okay.”
Fane hesitated, as if wrestling with some inner demon. Then, at last, he gave a dip of his head. “For now.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“No.”
She shrugged. She didn’t expect him to share. Even routine duties the Sentinels performed were kept top secret. But her curiosity was making her nuts. She was desperate to know what was going on.
“It must have something to do with Callie’s trip into the memories of the dead woman,” she reasoned out loud. “Otherwise the cop would never have been allowed into Valhalla.”
With a speed that was always unnerving, Fane was standing directly in front of her, the sudden heat in the air warning that she was at last provoking a reaction.
Even if it wasn’t the one she wanted.
“This isn’t a game, Serra. The Mave has taken personal command of the ... situation,” he growled. “She won’t be forgiving if she discovers you’re poking your nose into her business.”
She shrugged. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d pissed off the higher powers.
“But it’s such a cute nose.”
“Not cute,” he denied in gruff tones, his finger lightly tracing the line of her nose. “Forceful. Proud. Unique. I wouldn’t want to see it hurt.”
Silence. And shock. And a whole lot of
what-the-hell
as Fane belatedly jerked his hand back.
It was a toss-up which of them was more astonished by his display of affection, but it was Serra who spoke first.
“Don’t tell me you care?” she tried to tease, although the words came out as a croak.
“I’ve always cared,” he said, crawling back behind his emotional no-go zone as he reached to pull on a cammo tee. “Which is why I’ve told you to find a man who can offer you the relationship that you deserve.”
Fury burned through her. “Damn you, Fane, you’re not my guardian,” she hissed.
He didn’t meet her glare. “I’m aware of that.”
“Then stop trying to protect me.”
Afraid she might do something like punch him—or worse ... kiss him—Serra turned on her heel and stomped away.
She was going to find out what Callie had gotten herself into.
One way or another.
Chapter Five
Rocking a Hogwarts vibe, the lakefront house on the outskirts of Kansas City had over twenty rooms built among the sprawling wings and towering turrets.
Most people assumed that a reclusive rock star lived behind the high gates and armed security that patrolled the massive grounds. That or a gunrunner.
The last thing they would have expected was a professor.
Well, at least he called himself a professor.
Dr. Zakary had appeared in Kansas City eight months before, moving into the secluded mansion in the middle of the night. No one in the neighborhood had seen him, although if they’d been looking they might have caught sight of the stretch limo that pulled between the heavy gates before disappearing into the five-car garage.
Which meant, of course, they were eaten up with curiosity.
Not that Zak gave a shit. The nosy neighbors were the least of his concern.
Sitting in the library that was surrounded by shelves that towered two stories beneath the alcove ceiling, he studied the ancient scroll that was carefully stretched on the cherry-wood desk.
Light from the overhead chandelier spilled over his silver hair, which he’d left loose to frame his lean, darkly bronzed face, and shimmered in his diamond eyes.
Eyes that marked him as different despite his deliberate choice of a black turtleneck sweater and silk slacks.
Of course, even if he kept his eyes covered he would never pass as a norm.
Not when his powers filled the air with a constant chill.
Few people could remain in the same room with him without being battered by the urge to flee. Not if they had a functioning brain.
In the middle of trying to decipher a particularly difficult passage, Zak reached for the Baccarat crystal glass that was filled with a priceless cognac.
He basked in the warm glow that slid down his throat, setting it aside as a knock on the door interrupted his blessed silence.
“Enter,” he called, resting back in his leather chair as the young, burly man hesitantly stepped into the room.
Stanley York had been released from jail less than a year before and anxious for a quick influx of cash. Which meant he was willing to do anything with no questions asked.
Wearing faded jeans and a sleeveless tee, his features were blunt with dark, cunning eyes and his hair buzzed to his skull. He had several tattoos, but none of them were magical. A ridiculous waste of ink.
Always edgy in Zak’s presence, the ex-con lingered near the open door, his gaze darting around the room as if sensing unseen eyes. “Forgive me.”
“You have news?” Zak asked in a soft, accented voice.
“Yes.” The henchman glanced toward Zak without meeting his gaze. For all his tough-guy attitude, he was as spineless as everyone else beneath Zak’s diamond stare. “Tony retrieved the ... bundle.”
Zak tapped a slender finger on the edge of the desk, his flawless features impossible to read. “He packed it precisely as I told him to?”
The man grimaced. “I promise he followed your directions as if his life depended on it.”
“A wise choice,” Zak murmured.
It was amazing how eager his servants were to please him after witnessing him remove the heart of a fellow servant who was unfortunate enough to have returned to the house without their latest package.
“Yeah.” Stanley cleared his throat. “He should be here in two hours. Maybe less, depending on the traffic.”
“Make sure he doesn’t do anything that would attract the attention of the authorities.” His voice remained soft. Only a bully needed to shout and bluster. Zak led with pure, unrelenting fear. Far more efficient. “I will be excessively displeased if my name appears in a police report.”
“He’s a pro at avoiding the authorities. Everything’s under control.”
“You’d better pray that’s true.”
Stanley paled to an interesting shade of gray. “Yes, professor.” His hands twitched, as if he didn’t know quite what to do with them. “Will there be anything else?”
“I want to know the minute Tony arrives.”
“Of course.”
Shuffling backward, Stanley shut the door before beating a hasty retreat back to the servants’ quarters.
Zak reached for his glass, draining the cognac as he waited for the shadow to detach from the far bookshelf, revealing a female form.
He’d sensed Anya’s presence for the past half hour, but he’d been in no mood to deal with her.
Now he accepted that she wasn’t going to leave him in peace until she’d had her say.
“Thugs,” she muttered in disgust.
He set aside his glass, his gaze indifferently flicking over the tight black dress that revealed more than it concealed. With her long red hair flowing down her back in a shimmering river of fire, the witch was a fantasy come to life.
Not that he was in the mood to appreciate her beauty. Unlike most men he wasn’t controlled by his cock.
Not ever.
“True, but every general needs a few expendable soldiers to do the grunt work,” he reminded his companion.
“A pity they have to be so stupid.” She halted next to the desk, the scent of herbs and blood clinging to her. A sure indication she’d been in her rooms brewing up some concoction or another. “It’s entirely their fault the body was found by the authorities.”
Zak steepled his fingers beneath his chin. He didn’t need the reminder.
He’d been furious when his servant had returned to the house without the female that Zak had personally selected. That didn’t mean, however, he was prepared to accept defeat.
“Charles paid for his mistakes.”
“Perhaps, but—”
Zak narrowed his eyes as the words deliberately trailed away. “Say what you have to say, Anya.”
“You should have chosen another female.” She was the only creature in the world with the nerve to lecture him, although her tone was carefully devoid of censure. “It’s too risky to take the body from the police morgue.”
“It took us twenty years to track down Calso and another six months trying to find a way past his security.” He curled his lips in disgust. “Did you want to throw it all away because you have cold feet?”
“Not cold feet,” she denied in petulant tones. “But I’m not going to be happy if we’re forced to move again.”
With a deliberate motion, Zak pushed himself out of the chair, the swirl of his power tugging on Anya’s hair in icy warning.
The witch had saved his life when he’d been burning on the stake. She was also the one who’d managed to stumble across the means for his ultimate triumph.
But he’d been born during a time when only the strong survived and he didn’t believe in democracies.
He was in charge.
Which meant he didn’t confess just whom he’d encountered while he was in Leah’s mind. Or that he’d all but thrown down the gauntlet to those fools who cowered behind the walls of Valhalla.
He was done waiting for his unjust rewards.
“There will be no more running.”
Belatedly realizing she’d crossed a dangerous line, Anya took a step backward. “No, of course not,” she hastily purred, lacing her words with a spell of soothing. As if her magic could actually sway a man with his powers. “Soon you will have endless followers who will be worthy of your greatness.”
“So you have promised for the past—” He deliberately paused. “How long has it been, Anya?”
Her lips tightened. “Nearly three hundred years.”
Zak grimaced. He had a vivid memory of the night he’d been captured by the local villagers and burned at the stake. Hard not to. It played and replayed every night. Like his nightmares were stuck on one channel.
The next hundred years had been spent in a protective cocoon of magic Anya had wrapped around his burnt body that had barely clung to life, followed by another tedious century of regenerating his physical form. Time that was fuzzy in his memories.
Thank the gods.
The past hundred years had been devoted to restoring his former powers. And more importantly, to locating the key to unlocking the ancient secrets to his ultimate destiny.
“My patience is at an end,” he informed the witch.
“I understand, I truly do, but our enemies are searching for you,” Anya attempted to soothe. “It’s too dangerous to draw such attention to yourself.”
Zak stepped forward, the overhead light catching in his faceted eyes until they shimmered with blinding glitter that filled the room.
“Is there a reason you want me to wait?”
“I don’t want you taking unnecessary risks.” Her chin tilted. “I have devoted my life to you.”
“You have devoted your life to the hope that I will make you a queen.”
He watched her shrug. “So what? I’m a woman with ambition.”
“Just make certain you’re a woman who is prepared to travel to the temple.”
“I will be prepared,” she promised with an arrogance that could rival his own. “So long as you don’t get both of us killed before you can get your hands on the coin.”
“Careful, Anya. You aren’t the only means of taking me where I need to go.” He smiled. “Understood?”
The very gentleness of his threat made Anya grasp the small amulet hung around her neck even as she hurried toward the door.
“Bastard.”
“So they say,” he murmured toward her retreating back.
Duncan had done some stupid things in his life.
Hell, he’d done stupid on a spectacular level.
There was the time he’d emptied his savings account to buy a piece of shit sports car that died before he got it out of the driveway.
The night he’d chased a perp into gang territory and had the crap beaten out of him.
The day he decided to swing by home to surprise Susan only to find her enjoying a little afternoon delight in their bed.
And ten minutes ago when he’d promised Callie all he wanted was a kiss.
Anyone who knew him realized that he had impulse control problems.
Like a five-year-old, he never believed in deferring pleasure when he could have immediate satisfaction.
But Callie had naively accepted his promise, melting into his arms with such trust he couldn’t possibly take advantage of her.
Dammit.
Grimly shackling his desire that thundered through his rigid body, Duncan concentrated on the intoxicating taste of Callie’s lips. Until this minute he’d considered kissing a necessary step to getting a woman naked beneath him. It might be enjoyable, but only because it led to the ultimate destination.
He’d never truly appreciated the pleasure in simply ... smooching.
Now he savored every slow brush of their mouths. The wet heat when he dipped his tongue between her lips. Her shudder when he spread tiny caresses over her upturned face.
Cupping her nape with one hand, he allowed the other to stroke through the silken strands of her hair. It was perfect for this woman. Soft, yet with a spunky fire that would always keep a man in place.
At least any man fortunate enough to earn a place in her secluded world.
The reminder that he would soon be returning to his life of murders, sleepless nights, and empty apartments while this extraordinary woman remained hidden behind the magic of Valhalla had him fusing their lips with a kiss that bordered on desperation.
She returned the heat and fury for a blissful second, then with a faint frown she pulled back to study his brooding expression.
“Duncan?”
“I’ve wondered for so long what you taste like,” he rasped.
Her tongue peeked out to touch her swollen lips in an unconscious gesture that made him groan in agony.
He might have developed a sudden addiction to sweet Callie-kisses, but that didn’t mean his cock was happy to be all revved up with no place to go.
“And what’s the verdict?” she asked.
“Danger.”
She blinked, the stunning gemstone eyes shimmering with an inner glow.
God ... they were glorious.
Mesmerizing.
“I taste of danger?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not sure what that means.”
His lips twisted. If she’d been any other woman he would never have offered her such a powerful weapon. History had taught him that women, even good women, enjoyed holding the whip if a man was foolish enough to put it in her hand.
And knowing that a man was willing to give anything, pay any price, to have a female in his bed was one hell of a whip.
“Good.”
She shook her head. “Do you always speak in riddles?”
His eyes lowered to her lips. “I’d rather not be speaking at all.”
A blush stained her cheeks, but even as his gut clenched with anticipation there was a sharp rap on the door.
“Go away,” he snapped, his gaze never shifting from the invitation of her lips.
“You have a call.” A male voice floated through the wooden barrier.
“Take a message.”
“Duncan, it could be important,” Callie chided.
“I’ll call back later.”
“It’s your chief,” the voice said with an unmistakable hint of satisfaction at the untimely interruption. A friend of Fane’s or just another male anxious to be with Callie? “She says it’s important.”
“Shit.”
Reluctantly, Duncan dropped his arms and stepped back. If Molinari was calling then it had to be important.
Which meant his brief time with Callie was well and truly over.
Obviously coming to the same conclusion, Callie moved to pull open the door just far enough to speak to the handsome young man standing in the hall. “Has the call been transferred?”
The man nodded, his gaze shifting over her shoulder to stab Duncan with a glare of open dislike. “Yes, line two.”
“Thank you, Mel.”
“No problem.”
The man sent one last glare through the doorway before turning to stalk down the hallway, but Duncan was already crossing the room to punch the extension number as he pressed the receiver to his ear.