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Excerpt: At
midafternoon the corridors of Valhalla were mostly empty. A good
thing since Fane was in the mood to knock aside anyone stupid enough
to get in his way.
Why
had he gone to Serra?
He
knew that she was hurting. And that he was the cause.
But
the memory of her wounded expression as he’d walked away from her
earlier had haunted him until he’d been driven into seeking her
out. As if he could somehow ease her pain.
Idiot.
Clearly
his decision to leave Valhalla for Tibet was a good one.
All
he’d done was make matters worse.
Taking
the elevator down to the apartments reserved for Sentinels, he
entered the sparse space and methodically began to pack his few
belongings.
Unlike
Serra who’d created a home that reflected her strong, unique
personality, he kept his own apartment with nothing more than the
bare necessities. A bed, a couch, and a kitchen table. Except for his
workroom. Everything in there had been handcrafted from the tools he
used to sculpt his figurines to the workbench where he spent
countless hours.
That
was the one place he could go to find the peace denied to him in most
of his life.
He’d
packed his few clothes and was just placing the last of his tools in
a heavy crate to take with him when a knock on his door interrupted
the silence.
His
first impulse was to ignore the visitor. Protracted good-byes weren’t
on his agenda. But catching a familiar scent, he realized this was
one farewell he couldn’t avoid.
Moving
through the apartment, he pulled open the front door to reveal the
small, red-haired necromancer who’d been in his care for the past
decade.
His
expression softened. “Callie.”She
smiled, reaching up to touch his neck in a gesture that revealed the
depth of their friendship.
“How
are you?” she asked softly.
He
grimaced. Only the two of them would ever comprehend the bond that
had formed when he’d been chosen as her guardian. Or the wrenching
sense of loss when the bond had been broken.
“Adjusting.”
he said.
She
wrinkled her nose, moving her hand to lay it over her heart that now
belonged to Duncan O’Conner.
“Yeah,
me too.”
Fane
narrowed his gaze, suddenly wondering if there was more to this visit
than a chance to say goodbye.
“The
bastard treating you right?”
She
rolled her eyes. “He has a name. And he’s treating me very
right.”
He
hurriedly held up a hand. “No details , little one,” he muttered.
It
wasn’t jealousy. But Callie was like a sister to him. He found it
impossible to think of her with any man.
She
flashed a teasing grin. “Deal.”
“If
you don’t need me to beat Duncan to a blood pulp then what are you
doing here?”
Her
smile abruptly disappeared, a concern darkening the sapphire of her
eyes. “I was hoping that you know where Serra is.”
Fane
froze, his instincts on full alert. “Why would I know?”
“Fane.”
Callie gave a chiding shake of her head. “You can fool most people,
but not me.”
His
jaw clenched. He didn’t share his feelings for Serra with anyone.
Not even Callie.
“I
spoke with her earlier. She said she was tired. Have you checked her
rooms?”
“Of
course.”
Fane
frowned. “Why are you concerned?”
“She
told Arel she was going to meet him in the dining hall, but she never
showed.”
Jealousy
ripped through Fane. The younger Sentinel had been panting after
Serra for years. He’d even managed to lure her into a brief affair
that had tormented Fane. It was one thing to tell Serra he wanted her
to find a man to love, and another to watch her being seduced by a
male half his age.
He
wasn’t a dammed saint.
“Maybe
she changed her mind,” he said, taking pleasure in the thought of
the arrogant cub being stood up.
“She
would have let him know,” Callie insisted. Although, cell phones
didn’t work, there were landlines placed throughout Valhalla that
made communication easy. “Arel came to me when he searched Valhalla
and couldn’t find her.”
Abruptly,
Fane remembered Serra’s strange behavior when he’d last seen her.
At
the time he’d put it down to anger and wounded pride. Now he had to
wonder if there hadn’t been something else wrong.
“You
said that you tried her apartment?”
Callie
nodded. “She didn’t answer the door.”
“She
could be asleep.”
“No,
I have a key.” Callie bit her bottom lip. “I went to check on her
but she wasn’t there. And – “
Fane
ruthlessly crushed the fear that threatened to cloud his years of
training.
If
something happened to Serra she needed a warrior, not the man who’d
wanted her for longer than she would ever know.
“Tell
me,” he commanded.
“There
was a mess in her bedroom.”
Shit.
He gripped the edge of the door, the wood cracking beneath the
pressure.
“A
mess?” he barked. “Like she’d been attacked?”
“No,
her clothes were thrown around like she’d been packing in a hurry.”
Oh.
A portion of Fane’s fear eased.
If
she’d packed a bag then there was a chance this was nothing more
than a misunderstanding.
“She
has a home south of here,” he pointed out. Most psychics had
private homes in isolated areas where they could get away from the
“psychic noise” caused by living in a crowded community. “Maybe
she was going there.”
“Without
a word to anyone? I even called Inhera to see if Serra had been
called away on assignment.”
Inhera
was the leader of the psychics and was responsible for scheduling
their duties.
Fane
grimaced. “She might have felt a need to leave Valhalla that had
nothing to do with her job.”
Callie
stabbed him with an accusing glare. “I know that she was upset, and
why. But Serra has never just disappeared. She knows how worried I
would be.”
Fane
gave a slow nod.
Callie
was right.
Even
if she was pissed as hell with him, Serra wouldn’t leave without
gaining approval from Inhera.
And
more importantly, without saying something to Callie and her foster
parents.
“Damn.”
He
spun on his heel to cross to the fare side of his living room where
he laid his hand on a scanner. It took only a second for his
fingerprints to be accepted and for a panel in the wall to slide open
to reveal a hidden room that was built into all the Sentinel’s
apartments.
“Fane?”
Callie murmured in confusion, following him into the room and gazing
at the high-tech equipment in fascination.
It
couldn’t compare to the command center at the lowest level of
Valhalla, but it was built with steel walls lined with powerful
computers, which were linked to the satellite feeds that kept track
of government agencies. They also ran surveillance monitors.
Including
surveillance for Valhalla.
Going
to the nearest computer he tapped on the keys to bring up the camera
that monitored the hallway outside Serra’s apartment.
“I
want to check the tapes,” he muttered, clicking the rewind until he
reached the point of Serra’s first entering her apartment.
“Why?”
Callie demanded.
“There
was something bothering her.”
He
watched as she opened her door and then bent down to pick up
something off the ground. What was it? He zoomed in. A gift-wrapped
package. Was it the locket he’d seen her holding?
She
entered the apartment and closed the door. He zoomed past Callie’s
visit and his own arrival and abrupt departure. After that there
was…nothing.
No
one entered the hallway. Not until Serra’s door was opened and she
walked away from her apartment with a suitcase clutched in her hand.
Once
again he zoomed in, a cold trickle of sweat inching down his spine.
There was no mistaking the pallor of her skin and the tightness of
her features. Twice she reached up to rub her temple, as if she were
in pain.
“Goddammit,”
he growled, clicking to another camera to watch her progress through
Valhalla. “I should have insisted she tell me.”
Callie
swore beneath her breath. “Considering you were more than likely
what was bothering her, I doubt she would have shared.”
He
accepted the familiar pang of guilt, he deserved it, but he gave a
shake of his head at the thought this was about his decision to
leave.
Watching
Serra take a tunnel to the outer garage and halting next to her
personal SUV, Fane scowled in confusion.
She
walked past a dozen friends who’d all tried to get her attention,
her expression unfocused and her movements lacking her usual grace.
That
wasn’t like Serra.
Then
she opened the back of her SUV and shoved in her vintage Louis
Vuitton suitcase that had been a gift from her parent. Callie gasped
in disbelief.
“Okay
that’s it. There something really, really wrong,” she muttered.
“Last year Serra nearly ripped off the head of a bellboy who tried
to touch the handle of her back without gloves on. She would never
toss it around like a sack of garbage.”
Fane
was moving before he even realized he’d made his decision.
“I’ll
find her.”
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