A Very Levet Christmas (Guardians of Eternity) (6 page)

The history of the Sentinels was mysterious even among the high-bloods.

Most people knew that there were two sects of the dangerous warriors. The guardian Sentinels who possessed innate magic and were trained by the monks. They were heavily tattooed to withstand magical attacks, as well as any mind-control, and were used to protect those high-bloods who were vulnerable when they were forced to travel away from the protection of Valhalla.

And then there were the hunter Sentinels. They had no magic, but they were equally lethal. Hunters were used to enforce the laws of Valhalla, and since they were able to “pass” as human and capable of moving through the world undetected, they were used to track down high-bloods who might be a danger to themselves or others.

It was also well known that both sects of Sentinels were stronger and faster than humans, with an endurance that was off the charts. And both were trained to kill with their hands as well as most known weapons.

But that was as far as public knowledge went.

How they were chosen and how they’d become the protectors of the high-bloods were closely guarded secrets.

No one but Sentinels knew what happened behind the thick walls of the monasteries where they were trained.

One glance into the private gym would cause most humans to flee in humiliation.

What normal male would want to lift weights next to the 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 gym 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 that 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 in the use of 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 Fane 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 and was also 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, which 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 gave 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 with a startling streak of gray that began 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 take 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 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 that of humans, and, when their emotions were provoked, Sentinels 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,” Fane said. 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.

“The 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 . . .” Wolfe 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 offering 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 who Fane had served with for decades.

And while the threat of death was a constant companion for warriors, they rarely lost so many at one time.

It had left them dangerously weakened.

“All the more reason for me to train the next generation,” Fane 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 conversation.

“Did you find any information on the Brotherhood?”

Wolfe muttered a curse at the mention of the secret society of humans that 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 gold 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.

Fane’s 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 had 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 cars drive 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 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 the 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, Wolfe 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 two-hundred-fifty pounds of pure muscle and raw male power. He was also one of the rare few who were completely impervious to her ability to poke around in people’s minds.

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 realizing your partner was picturing Angelina Jolie.

And a curse because Fane was about as chatty as a rock. His feelings were locked down so tightly, Serra feared that someday they would explode.