Born in Blood
Page 13

“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.”
He pressed his lips together to hide his smile. He was about to be insulted. Amusement would only ruin her fun.
“Explains what?” he dutifully demanded.
“Your assumption that women should adore you.”
“Of course they should. I’m adorable.”
She snorted. “What you are is spoiled.”
He couldn’t deny the accusation. Along with being a true pain in his ass, his sisters had shamelessly indulged him.
“There might have been a little spoiling,” he agreed.
She reached to pluck a rose bloom from the trellis, her fingers caressing the peach petals.
“Does your family live in Kansas City?”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. Damn, but the sight of those delicate fingers brushing over the flower made him hard. He wanted her hands on him. Stroking, exploring, maybe doing a little squeezing. “My ma would be devastated if any of her chicks flew too far from the nest.”
She smiled. “You were fortunate.”
“It didn’t always feel like it. A big family can smother a young man trying to spread his wings.” Nothing like two parents and five older siblings prying into his business. Privacy was more precious than gold when he was an oversexed, hormone-charged teenager. “Now I’ve learned to appreciate the O’Conner clan.” He paused, struck by a sudden inspiration. “Maybe I’ll take you to Sunday dinner.”
She blinked. Then blinked again. “Me?”
“Why not you?”
“I think that’s obvious.”
“Clearly it’s not.”
“Fine.” She tilted her chin to a defensive angle. “I doubt I would be welcome.”
Duncan sucked in a sharp breath. It was frighteningly easy to picture Callie in his childhood home. The O’Conners were loud and boisterous and rough around the edges, but they all possessed the same overriding urge to be protectors. One look at this fragile beauty with her jewel eyes and they’d be tripping over each other to play mother hen.
“You’re wrong. My ma is a remarkable woman. She would never turn anyone away from her table,” he assured her. Then he gave a short laugh as he thought of his da’s reaction to Callie Brown. “Of course, it might be dangerous.”
“Why? She might stick me with a carving knife?”
“Worse, she might start sizing you up for a wedding gown.”