A Very Levet Christmas (Guardians of Eternity)

“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.