She knew she should back off. It was obviously still difficult for him to discuss his wife.
Ex-wife.
And she had no right to press. But a part of her had to know. It was like a thorn beneath her skin that was becoming unbearable.
“That didn’t answer my question,” she said, her gaze never leaving his hard expression.
There was another long, painful pause.
“I was truly fond of Susan, but I didn’t crave her like a man should crave his wife,” he abruptly admitted.
“Crave?” She blinked in surprise. “That’s an interesting choice of words.”
He surged forward, grabbing her hand and pressing her inner wrist to his lips.
“A relationship shouldn’t be a comfortable arrangement,” he growled against her racing pulse. “It should be heat and passion and raw emotions.”
An electric jolt of excitement arrowed straight through her, making her squirm in her seat.
Yow. Talk about heat. She felt singed.
“I get the picture,” she breathed.
Lowering her hand, he kept his fingers wrapped around her wrist, his thumb teasing the spot he’d just kissed.
“Tell me about Boggs.”
She sighed, but she made no move to pull away from his light grasp. If she were to be honest, she needed the comforting warmth of his touch. The memory of her visit to Boggs wasn’t something she wanted to dredge up.
Not ever.
“He sent word to the Mave that he’d come across an artifact that spoke about a coming threat,” she said in low tones.
“The usual mumbo jumbo of supposed prophets?”
“Exactly,” she said, her skin growing clammy as she remembered the dark cave that had been filled with stale air and piles of strange objects that looked like they’d come from a Hollywood set. It’d been creepy as hell. Especially for a girl who’d rarely left Valhalla. “He insisted that he needed to speak with the ‘young diviner with the eyes like sapphires.’”
“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.