Chapter 2
For all her resentment, Holly found herself regretting Mariska and Jason’s departure, as they unloaded her single, quickly packed suitcase, handed Lannie a thin file folder and drove away.
They were, if nothing else, familiar.
Not like Lannie Stewart—not only unfamiliar, but just a little more Sentinel than she wanted to deal with on her own.
But she’d known all her life that this day might come. If she blamed the Sentinels for anything, it was for being the kind of organization that sent her family into hiding in the first place.
Lannie locked the door behind them, made sure the open sign was flipped to Closed and went behind the cash register counter to do...
To do cash register things, probably. She didn’t care. Although she had the impression that he was, somehow, actually assessing her. That his attention never left her.
Screw that. She glanced pointedly at the full darkness that had fallen since her arrival. “I haven’t eaten yet.” Of course, she hadn’t wanted to. Until he’d come into the store, her stomach had been unsettled by that funky discomfiting feeling under her skin, the faintest bitter taste in her mouth. How he’d buffered that, she didn’t know. But now her stomach growled.
He made a sound that must have been acknowledgment. “In, out, or fast?”
“It’s your game. You choose.”
He stopped what he was doing, a bank bag in hand, and she drew breath at the blue flint in his gaze. “Nothing about this is a game.”
“Lannie!” A young woman’s voice rang out from the back of the store. A waifish young woman emerged from between the shelving, her hair dyed black, her makeup dramatic and her piercings generous; she dragged in her wake a wiry older man with mussed hair and a bruised face—eye puffy, lip split and swollen. “Lannie, did you see what those men did to him? What business did they have back there, anyway?”
“None,” Lannie dropped the cash bag on the scratched counter over a glass-front display of fancy show spurs and silver conchas, and lifted his brow at her. It had been her task, apparently.
“That’s not my fault,” she protested, confirming it. “First you lit out after Aldo, and then those strongbloods came when they should be leaving you alone—” She stopped, scowling, her attention riveted on him. “They got you, too. I knew it.”
“Faith.” It was a single word, but it had quelling impact. Holly fiddled with her suitcase handle, and it occurred to her that she could run. She’d never promised. And they weren’t paying any particular attention.
Lannie looked down at the splotch of blood at his side, briefly pressing a hand to it.
“Five to one,” the old man said helpfully. “Our boy took care of it.”
Lannie grunted. “No one’s boy,” he said, but Holly heard affection for the old man behind his words. “And it’s not bleeding anymore.”
“You’ll need food,” the girl said, as if she’d somehow taken over. She closed the distance to the counter with decisive steps, picking up the bag. “You go. I’ll take care of this.”
“Faith,” he said, and it sounded like an old conversation. Finally he shook his head, a capitulation of some sort. “Learn to make the coffee, would you?”
Faith tossed her head in a way that made Holly think the coffee wouldn’t change. “See you tomorrow, Lannie.” And then, on her way out the back again, she offered Holly an arch glance. “Don’t you cause him trouble, whoever you are.”
Startled—offended—Holly made a sound that came out less of a sputter and more of a warning. But the young woman was already moving out through the same aisle that had brought her.
The elderly man held out his hand, a spark of interest in his eye. “I’m Aldo. And this is Lannie.”
There was nothing to do but take that dry and callous grip for a quick shake, contact that brought a whiff of something potent. Pot? She startled, looking to Lannie for confirmation without thinking about it, and found a resigned expression there.
Lannie came out from behind the counter. “She knows who I am, Aldo. And don’t you go charming her.”
“No,” Aldo said, looking more closely at Holly. “Not this one. She’s all yours, Lannie. I’m sleeping in the barn tonight, good with you? Good. You’ll be right as rain tomorrow, see if you’re not.”
Holly took a deep breath in the wake of his abrupt departure. Then another. Trying to find her bearings, and to refocus on the resentful fury that had gotten her through these past twenty-four hours so far. “Let’s get one thing straight,” she said. “I’m not all yours. Not in any sense of the word.”
“Not yet,” he said mildly, and caught her elbow as if she would have stalked by, luggage and all, to batter her way through that locked door and out into the world. “The truck’s out back. Let’s eat.”
* * *
Lannie tossed the suitcase into the truck bed and climbed into the pickup with a stiffness that made him very much rue that five against one.
He let her open her own door simply because she needed the chance to slam it closed again. And she did, too—not once, but twice, then reached for the seat belt with a brusque efficiency that spoke as much for her familiarity with this model truck as for her simmering anger.
He inserted the key and waited. It didn’t take long.
“Not yet?” Holly made a noise in her throat. Lannie took it for warning—and he wondered how strong her Sentinel blood ran, and if anyone else in her family took the cat.
He turned to look at her, unhurried, hand resting on the gear shift between them. “That’s why you’re here.”
She snorted, a wholly human sound. “So, what—so I can submit to you?”
He shook his head. “So you can figure out that’s not what this is about.” And he kept his voice matter-of-fact but couldn’t help the impact of her words. Too independent. Not just struggling to form pack bonds, but resisting them with everything she had. What was Brevis thinking?
She lifted a lip of derision at his words and crossed her arms over her chest. The feed-store front light hit the end of its timer cycle, plunging them into darkness.
But Lannie had a Sentinel’s blue-tinged night vision, and he saw her perfectly. Knew her hair to be brown unto black, and drawn into a shiny fall of a ponytail. Saw her upswept eyes to be equally brown unto black, and snapping mad beneath brows that might ordinarily be softly angled, but now just frowned. A thick ruffle of bangs scattered over her forehead, offsetting features that could have looked at home under a high-society do...if it weren’t for her rugged work clothes and the matter-of-fact prowl beneath her movements, an innately graceful glimpse of her other.
She tipped her head at him in annoyed impatience, quite possibly not aware of his scrutiny or how well
