Sentinels: Alpha Rising. Doranna Durgin

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 he could see her. But he felt nothing except what he’d perceived in this woman before he’d even quite seen her: a throb of hurt and anger and fear, somehow striking deeply into his own soul and spiking a very personal, protective response. In spite of knowing better.

      It’s not real. It never was. It’s not personal.

      It was just who he was. That quick connection, that ability to spin it into something more permanent.

      Even when it wasn’t right for either of them.

      She gave him a wary glance. “Did you say something?”

      He turned the key. “Not yet.”

      He drove her on winding roads to the other side of the small town, where the ElkNAntlers Bar & Grill scented the area with barbecue and sizzling steak. He waited for Holly at the front of the truck, and then waited again inside the entrance, giving her time to absorb the ambience—families scattered around tables, a bar off to the side, and antlers...

      Everywhere. Mulies, elk and pronghorn—antlers high, antlers low, and the occasional full cape head mount. And, naturally, a few token jackalopes scattered over the bar.

      The owners, Jack and Barbara, had been aiming for quirky humor. Lannie thought of it more as Dr. Seuss.

      Barbara waved at them from where she unloaded a tray of glasses at the bar, raising her voice over the mixed early-evening crowd. “Hi, Lannie. Find yourself a spot.”

      Holly gave the interior one final skeptical look and chose a table from afar. He wasn’t surprised when she led him to a corner, and he wasn’t surprised when her limber, graceful movement only reinforced his initial impression of her other. Her clothes might have been rugged, but the bright thermal top hugged a lean, curvy figure, and khaki pants followed the roll of her hips to perfection. Sturdy ankle-high boots should have looked clunky, but instead only reinforced the confident precision with which she placed her feet.

      Something inside him tightened.

      But his response to her wasn’t real. However intensely he felt her presence as the pack bond formed between them, the effect would fade when she moved on to her true place in the Sentinels. It always did.

      But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t complicate things along the way. Or that he didn’t still need time to deal with how it so recently had.

      She slipped into her chair and picked up the plastic-coated menu, glancing at Lannie only long enough to reassure herself that he had, in fact, followed.

      Barbara appeared at their table to slap down a complimentary basket of jerky chips. “Welcome to the ElkNAntlers,” she said. “Need a rundown of the menu, or are you good here?”

      “I’m fine,” Holly said. Her smile changed