Sentinels: Kodiak Chained. Doranna Durgin

defined muscle all the way down to the towel that draped his hips.

      But still only part of what he’d been.

      He tugged on his shirt, stepped into his pants, grabbed the protein shake, and headed out to the truck with the heat of the early morning soaking into his shoulders. Thinking changes and forward as he started up the truck. Maybe that was why he pulled into the barbershop when he saw it. When he stepped out, his hair was only a smidge more crisp around the edges—but his bared cheeks sensed the slightest breeze, and that untanned skin tingled in the sun.

      As if facing the world without a beard for the first time in his adult life would distract him from things still missing.

      He still had his knowledge. His herbs and creams and brews. But those would no longer be infused with the healing energies—and they hadn’t ever been the reason for his demand in the field.

      Not to mention that brevis liked a healer who could look after himself. Counted on Ruger to do so, instead of using their depleted manpower. Until Flagstaff, when he’d walked into that Atrum Core ambush just like the rest of his team. Then when Core D’oíche had hit not so long afterward, he hadn’t been there to help the wounded.

      So damned many wounded.

      But he shouldn’t be thinking about that now. Now was about forward. First stop, Brevis HQ, where he’d join the briefing on his new assignment in Arizona’s high timber region, following up on whatever Maks Altán had uncovered.

      Brevis itself hid in a deceptive handful of stories on the edge of Old Town Tucson, where the building foundation dug down deep into caliche to hide invisible subterranean floors below. Apartments and offices and meeting rooms above; medical, the amulet lab and so much of their archived history below. A complete and tidy headquarters for a race of earth-bound sentinels unknown to the world at large.

      Ruger parked the pickup in his assigned slot and headed for the high conference room outside Nick Carter’s corner office—a room draped with local plantings and replete with the astringent scents of the desert. Ruger pretty much knew what he’d find there—the vast window, the carpet thick underneath and the conference table holding a bottomless pot of herbal tea. Businesslike and still welcoming.

      He’d find Carter and possibly Jet, the wolf who’d discovered her human side through Atrum Core experiments, as well as the other members of his team—all new to him, he suspected. He was ready for that.

      He wasn’t ready to open the big wood door and find Mariska sitting at that table, her expression more of a wince than a welcome, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of his newly shaved face.

      He might not have known she’d be on his team, but…

      She’d known. He could see it on her face. She’d known, and she hadn’t said anything. And he couldn’t think of any reason why not.

      At least, not any good reason.

      He gave her a wary nod, yanking out a chair at the end of the table—the one he always took, not because of any stupid alpha game, but because in a room of men made big by their Sentinel nature, Ruger stood the largest… and took the most leg room while he was at it.

      Nick sat at his desk, two computer monitors in play and a stack of folders threatening to slide over the edge. Annorah leaned over to scoop them up and deposit them in the middle of the table, shoving one in Mariska’s direction and another at Ian Scott, the amulet specialist who’d briefly worked with Maks in Pine Bluff. One to Ruger, and one to a woman Ruger didn’t know—a wards or shielding specialist, most likely.

      Ian flipped his folder open and began an immediate doodle in the margin—impatient with such meetings as ever. Sardonic in nature, his snow leopard showing strongly in his pale hair, striking eyes, and the flow of his movement—at least, when he wasn’t acting like an overcaffeinated cat. “If we’re all up to speed on this,” he said, “let’s skip to the good part.”

      Ruger made a subliminal grumbling noise that the others nonetheless perceived very well, his normally amiable nature tangled by his reaction not to Mariska’s presence, but to her guarded expression.

      “Not everyone comes at this from the inside,” Nick said mildly, ignoring Ruger’s mood and responding to Ian. As alpha as they came, that Nick Carter—full of wolf and full of innate pack understanding. But an alpha didn’t need to posture or dominate… an alpha just was. That mild voice meant plenty.

      Ian sighed and flipped his pencil against the table a few times. “Okay, sure,” he said, sitting back. “What’ve we got, then?”

      “Mariska, I am Jet.” The whisky voice belonged to the woman with whisky eyes, Nick’s fiercely beloved Jet. As usual, she hovered by the window, restless and graceful. As usual, she tended the social necessities first. More wolf than any of them, Nick included—wolf born and human made, escaped from the Core, bereft of her pack, and now forever with Nick. “I’ll be scouting wide.”

      Ian raised his hand. “Ian Scott. Amulet hotshot.” He tapped the folder a few unnecessary times. “I’ll be supervising amulet recovery in the installation Maks has found.”

      Annorah crossed her arms. “Annorah. Communications central, here at brevis.” If she looked defiant, Ruger suspected it was only because she wanted to be out in the field again. It wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon; she’d lost that privilege in Flagstaff when her inexperience-driven fear had nearly sabotaged the mission.

      Nick leaned back in his office chair. “Nick Carter,” he said, pale green eyes astute as he watched them all. “Boss.”

      Mariska hesitated, her troubled gaze flicking from Nick to Ruger. She cleared her throat. “Mariska Banks, on assignment from Western Brevis. I’m personal security.”

      Ruger’s subliminal growl went loud, as all the implications of the situation hit him at once—and then combined with her guilty expression to make sense.

      She was there to look after him.

      And she’d known about it while he hadn’t. Hell, she’s bear. She’d likely made it happen in the first place. He looked past her to Nick. “That’s not the plan.”

      “It’s not,” Nick said easily. “But early yesterday, Mariska came to me with some compelling points. This rogue has been too active—too unpredictable. We need to catch him as soon as possible, and to do that we need to understand him as soon as possible—the contents of this bunker will allow us critical insight. So it would be best if you aren’t distracted by security issues while you’re tapping your healer’s perceptions at the new bunker.”

      Hell, yes, she’d made this happen. She’d insinuated herself into this field op… she’d supplanted the one thing he could still offer to brevis. He couldn’t help his utterly flat voice, or the way it did nothing to disguise his anger. Betrayal. “I can take care of myself.”

      “Whoa,” Ian said. “So can I, but I’m thinking this is a conversation I don’t need to be part of.”

      “There is no conversation,” Nick said. He eyed Ruger, and if his gaze was still easy, it was also implacable. The decision had been made.

      Ruger clamped down on his growl, but it didn’t stop him from sending a dark look at Nick. Personal security. It was the last thing he wanted or needed—especially when it was coming from a woman he suddenly no longer trusted. Not because she’d had the idea, or because she’d gone to Nick with it. But because she’d understood better than any of them—bear to bear—what it meant to him, and she’d never said anything.

      She’d been fierce and gorgeous and astonishingly joyful and giving with her body… and he’d given the same back. And yet—

      You should have said something, Mariska.

      The final member of the team cleared her throat, a little more loudly than necessary. “Allesandra,” she said, and even in his ire, Ruger saw the coyote in her buff blond hair