She hoped . . .
She hoped one of his students accidentally chopped off his dick during sword practice.
Then he could be a real eunuch and not just a man too scared to take on a real woman.
She grimaced, her steps slowing as she neared her door. Okay. She didn’t want him to be castrated. Not even she was that vindictive. But she did hope he was miserable without her.
Jackass.
Reaching her apartment, she placed her hand on the touch screen, waiting for her prints to be scanned. The door was sliding open when she noticed the tiny, gift-wrapped box by the doorjamb.
She leaned down to pick it up, frowning as she stepped into her private rooms.
It wasn’t her birthday. And Christmas was five months away. So who would be leaving her gifts?
A secret admirer? Yeah, right. More likely it was something her biological parents had sent.
When Serra had first displayed her psychic talents when she was barely five, her parents had wisely brought her to Valhalla where she could not only be trained, but where she would grow up surrounded by others like her. But despite not living beneath their roof, her parents had remained in close contact. Not only taking her home whenever she felt the need to bond with them, but often sending her little surprises just so she knew they were thinking about her.
She crossed her living room that was decorated in shades of silver and plum. The furniture was sleek stainless steel with overstuffed cushions and a large mirrored coffee table in the center of the tiled floor. She had one wall that was covered from floor to ceiling with shelves to hold her collection of romance novels and in one corner a curio cabinet that held the exquisitely carved wooden figurines that Fane had given her over the years.
It’d never failed to astonish her that a man who was prized for his strength was capable of creating such delicate beauty.
Jerking her gaze away from the painful reminder of the man who’d just ripped out her heart and stomped on it, Serra tossed the box onto a table before heading into the kitchen.
She rarely drank since it affected her ability to shield out the psychic noises that constantly bombarded her, but she was in desperate need of something to wash away the bad taste in her mouth.
A shot of tequila might just do the trick.
She’d just entered the kitchen that echoed the rest of the rooms’ sleek, minimalist style, when she heard the sound of her front door opening.
“Can I come in?”
Serra rolled her eyes. She didn’t need her psychic ability to know who was intruding into her privacy.
Callie Brown . . . no, wait, she was O’Conner now . . . was more than just a friend.
They’d been raised together as foster sisters and were as close as any blood sisters despite the fact that it was Callie whom Fane had bonded himself to.
Today, however, Serra wasn’t in the mood for company. She wanted to be alone so she could get shit-faced and forget the miserable day.
She was dusting off a shot glass her parents had sent her from Paris when Callie entered the room, looking gorgeous as usual with her red hair, cut short and spiky to emphasize her pale features, and her slender body, displayed in a lemon cotton sundress. But few people noticed anything about Callie once they caught a glance at her eyes.
They were the gemstone eyes of a necromancer. Perfectly faceted they shimmered with a pure sapphire glow. The beauty of those eyes was breathtaking, which was why she usually kept them hidden behind sunglasses when she left Valhalla.
Serra would have been jealous as hell of the younger woman if Callie weren’t so impossibly sweet and utterly loyal.
“It’s not really a good time,” Serra said, pulling the bottle of tequila from the glass-paned cabinet.
Callie wrinkled her nose, moving to lean against the marble-topped counter. “I know, you’ve been leaking.”
Serra clicked her tongue, pouring herself a shot. Because they’d grown up together they’d become connected on a psychic level. Which meant that Callie could sense the vibrations when Serra’s thoughts were slipping past her mental walls.
“I told you not to call it that. You make me sound like I have a bladder dysfunction.”
Callie smiled, but it didn’t disguise her concern. “What’s going on?”
Serra swallowed the tequila, savoring the fire as it slid down her throat. “Fane,” she at last admitted, knowing there was no point in trying to keep it a secret.