A Very Levet Christmas

by Alexandra Ivy

“Wait.” He glanced around the room that looked as if it’d been painted by Norman Rockwell. Was there not some human saying about “if it seems too good to be true . . .”

  “Was any of this real?”

  A shadow briefly darkened Sera’s eyes. “All too real.”

  “Damon truly would have released the power of a demon lord?”

  She nodded, her wings looking like silver lace in the glow from the fire. “Yes.”

  A belated fear inched down Levet’s spine. He didn’t truly want to consider how close they’d come to utter disaster.

  Instead, he concentrated on the question that had been nagging at him since he’d first stumbled across this mysterious female.

  “And me?”

  She stepped so close he could feel the heat of her slender body, her hands reaching up to lightly stroke his horns.

  “What about you?”

  Oh. Levet trembled beneath the light caress of her fingers.

  That was . . . lovely.

  He struggled to think past the sensual haze filling his mind. “It was no accident that I was the one you asked to play the role of Christmas angel, was it?”

  A secretive smile touched her lips. “Perhaps not.”

  “Why?”

  She hesitated before at last revealing the truth of why he’d been chosen.

  “Because the Were was not the only one who needed a kick in the ass,” she admitted softly.

  “Hey.” Levet gave a sniff, trying to conjure the proper outrage despite the fact that he was melting beneath her skilled hands. “My derriere has no need of kicking. It is exquisite.” He gave a twist of his waist so she could see the well-toned backside. “Voilà. Buns of steel.”

  Her smile widened. “True, but you doubted your self-worth,” she pointed out. “I merely offered you the opportunity to prove that you are indeed a hero.”

  Levet blinked in confusion. “How did you know?”

  Another stroke of his horns. “I have my ways.”

  “Can you read my mind?”

  She gave a small pout. “Not your mind. It’s more your . . .”

  “Oui?”

  “Your heart.”

  Levet considered her words. It was true that he’d been questioning his place in the world, and perhaps indulging in a bit of self-pity.

  But still . . .

  Being turned into a Christmas angel seemed rather extreme.

  “Am I supposed to thank you?” he muttered.

  Her clever, clever fingers drifted down the back of his head, lingering a moment on his shoulders before finding the acutely sensitive arch of his wings.

  “You are still suffering from the wounds of your childhood,” she murmured. “You too easily forget all that you have accomplished.”

  “You could have reminded me with a nice card,” Levet muttered, only partially mollified. “Or baked me a cake.”

  “True, but males tend to need more . . . tangible reminders.” She placed a gentle kiss on his lips. “Besides, I believe you will forgive me once I’ve revealed the second half of your lesson.”

  Levet’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. “Second half?” he croaked.

  “You thought that you were alone and without friends.” She leaned to the side to speak directly into his ear.

  Was it growing hotter in the cabin? Levet shot a quick glance toward the fireplace, making sure that the flames hadn’t spread. Instead he caught sight of the red stocking with white fur at the top that was clearly marked with his name.

  Oh . . .

  His heart melted.

  “I did fear being without my friends on this special night.”

  “You are loved, mighty Levet,” she whispered. “And you have no need to be alone.”

  Mon Dieu. That sounded promising.

  Levet’s tail stiffened.

  “You are going to be my friend?” he asked in husky tones.

  She placed a teasing kiss at the edge of his mouth. “A friend with benefits.”

  “Ooh la la.”

  Chapter 7

  Levet woke at dusk to find himself dusted with snow. The cabin where he’d spent the past delicious hours had disappeared into thin air.

  He wasn’t truly surprised. Sera wasn’t of this world. She was bound to have to return to her own dimension at some point.

  Still, it would have been nice if she’d warned him that she was going to leave.

  Shaking off the snow, Levet glanced around the trees that circled him, wondering what had awakened him.

  Within seconds he realized it was the sound of a male voice calling his name.

  “Levet. I can smell you. Where are you, you stony-ass—”

  Levet stepped from the trees to glare at the King of Weres, who was standing near a black BMW as he impatiently scanned the empty field.

  “Must you screech?” Levet grumbled, grudgingly waddling through the snow to scowl at the unwelcome visitor.

  Salvatore arched a dark brow. “A bit too much Christmas cheer?”

  Levet’s foul mood was instantly lightened as he recalled his very tangible Christmas cheer.

  He would never look at gingerbread the same way again.

  “You could say that,” he murmured, his gaze narrowing as he took in his companion’s tense expression. “What do you want?”

  The king cleared his throat, straightening the cuff of his cashmere coat that he wore over his gray Armani suit before he managed to choke out the words.

  “I have come to take you to the lair.”

  It was not at all what Levet had been expecting. “What lair?”

  Salvatore made a sound of impatience. “My lair, of course.”

  Levet folded his arms over his chest, his expression one of disdain. “Only last night I was told I was not welcome. Do you not remember giving orders to have me sent away?”

  “It was a . . . mistake,” he growled, the muscles of his jaw clenched into tight knots. “Harley wants you there. Will you come?”

  Ah. So Salvatore had been raked over the coals by his lovely mate.

  Levet briefly pondered the pleasure of refusing the less than gracious invitation. Harley would no doubt make life miserable for her mate, at least for a few hours.

  Then the desire to be with his dear friend overcame any childish wish for revenge.

  “I will come,” he conceded, stepping back as Salvatore gave a rap on the window of the car and a tall, bald-headed cur stepped out. Instantly, Levet bristled with remembered irritation. “The cur owes me an apology.”

  The cur’s eyes flashed red. “Why you—”

  “Hess,” Salvatore growled.

  The cur snapped his teeth together, his hands balling into fists at his side. “Sorry,” he muttered, leaning to yank open the back door of the car.

  Levet moved forward with a tilt of his chin. “Not very gracious, but I accept.”

  He climbed into the car, settling on the smooth leather seat. Salvatore was swiftly settled next to him, and Hess drove them along the frozen path at a bone-rattling speed.

  Not sure what to expect, Levet was startled when Salvatore reached between them to fold back a cushion, revealing a secret compartment.

  “Champagne?” he asked, pulling out a bottle and swiftly pouring Levet a glass of the expensive wine.

  Well, well. Salvatore truly was in the doghouse.

  Levet took a sip, shivering with pleasure as the bubbles exploded on his tongue. Still, he wasn’t going to give the arrogant brute the satisfaction of admitting it was one of the finest champagnes Levet had ever tasted.

  “Not bad,” he said with a shrug.

  Anger briefly flared through Salvatore’s dark eyes before he leaned forward to sniff at Levet’s wing.

  “Why do you smell like baked bread?”

  Levet gave a small chuckle. “I had a very . . . interesting evening.”

  “Hmm.”

  Salvatore gave a shake of his head, leaning back in his seat as Hess turned onto the long drive leading to th
e large house on the hill.

  Levet had barely managed to finish his drink when the car was pulled to a halt and Salvatore was shoving open the door.

  “She’s waiting for you,” he said, nodding toward the front door where Harley was standing.

  With a burst of eagerness, Levet hopped out of the car and hurried up the sidewalk and straight into Harley’s arms as she crouched down to greet him.

  “Levet.” She gave him a warm hug before she stood upright and stepped back. “Come in.”

  Together they moved from the foyer, directly to the large living room that had been cleared of guests. In their place were five tiny bassinettes that were lined up next to the window.

  “Ma belle. You look radiant,” Levet said, running an appreciative glance over the delicate female with golden blond hair and large hazel eyes that were thickly lashed. “How do you feel?”

  With a smile that spoke of a maternal love mere males would never comprehend, Harley reached into the nearest bassinette to pull out a tiny creature tightly wrapped in pink blankets.

  “Complete,” she answered with a radiant smile. “Would you like to hold Holly?”

  “Moi?” Levet’s eyes widened in shock. No one ever trusted him with anything important. “Are you certain?”

  “Of course I’m certain.” Bending down, Harley gently placed the tiny bundle in Levet’s arms, planting a kiss between his horns. “You’re family.”

  “Family.” A glorious surge of happiness filled Levet’s heart as he glanced down at the miniature face that was an exact replica of Harley’s. “Oui.”

  “Merry Christmas, Levet,” Harley murmured softly.

  Levet’s wings fluttered with joy. “Merry Christmas . . . everyone.”

  Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of

  BLOOD ASSASSIN,

  the next exciting installment

  in Alexandra Ivy’s new series

  The Sentinels,

  coming in January 2015!

  Sentinels

  The history of the Sentinels was mysterious even among the high-bloods.

  Most people knew that there were two sects of the dangerous warriors. The guardian Sentinels who possessed innate magic and were trained by the monks. They were heavily tattooed to withstand magical attacks, as well as any mind-control, and were used to protect those high-bloods who were vulnerable when they were forced to travel away from the protection of Valhalla.

  And then there were the hunter Sentinels. They had no magic, but they were equally lethal. Hunters were used to enforce the laws of Valhalla, and since they were able to “pass” as human and capable of moving through the world undetected, they were used to track down high-bloods who might be a danger to themselves or others.

  It was also well known that both sects of Sentinels were stronger and faster than humans, with an endurance that was off the charts. And both were trained to kill with their hands as well as most known weapons.

  But that was as far as public knowledge went.

  How they were chosen and how they’d become the protectors of the high-bloods were closely guarded secrets.

  No one but Sentinels knew what happened behind the thick walls of the monasteries where they were trained.

  Chapter 1

  One glance into the private gym would cause most humans to flee in humiliation.

  What normal male would want to lift weights next to the dozen Sentinels?

  Not only were the warriors six-foot plus of pure chiseled muscles and bad attitudes, but the very air reeked of aggression and testosterone-fueled competition.

  Hardly a place for the weekend jock trying to battle the bulge.

  It was, however, the perfect place for the Sentinels to work off a little steam.

  The vast gym was filled with mats, punching bags, and treadmills. And, at the back of the room, there was a row of weight machines where the baddest of the badasses was currently bench-pressing enough weight to crush a mortal.

  Fane looked like he’d been sculpted from stone. A six-foot-three behemoth, he had the strength of an ox and the speed of a cheetah. A result of the natural talents that came from being born a Sentinel, and the fact that he’d been honed from his youth to become a weapon.

  He was also covered from the top of his shaved head to the tips of his toes in intricate tattoos that protected him from all magic.

  The monks who’d taken him in as a young child had trained him in all the known martial arts, as well as in the use of the most sophisticated weapons.

  He was walking, talking death.

  Which meant very few bothered to notice the dark eyes that held a razor-sharp intelligence or the starkly beautiful features beneath the elegant markings.

  Something that rarely bothered Fane. For the past decade he’d been a guardian to Callie Brown. All people needed to know about Fane was that he would kill them the second they threatened the young diviner.

  Now, he . . .

  Fane blew out a sigh, replacing the weights on the bar so he could wipe the sweat from his naked chest.

  Three months ago Callie had nearly died when they’d battled the powerful necromancer Lord Zakhar, and during the battle she’d fallen in love with a human policeman. Or at least Duncan O’Conner had been passing as human. Turned out he had the extra powers of a Sentinel and was also a soul-gazer, which meant he could read the souls of others. He was perfectly suited to take over the protection of Callie.

  Fane’s hand absently touched the center of his chest where he’d once felt the constant connection to Callie. They’d transferred the bond last week, but he still felt the strange void, which was wearing on his nerves.

  He needed a distraction.

  The thought had barely passed through his mind when a shadow fell over him, and he glanced up to discover a tall, lean man with copper-tinted skin and ebony eyes. Wolfe, the current Tagos (leader of all Sentinels), had a proud, hawkish nose, with heavy brows and prominent cheekbones that gave him the appearance of an ancient Egyptian deity.

  It was a face that spoke of power and fierce masculinity. The sort of face that intimidated men and made women wonder if he was as dangerous as he looked.

  He was.

  Just as arresting was the shoulder-length, black hair with a startling streak of gray that began at his right temple. There were whispers that when Wolfe was a babe he’d been touched by the devil.

  Something Fane fully believed.

  Swallowing a curse, Fane tossed aside his sweaty towel. Damn. This wasn’t the distraction he’d been wanting.

  Wolfe was dressed in jeans and a loose cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had his arms folded over his chest and was studying Fane with an expression that warned he wasn’t pleased.

  Around them the gym went silent as the other Sentinels pretended they weren’t straining to overhear the potential confrontation.

  “I heard through the grapevine you’ve taken a position as a trainer,” he said. That was Wolfe. Always straight to the point.

  Fane scowled. It’d been less than twenty-four hours since he’d made the decision to take a position as trainer in a monastery halfway around the world. How the hell had word spread so fast?

  “The grapevine should mind its own business.”

  The ebony eyes narrowed. “And I shouldn’t have to listen to gossip to learn when one of my Sentinels is leaving Valhalla.”

  Fane met Tagos glare for glare. “I have no direct duties here, at least not anymore. I’m allowed to return to the monastery without clearing it with you.”

  The air heated. Sentinels’ body temperature ran hotter than that of humans, and, when their emotions were provoked, Sentinels could actually warm the air around them.

  “Don’t be an ass. This isn’t about duties; I’m worried about you.”

  Oh hell.

  This was exactly what Fane didn’t want.

  He’d rather be shot in the head than have someone fussing over him.

  “There’s n
othing to worry about. You know that I was a trainer for years before coming to Valhalla. I’m simply returning to my brothers in Tibet.”

  “You’ve just endured the removal of a long-standing bond. A traumatic experience for any guardian,” the older man ruthlessly pressed. “And we’re your brothers, you thankless son of a bitch.”

  Fane gave an impatient shake of his head. Wolfe was a hunter Sentinel, not a guardian, which meant he could never understand the truth of the bond.

  “I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong,” Fane said. Wolfe slowly arched a brow. There weren’t many who had the chutzpah to stand up to him.

  “What am I thinking?”

  “Callie and I never had a sexual relationship.”

  “Did you want one?”

  “No,” Fane growled. “Jesus Christ. She was like a sister to me. She still is.”

  The dark gaze never wavered. “And it doesn’t bother you that she’s with Duncan?”

  “Not so long as he treats her right.” Fane allowed a humorless smile to touch his lips. “If he doesn’t . . . I’ll rip out his heart with my bare hands.”

  Wolfe nodded. They both understood it wasn’t an empty threat.

  “Good,” the Tagos said. “But that wasn’t my concern.”

  Fane surged to his feet, his tattoos deepening in response to his rising temper. It was barely past noon, but it’d already been a long day.

  “Does this conversation have an end in sight?”

  Wolfe stood his ground.

  No shocker.

  The man always stood his ground.

  “The past decade has been dedicated to protecting Callie. Now you’re going to have a void where the bond used to be. It’s going to make you . . .” Wolfe paused, as if sorting through his brain for the right word. “Twitchy.”

  “Twitchy?”

  Wolfe shrugged. “I was going to say as mean as a viper, but that would be an insult to the viper.”

  There was a snicker from the front of the room. Fane sent a glare that instantly had the younger Sentinel scurrying from the gym.

  He returned his attention to his leader, his gaze narrowed. “And fuck you too.”

  “I’m serious, Fane,” Wolfe insisted, standing with the calm of a born predator who could explode into violence in the blink of an eye. “You need to take time to adjust.”