Lynn Viehl - [Darkyn 08 - Lords of the Darkyn 01] by Nightborn (mobi)

this.”
    She stopped in her tracks and slowly turned around. “How is it that you were prepared?” Her eyes shifted past him. “You came here alone, with no one to have your back. You tried to fight mortals armed with copper blades, and you’re still limping from a wound that should have killed you. You don’t know where they are or how to find them. Oh, and now you have no phone.”
    He clenched his jaw. “I did not try to fight those mortals,” he told her. “I killed them. All of them.”
    “Did you? Then tell me, Captain, where is the scroll? And who burned your car?” She tossed the fire extinguisher into the back of the Land Rover and got in, waiting only until Korvel was inside before taking off.
    He reined in his temper and breathed deeply until he felt calm enough to speak without shouting. “Forgive me, sister. I spoke without thinking. I never intended to insult you or your service to me.”
    “I do not serve you.” Now she spoke through gritted teeth. “I belong to the council. They command me.”
    “As you say.” He had no experience with sentinels; she was as much as mystery to him as the Scroll of Falkonera. “But with no combat training, you cannot hope to retrieve the scroll on your own. It took only four of those men to render you helpless, and if I had not come upon you, they would have violated and killed you.” He saw her hands tighten on the wheel until the knuckles whitened. “I am sorry to remind you of your ordeal. What matters now is the scroll. I need your help to find it, just as you will need me to take it back. I suggest we focus on working together to…” He trailed off as he realized how much his scent had intensified, and stared at her. “Why am I arguing with you?”
    She gave him an odd look. “Because you are English, and a man?”
    “You should be agreeing with every word I say to you.” Indeed, even an experienced tresora with years of service could not hope to evade its effects in such a small, confined space. He caught her chin and made her look at him. Both of her pupils were normal size, and all he saw in her lovely green eyes was annoyance. “You are not merely resistant to l’attrait. You are entirely immune to it.”
    “All sentinels are. The council considers it a prerequisite, so they test us to see whether we were born with the immunity before we enter training. Tresori of our rank could not carry out some of our duties if the Kyn were able to influence or control us.”
    “You mean you could not spy on us for the council.”
    “I am not a spy.” She jerked her chin away and turned her face back toward the road.
    “At the château, and later, in your room, you were not bespelled.” When she said nothing, he demanded, “If I cannot compel you, they why did you behave as if I had?”
    She moved her shoulders. “I serve the council.”
    “Is that your answer to every question?”
    “There is nothing more I can tell you.” She pressed her lips together before she asked in a softer voice, “When your master gives you an order, does he explain it to you? When you command your guard, do you offer them reasons as to why they should obey?”
    “No,” he admitted. “Never.”
    “It is the same for us.” She touched the place on her sleeve that covered the tresoran tattoo on her inner arm. “We take an oath. We are commanded; we obey.”
    She wasn’t lying—her scent would have changed—but he sensed that a much more complicated version of the truth lay concealed by her simple statements. Since he could not bring her under his influence, he couldn’t compel her to elaborate, either.
    “You have never engaged the enemy,” he guessed out loud, and was surprised again to see her nod. “That is why the council ordered you to bring me along. To serve as your guard and your blade.”
    One corner of her mouth curled. “You sound as if you are insulted.”
    He should have been, and would be, had he not come to the same conclusion. “The Kyn are