The Sentinels

Elara:

“Chicken or steak, ladies?”

He hummed the words, his hands waving in a fluid, theatrical display over the metal cart. Rocco, our flamboyant flight attendant, flashed a brilliant, larger-than-life smile as he prepped our trays. He set my meal down with a playful bow and handed over a set of silverware wrapped in a crisp napkin.

“Chicken, please,” I said, returning his smile.

“And to drink?” He dropped a quick wink, pointing to the empty glass on my tray that still held the faint, woodsy scent of my previous drink.

“I’ll take another whiskey, and Elara will have the same,” Elena said smoothly. She winked at him. Rocco’s soft green eyes caught the cabin light, flashing with a strange, fleeting red hue before settling back to normal.

“Yes, Mama Elena,” Rocco chuckled.

Elena swatted playfully at his muscular forearm. He handed over two glasses of dark amber liquid over ice, then practically pranced away down the aisle before I could even process the exchange.

“Why did he call you Mama Elena?” I leaned over, keeping my voice low. I glanced around the first-class cabin. Passengers in tailored suits and designer clothes slept peacefully, a stark contrast to my torn skinny jeans, black gladiator sandals, and the faded Black Sabbath t-shirt with cut slits showing my blue tank top underneath.

“Oh, Rocco,” Elena smiled softly, picking up her fork. “He’s a family friend. Showed up at my door years ago looking for a little guidance. We’ve been close ever since.” She placed a bite of chicken in her mouth and let out an appreciative hum.

I didn’t waste any time. The buttery garlic exploded on my tongue, the rich flavor melting over the tender chicken. I washed it down with a sip of the cold whiskey, the burn settling nice and warm in my chest. We ate in comfortable silence. I stared out the small window. The vast blue ocean blanketed the earth below, and white, fluffy clouds drifted over the horizon.

A few minutes later, a soft laugh pulled my attention back. Rocco approached with his empty cart. He collected our trays and leaned down, whispering something into Elena’s ear that made her cover her mouth in amusement.

“Rocco, behave,” Elena scolded lightly, shooting a glance my way. “She’s innocent.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. My face burned with a fiery blush as Rocco reached out, took my hand, and kissed my knuckles. He let out a playful, rumbling purr in his throat. His fitted blue slacks hugged his muscular thighs tight, and his white button-up dress shirt strained against his well-defined torso. He stood tall, resting one strong hand on the back of my headrest.

“How do you know I am innocent?” Rocco perked a brow. His green eyes lit up, full of mischief. He ran his tongue over his plump, pink lips.

“I have my ways,” Elena sighed, shooing him away with a wave of her hand.

Rocco chuckled and moved down the aisle. Elena leaned over the armrest, motioning for me to come closer.

“Rocco is gay,” she whispered, her eyes dancing with amusement. “But he wanted to know if he could personally show you around London while you are here.” She leaned back, closing her eyes as a relaxed smile spread across her face.

“Well, that would be amazing,” I said, looking toward the front of the plane where Rocco had disappeared. “This is all new to me. I need a distraction in an unfamiliar city, but I wouldn’t want to impose.”

I leaned back into my seat and reached up to slide the window shade down as the plane banked away from the setting sun.

“The pleasure would be all mine.”

I jumped. Rocco stood right in the aisle next to Elena, his hands resting on his hips. He popped another playful wink. I glanced at Elena. She had already drifted into a peaceful nap, her hands tucked gently against her waist.

“Are you sure?” I asked him softly, not wanting to wake her. “I was just going to go straight to the temporary quarters they provided and sleep.”

“Nonsense,” Rocco grinned. “Just wait for me at baggage claim. I will make sure your first night in London is one to remember.”

He handed me a yellow sticky note with his phone number scrawled on it, complete with a little smiley face sticking its tongue out. I folded the note, tucked it into my pocket, and smiled. Having a friendly guide sounded perfect right now. I leaned my head against the cold plastic of the window, letting the steady hum of the jet engines lull me. My eyelids grew heavy. The whiskey settled deep in my veins, and I drifted into a deep, heavy sleep.

A thick, swirling fog consumed my vision.

The air turned heavy. A heavenly, comforting scent washed over me, thick and rich. It smelled like Christmas. Fresh Frasier fir, warm apple cider, ground cinnamon, and spicy nutmeg coated the back of my throat with every breath. I blinked against the dense white mist.

I was lying on my back. My wrists were strapped down to a soft, cloud-like bed. Thick leather cuffs bit into my skin. I tugged, but the bindings held firm. Panic flared, but it was quickly swallowed by a rush of overwhelming heat.

Four towering figures stepped out of the fog.

They were massive. Muscular gods with bare, chiseled chests that gleamed in the dim, swirling light. They moved in perfect synchronization, pacing slowly around the bed. Their eyes pierced through the mist—glowing, predatory amber-hazel orbs that locked onto my body.

“Kitten,” a deep, timbered voice echoed. It floated through the fog, dark and heavy, licking against my bare skin.

I gasped in shock. Eight large, muscular hands reached through the mist. They touched me all at once. Calloused palms slid up my calves, gripping my thighs and pushing my legs apart. Other hands moved over my stomach, tracing the curve of my waist before moving up to cup my bare breasts. Strong thumbs dragged roughly across my nipples, pinching them into hard peaks.

My body jerked. A gasp tore through my lips as those hands massaged and caressed my burning skin.

“Such a Siren,” another smooth, timbered voice spoke.

A hand slid straight down my stomach and slipped between my open thighs. Long, thick fingers pressed directly against my wet sex. They rubbed the slick, swollen folds, pushing deep inside me. My back arched off the bed. My core melted into a vast ocean of burning, intense lust. I moaned, loud and raw, thrashing against the restraints as the fingers moved in a relentless, punishing rhythm.

“What do you desire?” A third timbered voice sliced through the rushing heat.

I reached for them, yearning for the friction, begging the shadows for release as the fog spun faster and faster around the bed.

“Bye, Lassie,” a fourth voice whispered near my ear, sounding almost shy.

*Ding.*

I jolted awake. My eyes snapped open, wide and frantic. The sharp chime of the seatbelt sign echoed through the cabin. I pressed my thighs together hard, panting, breathless, and flushed. Sweat coated the back of my neck. I dropped my head back against the leather seat, trying to slow my racing heart.

I was losing my mind. Dreaming about four identical sex gods tying me down and taking me apart.

I let out a shaky breath and rubbed my face. I needed to lay off the dark romance novels. All those E. Dark books were short-circuiting my brain. But the lingering phantom touch on my skin felt too real, and the scent of Frasier fir and cinnamon still played tricks on my senses.

The Boeing 747 touched down smoothly in London.

After grabbing my luggage, I headed straight to the temporary quarters Elena arranged for me. It was a sleek, modern flat with big windows overlooking the rainy city streets. I didn’t have much time to admire the view. I dropped my bags, took a lightning-fast shower to wash away the travel grime, and dug through my duffel bag.

I traded my torn jeans and t-shirt for a dangerously short, black strapless club dress that hugged every curve and stopped mid-thigh. I left my purple-blue ombre hair down in loose, natural waves, swiped on some rose-tinted lip gloss, and strapped on my black heels.

Rocco arrived exactly on time. He had changed out of his flight attendant uniform and looked amazing. He wore a crisp black button-up shirt with the top two buttons undone, revealing a smooth, tanned chest. Dark stone-washed jeans hugged his muscular legs, paired with black suede loafers.

“Elara, you ready girly?” His voice rang out from the living room.

I grabbed a small clutch and walked out.

“Damn!” Rocco hooted loudly, snapping his fingers in the air with fierce attitude. “Look at you all Miss Thang!”

I laughed, doing a quick spin for him. If only he wasn’t gay. I told myself to calm down. I hadn't even been single for a full day, and my brain was already trying to jump his bones.

“Your text said Club Obscura, so I dressed for a club,” I smiled.

“Perfect,” he grabbed my hand. “Let’s go.”

We ran through the drizzling London rain to the parking lot. Sitting under the streetlights was a black Mini Cooper with a massive British flag painted across the roof.

“I know, typical British car,” he scoffed, popping the hatch to toss my umbrella inside. He jumped into the driver’s seat, radiating chaotic energy. The engine fired to life with a loud rev.

I climbed in and buckled up. I thought drivers back in Texas were crazy, but Rocco was a madman. He floored the gas. We tore through the wet, slick streets of London, tires screeching around tight corners. He laid on the horn at every intersection, screaming insults in a horrible, exaggerated British accent at anyone in his way. I gripped the door handle, laughing until my sides ached.

Finally, the Mini Cooper screeched to a halt at the curb.

A monstrous line snaked along the brick building. A subtle neon sign flickered above a heavy steel door: *Obscura*. Hidden in Latin. Poetic.

Rocco jumped out, ran around the hood, and opened my door. The rain had stopped, leaving the pavement slick and reflecting the neon lights. We didn't wait in the line. Rocco grabbed my hand, bypassed the crowd, and high-fived the massive bouncer at the front door. The heavy steel door swung open, and the roaring music swallowed us whole.

Inside, the club was a pulsing, neon-drenched maze of bodies. The heavy, throbbing bass vibrated right through the soles of my shoes and up my spine. Lasers cut through the dark room in sharp beams of blue and red.

“I take it you’re a regular?” I shouted over the noise, following him through the dense, sweaty crowd.

“London is my second home!” Rocco smiled bright.

He led me straight to the massive, glowing bar. He leaned over the counter and high-fived a muscular, dark-haired bartender with dark chestnut eyes. Rocco held up two fingers in a silent command.

“Stick with me,” he yelled in my ear.

The bartender slid two tall glasses across the wet counter. The liquid inside glowed a neon blue.

“Blue Breeze,” Rocco winked, taking a long sip. He leaned back against the bar, scanning the dance floor with a sharp, predatory gaze.

I picked up the glass. The sweet burst of blue raspberry hit my tongue, masked heavily by a strong, sharp kick of distilled vodka. It was delicious. I took another large gulp. Rocco grabbed my hand and pulled me away from the bar, leading me right into the center of the frantic, moving crowd.

The music pounded against my chest. My body swayed naturally to the heavy rhythm. The vodka mixed with the whiskey from the flight, creating a warm, euphoric buzz in my veins. I threw my head back and laughed. The DJ cranked the bass even higher. The crowd roared. I threw my hands in the air, letting my hair fly wildly around my face. Rocco stayed close, his hands resting lightly on my waist as we swayed and popped to the beat. The heat of the packed bodies pressed in on us, a frenzied battle of alcohol and sweat.

I drained the rest of my glass.

“I need another!” I leaned toward Rocco, holding up the empty cup.

He spun me around and pointed toward the bar. I nodded and slipped away from him, weaving my way through the grinding bodies. The strobe lights flashed, freezing the crowd in disjointed frames.

Suddenly, a strange sensation washed over me. The tiny hairs on my arms stood straight up. A wave of raw, crackling electricity rolled down my spine. I stopped in my tracks, the empty glass gripped tight in my hand.

I looked over my shoulder.

Through the shifting crowd, I traced the source of the heavy energy. Rocco stood a few feet away, but he wasn’t dancing. He was locked in a fierce, dead-silent staredown with a massive, gorgeous man.

The stranger had dark reddish hair cut in a tight fade and a sharp, neatly trimmed beard that framed a chiseled jaw. His broad chest strained against a dark shirt, arms crossed over his torso. But it was his eyes that made my breath catch. They were piercing, glowing amber-hazel.

Over the roaring bass, I caught the stranger’s name as Rocco spoke.

*Kaelen.*

The tension radiating between them was thick enough to choke on. The air crackled with a silent, heavy argument. Seeking an escape from the sudden intensity, I turned away and pushed my way back to the bar.

“Another one, please,” I slid my glass across the counter. The song “Five Hours” by Deorro thumped heavily, the beat seductive and slow. The bartender caught my eye, filled the glass with the bright blue liquid, and handed it back. I took a slow sip, letting the sweet alcohol coat my throat.

The fiery snaps of static electricity flared along my spine again, harder this time.

I snapped around.

Kaelen still stood facing Rocco, but he wasn’t alone anymore.

Flanking Kaelen were three identical men.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I froze, the glass halfway to my mouth.

Oh God.

An avalanche of Frasier fir, warm apple cider, cinnamon, and nutmeg crashed into my senses, burying me alive. It was the exact smell from the dream. The warm Christmas cottage. The thick fog.

I stared at them, my mind spinning in an alcohol-induced haze. They looked exactly alike. Four massive, muscular builds. Four sets of dark reddish locks framing sharp, chiseled faces. Soft pointed noses over plump, pink lips that screamed to be kissed. Their shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, revealing intricate, colorful arm tattoos that snaked around thick forearms, paired with heavy custom watches.

And they all had those piercing amber-hazel eyes.

I involuntarily licked my lips. The sweet, fruity taste of blue raspberry and vodka mixed with the phantom taste of cinnamon and spice in the air.

All four sets of eyes shifted away from Rocco. They locked onto me.

They didn't just look at me. They stared with dark, ravenous intent. Their amber-hazel eyes tracked my every movement, watching me like I was a gourmet feast waiting to be devoured on a silver platter. The sheer weight of their gaze made my skin burn.

I couldn't breathe. The alcohol, the deafening music, and those intense, predatory stares overwhelmed my brain.

I turned back to the bartender, pointing a shaky finger at my half-empty glass. He looked up, glancing over my shoulder. A strange flash of crimson cut through his dark eyes before he gave a firm nod and took the glass, smiling softly before disappearing into the shadows of the bar.

I didn't wait for him to return. I turned on my heel and retreated straight back into the blinding, flashing lights of the dance floor.

The DJ switched the track to “Freaks” by Timmy Trumpet & Savage. The heavy horn intro blared through the speakers. I threw my hands up in the air and let my hips roll to the hard bass. I tossed my purple-blue hair over my shoulder, forcing my body to move, forcing the world to wash away with every beat.

Two hands slid firmly onto my waist.

I jumped, but Rocco leaned in close to my ear, his body falling right into the natural rhythm of my hips. He grounded me, his presence a safe anchor in the chaos.

“Who were those guys?” I shouted over the thumping bass, glancing nervously toward the edge of the dance floor.

Rocco let out a loud laugh right against my ear.

“The Sentinels!” he yelled back, spinning me around. “But don’t worry about them!”

I closed my eyes. The heavy bass thumped directly against my chest, matching the frantic beat of my heart. I leaned back against Rocco, letting the music and the alcohol completely consume me. I swayed, I popped, I grinded to the rhythm, using the sheer volume of the club to drown out the burning gaze of those four men, and to wash away the painful, lingering memories of Brock and Sienna back in Texas.