Chasing Fate (Sentinel & Guide)

Chapter 6

Fate was in a word, exhausted. She'd forced herself to stay up and twist her hair so that she wouldn't have to fight it in the morning. It took the better part of four hours to get all of it detangled, separated, moisture locked-and-sealed from the no-nonsense bun she kept it in for her business trips. Several times during the ordeal she considered just shaving the darn thing off, but the now waist-length tresses were a physical reminder of just how far she'd come in the last five years.

Also, it was a little too cold to go bald. The wind had picked up sometime around nine, and at ten it had begun to snow. Now at eleven, she was finally finished with her hair wrapped up and ready to nosedive into her nest of blankets and pillows. Beau didn't waste any time plopping down at the end of the bed, his warm fur toasting her usually icy feet.

It was perfect. A few pushes to the app on her phone and the house powered down, the lights going out and leaving them in comforting darkness while her speakers played some soft jazz. It was the start of a truly relaxing month off.

Or it would have been if the incessant beeping of the perimeter alarm hadn't started up not ten minutes after she'd closed her eyes. She sat up with a groan that Beau copied dramatically, hopping off the bed to go pace at the door. He knew the drill, it happened pretty regularly after all.

Grumbling, Fate pulled on a pair of thick jeans over her cozy fleeced leggings, and another pair of socks over the ones she'd worn into bed. her ratty college hoodie covered her ratty sweater and a layer of real protection and waterproofing came from her thick jacket. the addition of gloves, hat, and scarf all took less than a few seconds and within five minutes she and Beau were out of the door. She pocketed her phone and kicked the few inches of snow off of the storage box she kept the emergency pack in.

The NOGS had provided her with a few emergency items since her property nosed up against the eastern border of the retreat. It was admittedly still a two-mile trek to the perimeter from her home proper and another two from there to the "excursion zone", but there had been plenty of nosy sentinels "lost" on her back acreage that meant the little pack of flares and two-way radio came in handier than not.

She toed her boots into her snowshoe attachments and whistled for Beau to begin sniffing out the intruder. He put his big snout up in the air and thought for a while about what he was sniffing before trotting at a reasonable pace directly west into the treeline. Flicking on her flashlight she was ready to meet this sentinel head on and send him straight back with his tail between his legs.

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Breton Pace was not exactly supposed to be on an excursion this soon after the end of his probation, but he wasn't the type to follow the rules set down by some idiot null  judge who couldn't tell a guide from a horse. Besides, sentinel and guide relations were only regulated in the past two generations. In the good old days, it had been much better, more ... natural.

Now there was all of this hullaballoo about "rules of engagement" and "guide's right to choose" and other idiotic trash made up by nulls sticking their blind noses where they don't belong. They couldn't really punish him for following his true nature. He was a sentinel, a superhuman. He didn't have all five of his senses enhanced, only the important ones: Sight, hearing, and smell. So what if he wasn't a prime? At least he wasn't going to zone out because he tasted a different brand of paprika in his meal.

All he really needed to be the ultimate sentinel was a proper guide, a real guide. He wasn't going to settle for one of those weaklings that shuddered like a leaf under scrutiny. His guide would need to be strong to handle him. He'd burned out a few already. It wasn't his fault they thought they could settle him. It just wasn't in his nature.

Now he'd found her. It was such a lucky break that he'd caught that alluring scent when he hopped into a cab at the end of his last job. After the incident he'd caused at the last excursion, he'd been banned for at least two years. Even outside of the probation, he wasn't supposed to be on excursions out of state. But when the cabbie related that his last fare had gone to the town of the famous Bent Valley Sentinel retreat, he threw what little caution he had left to the wind. If she was going on the excursion he'd rather die than let some other lesser sentinel claim her. A few pointed texts and bank transactions later, Breton had a full write up on his target.

Lafayette Robinson, age 28, freelance IT consultant and unbonded guide. Five year resident of Bent Valley. Lone mountain hermit and owner of one very large dog and a well-updated hunting license. Her NOGS rating was nearly off the chart. There was a long list of sentinels she'd rejected in the few years since she moved into Bent Valley. There was a corresponding list of hospital reports for broken noses as well.

Breton smiled to remember reading it. She wasn't like the guides he'd spotted heading off to the retreat. She wasn't going to just flop into his arms. The copy of her driver's license showed she was nearly six feet tall, and if he wasn't careful she could give him a run for it. The hospital records showed she knew how to throw a punch, there was a steady line of stubborn sentinels with rearranged noses being picked up from the edges of Bent Valley Retreat.

But those were lesser men. He was not a prime, but he was an alpha through and through. If he had to take her over his shoulder like a caveman he would bond with this perfect guide.

Now there was only the matter of his competition. Who would have thought that the great and coveted Jack Hammond would fixate on the exact same woman? The one alpha sentinel that he grudgingly considered his equal managed to show up to the exact same retreat for the exact same excursion as him.

At least he was glad that he'd used one of his alternate identities to enter. If the Hammond group got wind of exactly who he was, he'd be in more trouble than just falsification of records. He didn't know the youngest directly but his work had brought him in close range of that self-righteous lot more than once.

Breton didn't have anything personal against Jack. He was a good kid, a good sentinel, and he'd made plenty of money betting on his fights. His NOGS profile proved he was a prime, with all five senses enhanced. His work with the Hilland Police Department also proved he was the only sentinel in the region more sensitive than him. The only one possibly able to track him back to the scene of one of his more public jobs.

He'd almost blown his cover when he caught sight of the golden-haired giant hopping out of the bus. His hackles rose. Had he been outed? Were the Hammonds on his tail again? He wouldn't back down, not when he knew his guide was near. Not even Jack Hammond could match him.