Free Sentinel's Hunger by Gracie C. Mckeever Page B

she make them understand that Xevera needed to be in the human world on her own and for a minimum of two dawns in 68
    Gracie C. McKeever
    order to find the cure for her illness, without first divulging that Xevera was ill?
    The advantage of being Highest, of course, made it unnecessary for her to justify her actions to anyone outside of the assembly. Regret at not confiding in her beloved great-grandson and his helpmate was not nearly enough to abdicate that privilege.
    “I appreciate your concerns, Alex and Genesis, but I have made a decision. We will not open the portal prematurely and we will not risk a retrieval team before it is time.”
    Nahemah hoped that Xevera was making good use of the time that she was granting her with a delay. She hoped that the younger woman had sufficient time to achieve fulfillment, but more importantly, find her cure.
    Sentinel’s Hunger
    69

Chapter 7

    Florence Knowles’s seventy-eight-year-old instincts were on high alert and telling her that something was not only foul in Denmark but also in Michael Constantine’s apartment.
    She hated invading his privacy, but assured herself it was for a good reason as she unlocked the door with her copy of his apartment key. She wasn’t a snoop, despite what her husband Albert said. She was just a concerned neighbor.
    And if that woman Michael brought home was in as bad a shape as she looked last night, she would probably appreciate some of Florence’s nice homemade chicken soup and special hangover remedy to settle her stomach and head.
    She’d been young once and hadn’t been above going a little overboard once or twice, so she knew from personal experience that her preparations worked.
    Florence felt a slight twinge of guilt when she stepped into the apartment, especially when she remembered the firm, chastising look Michael had given her before he’d left, but she quickly squelched it with thoughts of helping someone in need.
    She walked across the plush carpeting, frowning when she noticed the thick chain leading from a pipe in the living room through the apartment.
    Curious and almost forgetting why she’d come, she followed the chain from the living room to the bedroom where she paused on the threshold.
    Florence didn’t know what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the long-legged black woman sprawled face down across 70
    Gracie C. McKeever
    Michael’s king-size bed snoring like a buzz saw with the chain in question attached to one ankle.
    She put a hand to her chest and gaped. Either the woman had a bad hangover or was deeply exhausted, unless there was more than just alcohol involved in her condition.
    Florence was relieved the woman was at least alive, but she still felt uneasy about Michael having her chained in his apartment.
    Just to be on the safe side she stepped into the room, intending to make sure everything was okay, when the woman suddenly stretched and turned from her side to her back.
    Surprised at the sudden action, Florence froze, caught a flash of the gorgeous, high-cheek-boned face, and turned tail to run.
    She hurried back the way she had come, flung open the door and slammed it shut behind her. Nervous at her close call, she still had the foresight to stop and lock the door before she ran into her apartment gasping for breath. “Albert, I think Michael is harboring a fugitive!”
    “What kind of trouble are you causing now, Florence?” Her husband shuffled out of the kitchen and met her halfway as she rushed into the living room.
    She grabbed his arm, led him to their country floral overstuffed sofa and sat him down. “He has a woman chained in his apartment and I think it’s that alien cat woman they’ve been talking about on the news.”
    “You think? ” He arched a brow in that half-chiding half-indulgent way that never failed to put her on the defensive and coincidentally reminded her of Michael’s earlier look.
    Did all men perfect that cool, doubtful expression or was it just her