Free Sentinel: A Light Mage Wars Novella (The Light Mage Wars) by Nancy Northcott Page A

Shrimp , for crying out loud. But still.
    When Caro and Davis separated, he touched her cheek. "See you around."
    " You'd better. And drive carefully."
    Davis brushed past Rick. Caro said, "He's the assistant loremaster at the Collegium."
    " I thought the name was familiar." Now Rick realized which Will Davis this was. Another child of mageborn elites. Davis's parents were famous archaeologists and ran a high profile institute dedicated to artifact recovery and verification.
    " Let me take you to dinner," Rick said. "We'll celebrate."
    " That's sweet." Caro sighed, reaching for his hand, and he linked his fingers with hers. "I'd love to," she said, "but my parents already scheduled that. I'm so tired, though. It's like I just ran out of gas. I think I'm going to suggest brunch tomorrow instead if my dad doesn't have to be in court."
    She hesitated. "You could come with us."
    That was a great opportunity...except that he'd be over near the Alabama line with a bunch of deputy reeves. "I'd love to, Sunshine, but I have a meeting I can't miss tomorrow morning."
    " Oh." Disappointment dimmed the tentative light in her face.
    If she wanted him to meet her parents, she must be coming to trust him. Or else she wanted their take on him. Davis would doubtless be sharing his opinion.
    " What about dinner tomorrow?" Rick suggested. "There's a great country rock trio coming to The Rambler's Roadhouse. The food there is pretty good."
    " I don't do clubs." She pulled away from him, her face closing into a tight, blank expression.
    " This isn't a club." Rick captured her hand again. Was it a good sign that she let him hold it? "It's a roadhouse with a dance floor that's never crowded. I tend bar there when they need a fill-in. I know the place well, and I guarantee you won't have a problem."
    " You can't possibly promise that."
    " Yeah, I can." Damn it.
    He hadn 't wanted to admit this, but there was no avoiding it now. "I overheard you and Layton, remember? I know you don't like clubs. If I have to guess why, I'd say they're crowded and loud. You can't use your cane, maybe. That would disorient anyone."
    Caro shrugged.
    "If it's like that, which I'm sure it won't be, we won't stay. This group, The Fiddling Farmers, isn't famous at all. It's a Tuesday, too, usually not a busy night out there."
    When she shook her head, lips tightening, he rushed to say, "If we get there and you aren't comfortable, we'll walk right out. I'll take you anywhere you want to go."
    " Then why go there at all?"
    " Because Walt, the main bartender, told me these fiddle players remind him of The Cypress Knees. I thought you'd enjoy them."
    She pulled her hand away and crossed her arms.
    Crap. Gnawing on her lip probably wasn't a good sign, either.
    Caro sighed. "Okay. If you promise we can leave."
    " Whenever you say." He'd have a word with Walt before taking her there. As much as Rick was able, he'd smooth the way for her. Helping her get past something she feared would give her another reason to trust him. And hell, he wanted to spend time with her while he could. Once his story broke, there'd be no more walks in the woods. Or anywhere else.
    But this was a risk. She was obviously anxious when it came to strange places. If anything upset her, he'd likely lose his last chance to get that story.
    But he could worry about that later . First he had to survive tomorrow's raid.

 
    Chapter Seven
     
    The clash of powers lit the predawn gloom of the forest. Rick kept his head down. As Stan had predicted, the real story of this raid was unfolding here. If Rick and Jason had obeyed orders and stayed by the med station, they would've missed it.
    Radios were useless with all the magical power flying around the woods. Above the din of battle, Rick shouted to Jason, "This might not be the best idea ever."
    " No, it's good," Jason yelled back. "If we live through it."
    Rick tightened his grip on the silver-banded, ash cudgel issued to him as a noncombatant. You have got to be