Out of Control
Book 0.5 in Sentinels
**This short story was first published in PREDATORY**
New York Times bestselling author Alexandra Ivy quenches your thirst for illicit desire with this seductive tale of the Sentinels—outcast humans with the ability to tread the line between life and death—and pleasure and pain…
Ph.D student Angela Locke has a crush on her sexy professor, Dr. Nikolo Bartrev. When she learns he’s actually a Sentinel with extraordinary powers, she joins forces with him to catch a psychopath. But soon, their hottest pursuit is of each other…
Read an Excerpt
Valhalla was the stuff of myths.
Named for the home of the Norse gods, the sprawling compound was a safe-house for those people too ‘special’ to be mainstreamed into society (a nice way of saying an orphanage for the children and adults unwanted by their families) everyone knew that it was a home for freaks.
Witches, psychics, necromancers, Sentinels and God only knew what else roamed the grounds protected by a layer of powerful spells. It was a source of fear and fascination by the entire world, but most especially by the citizens of the small, Midwest town that could catch the shimmer of blue reflecting off the protective dome that hid the house from view. And even catch the rare sight of the freaks entering and leaving the compound although people were smart enough to spy on them from a distance.
There were, of course, citizens who called for the entire place to be nuked.
The freaks were dangerous, with powers that none of them truly understood. Who knew what the monsters would do if someone pissed them off?
There were others that said they should be locked away and studied like lab rats. Perhaps their mutations could be used to help normal people.
Most, however, preferred to ignore Valhalla and the high-bloods–as they preferred to be called–living behind the dome.
Until, of course, they needed them.
The nightclub near the University of Missouri wasn’t anything to brag about. Hell, it wasn’t much more than a leaking roof held up by four walls and a prayer. In the center was a cramped dance floor surrounded by tables and at the back a long bar ran the length of the wall. Up the narrow staircase you could find pool tables and a few old-time pinball machines, while in the back parking lot the dealers strolled from car to car, searching for shoppers interested in less legal means of intoxication.
A typical college hang-out.
Seated in a booth nearly obscured by shadows, Angela Locke watched the crowd of college students bump and grind to a heavy beat that was making her eye twitch.
Not that she wasn’t enjoying herself, she sternly chided herself. She might be a few years older than most the kids in the club, but that didn’t mean she was a complete party-pooper. Right?
On cue she winced as two girls shrieked with laughter at a nearby table, the aggravating sound some sort of homing signal to the guys who eagerly crowded around their table.
Okay, this wasn’t really her scene.
She’d spent the majority of her twenty six years in musty libraries or high tech labs, which meant she was more comfortable with Petri dishes and microscopes than the opposite sex.
Her dark thoughts were interrupted as she belatedly realized she was no longer alone.
Glancing up, she met Megan Wagner’s exasperated frown. The pretty, pleasantly rounded blonde was one of Angela’s few friends at the university. In the process of recovering from a disastrous marriage, the older woman was taking classes to earn her teaching degree.
“Oh, for god’s sake,” Megan complained. “I didn’t bring you here to hide in the corner.”
Angela wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather hide in corners than sit in the spotlight where everyone can see me sitting alone.”
Megan folded her arms under her ample bosom, her lush curves displayed in a tight red dress and her blonde curls allowed to fall freely over her shoulders.
“You wouldn’t be alone if you didn’t put out vibes that you’re–”
“A geek? A nerd? A first class egghead?” Angela offered wryly.
“Are you kidding?” Angela shot a glance down at her jade stretchy top that was scooped low enough to reveal the soft curve of her breasts and the too-tight jeans that threatened her circulation. “In this outfit I not only look available, I look like I charge by the hour.”
“It’s not your clothes. It’s your attitude.”
Angela blinked. Attitude? She didn’t know she had an attitude.