Blood Lust

  On the other hand, he had the benefit of being a psychic with a rare talent. He could touch an object and get a glimpse of a precise location where the person who owned the item would be on a certain date at a certain time. It might seem like a harmless talent to most, but from the second the Brotherhood had kidnapped the high-blood with the intention of sacrificing him, Stella had instantly recognized the man’s potential.

  Unfortunately, her need for his skills meant that she had to keep him loyal to her, and the easiest, most efficient way to accomplish that goal was to give him endless orgasms. Really, men were so simple.

  Now that he was addicted enough to her body, he’d become yet another tool she could use to achieve her goals.

  Crossing the room, she stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the distant mountains. They’d been tinted to keep out the sun, as well as to prevent any of the Brotherhood from getting a peek inside.

  They would lynch her if they discovered she had a high-blood in the house, let alone in her bed.

  “Have you done any further research?” she demanded.

  “I’ve read a dozen prophecies, angel,” Peter said in a languid tone. “None of them refer to the mysterious weapon.”

  Stella turned, her eyes narrowed as she took in the man’s smile of anticipation. Obviously he assumed she’d returned to the bedroom to give him a quickie.

  She shuddered in revulsion. Damn. The things she had to do to rule the world. Okay, she didn’t want to rule the world. She just wanted enough money to buy it.

  Arching a brow, she held his hopeful gaze. “Was that the question I asked?”

  He blinked. “I’m just saying—”

  “We both know our future depends on that weapon.” She overrode his stumbling explanation. God Almighty, the man was a weak, spineless fool. Still, until she got what she needed, she had no choice but to endure his presence in her home. That didn’t mean, however, she had to like it. “If we can’t use it for some reason, I’m not going to be pleased.”

  He reached a chubby hand toward her. “I’ll do more research later today.”

  “No.” She gave a sharp shake of her head. “You’ll do it now.”

  “Fine. I’ll do it now,” he muttered, climbing off the bed to pull on a robe. He sent her a pleading glance. “Then maybe we can have a late breakfast in bed.”

  “Maybe.” Which translated to “not fucking likely.” Stella gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Go do as I ask.”

  “Stella—”

  “Peter, don’t piss me off,” she once again interrupted, turning away to head toward the walk-in closet.

  “Dammit,” he muttered, moving to the secret doorway that led to his private rooms.

  “Putz,” Stella growled, shedding the robe, moving to study her perfectly curved body in the full-length mirror.

  Soon she would be in a position to rid herself of Peter, just as she rid herself of Gilbert. Then she would take a lover who was worthy of her.

  She smiled, her hands skimming over her body before cupping her full breasts.

  She couldn’t wait for that day.

  Chapter Five

  The diner just north of Columbia, Missouri, had gone through more than one reincarnation.

  It’d started as a prime destination for truckers who enjoyed their food cheap and plentiful. Then the bypass had been built for the local interstate and it’d slowly faded into a greasy spoon. A few years ago some investor with more money than sense had tried to reopen the restaurant as a karaoke bar. It’d thrived for a few months, but now it was once again a shabby dive that attracted the late night drunks and early morning hunters.

  Which meant there were a dozen or so customers inside the restaurant despite the fact it was nearly four in the morning.

  Standing in the shadows, Bas watched as the heavy SUV pulled up beneath the lone streetlight.

  There was a short hesitation before the tall, slender woman slid out of the automobile and headed toward the diner.

  Bas’s lips twitched.

  The Mave of Valhalla was still as regally beautiful as ever with her silky black hair pulled into a smooth knot at her nape and her classically perfect face. But the dark gray eyes held a power that had gone from impressive, when he’d known her, to downright intimidating.

  His gaze lowered to the slender body that was shown to advantage in a pair of black jeans and a sleeveless sweater that was cut low enough to expose the birthmark on the upper curve of her breast.

  Even in the darkness the shimmering emerald color revealed that her magic was off the charts.

  Once they’d been friends and casual lovers, thrown together by their fierce need to protect the high-bloods being hunted by the previous Mave.

  But while he still found her beautiful, he wasn’t surprised when his body failed to react.

  Since Myst had crashed into his life, his taste in the opposite sex had been fully consumed with a tiny, silver-haired woman.

  Silently waiting near the edge of the lot, Bas watched as Lana came to a sharp halt. She was one of the very few with acute enough senses to pick up the presence of an assassin.

  She turned in his direction, her head tilting to the side.

  “Bas?”

  He immediately stepped forward. Tonight wasn’t the time for games.

  This female had already tried to kill him. The last thing he needed was to give her yet another reason to want to see him dead.

  Or in the dungeons of Valhalla.

  “Hello, Lana,” he murmured, a faint smile curving his lips as she moved with elegant grace to stand directly in front of him. “As beautiful as ever.”

  “Bas,” she murmured, facing him without fear.

  Of course, she had enough magic to destroy him and everyone in a hundred-mile radius. There wasn’t much this woman had to fear.

  Especially when she had her private Sentinel standing at the far side of the diner.

  Bas had sensed his arrival five minutes ago.

  He had to admit to a stab of surprise. Not that Lana had sent a hunter. She’d be a sucker not to make sure this wasn’t a trap. But he hadn’t expected Wolfe to make an appearance.

  Bas had never met the current leader of the Sentinels, but there was no mistaking the thunderous power signature. Only the Tagos could make the ground vibrate just by the power of his temper.

  And he was in a temper.

  Bas had assumed it was because he was forced to waste his night escorting the Mave to meet with a wanted criminal. But as Lana walked ever closer the vibrations increased, revealing a barely restrained fury.

  Hmm . . .

  That sort of reaction only came from a territorial male who considered a particular female his own.

  Interesting.

  “It’s been a long time,” Bas murmured.

  She gave a regal nod of her head, her beautiful face unreadable. Only a fool would play poker against this woman.

  “Yes.”

  His gaze shifted in the direction of the SUV before moving toward the empty street.

  “How many Sentinels did you bring with you?”

  “Just one.”

  His lips twisted. “I don’t know whether to be pleased that you realize that I would never hurt you, or offended that I’m so easily dismissed as a threat,” he drawled, his gaze covertly darting in the direction of the shadowed figure near the diner. “Of course, I suppose you only need one when you bring the Tagos.”

  “You know Wolfe?” she demanded in surprise.

  “By reputation.” He returned his attention to the female standing directly in front of him. “Is he house-trained?”

  Her lips twitched. “Barely.”

  “He’s your lover?”

  She stiffened, an emotion darkening her eyes to a stormy gray before she was giving a sharp shake of her head.

  “No.”

  “He wants to be.”

  The air became frosty and pinpricks of magic pressed against his skin as she plant
ed her hands on her hips. She was no longer Lana Mayfield, his friend and lover, but the Mave in her full glory.

  “I have an arrest warrant with your name on it.”

  He shrugged. “So I heard.”

  “Did you want to meet so you could turn yourself in?”

  “You know me better than that,” he drawled.

  A humorless smile curved her lips. “I thought I did, but it became obvious I didn’t know you at all.”

  Bas grimaced. He didn’t regret leaving Valhalla. He wasn’t the sort of male who played well with others. But he did regret the knowledge that his decision to become a mercenary had destroyed any hope of a relationship with his old friends.

  Reaching out, he ran a finger down her throat in an intimate gesture. A silent apology, and deliberate challenge to the Tagos watching him with murder in his dark eyes.

  Win-win.

  “We had the same goals, just different paths of getting there,” he murmured softly.

  Knowing his love for living on the edge, Lana rolled her eyes and took a step back.

  “Are you trying to get killed?”

  Bas gave a sudden laugh. “Your guardian does look a tad homicidal.”

  “You are—”

  “A pain in the ass?”

  Lana sucked in a deep breath, as if needing to regain command of her temper.

  “What do you want from me?”

  Bas’s mocking smile vanished. He’d done enough provoking to prove that Lana was truly willing to listen to his plea, even if her companion was ready to rip out his heart.

  Time to get down to business.

  “I want you to take my daughter.”

  She jerked at his blunt admission, her eyes widening. “Your daughter?”

  “Despite our”—he paused to consider his words—“interesting past, there’s no one I would trust but you to take care of Molly.”

  Her expression instantly softened.

  Lana might be one bad-ass leader of the high-bloods who could destroy entire towns, but she was notoriously protective of children.

  “What’s going on, Bas?” she asked in gentle tones.

  He turned so the watching Sentinel couldn’t read his lips. “Molly’s mother is a clairvoyant,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “A foreseer.”

  “Oh, Bas.” Lana lifted her hand to her mouth, genuine horror in her expression. “Not Molly?”

  “No,” he swiftly assured her. “Myst had a vision, but it wasn’t about Molly.”

  “Myst.” Lana frowned. “The scribe?”

  Bas narrowed his gaze. “You know her?”

  “I never met her personally, but I know she helped when we were searching for information on the necromancer,” Lana said, referring to the recent battle with a crazed diviner. “I’ve heard she’s beautiful.”

  “She’s exquisite,” Bas corrected before he could halt the revealing words.

  Lana arched a brow even as Bas grimaced. This female was too perceptive not to have sensed his relationship with Molly’s mother was . . . complicated.

  “And her vision?” She thankfully kept focused on his reason for demanding this meeting.

  “She foresaw that she’s going to create a weapon that will end up in the hands of our enemies.”

  Lana nodded. She was familiar enough with clairvoyants not to waste time asking if Bas was certain it wasn’t a dream or a figment of her imagination.

  Thank God.

  “Any specifics?” she instead demanded.

  “Blood. Death. Mayhem.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “The usual?”

  “Exactly. She’s determined to discover what the vision means. Or—” His voice broke at the mere thought of Myst ending her life. Even when he didn’t know where she was, or why she’d abandoned Molly, he’d always known she was out there, just as he’d known that one day he’d track her down. To think of a world without her in it was . . . unbearable. “Fuck.”

  “Or she’ll ensure she destroys herself before she can create the weapon?” Lana finished for him.

  His jaw clenched, the air heating with the force of his flare of fury.

  “I’m not going to let that happen.”

  Lana studied him for a long moment before giving a slow nod of her head.

  “Bring her to Valhalla.”

  He grimaced. “She won’t come.”

  “Why not?”

  “Her family decided she was a stroke of fortune.” There was another blast of heat. One day he intended to introduce himself to the bastards who’d sold their own daughter. It wasn’t going to be pretty. “They handed her over to the Brotherhood.”

  The gray eyes turned silver as Lana’s temper threatened to escape her firm leash.

  She’d spent decades trying to forge a peace between the humans and Valhalla.

  The knowledge that there was a group of fanatics out there intent on purging the world of high-bloods was the sort of thing custom-made to get on the Mave’s shit list.

  And you didn’t want to be on this female’s shit list.

  He knew firsthand.

  “Damn,” she snapped, holding up a slender hand as Wolfe took several steps in their direction. The Tagos obviously sensed her distress. “I assume the Brotherhood is desperate to get her back?”

  He shrugged. “I’d say that was a legitimate guess.”

  Lana grimaced. “I’d like to dismiss them as a bunch of wackjobs. Unfortunately they’ve started to become far more organized and they’ve managed to get their hands on a large stash of illegal weapons.”

  Bas nodded. He’d learned just a few days before that the Brotherhood had been making large purchases on the black market.

  “Which means that the sooner we can figure out what the hell the vision means, the sooner she’ll be safe,” he said.

  “The sooner we’ll all be safe,” the Mave smoothly pointed out.

  He shrugged. Right now all he cared about was Myst. “True.”

  “Where does she intend to start her search?”

  “She’s used the traditional methods and found nothing,” he said, angling his body so he could keep Wolfe in his sight. The Tagos was nearing the edge of his patience. Bas wanted to be prepared in case he snapped. “It’s time to think outside the box.”

  Lana narrowed her gaze. “I’m afraid to ask.”

  She should be.

  Only desperation would prompt him to seek out the strangest, most secretive, most unstable high-blood ever born.

  “Boggs,” he said in a resigned voice.

  * * *

  It was a rare occasion for Myst to wake with a smile on her lips.

  Okay, it wasn’t rare, she silently conceded.

  It was never. As in never-ever-ever.

  Oh, she wasn’t one of those miserable, wretched women who went through life in a fog of self-pity.

  She tried her best to remain optimistic.

  But her childhood had been one of lonely isolation, followed by years of utter terror as she tried to avoid being captured by her enemies. And worst of all was the constant ache at the knowledge she could never be a true mother to her beloved daughter.

  This morning, however, she was waking with the scent of baby powder tickling her nose and the soft touch of tiny fingers patting her cheek.

  Tears stung her eyes.

  Oh . . . God, her sweet daughter.

  Slowly lifting her lashes, she discovered Molly’s sleep-flushed face only inches away.

  “Morning, Mommy,” she muttered in a husky voice.

  Myst reached up to gently brush her fingers through Molly’s tangled curls, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose.

  “Morning, baby.”

  “Why are you in my bed?”

  Myst kept her smile pinned to her lips, refusing to recall Bas’s abrupt disappearance the night before. She intended to savor every single second she had with her daughter.

  “I thought it would be fun to have a sleepover.”

  Molly wrinkled her
brow as she considered Myst’s explanation.

  “But mommies are supposed to sleep in bed with daddies.”

  “An interesting proposition, wouldn’t you say, Myst?” A male voice sliced through the air, as lethal as a rapier.

  Myst glanced over her shoulder, her mouth going dry at the sight of Bas still in the black slacks and white silk shirt he’d been wearing the night before.

  His dark hair was ruffled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it, and his jaw was shadowed with a hint of his heavy whiskers.

  He didn’t look at all like a sophisticated business tycoon, but his rumpled appearance only emphasized his savage beauty.

  Dammit.

  It wasn’t fair.

  “You’re back,” she muttered, acutely aware she was a hot mess.

  Unlike Bas, rumpled wasn’t a good look on her.

  His lips twitched, as if aware of her utterly feminine embarrassment. Then, strolling forward, he held out his arms to catch the tiny bundle of Molly who was throwing herself off the bed.

  Myst felt her heart melt.

  Molly would never know how lucky she was to never doubt for a second that her father would be there to catch her.

  “Daddy,” she squealed, lifting her face for a kiss. “Did you come to share our sleepover?”

  “It’s already morning,” Myst hastily muttered, scooting until she was leaning against the headboard, the covers pulled to her chin. “Time for the sleepover to be over.”

  Twin pairs of bronze eyes studied her flushed face.

  Molly with innocent happiness.

  And Bas . . . with mockery, of course, but also something darker. Something that made her heart flutter and a heat pool between her legs.

  “Spoilsport,” he taunted before pressing a kiss to the top of Molly’s curls. “Time for breakfast, pet. I brought you a surprise.”

  “Surprise?” The tiny girl widened her eyes with excitement. “What is it?”

  “Why don’t you go see?”

  He lowered her to the ground and Molly was darting out of the room on bare feet.

  Bas watched her retreat with a fond smile before he closed the door and crossed toward the bed.

  Acutely aware she was wearing nothing more than a tiny pair of silk shorts and matching camisole, Myst cleared her throat, glancing toward the robe she’d left on a chair near the window.