Blood Assassin

  “Why contact you?” she asked as they pulled into an empty parking lot between two large grain bins. “The police can call in diviners for murder victims without charging an enormous fee.”

  Bas took off his hat and tossed it into the seat beside him before turning to meet her suspicious gaze.

  “Because this particular family prefers to take care of their own justice.”

  “What . . .” Serra stiffened. “They’re mobsters?”

  Bas shrugged. “Cartel.”

  She made no effort to disguise her disgust. Whores. Drug lords. Was there anyone this man wouldn’t take money from?

  “Nice.”

  He smiled, indifferent to her revulsion. “Does it make you feel better to know that my necro managed to discover the man was shot by his jealous wife instead of a rival gang? He prevented a bloody war that would no doubt have killed a dozen innocents.”

  “Does telling yourself that help you sleep at night?”

  “I sleep just fine, Serra.” The bronze gaze slid toward the silent Sentinel at her side. “But if you’re truly concerned you can share my bed tonight—”

  Fane exploded into motion so quickly Serra couldn’t track his movement. One second he was sitting beside her and the next he had lunged forward and grabbed the assassin around the neck, his grasp threatening to crush the man’s throat.

  “My temper is on a hair trigger,” he said, his soft voice more terrifying than any amount of screaming. “Neither of us wants me to be provoked into something we’ll both regret.”

  Bas held himself motionless, smart enough to know that Fane might not kill him, but he could make him deeply regret his taunting.

  “You’ve marked your territory, Sentinel,” he said, waiting for Fane to remove his hands before turning his attention back to Serra. “Perhaps you should ask your guardian what darkness keeps him awake at night.”

  “You’re a real prick,” she snapped.

  Bas abruptly laughed with a genuine amusement. “I’m not sure if I envy or pity you, Sentinel.”

  Serra shivered. There was way too much tension in too small a space. Grabbing the handle of the door she shoved it open and stepped onto the broken pavement. Instantly she was shrouded in a thick, humid heat that made her bra stick to her skin.

  She rolled her stiff shoulders as Fane joined her, followed by Bas who had removed his chauffeur’s jacket and was now wrapped in the illusion of a middle-aged businessman with thinning, silver hair and a pot belly beneath his white cotton shirt.

  “Are you sure the drug lord is going to be there?” she demanded.

  The assassin pulled a phone from his pocket and punched in a short message before he lifted his head to glance around the empty lot. There wasn’t much to see. The grain bins, a pile of rotting railroad ties, and a huge mound of gravel that blocked their view of the river.

  “I contacted him to meet me.”

  “Here?” Serra asked in confusion.

  “At the terminal down the road.”

  Serra frowned. “You can’t believe he would bring Molly with him?”

  “No, but he’s too smart to stash her at his house, or even the homes of his cartel.”

  “Why not?”

  Bas smiled. “They’re under constant government surveillance.”

  Oh. Of course. That’s what happened when you lived the life of a criminal.

  “So you think she might be hidden at the terminal?” she asked, baffled by why she’d been brought here if the drug lord didn’t have Molly with him.

  “No, but he has several secret safe houses not far away,” Bas explained. “While I keep my client distracted, I want you to check out the area.” He nodded toward the car. “The houses belonging to the cartel are marked in the GPS.”

  “How did you discover them if they’re secret?”

  “I have many ways of uncovering what people attempt to keep hidden,” Bas assured her, adjusting his cuffs. “Secrets are a very profitable business.”

  Arrogant ass.

  “And money is so important?” she asked in dry tones.

  “It’s a weapon. And for an assassin, that’s a gift beyond price.” He smiled, but Serra sensed he’d revealed a fundamental belief. He was obsessed with his need to be in power. “I will meet you back at this location in half an hour.”

  Serra snapped her teeth together. She hated being given orders. “What if I sense Molly?”

  “Don’t do anything,” Bas immediately warned, the eyes that were now a pale blue flickering to bronze. “I don’t want to find her and then get her killed because I rushed her rescue.”

  Serra shrugged. That was fine with her. She had no intention of risking her neck by sneaking into the lair of a drug lord.

  Bas was walking away, when Fane stepped forward. “Wait.”

  The assassin muttered a curse as he turned back to glare at Fane. “What?”

  “You’re going to meet the leader of a drug cartel alone?”

  “How sweet.” He flashed a mocking smile. “Don’t tell me you care?”

  “If you die the toxin remains in Serra.”

  “True.” Bas shrugged. “I die, she dies.”

  Serra’s breath caught at his sheer callousness.

  Fane was a little more . . . demonstrative in his reaction.

  With three strides he was directly in front of the assassin, his hand once again around his throat.

  “Then you don’t do anything that puts you in danger.”

  “You’re not giving the orders here, Sentinel,” Bas growled, his eyes narrowing as Fane squeezed his fingers. “Christ. Kaede is waiting for me. It would look odd if I didn’t have some muscle with me.”

  Fane slowly released his grip, indifferent to the slender stiletto Bas held in his hand. Serra didn’t know where it had come from, but she didn’t doubt for a second that the assassin knew how to use it.

  She moved to stand next to Fane, lightly touching his arm as his gaze remained trained on the other male. It seemed they were destined to be driven to the brink of insanity by Bas Cavrilo. Thankfully they were together to pull each other back from the edge.

  “What excuse did you use to call the meeting?” she asked Bas, more for a distraction than any interest in his meeting.

  Bas gave a twist of his hand and the stiletto disappeared. “To warn the cartel there’s a powerful psychic and her Sentinel in town,” he said, his composure perfectly restored. “No criminal wants to accidentally cross paths with someone who can peek into their thoughts. I share the info and he’s in my debt.”

  “Debt I suppose is another weapon?”

  He sent her a mocking smile. “You begin to know me so well, lovely Serra.”

  Fane planted his fists on his hips. “Go. Away.”

  Chapter Nine

  Fane grimaced.

  The neighborhoods had grown increasingly grungy as they traveled north, with houses that had gone from shabby to downright dilapidated. Hell, many were missing windows or doors, and sprayed with gang graffiti. And the few stores that remained open had heavy bars across the windows, while the lone park was overgrown with weeds.

  Worse, he was forced to a slow crawl as he navigated through the narrow street that was made nearly impassible by the abandoned cars and overflowing trash cans.

  If he were human, he would be terrified of the unnatural silence that cloaked the area and the clumps of men who stood on the corner, watching him pass with a malevolent glare.

  But he wasn’t human and his only fear was the heavy cost this search was demanding from the vulnerable female at his side.

  “Anything?” he asked as she pressed her fingers to her forehead, her shoulders tense with stress.

  “The usual,” she muttered. “Anger. Fear. Lust.”

  Most people distrusted psychics, even as they wished they could have the power.

  Who didn’t want to know what other people were thinking? Or use telepathy to communicate? Or even have the ability to twist the mind of an enemy unti
l they went crazy?

  What they didn’t consider was the fact that Serra was constantly bombarded by unwelcome thoughts and emotions.

  Her rigid training allowed her to block the intrusions when she was in the protection of Valhalla. But when she was surrounded by masses of bleak misery and desperate greed she became overwhelmed.

  “Do you need to take a break?”

  “There’s no break,” she said in weary tones. “Not as long as we’re in such a congested area.”

  Keeping his gaze on the men clustered at the end of the block, Fane held his hand toward his companion.

  “Here.”

  “What?”

  “Take my hand.”

  He heard her breath catch. “I don’t need your pity.”

  His hand remained outstretched. “That’s not what I’m offering.”

  “Then what?”

  He heaved a sigh. He might deserve her suspicion, but they wouldn’t survive this if she didn’t learn to trust him.

  “Just take my hand, you stubborn female,” he growled.

  “Bossy.”

  She gave a sniff, but at last placed her palm against his so he could wrap his fingers around her hand.

  Concentrating on the skin-to-skin contact, Fane opened himself to the bond that allowed him to share the sensory onslaught that was pounding against Serra. He grimaced. Holy shit. How did she stand it? Within a few seconds he felt as if his nerves were being scoured raw.

  With an effort, he shoved aside the barrage of emotions, using his training from the monks to center himself. Instinctively, he visualized himself in a cave high in the Alps. It was a cave where he’d spent nearly thirty years seeking the perfect balance between mind and body.

  In the center of the cave was a deep pool of water. Slowly he entered the pool, the brisk water lapping at his ankles. He paused, allowing the sensation to fill his mind before he continued forward. The water hit his knees, then his waist, then his chest. Then with one last step he was underwater, floating in the chilled darkness.

  Enveloped in peace, Fane tightened his grip on Serra’s hand, allowing his tranquility to flow through their bond.

  “Relax,” he murmured.

  She made a sound of surprise as her muscles eased beneath his soothing touch.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Do you feel better?”

  She sucked in a deep breath. “Yes. I can still touch the minds, but the emotions are—”

  “Muted?” He offered the word she was searching for.

  He felt her gaze sear over his profile. “How?”

  “It’s a gift that Sentinels can share when they’re bonded,” he said. “Protection comes in many forms.”

  She hissed in surprise. “But we’re not bonded.”

  His lips twisted at her ridiculous words. He might have done his best to pretend he hadn’t given his heart and soul to this female, but he’d never truly fooled himself. Was there any greater bond than that?

  Not that he was about to share the disturbing info. Right now she was determined to believe his every effort was made out of some idiotic hero complex.

  Instead he gave her fingers another squeeze and gave her an answer she could accept.

  “Not formally, but the vow I made to return you safely to Valhalla is just as binding.”

  There was a brief pause, as if she sensed he wasn’t being completely honest. Thank God his magically enhanced glyphs prevented her from reading his mind.

  “What will happen when you leave for Tibet?”

  Foolish female. Did she truly believe he would ever leave her side again?

  He shrugged. “Let’s concentrate on getting through today.”

  She clicked her tongue, clearly annoyed by his hedging. “Do we have to be touching?”

  Nope. Absolutely not.

  “Yes,” he said, lifting her hand to press her knuckles to his lips.

  He felt her tremble, revealing her vulnerability to his touch as she was hastily trying to disguise her response behind a brisk determination.

  “Okay,” she muttered. “Let’s finish this.”

  He kept a tight hold on her hand as she returned her attention to the passing houses, doing his best to dampen the impact of the ugly and desperate thoughts that were blasting into her brain.

  Circling the block that was marked on the GPS, Fane muttered a curse as he watched the gang of thugs that had been loitering on the corner step into the street, deliberately blocking his path.

  They varied in age from sixteen to twenty, dressed in tattered jeans with muscle shirts to show off their various tattoos.

  Common street bullies who ruled the neighborhood with brute intimidation.

  He could run them over.

  Bas was a paranoid freak, which meant that the windows of the car would be bulletproof and the frame reinforced for maximum impact.

  Unfortunately even in this neighborhood the death of a half dozen men was bound to attract the notice of the authorities.

  Something he preferred to avoid.

  “I think we’ve been noticed.”

  Serra instantly jerked herself out of her shallow trance, her brows drawing together with concern. “Fane.”

  He pressed her fingers to his lips before releasing them and shoving open the car door. “Don’t worry. They won’t hurt me.”

  “I’m more worried about them.”

  Already stepping out of the car, he glanced back at her with a lift of his brows. “Them?”

  “I’ve seen you fight,” she said with a grimace. “I prefer not to witness their blood and guts being spread across the road.”

  He shrugged. “We’re just going to have a little chat.”

  “A chat?” She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

  “I promise.”

  Shutting the door, he turned to walk down the middle of the street, watching the unease that tightened the young faces hardened by a life on the edge.

  They might not recognize him as a Sentinel, but they most certainly sensed he was a predator.

  Instinctively two of the thugs pulled their handguns and pointed them at Fane. A rookie mistake. The best weapon was the one unseen.

  He ignored the blatant threat, instead continuing to walk forward as he watched the covert glances toward the man standing at the center of the road. Obviously the leader of the motley crew.

  The lean man had dark hair shaved into a Mohawk and flat, black eyes and a badass attitude that was about to get a painful readjustment.

  “Is there a problem?” Fane demanded, coming to a halt far enough away to allow the fools to believe he wasn’t a danger.

  The leader puffed out his narrow chest. A typical blowhard who thought a gun made him tough.

  “This is our neighborhood.”

  “That’s not something I would brag about,” Fane taunted, glancing toward a pile of rotting trash. “It looks like a war zone.”

  The man placed a hand behind his back, revealing where he had his gun hidden. Exactly what Fane needed to know.

  “We want to know what the hell you’re doing scoping out our territory,” he rasped.

  His posture was relaxed, nonthreatening. “Just passing through.”

  “I don’t think so. In fact, I—”

  The man’s words became a high-pitched squeal as Fane exploded into action, closing the space between them. In one motion he was standing behind the leader, one arm around the man’s throat and his other hand yanking the handgun from the back of his jeans. Then, with a deliberate motion, he pressed the gun to the man’s forehead.

  “You scream like my five-year-old niece,” he mocked, shifting the man so he was a human shield between him and the rest of the gangbangers. A bullet wouldn’t kill him, but it would hurt like a bitch. “Tell them to stay back,” he ordered.

  The man muttered a foul curse, but he pointed toward his restless companions. “Listen to him.”

  They scowled, but none had the balls to challenge him. It was easy to be
the biggest bullies on the block when they were facing vulnerable females and children.

  “Now this is what is going to happen,” he informed the cowards. “You’re going to put away your weapons and walk away. Then you’re going to call your friends waiting around the corner and tell them to stay out of my way.”

  The leader stiffened, but he made no effort to fight Fane’s hold. “My boss won’t stop until he knows what you’re doing here.”

  Fane glanced toward the idiots trying to hide behind a ramshackle fence. Dammit. It didn’t matter if the goons belonged to the drug lord who was currently meeting with Bas, or not. The last thing he needed was one of the overeager minions tracking them back to the hotel.

  “My business is with Valhalla,” he said, pulling out his trump card.

  The stench of fear filled the air, the thugs dropping their weapons to the ground as they backed away.

  Unable to retreat, the leader glanced warily over his shoulder. “You’re a freak?”

  “I am, but I’m not the one to worry about.” Fane offered a cold smile, nodding his head toward the black Mercedes. “With one psychic blast, my companion can turn you all into drooling, babbling idiots who will spend the rest of your pathetic lives being spoon-fed mushed bananas.”

  “Fuck that, I’m outta here,” one of the men muttered, turning to run toward the nearest house.

  As if his retreat was a catalyst, the rest of the cowardly fools were bolting after him, leaving the leader to fend for himself.

  “What business does Valhalla have around here?” the man asked, trying to act as if he wasn’t on the verge of pissing his pants.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “No.”

  “Good choice.” Lowering the gun, Fane loosened his grip and stepped back. “Run.”

  The man did.

  And at a pace that might have earned him a spot on the Olympic relay team if he hadn’t been a pathetic putz.

  Serra entered the private hotel suite with a sense of boiling frustration.

  Who could blame her?

  The clock was ticking toward her death, and Bas had her running in circles chasing after whores and a drug gang with nothing to show for her efforts but a headache.