Blood Assassin

He folded his arms over his chest, his gaze lingering on the lush mouth that promised paradise.

  “I might. Given the right incentive.”

  “Wolfe.”

  A blast of desire made his gut clench at the thought of hearing her breathe his name in pleasure instead of frustration.

  “Lana.”

  Her frown deepened as the heat from his body filled the office. Sentinels always ran hotter than norms, but he didn’t usually allow his powers to brush over his companion like a physical caress.

  “Would you just answer the question?” She tilted her chin, her voice nerve-scrapingly calm. “We’re both too old for this nonsense.”

  His lips twisted into a humorless smile. “Are we?”

  “Enough, Wolfe.”

  The edge in her voice warned Wolfe he was treading close to the edge of her patience. He swallowed a thwarted growl and forced himself into his role of the Tagos.

  She was right.

  He was too damned old to be acting like a hormonal-crazed idiot.

  “I haven’t come to you quite simply because I don’t know what’s going on,” he admitted, his voice crisp.

  Her expression remained impassive, but he could physically feel her relief.

  Someday . . .

  He grimaced.

  But not today.

  “Tell me what you do know.”

  “Last night Serra left Valhalla without a word to anyone, including Inhera.”

  “That’s not like her,” Lana said, concern turning her eyes to smoke. This female might be a hard-as-nails leader, but she genuinely cared about her people. “Serra is headstrong, but she would never cause unnecessary worry.”

  “Exactly. Fane was concerned and tracked her to St. Louis.”

  The Mave blinked in astonishment. Fane and Serra’s—complicated—relationship wasn’t a secret at Valhalla.

  “You sent Fane after her?”

  “He made the decision.”

  “Ah.” She grimaced. “Is he with her?”

  Wolfe resisted the urge to point out a nuclear bomb couldn’t separate Fane from Serra.

  “Yes, he sent word that they were together and everything was fine.”

  It was the carefully constructed answer he was giving to everyone who asked about Serra’s abrupt departure.

  But Lana Mayfield wasn’t just everyone.

  She studied him for a long minute, her clever mind instantly latching on to the pertinent question.

  “If he’s with Serra and everything is fine then why is Valhalla missing a half a dozen Sentinels?”

  “Because he didn’t tell me to withdraw the Sentinels.”

  “He knew that you sent them?”

  “Yes. He called when he first tracked Serra to St. Louis. I told him then I was sending backup.”

  “Maybe he forgot.”

  Wolfe gave a sharp laugh. His most fearsome warrior had never forgotten a thing in his life.

  All Sentinels were more than human. But Fane was more than most.

  “Fane better than anyone realizes the price the Sentinels paid during our battle with the necromancer, he would never allow them to be away from more important duties unless he needed them,” he assured his companion.

  “But he hasn’t made contact with them?”

  “No, but after his call he sent me a text requesting information.” He nodded toward the file spread across his desk. “I’m in the process of trying to untangle what the hell is going on.”

  He watched the gray gaze shift toward the desk, jerking in shock as she was abruptly lunging forward to snatch the picture at the top of the pile.

  “What’s this?”

  Wolfe pushed off the edge of the desk, his brows snapping together at the sight of the soft flush that touched her pale cheeks.

  What the hell?

  He could count on one hand how many times he’d seen Lana rattled. And each time they’d been facing certain death.

  “The owner of Hull and Sons Insurance in St. Louis,” he said, his narrowed gaze taking in the tightening of her pale, beautiful features as she studied the photo.

  “No. Not Hull,” she said softly.

  “You recognize him.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Yes.” She brushed a slender finger over the face of the man in the picture, her formidable composure cracking at the edges. “When I knew him, he went by the name of Bas.” She slowly shook her head. “How is this possible?”

  “I assume he’s not an insurance salesman?”

  “Insurance salesman?” She lifted her head, glancing at him in confusion.

  “That’s what he’s pretending to be.”

  She shook her head. “He’s an assassin.”

  “Shit,” Wolfe muttered, a cold chill inching down his spine. The secretive sect of Sentinels had been disbanded by the time he’d taken his position as Tagos, but there were whispers that their training had not only turned them into ruthless killing machines, but it had also stripped them of all human emotions. Which was why he kept close track of those who had been forced into retirement. Not all of them were . . . stable. “Why don’t I know about him?”

  “He disappeared over a hundred years ago.” With a sharp gesture she tossed the picture back onto the desk, her eyes darkened with an emotion he couldn’t read. “I thought he was dead.”

  Wolfe stilled, his instincts on full alert.

  Lana had more than just a passing acquaintance with the assassin.

  They shared a history.

  One that had involved her emotions.

  His hands unconsciously curled into tight fists, something dark and dangerous spreading through his blood at the thought of this woman being intimately connected to another man.

  It didn’t matter if it’d been a hundred years ago.

  Or that he hadn’t even known her then.

  His inner caveman was convinced this female belonged to him, whether she shared his bed or not.

  Any challenge to his claim was going to end in death.

  “Unless the necromancer returned him from the grave he appears to be very much alive,” he said in grim tones.

  Lana made a belated attempt to disguise her intense reaction. “So I see.”

  Wolfe stepped close enough to breath in the light scent of vanilla that clung to the glossy black satin of her hair. It’d always struck him as incongruous that such a powerful female would choose such a light, feminine scent.

  Now, it only served to intensify his possessive instincts.

  With an effort, he forced himself to focus on the threat the bastard might pose to Fane and Serra.

  Right now that’s all that mattered.

  “What do you know about him?”

  She hesitated, as if debating precisely what she was willing to share.

  “He was trained by the monks to be a warrior,” she at last confessed. “But his true strength is his magic.”

  “A born witch?”

  She nodded. Many high-bloods had some affinity to magic, including guardian Sentinels like Fane, but they couldn’t conjure the same spells as a born witch.

  “A powerful one. He also has some telepathy skills, but they’re limited.”

  Wolfe grimaced. Lana’s definition of “limited telepathy” was skewed. Her own skills were off the charts.

  “Anything else?”

  Her lips thinned, the shadows of a painful memory darkening her eyes. “He doesn’t play by the rules.”

  Wolfe hid a feral smile. Good. When people broke the rules it gave him license to use whatever means necessary to do his job.

  Including beating the shit out of the bastard.

  “Why would he be interested in Serra?”

  “I don’t have a clue,” she said slowly. “I could try to contact him—”

  “No.”

  A dangerous expression settled on her pale, beautiful features. No one interrupted the Mave. And certainly they didn’t tell her no.

  “What did you say?”

 
The air was thick with the choking force of her personality, but Wolfe refused to back down.

  “Fane has kept his communication extremely limited and written in code as if he is afraid someone is monitoring his phone. I’m assuming he doesn’t want to spook this . . .” It took an effort to force the name past his lips. “Bas. We can’t allow anyone to know we suspect anything is wrong.”

  Her lips thinned, but she gave a grudging nod, accepting that Wolfe might have a point. She might be a hard-ass, but she was always ready to listen to her advisors.

  “What can I do?”

  Wolfe hesitated. He should let it go. Tell her that they had it under control.

  But of course that would imply he could be rational when dealing with this female.

  Not. Gonna. Happen.

  “How close were you and the assassin?”

  She met his searching gaze without flinching. “Does it matter?”

  “It might help us figure out what’s going on.”

  “I can’t help.” Her words were final. Uncompromising. “The man I knew is dead.”

  Wolfe felt a stab of fury. Was she willing to protect this assassin?

  “Can’t or won’t?” he growled.

  Ignoring the question, the Mave turned to step back into the elevator. “Keep me updated.”

  “Lana.”

  Her expression had returned to the calm, inscrutable mask that made him want to punch something.

  “Yes?”

  “Why were you so certain that Bas was dead?”

  The doors of the elevator slid shut, but that didn’t halt his heightened senses from picking up her soft confession.

  “Because I killed him.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Serra felt as if she were being blasted by a furnace.

  Who knew that one Sentinel could create such heat?

  Granted, he was a very large Sentinel. And he was cradled tightly behind her as they spooned in the center of the massive bed.

  But still . . .

  Telling herself it was the heat, not absolute terror, that made her try to scoot away¸ she hissed in frustration when his arm tightened around her waist.

  “Where are you going?” he whispered, his breath brushing her bare shoulder.

  She shuddered, arcs of pleasure shooting through her body.

  Okay. It wasn’t the heat that was edging her toward panic.

  It was the way she savored the scent of Fane that clung to her skin. And how her heart leapt at even his most casual touch. And how she was already besieged by the need to cuddle against his strength and beg him never to leave her.

  Dammit.

  It was supposed to be sex.

  Red hot, mind-blowing, uncomplicated sex.

  Not a messy, emotionally charged joining that would leave her broken.

  “I need to shower,” she said, her voice ridiculously husky.

  He chuckled, nuzzling her neck. “We have time.”

  She grimaced at his soft words, her thoughts effectively diverted from her fear of an eventual heartache, to a more basic fear.

  Survival.

  “Do we?”

  His arm instinctively hauled her back until her back was pressed tight against his chest.

  “All the time in the world,” he rasped. “That I promise.”

  Her lips twisted in a wry smile. Arrogant man.

  “You can’t promise.”

  He nipped the lobe of her ear. “I just did.”

  “So certain of your own powers,” she muttered.

  “No, I’m certain of you.” His hand lifted to brush the hair from her still-flushed cheek, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of her neck. “If Molly is in St. Louis you’ll find her.”

  She pretended her heart didn’t swell beneath his unwavering confidence in her abilities.

  Fane’s belief in her had been a primary reason she’d pressed so hard to hone her skills. Idiot that she was, she couldn’t have endured the thought he would be disappointed in her.

  “That poor child.” She sternly snapped her thoughts back to the only thing that mattered. Finding Molly before the toxin in her bloodstream put her in the grave. “Why the hell doesn’t Bas just give the kidnappers what they want?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” Fane smoothed her hair behind her ear, his voice suspiciously bland. “It has to be something that threatens him more than the loss of his daughter.”

  Serra frowned. “Unless he fears the kidnapper intends to kill Molly the minute they get what they want.”

  “A reasonable hypothesis,” he readily agreed.

  She glanced over her shoulder, meeting his unreadable gaze. “Are you patronizing me?”

  “You know better than that,” he softly chided.

  And she did.

  He could be an infuriating bastard, but he always treated her as an equal.

  “But you are hinting at something?”

  He gazed deep into her eyes. “You’re a psychic.”

  Just for a minute she threatened to drown in the dark, penetrating gaze. This close she could see the exquisite details of the tattooing that emphasized the man’s stark beauty. He was exotic, lethal, and shatteringly male.

  Her heart clenched with a dangerous emotion before she was abruptly turning her head back to stare at the opposite wall.

  “Yeah, I’ve figured that out, thank you.”

  His fingers lightly stroked the line of her stubborn jaw. “What do you think his motives are?”

  “How should I know?” She trembled beneath his soft caress. “I can’t read him.”

  “He has trained to block your powers, but no shield is impenetrable.”

  Serra paused, considering his words. “You think I can penetrate his defenses?”

  His thumb rested on the pulse that raced just below her ear. “I think you’ve already learned more than you suspect.”

  She jerked in surprise. Dammit. Did he think she hadn’t tried to tap into the mind of the kidnapper?

  “Then you think wrong.”

  “Easy, Serra,” he murmured, his big, powerful hand splayed on her lower stomach. “Just relax and allow yourself to remember.”

  Relax? She stifled a humorless laugh. She was being scorched by his touch, her entire body shimmering with anticipation.

  Closing her eyes, she created an empty room in her head and slammed the door on the world around her.

  Then, counting backward, she slipped into a light trance.

  It was the only way to truly concentrate.

  “Remember what?” she demanded.

  “What did Bas feel when he spoke of Molly?”

  Slowly, methodically, she reconstructed the image of Bas in the empty room in her head.

  The pale, ivory skin. The short black hair. His bronze eyes.

  She even added the witch mark on the side of his neck with the tattoos that tallied his kills.

  Every detail helped to re-create the memory.

  Next she added herself, stripping away her emotions as she replayed the conversation, word for word.

  With no ability to read his mind, Serra instead concentrated on the expressions that touched his painfully beautiful face. Most of them were so fleeting it was no wonder she’d missed them the first time around.

  Bas was a master of hiding his emotions.

  Of course, she’d just come out of a compulsion spell and had been reeling from shock at the time.

  Not exactly at the top of her game.

  “Fear,” she at last said. “Regret.”

  “And when he spoke of the kidnapper?”

  That one was easier.

  “Fury.”

  “But not fear?”

  “No.” She hesitated, biting her bottom lip. “I don’t think so.”

  Fane pressed a kiss against the side of her neck, the searing sensation penetrating her self-imposed trance.

  Oddly, the feel of Fane’s touch wasn’t an intrusion. It offered comfort rather than distraction.

&
nbsp; As if Fane was capable of sharing his strength with her on a psychic plane.

  A thought that should have been terrifying, not soothing.

  “Trust your instincts,” he urged.

  Steadied by his solid presence, Serra allowed herself to trust what her senses were telling her.

  “He fears the cost demanded by the kidnapper, but he’ll pay it to rescue his daughter,” she said with absolute certainty. “That’s why he’s so anxious for me to find her first. He doesn’t want to be responsible for what happens if he gives the kidnapper what he wants.”

  “So what could frighten a man like Bas?”

  Deconstructing the room in her mind, Serra snapped out of her trance and opened her eyes.

  “Does it matter?”

  “I have a feeling it might matter very much,” Fane said, but suddenly his tone was distracted, and his hand was skimming up the flat plane of her stomach to cup her bare breast.

  She hissed in pleasure, all thought destroyed as his thumb strummed the tip of her nipple. How could any woman think when his fingers were doing such lovely, wicked things to her body?

  “Fane,” she muttered.

  “Hmm?”

  Her heart stuttered, a perilous warmth exploding in the center of her heart as his lips stroked along the line of her shoulder.

  Oh . . . shit.

  It was madness. Complete and utter madness.

  Hadn’t she just been fretting and stewing over her intense reaction to Fane’s touch? Hadn’t she realized that she could never have “just sex” with this man?

  “I told you, I need a shower,” she breathed.

  “It can wait.”

  “Wait for what?”

  “This.” He tugged at her extended nipple, chuckling at her low moan of pleasure. “And this.”

  She shivered as his other hand reached down to grasp her knee, tugging it upward so he could slide his muscular thigh between her legs.

  “It’s a formal event.”

  His lips continued to wreak havoc as they trailed back up her shoulder and found a highly erotic spot at the base of her nape.

  “And?”

  And? She struggled to keep track of her protest. Not an easy task when he pressed the impressive length of his arousal against her lower back.

  Sensual anticipation flowed through her veins like warm honey, his heat no longer a trap to escape, but an invitation to paradise.

  Not that she was ready to concede defeat.