Blood Assassin

  At his side, Serra watched as the illusion altered his hair to a sandy blond that was slightly thinning, his face becoming even leaner. The magic worked lower, making his body appear shorter, softer.

  She shook her head. She would have been fascinated by such a talent if it wasn’t being performed by a homicidal jackass.

  “Who are you tonight?”

  “Sir John Baxter.”

  She snorted. Even his voice had changed, becoming higher with a distinct English accent.

  “Royalty?”

  He held up a slender hand, using his powers to create a gold ring stamped with the Baxter family suit of arms.

  “A minor barony.”

  “Arrogant.”

  “A title opens doors.” He shrugged, climbing out of the limo as Kaede pulled open the door. “Especially when I also happen to be generous with my donations.”

  Serra slid out behind him, barely managing to enjoy being out of the inferno before Fane was at her side, his arm possessively curved around her waist.

  She didn’t try to pull away. She could feel the coiled tension of his muscles and the heat that still rolled off his body like a furnace.

  He was hanging on by a thread.

  Instead she turned her attention to the imposing red brick structure with large windows framed by white shutters and a large columned portico. It was large enough to house a football team, with all the warmth of a locker room.

  She far preferred her parents’ cabin hidden in the woods less than two hours away. It was a quarter of the size, and probably cost less to build than the four-car garage, but it was filled with the light and warmth of a home well loved.

  The thought had barely formed when the double doors opened and a slender, middle-aged woman with perfectly coiffed auburn hair stepped onto the flagstone porch, clearly eager to welcome her newest guest.

  “Sir Baxter, welcome,” she called, holding out her hand for Bas to kiss.

  Serra arched a brow. Was the woman for real?

  She looked and acted like a damned Stepford Wife.

  With an elegance that should have warned anyone with a brain that he wasn’t entirely human, Bas moved to obediently place his lips against her fingers, before straightening and glancing toward Serra.

  “I hope you do not mind if I brought friends with me?”

  She batted her lashes that were as false as her too-rounded tits.

  “Certainly not. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine.” Latching on to Bas as if she feared he might escape before she could display him like a rare artifact to her friends, the woman herded him over the threshold. “I have someone you absolutely must meet.”

  Forgotten, Serra exchanged a resigned glance with Fane.

  Christ. She just wanted to be done with this horrible nightmare and back at Valhalla where she belonged.

  Safe with her friends and family.

  And Fane . . .

  Shit.

  She sharply slammed the door on her treacherous thoughts.

  She could be impetuous. Even reckless.

  She wasn’t about to repeat her self-destructive pattern over and over, hoping for a different result.

  That was insane.

  Chapter Twelve

  Fane stood next to Serra as the string quartet hidden in a far corner struck up a waltz.

  Instantly the guests crowded into the formal sitting room that had been converted into a dance floor.

  Standing at an angle to block Serra from bay windows that offered a perfect opportunity for a sniper, Fane allowed his gaze to scan the room.

  He ignored the pampered humans who twirled beneath the chandelier, their fine plumage and sparkling jewels designed to attract attention. The strutting peacocks were all norms, many already impaired by alcohol or drugs. They posed no immediate danger.

  Instead he concentrated on the shallow alcoves that held imitation Greek statues and a distant door that led to a back hallway.

  He didn’t actually think anyone was about to attack. Certainly not in such a highly visible area.

  But he was nothing if not thorough when it came to his guardian duties.

  Especially when he was guarding the female who was the reason his heart beat.

  His senses tingled with the warning of an approaching high-blood and he turned to watch Bas stroll toward them with a narrowed glare.

  The jackass stood just close enough to Serra to make Fane’s teeth clench, adjusting his cuff as he spoke in low tones that wouldn’t carry.

  “Wait ten minutes, then meet me on the back terrace.”

  His command delivered, Bas moved to join a buxom blonde who he soon had clinging to his arm as he coaxed her into leaving the room.

  “Someday,” he muttered.

  Serra clicked her tongue, pale green eyes flashing fury. “You’re presuming I won’t kill him first.”

  Fane felt his heart slam into his ribs at the sight of her.

  God, but she was magnificent.

  Even surrounded by females who spent a fortune to look beautiful she stood out from the crowd.

  The pale perfect features. The satin gloss of her dark hair.

  The lush body with its sultry sensuality that was a challenge to every man who caught sight of her.

  The unapologetic confidence in her own worth.

  It all combined to make her a formidable female.

  And that was before you added in her lethal psychic abilities.

  “He was right about one thing,” he said, his voice edged with pride.

  This amazing creature was his. All his.

  Whether she was ready to accept the truth or not.

  “What’s that?”

  He stepped close enough that his breath would brush over the bare skin of her exposed neck. “You are dangerous.”

  She trembled, a pulse leaping at the base of her throat. “Are you flirting with me?”

  The hint of disbelief in her voice hit him like a body blow.

  Shit.

  His self-righteous attempts at nobility had done even more damage than he’d ever allow himself to acknowledge.

  To both of them.

  “Better late than never,” he said gruffly.

  Her eyes darkened, before she was hastily turning to scan the crowd. “Where’d that waiter go with the champagne?”

  Sensing her walls coming up, Fane slid an arm around her waist and hauled her against his chest.

  He had ten minutes.

  He wasn’t going to waste them.

  “Do you want to dance?”

  She blinked in shock, but she didn’t try to pull away.

  Or punch him in the face.

  He’d take that as a win.

  “You dance?”

  “Is that surprising?”

  “I suppose it shouldn’t be,” she said, smiling as she delivered her insult. “After all, bears can dance.”

  “I think I can do better than a bear.”

  With a tug, he had her in his arms and was swirling around the dance floor with a confidence that managed to catch her off guard.

  Her eyes widened, her steps easily following his fluid movements and Fane hid a smile. He wasn’t about to confess that all Sentinels were forced to take dance lessons to help with their balance and flexibility. Let her wonder how many other secrets he was hiding.

  Twirling her in a complicated pattern, Fane watched the flush of pleasure touch her cheek. Not that she was about to admit she might enjoy being in his arms, he wryly conceded. She was determined to pretend that they could be lovers while she kept her emotions locked safely away.

  Silly female.

  She belonged to him.

  Including her messy, unpredictable, glorious emotions.

  Soon the crowd on the dance floor began to thin as the humans stopped to gape at their elegant movements, the women’s faces tight with envy while the men were all but panting with lust.

  “Fane,” she whispered into his ear. “People are staring.”

  He pressed
a fleeting kiss to her temple. “Of course they’re staring. You’re stunning.”

  “Oh . . .” She hissed in exasperation, pulling back to meet his steady gaze. “Dammit. You’re the most aggravating male to ever walk the face of the earth.”

  He allowed a rare smile to curve his lips, his hand splayed on her lower back urging her closer.

  “I always try to be the best at everything.”

  “You succeeded,” she muttered, even as she allowed herself to melt against him.

  He pressed his cheek to the top of her head, savoring the rich scent of chamomile and warm, wicked woman.

  God. She fit perfectly against him. Her head snuggled into the hollow of his shoulder, her arm wrapped around his waist, and her fingers warm in his hands.

  He craved her with the force of an addiction. To hold her, to please her. To know she was safe and that he could whisk her back to Valhalla and spend the rest of his very long life adoring her.

  Instead he led her off the dance floor as the music came to a flourishing end, holding her tight against his side as he halted in the shadows at the back of the room.

  Lowering his head, he whispered directly into her ear. “Ready to disappear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Stay close.”

  She nodded, understanding he intended to use his powers to allow them to slip away unnoticed.

  A Sentinel couldn’t make himself invisible, but he could encourage people to look the other way.

  Waiting until the music started up and the crowd was rushing to fill the dance floor, Fane urged Serra out the side door and into the narrow hallway that led toward the back of the house. He halted once, searching the shadows for unseen enemies before continuing in the direction of Bas’s scent.

  They entered a long, informal living room that was shrouded in shadows, discovering the assassin waiting for them next to the French windows that overlooked a sunken rose garden.

  Fane released Serra, wanting his hands free as Bas turned to glare at them. “Took you long enough.”

  Serra shrugged. “Where’s the blonde?”

  Bas allowed his gaze to sweep down her slender body. “Jealous?”

  Serra made a sound of disgust. “Making sure her body isn’t stuffed behind the curtains.”

  The assassin chuckled. “She’s eagerly waiting for me in the library.”

  Serra shuddered. “Bleck.”

  Bas’s amusement was abruptly wiped away as he turned to point through the French doors.

  “The estate I want you to search is just beyond the hedge.”

  Fane stepped forward, judging the distance. “Who lives there?”

  Bas made a sound of impatience. “Does it matter?”

  Fane shot him a warning glare. “It does if you expect me to allow Serra anywhere close to the place.”

  The assassin shrugged. “A harmless businessman who asked me to search for his missing wife.”

  “That sounds like a job for the police or a private detective,” Serra said, pointing out the obvious.

  “Not when she took off with $6 million in cash and the secret recipe for his barbecue sauce,” Bas said.

  Serra frowned. “Barbecue sauce?”

  The assassin nodded. “It’s sold around the world and has made him a billionaire several times over.”

  “Did you find her?”

  “Of course.”

  “Is she alive?”

  “She was when I sent her location to my client. After that . . .” Bas gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Not my business.”

  Serra grimaced. “Nice.”

  Bas leaned to push open the nearest French door, pointing toward the center of the garden. “If you follow the path past the ugly-ass excuse for a fountain you’ll see a narrow opening in the hedges that connects to the adjoining estate,” he said. “You’ll have to use your powers to disarm the security system.”

  Fane moved past Serra to step onto the wide terrace. “Are there guards?”

  “One outside. One inside.”

  Serra joined Fane, turning her head to study Bas who remained in the house. “You aren’t going with us?”

  “No.” Bas shook his head. “I’ll keep our hostess distracted so your absence won’t be noticed.”

  Serra rolled her eyes. “Convenient.”

  “Not really,” Bas countered. “She can’t seem to keep her hands out of my pants.”

  Serra marched down the shallow steps. “Let’s go.”

  Fane was swiftly at her side, reaching into the pocket of his tux to pull out a small handgun.

  His gaze searched the rigidly organized flower beds and mandatory marble fountain that sprayed water into the moonlight. There was nowhere for an attacker to hide. So why did the back of his neck prickle and his finger tighten on the trigger of his gun?

  They circled the fountain and moved toward the small gardener’s shed at the very back of the property. Darkness wrapped around them, the sounds from the party muted to a distant murmur. Fane should have felt relieved. They were out of sight of the guests and far enough from the main street not to be spotted by stray passersby.

  But he wasn’t relieved.

  Instead his instincts were on full alert.

  Finding the narrow opening in the hedge, Fane shoved his large body through the prickly branches, indifferent to the damage to his expensive tux. As far as he was concerned any male attire that required a tie and cufflinks should be banned for all eternity.

  Then turning, he held the branches apart for Serra to join him.

  Once through, she paused to yank off her impossibly high heels and tossed them aside. He stood at her side, inspecting the massive Tudor-style mansion that blazed with lights. There was a large back patio and the predictable pool with an attached pool house. Closer to them was a ring of large oaks that blocked the view of the house from its neighbors.

  Fane grimaced as he realized there were way too many places an enemy could be lurking.

  “I don’t like this,” he muttered.

  Serra pressed close to his side, her profile tense. “I don’t either.”

  “Do you sense something?”

  She shook her head in frustration. “It’s all too muddled to pinpoint specific thoughts, but there’s a—” Her words broke with a shudder.

  “Malevolence?” he finished for her, feeling the same creepy vibe.

  “Yes.”

  His teeth clenched, his instincts were screaming to toss Serra over his shoulder and get the hell out of there.

  “How close do you need to get?” he managed to choke out.

  She hesitated, her eyes closing as she tried to search for a specific mind among the masses.

  “The pool house should be close enough,” she at last announced.

  Grasping her hand, Fane slowly led her forward. When she was concentrating on her search for Molly she was completely vulnerable.

  “Hold on tight,” he commanded, releasing a short burst of power that would disable any surveillance equipment.

  Holding the gun in one hand, he passed through the trees and angled toward the pool house. He resisted the urge to hurry, knowing that Serra needed time to search through the thoughts that were bombarding her.

  But, as they reached the edge of the cement that surrounded the pool, she came to a sharp halt.

  “Stop.”

  Fane was instantly on alert. “Is it Molly?”

  Serra opened her eyes, her face pale with strain. “No, she’s not here.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “We’re being . . .” She struggled for the proper word.

  “Serra?”

  “Hunted,” she at last breathed.

  Fane’s reaction was instantaneous. “Shit.” With one movement he had Serra scooped off her feet and pressed against his chest. Then, calculating the nearest escape route, he headed toward the high hedge at top speed. “Hold on.”

  He managed to make it past the pool when he heard the barely audible click and then
felt the blow to the back of his upper shoulder.

  A man less experienced might have assumed that someone had slugged him with a baseball bat. But he’d been shot enough times to know he’d been hit by a large-caliber bullet.

  Gritting his teeth against the pain, he continued running forward, ignoring the warm wetness that was already spreading down his back.

  They needed to get past the hedge before he tried to stem the bleeding.

  There was another faint sound, but it didn’t sound like a trigger. Still, Fane tensed, preparing for another blow. Instead it was Serra who cried out in pain.

  Fuck.

  “Serra,” he rasped. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’ve been mind-stunned,” she said between clenched teeth.

  Fane hissed in disbelief. A mind-stunner was a weapon developed by the human scientists when they discovered the true power of psychics. Idiotically they’d feared the high-bloods could take command of the leaders of government and force them to obey like mindless robots.

  Once it was obvious that such a covert overthrow of the political system wasn’t possible, the weapons had been confiscated by the Army and supposedly locked away for safekeeping.

  So who the hell was toting one around?

  Continuing forward, Fane was abruptly halted as a man leaped off the roof of the pool house and landed directly in front of them, a gun pointed at the female in his arms.

  With a speed that was too swift for the human to follow, Fane was turning to block Serra with his large body.

  Intending to sprint in the opposite direction, he was stymied by the sight of another male approaching

  “Fane,” Serra cried out, easily realizing they were caught between a rock and a hard place.

  Thank God she didn’t realize he’d been wounded and was losing blood at an alarming rate.

  “I’ve got them,” he soothed, setting her down before he surged into action with a blinding speed.

  Serra instinctively fell to her knees and curled into a small ball.

  Her brain was still scrambled from the mind-stunner, the pain so intense she could barely breathe. Even worse, her powers were temporarily offline.

  Dammit.

  Which meant that she was nothing more than a liability to Fane.

  The best thing she could do was stay out of the line of fire so the Sentinel didn’t have to worry about her.