Blood Assassin

  “No. The opposite, in fact.”

  Wolfe wanted to believe that was good news, but the tension in the air only thickened.

  “What does that mean?” he at last asked.

  “The electricity has been restored to a few neighborhoods in Woodward,” the abbot explained.

  Wolfe met Lana’s troubled gaze, immediately realizing what had happened.

  “She’s on the move,” Lana breathed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Serra shifted on the leather seat. After two hours of driving around the city of St. Louis her ass had fallen asleep. And worse, her brain was fried from the tidal wave of thoughts and emotions that had been bombarding her since leaving the hotel.

  Thankfully, Fane had been seated beside her in the backseat of the black Mercedes with Bas in front driving. The Sentinel’s ability to help her block out the background noise was the only reason she wasn’t a babbling idiot by now.

  Lifting a hand to rub her aching temple, Serra frowned as Bas turned off the main road and headed into an abandoned industrial complex. Then, pointing his phone toward an approaching warehouse, Bas slowed the car as a large steel door slowly lifted so they could pull inside.

  They came to a halt in the center of the empty building.

  “Why are we stopping?” Serra demanded.

  She just wanted to be done so she could return to the hotel. Or even better, drive far enough from the city that she could find some peace.

  “The other addresses you’ll have to enter to fully search,” Bas explained, shoving open the door of the car and stepping out. “I can’t be seen with you without alerting the kidnapper that we’re working together.”

  Exchanging a resigned glance with Fane, Serra opened the car door and stepped out. A swift mental sweep revealed they were alone. Unless, of course, there was an unseen enemy able to cloak their minds from her powers.

  After last night a very real possibility.

  “Why can’t you use one of your illusions?” she demanded as Fane moved to her side, his arms folded over his massive chest.

  Bas touched the knot of his silk tie before smoothing back his dark hair. Serra sensed it was a ritual he performed to soothe his inner demons.

  “That was fine when I assumed we were dealing with a former client,” he explained. “None of them are aware of my little talent. Anyone who worked for me would know that I can disguise my appearance.”

  Serra frowned. “So what do you intend to do?”

  Bas glanced at his Rolex. “I told Kaede to wait half an hour before picking me up. Just in case we’re being followed.”

  “And then?” she pressed.

  “I have a friend in the illegal arms business.” Bas smiled at her look of disgust. “He might be able to tell us who recently purchased a mind-stunner.”

  “Fine.” Fane opened the door of the front passenger seat for her, his gaze moving toward the still-open warehouse door. “But tell your goons in the black Civic to keep their distance.”

  Bas made a sound of annoyance while Serra craned her neck to locate the car that was parked in the shadows of a nearby building.

  “They’re there for your protection,” the assassin ground out.

  Serra studied the lean face, taking note of Bas’s tightly clenched teeth. Had he actually thought he could have them tailed without Fane spotting them?

  “I thought you just said you wanted to avoid any connection to us?” she pointed out.

  “The kidnapper would expect me to be keeping tabs on you,” Bas said without apology.

  Fane touched the handgun holstered at his side. “Warn them to stay away.”

  “Have you forgotten that the kidnapper has already tried to kill Serra once?”

  “Exactly.” Fane’s voice assured Bas he wasn’t screwing around. “Which means that anyone who gets too close is considered the enemy. Make no mistake, I’ll kill first and ask questions later.”

  Bas stiffened. Serra wondered how many people ever dared to stand up to him.

  She was going with zero.

  Until now.

  “They have no reason to get close unless you’re being attacked,” the assassin snapped, his gaze shifting toward Serra. “Or trying to do something stupid.”

  She arched a brow. “Something stupid?”

  “Trying to contact Valhalla,” Bas said. “Running away.”

  “Yeah right.” Serra gave a disgusted shake of her head. “Where would I go?”

  Bas shrugged, clearly at a breaking point despite his grim composure.

  “Just being cautious.”

  Fane pointed a finger at the assassin. “Warn them to stay back or prepare for their funeral.”

  Bas carefully adjusted his cuffs, speaking to Serra. “I don’t know how you stand spending so much time with him, my dear. He’s barely housetrained.”

  Serra smiled. “He grows on you.”

  “Like fungus?” Bas smoothly suggested.

  Fane rounded the car, his body rigid with the desire to hit someone.

  “Shut up before I cut off your nuts,” he warned Bas as he slid into the driver’s seat and slammed shut the door.

  Bas stepped back, his hands lifted in surrender. “He’s all yours.”

  Serra slid into the passenger seat and closed the door before turning to study Fane’s perfectly chiseled profile.

  “All mine,” she murmured, her heart giving a treacherous flutter.

  “No doubt about it.”

  He sent her a smoldering glance before he shifted the car into gear and gunned the motor.

  They turned in a tight circle and headed out of the warehouse at a speed that no doubt had their tails cursing.

  Serra ignored the manly temper tantrum, instead concentrating on typing in the addresses they still had to search into the GPS system.

  Once the voice began offering monotone directions to the first location, Serra settled back in her seat, trying to hide the pain stabbing into her brain.

  Fane was just looking for an excuse to snap. Serra preferred to avoid bloodshed until they’d found Molly.

  “Do you still intend to travel to Tibet?” she asked, hoping to soothe the Sentinel’s seething frustration.

  Fane slowed the car to a reasonable speed, following the directions to a residential neighborhood.

  He sent her a brooding glance. “I think I’ve proven that I’ll travel wherever you are.”

  She shook her head. There never had been any doubt he would rush to her rescue.

  He would have done it for anyone.

  “I mean after I’m no longer in danger.”

  “Exactly.”

  Her heart missed a strategic beat. Was he saying . . .

  She gave a sharp shake of her head. This wasn’t the fairy tale she’d created over the years.

  It was real life that was messy and disappointing and didn’t always end up with Prince Charming riding off with the heroine.

  “You can’t give up your future just to be with me.”

  His hands tightened on the driving wheel, his knuckles white with the strain.

  “It’s the only future I ever wanted,” he said, his voice so low she barely caught the words. “I just never dreamed it would be possible.”

  Well . . . crap.

  A rueful laugh was wrenched from her throat.

  “For a man who spent years barely speaking more than two words, you’re remarkably talented in saying just what I want to hear,” she muttered.

  He sent her a searching glance as they turned onto a narrow street that led to an increasingly grungy neighborhood.

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  In truth, she didn’t know what it was.

  And it didn’t seem particularly wise to try and figure it out when she was smack-dab in the middle of a life and death situation.

  “I was all prepared to spend the rest of my life as a tragic martyr,” she said, trying to lighten the suddenly tense mood.

  Fane paused, as if wanting to de
mand that she believe his sincerity. Then, with a twist of his lips, he reluctantly followed her lead.

  “You’d make a terrible martyr,” he informed her.

  “Are you kidding me?” She sniffed, pretending to be offended. “If I put my mind to it, I could have poets writing epic poems to immortalize my tragicness.”

  “Tragicness?” He turned the car into a parking lot. “Is that a word?”

  “If it’s not, it should be.”

  Pulling into a fire lane, Fane put the car in park and turned off the engine. Only then did he glance in her direction.

  “It doesn’t matter since there’s no way in hell you’re ever getting rid of me.”

  A hot flash blasted through her. She wanted to blame it on Fane’s damned ability to heat the air with his emotions. Or menopause.

  She didn’t want to think she was the kind of woman who responded to the “caveman” approach.

  That was just . . . pathetic.

  “You should try to make it sound more like a promise and less like a threat,” she informed him with a sniff.

  His lips twitched, as if aware of her renegade reaction. The annoying, oversized, tattooed brute.

  “I’ll work on it,” he assured her, nodding toward the building in front of them. “This is the place.”

  Serra grimaced. The faded brick structure with a flat roof and industrial windows was one of three structures that made up the apartment complex. It looked like any other low-rent, going-nowhere housing unit to be found in every city in America. The sort of place that was on your downward slide to the gutter.

  “Why can’t it ever be a shopping mall?” she muttered.

  Fane shuddered. An honest to God shudder at the mention of a lovely, sparkling, fashionista playground.

  “I’d rather search through the sewers.”

  “Hmm.” She gave a disapproving click of her tongue. “You’re going to need a lot of training.”

  The dark eyes smoldered with a sudden heat as his gaze drifted down to the low scoop of her neckline.

  “There’s some training I enjoy more than others.”

  “So I’ve noticed.” With a roll of her eyes she shoved open the car door. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Fane quickly joined Serra as she exited the car, shooting a brief glance over his shoulder.

  The black Civic didn’t bother to be subtle as it slid to a halt at the far edge of the parking lot, the two Sentinels smart enough to keep their asses in the car.

  With a cold glare, Fane turned his attention toward the building in front of them, searching for any hint of danger.

  Not easy in an area where humans lived piled so closely together. His nose curled at the stench of rotting garbage from a nearby Dumpster, his attempt to catch the sound of movement blocked by the screech of a child being hauled toward the building by a frustrated mother.

  He gave a shake of his head, glancing down at the paper in his hand. There was no way to adequately scout for potential enemies. The best he could do was get Serra in and out as quickly as possible.

  “The apartment number is 512,” he said, grudgingly headed up the crumbling sidewalk toward the nearest door.

  “I think we should start at the top and work our way to the basement,” Serra said, easily keeping pace. “That way we don’t miss any janitor closets or empty apartments where a child could be hidden.”

  Reaching the building, he turned to study Serra’s pale face and the bruises that marred the delicate skin beneath her eyes.

  She tried hard to disguise the toll this search was taking on her, but he wasn’t fooled.

  He could feel her pain as if it were his own.

  Lifting his hand, he brushed his fingers lightly down the curve of her throat.

  For high-bloods it was a gesture of affection.

  “Do you have to search each floor?”

  “Yes.” She gave a decisive nod. “There are too many thoughts interfering for me to pick out just one from a distance.”

  Fane bit back a curse. “I was afraid of that.”

  She frowned, watching as he easily broke the lock and tugged open the door.

  “Is something wrong?”

  He nodded toward the long, narrow hallway lined by closed doors.

  If an attacker suddenly jumped from one of the apartments there would be no room to fight. And he’d bet his left nut everyone in the building had a weapon. If the bullets started flying the humans wouldn’t hesitate to join in the gunfight.

  “It’s a perfect location for an ambush.”

  She offered that special smile that sliced straight through his heart.

  “I trust you to protect me.”

  “With my life,” he pledged, holding out his hand. “Will it help you to have me mute the voices?”

  She started to grab his offered hand before giving a regretful shake of her head.

  “I can touch your back if it becomes too unbearable,” she promised. “I know you prefer to keep your hands free.”

  His lips abruptly twisted as he recalled the hours he had spent with his hands filled with lush, female curves.

  “Under most circumstances,” he murmured.

  She gave a choked laugh, eyeing him in surprise. “You are proving to be a man with many layers, Fane.”

  “You have no idea, Serra Vetrov.” He leaned forward to steal a brief, but fiercely possessive kiss. Then straightening, he held her pain-darkened eyes. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

  She sucked in a deep breath before giving a nod of her head.

  “Ready.”

  Taking the lead, Fane headed toward the nearby stairs to the top floor.

  Inside the building wasn’t any better than its outside.

  The stairway smelled of marijuana smoke and stale piss, the blare of TVs echoing through the stairwell. The once white walls were now yellowed and covered by graffiti while the windows were covered by chicken wire that blocked most of the late morning sunlight.

  A depressing, bleak place that would suck the hope from the most optimistic person.

  Finally reaching the top floor, Fane jerked open the thick fireproof door and moved down the long hallway. He kept his pace deliberately slow, knowing Serra needed time to process the various minds that were slamming into her.

  He hated putting her through the relentless torture, but until he found a way to get rid of the toxin pumping through her bloodstream, he didn’t have an option.

  Dammit.

  They reached the end of the hall before he glanced over his shoulder to study her pale face.

  “Anything?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet.”

  With a grimace, Fane pulled open the door to the opposite stairwell. They headed down to the fourth floor, entering the hallway that was an exact, depressing duplicate of the top floor.

  “God,” Serra breathed, placing her hand flat on his back.

  “What’s wrong?” He remained on high alert even as he allowed his powers to help her mute the overwhelming surge of human emotions.

  “I’m beginning to appreciate your decision to travel to Tibet,” she muttered. “Although I prefer a remote mountaintop instead of the monastery.”

  A lifetime with Serra on a remote Tibetan mountaintop? Hell yeah. Sign him up.

  “Wherever you want,” he assured her.

  They finished the sweep of the floor and headed down the stairs. Entering the hallway, Fane had taken fewer than a dozen steps when the door beside him opened and a large male norm stepped out of his apartment.

  The man was middle-aged with greasy black hair and a flabby body. His heavy face was ruddy from years of alcoholism and his eyes yellowed from liver damage. Dressed in a filthy muscle shirt and saggy sweatpants he could have been the poster child for “A Life Wasted.”

  Still, while he might be a pathetic specimen, even for a norm, Fane wasn’t stupid enough to underestimate the man.

  Despite the early hour he was clearly drunk and looking for trouble.


  The bleary gaze landed on Serra, a mean smile curving his lips.

  “Well, well,” he slurred, hiking up the sagging sweatpants. “What a fine piece of ass.”

  Fane shifted to stand between the drunk and Serra. “Step back in your apartment.”

  The man appeared stupidly unaware he was staring death in the face. Or maybe he just didn’t give a shit. Life had clearly been a long series of disappointments.

  “Who the hell are you?” The jaundiced eyes narrowed. “The cops?”

  “I won’t tell you again,” Fane warned. “Return to your apartment.”

  “Give me the bitch and I’ll . . .” The idiot gave a high scream as Fane pulled his handgun and clipped his upper shoulder with a bullet. Slamming his hand over the small but painful wound, he flicked a shocked gaze over Fane’s massive form. A belated fear made his thick jowls quiver. “What the fuck? Are you one of those freaks?”

  Fane pointed the gun dead center at the man’s chest. “Last chance.”

  “Shit.” The man stumbled backward, the sharp stench of fresh piss assaulting Fane’s nose. “I’m going.”

  The door slammed shut and Fane calmly returned his weapon to the holster.

  “I could have dealt with him,” Serra said, a hint of disappointment in her voice that she hadn’t been allowed to screw with the man’s mind.

  The drunk truly had no idea how lucky he’d been. Fane gave him a flesh wound. Serra could have given him nightmares that would have haunted him for weeks.

  “I know. I like to flex my muscles.” Placing a hand on Serra’s lower back, he urged her toward the distant door. “We need to pick up the pace.”

  “The idiot just pissed his pants,” Serra said, shuddering in revulsion. “I doubt he’s going to bother us.”

  “No, but he might have called the cops.”

  She grimaced. “Good point.”

  Gathering speed, she returned her attention to the various thoughts and emotions that assaulted her from the apartments.

  They had nearly reached the end of the hall when she came to a sharp halt.

  “Serra?” Fane studied the distracted frown that pulled her brows together. “Is it Molly?”

  She remained silent, her eyes closed as she shifted through the mental noise only she could hear.

  “No,” she at last said, her eyes opening. “But there’s someone following us.”