Blood Assassin

  Fuck. He glanced over his shoulder.

  “One of Bas’s goons?”

  “I don’t think so.” She bit her bottom lip, unease abruptly darkening her eyes. “This feels like the men who attacked us last night.”

  “Shit.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Serra slammed down her mental barriers, focusing on the vague sense of menace that was growing stronger with every beat of her heart.

  At her side, Fane moved several steps away, giving himself plenty of room to fight.

  “How many?”

  “Just one.” She struggled to pinpoint the mind that was causing her growing unease. “A male.”

  “Which direction?”

  “Below us.”

  Fane reached for her hand. “This way.” He tugged her toward the door to the stairwell, only to come to an abrupt halt. “Wait.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want our tails to spot us leaving the building.”

  Serra stared at him in confusion. “You think Bas’s Sentinels are working with the kidnapper?”

  “Doubtful.” He shrugged, moving to lean his head against the door of the nearest apartment. When he was convinced it was empty he straightened and with one shove of his shoulder he had the door swinging open, the frame shattering beneath the impact. “But I want to have a little talk with our stalker,” he continued, leading her into the empty apartment. “Alone.”

  Serra made a sound of disbelief as they crossed the puke yellow carpet and entered the back bedroom.

  Less than twelve hours ago she’d watched Fane take a bullet. It wasn’t an experience she was anxious to repeat.

  “Are you crazy?” she snapped. “The last time they got close to us we nearly died.”

  He moved directly to the window, snapping the lock as he shoved it open.

  “They caught us by surprise.” He leaned out the window to scan the back lot. There wasn’t much to see. A row of Dumpsters, an overgrown lot that was framed by a chain link fence, and a rusty tin shed. “This time we’ll have the upper hand.”

  Upper hand? Yeah, right.

  They hadn’t had the upper hand since leaving Valhalla.

  “What’s the plan?” she grudgingly demanded.

  “We lead our shadow into an isolated location and ask him a few questions.”

  She glanced at his grim profile, knowing there wasn’t a chance in hell she could convince him not to take the risk. Not when he believed it might help her.

  “Why not include Bas’s Sentinels?” she suggested, willing to play nice with their unwanted tails. Anything to keep Fane from being injured again. “They’d provide extra muscle.”

  He gave a shake of his head. “I want Molly in our hands before Bas realizes we have a lead.”

  She studied his tense expression. There was something he wasn’t telling her.

  Something that wasn’t going to make her happy.

  She hesitated before demanding an answer.

  As a woman who could read the thoughts of others, she thoroughly approved of the old saying that ignorance was bliss.

  Unfortunately, she had a terrible premonition that on this occasion sticking her head in the sand wasn’t going to be an option.

  Gripping the sill of the window, she forced the question past her stiff lips.

  “Why?”

  He turned to meet her searching gaze. “We have no guarantee Bas will remove the toxin after he has Molly back,” he said, reluctantly sharing his fear. “In fact, it makes more sense to kill both of us and make our bodies disappear.”

  The breath was jerked from her lungs. “He wouldn’t.”

  Fane studied her in disbelief, as if he couldn’t believe she was so gullible.

  “He’s a mercenary without honor or ethics,” he growled. “There’s no way in hell he’ll let us return to Valhalla and reveal his crimes.”

  “God.” She felt dizzy. Maybe she was gullible. Of all the things she’d been stressing over, the fact that Bas might betray her hadn’t even entered her mind. Shit. “I never considered the possibility he wouldn’t remove the spell.”

  Fane’s eyes hardened until they looked like polished ebony.

  “Oh, he’s going to remove it. One way or another.” The lethal promise in his voice made Serra shiver, but before she could make him swear he wouldn’t put himself in danger, he was pointing toward the rusty shed. “Can you sense if the shed is empty?”

  She gave a shake of her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She didn’t have time to panic.

  First they had to survive the encounter with the unknown stalker.

  “I think so.”

  “Good.”

  The word had barely fallen from her lips when Fane was grasping the edges of the sill and with one smooth motion was leaping through the open window.

  “Shit.”

  Serra thrust her head through the opening, watching as Fane hit the ground. Despite the thirty-foot drop, he landed as light as a cat, swiftly straightening to hold out his arms.

  “I’ll catch you.” He frowned as she hesitated. “Trust me.”

  “It’s not you I don’t trust,” she muttered, awkwardly putting one leg over the sill. “It’s gravity.”

  “Just close your eyes and jump.”

  Her lips twisted at his command. He seemed to be asking her to do that a lot lately.

  Of course, leaping through the window was a lot safer than leaping with her vulnerable heart.

  Wiggling her second leg through the opening, she didn’t give herself time to hesitate, leaning forward until she was flying through the air.

  She barely had time to process the air brushing over her cheeks or her heart crashing against her ribs before she was landing in a pair of rock-hard arms.

  “See,” he whispered in her ear, pressing her close to his chest. “I’m not going to drop you. Not ever.”

  She forced open her eyes, meeting his steady gaze. “I’ll admit you’re useful on occasion.”

  He smiled with resigned amusement, then slowly he lowered her to the ground, careful to make sure she had her balance before removing his arms.

  “Stay near the edge of the building,” he commanded, leading her toward the end of the apartment complex.

  He halted when they ran out of sidewalk, peering around the corner. Only when he was sure the coast was clear did he jog toward the shed.

  Serra followed behind him, rounding the building to discover him yanking the padlock off the door as if it were made of plastic.

  But instead of entering the building, he gave a jerk of his head toward a nearby Dumpster.

  “I want you to wait over there.”

  Serra grimaced in horror. “You can’t be serious?”

  He leaned down to press a swift kiss to her mouth. “Hurry.”

  “Fine, but if you get hurt—”

  He cut off her warning with another fierce, way-too-short kiss, then with a firm push he had her headed toward the Dumpster.

  She muttered a curse beneath her breath, but reluctantly obeyed his command.

  When it came to the psychic world, she was in charge. When it came to the physical world, Fane was in charge.

  He was bigger, stronger, faster, and far better trained as a warrior.

  Besides, if she was stubborn enough to refuse to follow his lead, there was a good chance she was going to get him hurt.

  Ducking behind the Dumpster, she slapped a hand over her mouth and nose, struggling not to heave up the chicken and waffles she’d consumed for breakfast.

  How was she supposed to concentrate when she was being drowned in the stench of week-old garbage?

  With an effort, she shut down her physical senses, and instead concentrated on her mental ability.

  She easily picked up the void that surrounded Fane. She could monitor his physical presence, but his tattoos prevented any psychic intrusion.

  Only a few minutes later, she could detect the mind of their stalker. Just as on the previous night, sh
e was aware of the sense of approaching malevolence. A dark malice that was almost tangible.

  He was close. Really close.

  On the point of trying to penetrate into the stranger’s mind it abruptly went dark, along with the weird evil vibe.

  With a frown, she shifted to peek around the edge of the trash, not surprised to discover Fane reaching down to grab an unconscious man and toss him over his shoulder.

  The warrior had obviously concealed himself on the roof and dropped onto the unsuspecting man when he passed beneath him. That would be enough to knock anyone’s brain offline.

  Serra could only hope that it came back on.

  And soon.

  Leaving her hiding spot, Serra joined Fane as he reached the door and pulled it open. She frowned as she studied the unconscious man draped down his back.

  He looked surprisingly young. Under thirty, with black hair cut short and a body that was whipcord lean. His features were pale, revealing he spent little time in the sun. Of course, a killer would feel more comfortable creeping around in the dark, wouldn’t he?

  Or maybe he was pale because he was dead.

  “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

  “He’ll live,” Fane muttered, not particularly concerned with the man’s impression of a wet noodle.

  Together they entered the shed, Fane pulling the door behind him before dropping the stalker’s limp body on the dust-covered floor. Then, with brisk steps he was taking a quick inventory of the shadowed interior, shoving aside oilcans, rakes, shovels, and long neglected lawn mowers.

  Once he was certain they were alone, he turned to toss a small object toward her.

  Serra instinctively caught the weapon that was the size of her hand and shaped like a Taser. A closer inspection revealed the electrical impulses were designed to fill the air, not to press against someone’s body.

  She grimaced. “Is this the mind-stunner?”

  “Yep.” Fane knelt beside the stalker, removing a thin wire from his pocket and slipping it around the man’s neck.

  One yank and the wire would slice off a head.

  Serra ignored his efficient movements. She was far more concerned with the nasty device in her hand.

  With a sound of disgust, she dropped the mind-stunner on the ground and began crushing it with her heel. Over and over, she stomped on the weapon, not halting until it was beyond any hope of repair.

  Glancing up, she discovered Fane watching her with a faint smile.

  “Feel better?”

  She shrugged. “Yes.”

  “You know, that might have come in handy.”

  With a hiss, Serra kicked away the broken pieces. “I would never use a nasty device like that on one of our people.”

  He studied the stubborn line of her jaw. “You can’t always be so noble when it comes to war.”

  She knew that he spoke the truth. Hell, they’d barely survived the attack by the necromancer.

  She still felt no regret for the destruction of the weapon.

  “Maybe not, but I won’t become my enemy,” she said, her chin lifting to a defensive angle.

  “And that’s why I love you,” Fane murmured, his voice so soft she barely heard him.

  She caught her breath in disbelief.

  Holy crap. Did he just say what she thought he said?

  She licked her suddenly dry lips, studying the stark beauty of his face.

  “Did you just say the ‘L’ word?”

  His gaze slid down to linger on her damp lips. “That’s probably a discussion we should postpone to a more appropriate time and setting.”

  Her heart fluttered. Just as if she were one of those girly-girls.

  But she didn’t care.

  She’d waited to hear those words for so long.

  An eternity.

  She cleared her throat. “What kind of setting would you prefer?”

  He kept his voice low. “Music, candles, wine.”

  She lifted a teasing brow. “Flowers?”

  “White lilies,” he answered without hesitation.

  Oh hell. He knew.

  White lilies had always been her favorite.

  “You’re right,” she said with a shaky sigh. “This isn’t the place.”

  In the blink of an eye, he was back into Sentinel mode, his face as hard as granite.

  “You can wait outside and keep watch.”

  She scowled. “No. Way.”

  He sent her a dark glare. “Serra, this guy isn’t going to give up info without . . . encouragement.”

  He didn’t have to explain what he meant by encouragement.

  “I’m not completely naive,” she assured him.

  “It’s not that.” He held her gaze. “I don’t want you to see.”

  “Trust me, I don’t want to see either,” she said. Not because watching Fane beat the shit out of the stranger would change her opinion of him. Nothing on this earth could do that. She simply refused to allow him to take the risk. “Have you considered the possibility this man might be spelled like the others?”

  “I don’t intend to kill him.”

  “That doesn’t mean he won’t have a trigger to kill himself.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What do you suggest?”

  “Let me tranq him.”

  Fane barely managed to battle back his instinct to shut down the suggestion. In fact, the “oh hell no” was on the tip of his tongue before he managed to swallow the words.

  It wasn’t just because he knew that it would fracture the fragile trust she was slowly beginning to offer. Serra would never tolerate a man who tried to interfere with her talents. Not if she thought they could help.

  But because he was well trained enough to realize when it was better to use cunning than brute strength.

  He could torture the man until he would admit to anything Fane wanted to hear.

  By going into his mind there was the very real possibility they could discover the identity of the kidnapper.

  “Okay,” he grudgingly muttered. “Just don’t go too deep. He could have a mental trap waiting for a psychic.”

  She sent him a wry glance. “You concentrate on keeping him from escaping and let me do my job, big boy.”

  He studied her with a faint smile. “Big boy?”

  Her gaze made a slow inventory of his broad shoulders before moving to take in his chest.

  “You are big.” Her gaze slid lower. “In all the right places.”

  His cock hardened in instant reaction to her soft words.

  As if hoping to prove just how big it really could be.

  Shit. It seemed entirely unfair that she had such complete control over his body.

  Giving a resigned shake of his head, Fane returned his attention to the stalker sprawled on the ground. His hand tightened on the thin wire that was wrapped around the man’s neck as he caught the sound of a low moan.

  “He’s starting to wake up.” The warning had barely left his lips when Serra was moving forward to kneel beside the stranger, her hand reaching to press against his cheek. Fane clenched his teeth, his body vibrating with the intense need to yank her away from the man. Who knew how dangerous he might be? “What are you doing?” he rasped.

  “It helps if I’m touching him.”

  Fane was distracted as the man’s eyes snapped open and he was shoving himself to a seated position.

  Pulling on the wire, Fane stopped just short of cutting through the man’s flesh. One more jerk and the head would be flying across the shed. But the man wasn’t even aware he was in danger. Not when Serra was leaning forward to capture his confused gaze, her soft voice compelling him to obey.

  “Shh. Easy,” she murmured, holding his face in her hands. “That’s it. Just relax.”

  Fane watched as the man’s face went slack. He wasn’t entirely certain what Serra was doing, but he knew that she was able to put him in a state of deep relaxation, making it impossible for him to conjure magic or to fight against her intrusion.

/>   Or that was the theory. On this occasion, the stalker remained limp, but his pale eyes flashed with a mocking amusement.

  “You can’t . . . get in,” he slurred.

  Fane frowned in concern. “Serra?”

  “He’s right,” she admitted through gritted teeth. “There’s a barrier.”

  Shit. Of course there was. “Magical?”

  “Yes.” She glanced up with an expression of frustration. “I can’t force my way past it without killing him.”

  Fane shrugged, a smile of anticipation curling his lips. “Then we do it the old-fashioned way.”

  Serra reached up to touch his hand, keeping him from tightening the noose.

  “Hold on.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t get in, but I can read what comes out,” she said.

  Read what comes out? He shook his head in confusion.

  “Was that supposed to make sense?”

  She returned her attention to the stranger, keeping her hands pressed to the sides of his head.

  “Just ask a question.”

  Okay. Clearly she had a plan.

  Giving a quick glance through the window of the shed to make sure no one was trying to sneak up on them, Fane concentrated on the information they needed from this man.

  “Why are you following us?” he demanded.

  The pale eyes held the cold indifference of a true psychopath.

  “Fuck you.”

  Serra sucked in a sharp breath. “Check his back pocket.”

  Fane didn’t hesitate, bending down to pull out the thin, disc-shaped object that was clearly designed to be strapped around a hand with the disc pressed against the palm.

  “Dammit,” Fane growled, shoving the object into the front pocket of his camos. “Do they have a treasure chest of banned weapons?”

  “What is it?” Serra kept her gaze locked on the stranger, clearly prepared to capture any thought that slipped past the barrier.

  “A disrupter.”

  “What does it do?”

  Fane shuddered, all too easily able to visualize the man sneaking up behind Serra and placing the weapon against her back.

  “At close range it would stop your heart,” he said, his voice harsh. “To the world it would have looked as if you’d died of a heart attack.”