Blood Assassin

  She was asking if he was willing to take the responsibility for finding a high-blood who had the potential to create utter chaos.

  “I can, but it will have to be on foot,” he informed her.

  Now that he had a visual on the wagon tracks, he was not going to risk losing it.

  “Fine,” Lana said, surprising him by her ready agreement. “They won’t be able to move very fast. Not only because they’re traveling by wagon, but it will drain the energy of the witches to keep Anna’s powers contained.”

  “Good. You stay with the vehicle and I’ll—”

  “No.”

  Wolfe hissed in frustration. Of course it couldn’t be that easy.

  “Lana.”

  She rested her hands on her hips, her spine stiff. “This isn’t up for debate.”

  He stepped toward her, ignoring the edge of frigid authority in her voice.

  “You know I have the power to shut down this hunt the minute I believe it’s too dangerous.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Are you claiming it’s too dangerous?”

  “I’m saying that the Mave isn’t going to get killed on my watch,” he growled.

  Her lips parted to remind him who gave the orders. She hadn’t reached her position by allowing anyone to tell her what to do.

  But, neither had he.

  And they both knew that he had the right to protect her if he thought it necessary.

  With an effort, she forced herself to use logic instead of brute force to make her point.

  “Wolfe, we both know this danger is bigger than both of us.” Her voice was soft, but unyielding. “If Anna isn’t contained her powers will eventually create enough havoc to start a nationwide panic. Once that happens then the humans will begin to look for someone to blame.” She didn’t have to spell out that Valhalla would be the focus of the humans’ hatred. The norms had wanted an excuse to attack them since the high-bloods had gone public. “I’ve worked too long for peace to allow anything or anyone to threaten my efforts.” She deliberately paused, holding his gaze. “Either you’re working with me or against me.”

  Shit.

  He couldn’t argue against her reasoning.

  The man inside him might rebel, but he was also the Tagos, leader of the Sentinels.

  He had to use whatever weapon necessary to eliminate the threat to his people. And however he might want to deny the truth, Lana was his most powerful of weapons.

  “Stubborn female,” he breathed.

  Wise enough not to gloat, Lana moved toward the Jeep to grab a leather satchel and a large bottle of water.

  “We should get going,” she said as she settled the strap of the satchel over her shoulder. “The sooner we have Anna in our custody the better.”

  He grimaced, collecting his own gear. Ammo clips, a dagger he sheathed at his hip, and a second handgun.

  The essentials.

  Then he pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “We’re going to need backup,” he muttered, waiting for the guardian Sentinel that had brought them to the monastery to pick up.

  Giving him concise commands to collect three more warriors and follow the direction of the GPS signal connected to Wolfe’s phone, he ended the call and studied the dusty road that stretched before them.

  “It would help if we knew where they’re going,” he muttered, not particularly happy at the thought of walking several miles in the fierce heat.

  “Or what they intend to do when they get there,” Lana responded.

  Wolfe grabbed the last bottle of water and started down the road.

  “No shit.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Fane led Serra from the elegant restaurant just off the lobby of the hotel. The aggravating female had squawked when he’d insisted she sit down and eat a decent meal, claiming they had no time to waste on food. So he’d simply tugged her into the restaurant and forced her into a seat, ordering enough food to feed a dozen Sentinels.

  He’d never realized just how ready she was to ignore the needs of her body when she was concentrating on her work. Probably a good thing since it would have made him nuts not to be able to care for her.

  Now he wasn’t going to tolerate her indifference. If she wouldn’t take care of herself, he damned well would.

  Period.

  She wasn’t happy with his insistence, but she did manage to clear an entire plate of chicken parmesan and half a loaf of bread.

  A bottle of wine later and she’d mellowed enough to allow him to lead her to the elevator without kicking him in the ass.

  He was taking that as a win.

  Entering the elevator, Fane went rigid, catching the unmistakable scent of a high-blood. On the point of shoving Serra out of the small cubicle, he abruptly recognized the scent.

  Pressing the doors closed, he used his powers to disable the cameras and stood back as the elevator smoothly headed upward. Within seconds a panel in the roof was tugged aside and Marco was dropping through the opening to land lightly on the carpeted floor.

  He was dressed in black jeans and a black tee that revealed the dragon tattoo around his neck. His lean face was grim as he turned to study Serra with his ice blue eyes.

  Unprepared for his abrupt arrival, Serra gave a small gasp of shock. “Good God, Marco,” she rasped, pressing a hand to her heart. “You scared me.”

  The Sentinel gave a lift of his dark brows. As a hunter, Marco didn’t have the same magical protection as Fane. Serra should have picked up his presence the minute she stepped into the elevator.

  “You didn’t sense me?” the older man chided. “Sloppy, Serra. Very sloppy.”

  Serra sent him a sour glare, even as a hint of affection softened her pale green eyes.

  Fane might have been jealous if he hadn’t known Marco had trained Serra in self-defense.

  All high-bloods were taught to protect themselves, not only with weapons, but also with their bodies. A witch or psychic, no matter how powerful, could have their talents disabled. They needed to know they could do basic hand to hand combat.

  The bond between a Sentinel and his pupil often lasted the rest of their lives.

  “I’m a little distracted,” she informed her former trainer.

  Marco reached to place his fingers against her throat, his expression fierce.

  “I know, little one.”

  Fane reached to knock aside his fellow Sentinel’s hand. He was willing to accept a familiarity between the two, but he had his limits.

  “There’s no need to touch.”

  Marco flashed him a mocking smile. “Feeling possessive, amigo?”

  Fane didn’t bother answering the ridiculous question.

  “I assume you risked being discovered because you have information for me?” he demanded.

  “Some.” Marco reached to hit the STOP button on the elevator. There was a tiny jerk as the elevator halted on floor ten. “First I traced the weapons.”

  Reaching behind his back, Marco pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

  Fane unfolded it, his brows drawing together at the familiar name.

  “Girard. Shit,” he muttered. They had discovered Jacques Girard and his band of idiots during their battle with the necromancer. Supposedly they were an ancient society determined to rid the world of high-bloods. “The Brotherhood?”

  “That was my thought as well,” Marco growled.

  “Have you contacted Wolfe?”

  Marco shook his head. “Not yet.”

  Fane glanced up in surprise. Marco was nothing if not ruthlessly efficient.

  “Why not?”

  “My contact said that there’s . . .” He searched for the right word. “Chatter.”

  “Within the Brotherhood?”

  “Yes,” Marco said. “It seems that several weeks ago they lost a cache of weapons.”

  “Lost?” Serra asked the obvious question.

  “It was in transit from Mexico to Kansas City.” Marco shrugged. “It simply disappeared.”
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  “So anyone could have stolen it,” Fane ground out, his hands clenched in frustration.

  He’d hoped the illegal weapons would lead them to the location of the kidnapper.

  Now it was just another dead end in a long line of dead ends.

  “Yep,” Marco agreed, his own expression bleak.

  “Shit. What about the Dark Side?”

  Marco shook his head. “You’re not going to be any happier.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s a fight club.”

  Fane paused, wondering why the hell the name wasn’t triggering an alarm. Wolfe had zero tolerance for his Sentinels making a little extra cash in unsanctioned fights. Perhaps because he’d been forced to fight when he was young. He kept close track of fight clubs and often sent one of his men to check them out. Any Sentinel caught in a club was looking at some face time with the Tagos. Something no one wanted.

  That meant the club was new or so underground that it hadn’t hit Wolfe’s radar.

  “Where?” he asked.

  “That’s the problem,” Marco admitted. “It changes location every night.”

  “Like a rave?” Serra asked.

  “Something like that.” Marco sent her a rueful grimace. “Only with a lot more blood and broken bones.”

  “Shit.” Fane barely resisted the impulse to slam his fist into the steel wall of the elevator. “We’re running out of time.”

  Marco’s tight expression revealed he was struggling against his own desire for violence.

  “I’ve got my contacts searching for tonight’s location, but it’s going to be hard without someone with direct access to the group who runs the club.”

  Fane nodded. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that the Sentinel was doing everything in his power to track down the information.

  “Keep on it,” he muttered.

  “Of course.” Marco pushed the button to open the elevator doors.

  “You’re prepared?” Fane demanded as the Sentinel stepped out of the cubicle.

  Marco paused to give him a nod. “Just give the word.”

  The doors slid closed and the elevator resumed its swift climb to the top floor.

  Fane avoided Serra’s steady gaze. The fact that her life remained in danger was like a hot dagger slicing through his heart.

  And each second that ticked by only dug the dagger deeper.

  Christ. He had to do something.

  But what?

  The elevator halted and the doors slid open. Instinctively taking the lead, Fane scouted for any hidden traps before allowing her to follow him into the hotel room. Once there he closed the door and did a swift sweep of the rooms, releasing small bursts of power to destroy any hidden bugs that might have been installed during their absence.

  Once confident they were alone, he returned to the main room to find Serra staring out the wall of windows.

  He halted in the middle of the floor, sensing she had something on her mind.

  It took a few minutes, but finally she turned to face him, her chin tilted to an angle that warned he wasn’t going to like what she had to say.

  “We have to tell Bas what we learned,” she abruptly said.

  His brows snapped together. Nope. He didn’t like it one damned bit.

  “Why?”

  “He has far better resources in St. Louis than we do to track down tonight’s location,” she said, her expression stubborn.

  “There’s no guarantee,” he growled.

  It would be a cold day in hell when he shared any info with the bastard.

  “Do you have a better suggestion?”

  “No.”

  His flat tone must have warned her that he wasn’t in the mood to discuss a partnership with the ass who’d poisoned her. Her lips thinned before she gave an annoyed shake of her head. Then with unerring accuracy, she managed to pounce on the only subject he wanted to discuss less than Bas.

  “Why did you ask Marco if he was prepared?”

  He kept his face devoid of expression. “If things go south he’ll have to get the Sentinels pulled out of the city before Bas or his people track them down.”

  It was a perfectly reasonable explanation she didn’t buy for a second.

  “Nice try.”

  She gave a faint toss of her head, the movement releasing the dark silk of her hair to spill over her shoulders. The sunlight tangled in the glossy strands, picking up hints of fire.

  Fane’s breath was jerked from his lungs as he studied her, arrested by her sheer beauty.

  It didn’t matter how long he’d known her. Or how many times he’d seen her across a room.

  She still captivated him.

  Barely aware he was moving, he halted directly in front of her, his hand lifting to brush through her soft curtain of hair.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Her lips parted as his heat surrounded her, revealing his stirring arousal.

  “Fane,” she breathed.

  His fingers moved to stroke down her throat, deliberately replacing Marco’s lingering scent with his own.

  Territorial?

  Hell yeah.

  “We have more important things to discuss.”

  She laid her hand on his chest, directly over the steady beat of his heart.

  “We do?”

  He smiled in slow invitation, grabbing her wrist so he could press her hand to his lips.

  “Or we don’t have to talk at all . . .” Debating between tossing her over his shoulder and heading for the bedroom or simply tumbling her onto the thick carpet, Fane suddenly stiffened. “Dammit.”

  Stepping back, she studied his furious expression with a rueful grimace.

  “Let me guess. Bas?”

  Fane ground his teeth together, trying to battle back his bloodthirsty desire to break the man’s neck.

  “He is truly wearing on my last nerve.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “The sooner we’re done with this mess the sooner we can go home.”

  Home.

  The simple word helped to soothe his homicidal lust.

  Okay. Maybe it didn’t soothe him. But it helped him maintain his composure as he ran a light finger down Serra’s pale cheek.

  “I hope you’re serious about that mountaintop in Tibet,” he said in a husky voice. “I want you to myself for the next century or so.”

  Serra stilled, her gaze warily searching his face.

  “What about your duties?”

  His finger moved to trace her lush lower lip. “You are my duty.”

  “Duty?” She trembled beneath his soft caress, but the wariness remained. “That’s not very romantic.”

  He swallowed a sigh, realizing she was deliberately twisting his words. Which was precisely why he preferred to communicate in a more . . . basic way.

  A damned shame he didn’t have time to prove just how romantic he could be. Not when Bas the Bastard was nearly at the suite.

  Muttering a low curse, he was just pressing a frustrated kiss to Serra’s stubborn lips when the sound of a heavy thud, followed by the splintering of wood, had him spinning around, his fighting instincts on full alert.

  The door flew open, hanging at a drunken angle as Bas stormed into the room, closely followed by the faithful Kaede.

  A dark, murderous fury lashed through Fane at the sight of the assassin. What the hell was going on?

  He’d warned the son of a bitch what would happen if he entered uninvited, hadn’t he?

  Now he was going to beat the ever-living shit out of him.

  Serra watched in horror as Fane charged forward. She knew what was going to happen before Fane grabbed Bas by the front of his silk shirt and tossed him into the wall.

  For God’s sake. What sort of idiot burst into the room of a fully trained Sentinel?

  Obviously the sort who picked himself up off the floor and launched himself into a battle where he was going to get his ass kicked.

  “I told you not to barge in here,” Fane snarled.
>
  Bas bared his teeth. “Fuck you, Sentinel.”

  With a roar, the assassin was ramming into Fane’s chest, barely flinching when Fane’s massive fist hit him on the side of his face. Instead he used his own fist to pound into Fane’s rock-hard abs. Then, without warning, Bas slammed his head forward to smash Fane’s nose.

  Serra gave a choked cry, moving to try to separate the two warriors.

  Dammit. If Fane killed Bas then she was screwed. And if Bas killed...

  No. Her mind couldn’t even go there.

  She’d taken a step forward when fingers wrapped around her upper arm, bringing her to a sharp halt.

  “No.” Kaede spoke directly in her ear. “Don’t interfere.”

  Her gaze remained locked on the two men who stumbled into the couch, both holding on to each other with a death grip as they sought to gain an upper hand.

  “I don’t understand.” She flinched as Bas jabbed his knee into Fane’s upper thigh. “What’s going on?”

  Fane slammed Bas’s head against a side table, splitting the wood in half.

  Already the scent of blood and violence filled the air.

  “It’s been brewing a long time,” Kaede said, clearly unconcerned that his boss might be ripped apart limb by limb. “You might as well let them get it out of their system.”

  Serra frowned. Of course the two men wanted to kill each other. And not just because Bas had kidnapped and poisoned her. They were too alpha not to feel the need to flex their muscles when they were in the same room.

  Men.

  But until this moment they’d both understood that they had to work together. At least until Molly was home.

  “Did something happen?” she demanded.

  Kaede snorted, his fingers biting into the flesh of her upper arm, but it was Bas who answered, his gaze briefly flicking in her direction.

  “You thought you could meet with my enemy and not have me discover your betrayal?”

  Serra disguised her grimace. He had to be referring to the hit man they’d confronted in the shed. But how the hell had he found out?

  Had the two Sentinels following them been spying?

  She gave a mental shrug. Who cared how he knew? All that mattered was that he didn’t use it as a reason to hurt Fane.

  “My betrayal? Are you really going to go there?” She pointed a finger at his bloody face. “I have toxin flowing through my blood, you bastard. Don’t talk to me about betrayal.”