Blood Assassin

  Bas nodded. “Probably behind door number one.”

  Fane studied the open space in front of the door. It was too brightly lit and too distant from the crowd to simply stroll up to the alcove without attracting attention.

  Even for him.

  “The question is how we get a peek without attracting attention.”

  Bas tapped a slender finger on the railing of the catwalk. “We need a distraction.”

  Serra laid her hand on Fane’s arm. “I can—”

  Both men spoke as one. “No.”

  Serra scowled, but before she could insist on putting herself in danger, Kaede took command.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said, leaping over the railing of the catwalk to drop to the floor below.

  Fane frowned as the younger man disappeared among the shadows. There was no predicting what sort of distraction he was plotting.

  He could only hope it didn’t include anything too flamboyant. The last thing they needed was human authorities showing up to raid the place.

  One minute, then two ticked past. Fane ground his teeth. Dammit, what the hell was the enforcer waiting for?

  Then, just when he’d reached the end of his limited patience, the throbbing music came to an abrupt end.

  The silence was shocking, and as one, the entire crowd turned to glare at Kaede who stood at the edge of the warehouse, an unplugged electric cord dangling in his hand.

  “Listen up you bunch of bitches,” he called out, dropping the cord so he could stroll toward the cage. “If you want a real fight, I’ll give a thousand dollars to the first man who can knock me out.” He held up a hand as a roar of fury shook the crowd. “But first you have to catch me.”

  Tossing out his challenge, Kaede turned and swiftly headed toward the distant door, a hundred infuriated norms charging after him.

  “Shit,” Bas muttered. “Let’s go.”

  Bas leaped over the railing, closely followed by Fane and Serra.

  Although a few stragglers remained, those too drunk to realize the party had moved, or too smart to fall into a potential police sting, they crossed directly toward the door.

  With a concentrated burst of energy, Fane knocked out the cameras. Whoever was monitoring the fights was now blind.

  Which meant they had to come out of their hidey hole to find out what was going on.

  On cue the mystery door was shoved open and a large man with a shaved head and bulging muscles stepped out of the inner room.

  Fane felt a familiar prickle of energy.

  The man was a Sentinel.

  A hunter, not a guardian, which meant he didn’t have any magic, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous.

  Thankfully, the man’s attention was locked on the fleeing crowd as he moved forward. A foolish mistake that he paid for when Bas stepped forward and laid a hand against the back of his neck.

  Instantly the Sentinel crumpled to the floor, knocked unconscious by Bas’s magic.

  Without hesitation, they stepped over the slumbering Sentinel’s body, Bas taking the lead as they entered a small office.

  It was a barren room with the windows boarded over and the walls stripped bare. The wooden floor was covered in dust, and cobwebs drifted through the air. The few pieces of furniture were battered from use, but the computer system set up on the desk was top of the line and worth a small fortune.

  At their entrance a man glanced up from the computer screen, his expression of annoyance altering to sheer terror as Bas stepped forward.

  “Hello, Lee Sandoval. It looks like our game is at an end,” the assassin drawled. “I win.”

  Wolfe caught the scent of tobacco smoke long before they were close enough to sense the presence of the norms, or even the high-bloods hidden in the old-fashioned covered wagon.

  He shook his head in disbelief.

  Did humans not realize how far the smell of a cigarette could travel?

  Cautiously he crept toward the crest of a nearby hill, stretching out on his stomach as he scanned the shallow valley directly below.

  Night had fallen, but he was able to make out the wagon covered by a black canvas top that blended into the shadows. It was halted in the center of the dusty path, the two horses that pulled the vehicle standing with stoic patience.

  There was no way to see inside the wagon, so instead he closed his eyes, seeking the tell-tale tingle that revealed the presence of high-bloods in the van.

  There were at least four, he swiftly decided. Witches. And . . . something else.

  Something he couldn’t recognize.

  He opened his eyes to study the area surrounding the wagon. There wasn’t much to see beyond dirt and shrubs and a few large boulders sticking out of the ground. Then, glancing directly below the small ledge he was lying on, he caught sight of the heavy SUV that was hidden in the shadows of the hill.

  He was briefly baffled, wondering why they hadn’t driven straight to the wagon after it’d become disabled. The heavy steel wouldn’t offer complete protection from magic, but it was better than nothing.

  Then abruptly he realized that the vehicle must have been stalled by Anna’s powers.

  “Lana,” he breathed softly.

  Silently she moved to lie beside him, the scent of warm cinnamon filling his senses.

  “I see them,” she murmured softly. “There are four,” she said, counting the male norms crouched behind the SUV before her attention turned toward the wagon. There was a pause as she concentrated on the fragile vehicle. Abruptly she turned to send him a concerned glance. “They have Anna inside.”

  Wolfe nodded. “I don’t know whether to be terrified your suspicion was right or relieved we managed to track them down.”

  “Terrified,” Lana promptly answered, her tone distracted. “Why don’t they just keep moving?”

  “The wagon axle is broken,” he said, nodding toward the undercarriage.

  “So they’re helpless.”

  Wolfe gave a lift of his brows. He’d never heard the words “witches” and “helpless” in the same sentence.

  “Not really,” he said wryly. “There are at least four high-bloods inside the wagon.”

  “It would take three of the witches just to keep Anna contained,” she said. “They no doubt rotate so one is able to concentrate on controlling the horses while the others maintain the spell.”

  Three witches just to hold one spell? Wolfe grimaced. It was hard for him to wrap his brain around the fact that one mere girl could be as dangerous as a weapon of mass destruction.

  “What happens when the morons below us go in for the attack?” he asked.

  “They either drop the protective shield around Anna to fight back or they die,” she said bluntly. “My bet is they drop the shield.”

  “Mine too.”

  She held his gaze. “We have to stop this before that happens.”

  Wolfe turned to the side so he could pull out his phone and call the Sentinels who were following their trail. He grimaced when he realized the electronics had been fried.

  “My phone’s dead,” he said, his voice pitched so it wouldn’t carry. He returned his attention to the men behind the SUV. Although they remained crouched out of sight of the wagon, they were beginning to shift with a growing restlessness that warned they were swiftly reaching the limit of their patience. Very soon they would manage to goad each other into attacking. When that happened all hell was going to break loose. “They won’t get here in time.”

  “Then we have to take care of the situation,” Lana said, her voice soft, but edged with a steely determination that made his heart twist with dread.

  This was the Mave.

  The woman who commanded an entire race of dangerous high-bloods.

  And the woman who would happily sacrifice her life to protect them.

  He frowned. “We don’t know who the good guys are.” He tried to play for time.

  “It doesn’t matter.” She fluidly rose to her feet, her decision made. “We ne
ed the witches to keep Anna contained.”

  Shit. Wolfe pushed upright, shoving his fingers through his hair that was tangled from the night breeze.

  “I can handle the norms,” he assured her. “You stay here.”

  “They’re armed,” she protested.

  He glanced down at the various weapons strapped to his body. “So am I.”

  She studied his stubborn expression, then without warning she was heading toward the small trail that led down the hill.

  “I’m coming and that’s final.”

  “What the hell . . .” Swearing in frustration, Wolfe watched her walk away. “Jesus Christ, woman, are you trying to drive me into an early grave?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Bas studied the bastard he hadn’t seen for over three years.

  Lee Sandoval.

  He supposed the man looked the same, although he could barely recall him.

  He was scrawny and dressed in wrinkled khakis and a polo shirt. His hair was a dirty blond that needed to be combed and he had a narrow face with a weak chin. His pale eyes were set too close together and his teeth were too large for his mouth.

  Christ. He looked like a math teacher, not an evil mastermind.

  As if to prove Bas’s point, the man leaped to his feet, awkwardly grabbing a handgun off the desk to point it in their direction.

  “Stay back,” he warned, an unexpected hint of fear in his voice.

  Bas frowned, taking a deliberate step forward. His frown deepened when the man took an answering step back.

  This was the man who’d outwitted him?

  The man who’d devised a Machiavellian plot to kidnap Molly and trade her for a high-blood capable of destroying society?

  Granted, he was obviously intelligent. And it was far easier to be brave when you were hiding behind a camera.

  No doubt he treated it like a computer game where he could play the grand chess master without worrying about getting beat to a bloody pulp.

  But still . . .

  Bas gave a sharp shake of his head. Right now all that mattered was the gun pointed in his direction.

  An untrained idiot was far more dangerous with a firearm than a trained professional. And while he would probably survive being shot, it would disable him.

  Something he couldn’t afford. Not when Molly needed him.

  “It’s done, Sandoval,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “No.” The man gave a frantic shake of his head. “I still have Molly. If you want her to remain alive you’ll turn around and leave this office.”

  Pure, undiluted fury seared through Bas. How dare the bastard even speak his daughter’s name?

  “You’ll tell me where Molly is or I’ll have it forcibly removed from your brain,” he said, his voice edged with the power of his magic. “Not a pleasant experience or so I hear.”

  Surprisingly Serra stepped forward, her beautiful face set in an icy expression.

  “I can do it.”

  The man obviously believed her, his hand shaking so bad he could barely hold the gun.

  “Try it and Molly is dead.”

  Bas growled low in his throat. Dammit. The man had enough high-blood in him to make him immune to Bas’s compulsion. Granted, he had the magic and the training to torture the truth out of even the most obstinate enemy, but his control was on a razor‘s edge. He couldn’t be confident he wouldn’t accidentally kill the son of a bitch during his “interrogation.”

  “Not before I snap your neck.”

  The man took another step backward. “If I’m dead you’ll never find her.”

  “One of your henchmen will be happy to share any info they have.” Bas’s lips twisted into a humorless smile. “Well, maybe not happy. But they’ll share.”

  The man shot a quick glance toward the door where Fane was standing guard, as if hoping his Sentinel would return to save him.

  “They know nothing.”

  Bas swallowed a curse. The man was speaking the truth. Or the truth as he believed it to be.

  The men with Sandoval didn’t know where Molly was.

  Which meant he had to keep this pathetic, soulless worm alive.

  For now.

  “I have to admit I’m surprised,” he said, covertly shifting forward.

  A few more steps and he could knock the gun away. Until then he had to keep him distracted.

  The man licked his lips. “Surprised by what?”

  “You seemed so . . . competent.” Bas flicked a dismissive glance over the man’s wrinkled khakis and the hand that continued to shake. “Even cunning.”

  The man compressed his lips, his pride pricked by Bas’s mocking tone.

  “I was cunning enough to steal Molly from beneath your nose.”

  Bas gave a taunting shake of his head, moving a foot closer.

  “Now you’re the same spineless computer geek who used to cower when I walked by.”

  Sandoval made a valiant effort to steady the gun in his hand.

  “Take another step and I’ll shoot you.”

  Bas held up his hand, pretending to be intimidated by the man’s warning.

  He wanted Sandoval distracted, not goaded into putting a bullet through his heart.

  “Tell me how you did it,” he commanded.

  The geek glanced toward the door, then the computer screen that remained blank from Fane’s little trick. He was clearly hoping for help.

  Help that wasn’t coming.

  “Did what?” he at last demanded.

  “Kidnapped Molly.”

  Hate filled the pale eyes. A festering loathing that stemmed from the jealousy of a weak man in the constant shadow of a more powerful male.

  “You always did underestimate me,” the younger man accused.

  “Doubtful,” Bas sneered.

  The man’s finger tightened on the trigger. “And you wonder why people want to see you suffer?”

  Bas instantly latched on to the revealing word. “People? Who?”

  Sandoval paled, as if realizing he’d revealed more than he should have.

  “Me,” he snapped. “That’s why I took Molly.”

  Bas’s gut twisted with a rising sense of dread. There was no way in hell this man was any sort of mastermind.

  “You haven’t explained how you got her,” he rasped.

  “I . . .” Again with the lip licking. “I walked in and took her.”

  “A lie.” He blatantly stepped forward. “Tell me.”

  Sandoval wiped the sweat from his brow. “What does it matter?”

  Without warning, Fane was standing at Bas’s side, clearly running out of patience.

  “Dammit, assassin, you’re wasting time.”

  He sent the Sentinel a warning glare. The geek might be a coward, but he was also a psychic, which meant that it would take time for Serra to bust past his shields. He had to get Molly’s location by more . . . old-fashioned means.

  “I want to know,” he snarled, returning his attention to Sandoval. “Tell me.”

  “I helped write the code for your security system,” Sandoval grudgingly confessed. “It was easy to override it. Once I was in I used my psychic powers to disable the cameras.”

  Shit. That was why Bas didn’t allow his ex-employees to walk away alive.

  They always came back to bite him in the ass.

  “That explains the tech, but there’s no way in hell your psychic skills got you past the spells I have woven around the property,” he said between gritted teeth.

  “Why do you care?” Sandoval’s voice was laced with a growing desperation. “I have your daughter—”

  Bas took another step forward, indifferent to the gun pointed at his heart. Goddammit. He was done with games.

  He was getting his daughter back.

  Period.

  Before he could move, however, Serra was laying a restraining hand on his arm.

  “Don’t.”

  He ignored her warning, concentrating on the man who was now dren
ched in sweat.

  “Who is it, you piece of shit?”

  The man shook his head, his breath coming in rapid pants. “No.”

  Serra squeezed his arm. “Bas . . . stop.”

  “Not now, psychic,” Bas growled, trying to shake her off. His attention remained focused on Sandoval. The geek was ready to crack. He could feel it. “Tell me who you’re working for.”

  Serra dug her nails into his arm, determined to gain his attention.

  “Don’t press him.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? He has Molly,” Bas grated, yanking his arm free. “I’m getting answers.” He moved forward, his gaze locked on Sandoval’s wide eyes. “One way or another.”

  Sandoval gave a wild wave of his gun. “I’ve told you, stay back.”

  Bas continued forward. “Shoot me.”

  “Bas!” Serra cried out.

  For a second Bas wondered why the psychic was trying to interfere. Hell, she had more reason than anyone to want Molly found.

  Then the realization hit as Sandoval glared at him in bleak resignation.

  “You arrogant fool,” the man muttered, turning the gun and pressing it against his forehead.

  “Shit.” Bas leaped forward even as the man squeezed the trigger.

  Sandoval had obviously been spelled to kill himself if cornered.

  A spell that Serra had sensed, but he’d been too caught up in his desperation to notice.

  The man collapsed in a bloody heap on the floor, the hole in the side of his head warning that his lack of skill with a weapon hadn’t prevented him from managing a killing shot.

  Dropping to his knees, Bas reached to grab Sandoval’s shoulders, giving him a shake.

  “Don’t you die on me, you bastard,” he growled, his heart squeezing as the pale eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. He could physically feel the life draining from the man. Terror dried out his mouth, his heart refusing to beat as he turned toward the female who had knelt beside him. “Search his thoughts,” he commanded.

  She grimaced. “His mind is blocked.”

  What the hell. The man was a breath from being stone-cold dead and he was maintaining his shields?

  “Still?”

  “It’s not a psychic block,” she said, her face tight with frustration. “It’s magic.”