Blood Assassin

“Tell me where Molly is.” He gave the man a shake, indifferent to blood splattering his white shirt. “Tell me.”

  Serra made a choked sound, as if unnerved by the sight of the dying man.

  “He can’t,” she managed to force out.

  He turned to glare at her pale face. “Do something.”

  In less than a heartbeat Fane was at Serra’s side, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders.

  “No.”

  Bas used his only true leverage over the female psychic. “Molly needs you.”

  “I can’t.”

  Anguish darkened her eyes, then without warning she was arching backward, a scream ripped from her lips as Fane pulled her tight against his chest.

  She gave one more scream before her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she slumped unconscious in the Sentinel’s arms.

  Fane lifted his head to stab him with a lethal glare, the heat of his anger sizzling through the air.

  “You’re a dead man,” he promised in flat tones.

  Instead of following the Mave down the narrow track that offered a gentle angle down the hill, Wolfe headed directly over the top and down the steep slope, leaping the last six feet to land directly behind the squatting norms.

  He wanted to take care of the band of idiots before Lana could get herself shot.

  Silently stepping within striking distance of the first norm, Wolfe folded his arms over his chest.

  “Put your guns down,” he said, his voice filled with authority.

  In unison the men surged upright, spinning to eye Wolfe with expressions varying from shock to outright fear.

  The ones with fear were the smart ones. They might actually survive the encounter.

  “What the hell?” the nearest idiot muttered, a gun in his hand. “Who are you?”

  Wolfe allowed his gaze to drift down the line of men, judging the character of each of them by the way they held themselves.

  They were all in their mid to late twenties and dressed in the usual jeans and black T-shirts. All had tats in an effort to make them look badass and a few had piercings on various parts of their bodies.

  Ridiculous, of course. Such markings only made it easier for them to be identified.

  The one closest to him was clearly the leader while the one at the far end looked like he was about to piss his pants. The second in line was calculating, no doubt willing to kill, but preferring to do it without risk to his own skin. The fourth was a wild card.

  “I gave you a command,” he reminded them, conspicuously leaving his own weapons in their holsters.

  This close he could kill quicker with his hands.

  The leader spit directly toward Wolfe’s heavy boots.

  “We don’t take commands from you.”

  His smile had chilled the blood of trained assassins.

  “Then you’re a fool.”

  The man remained defiant, but Wolfe could smell his rising fear.

  “No, you are,” he tried to bluff. “We’re here on the orders of the new leader of the high-bloods.”

  “Strange,” a female voice floated from the back of the SUV. “I didn’t realize I’d been deposed.”

  Wolfe muttered a string of foul words beneath his breath as the men jerked around to watch the dark haired beauty step into view.

  Had the aggravating woman run down the hill at full speed?

  There was a moment of stunned appreciation before the leader recognized the emerald birthmark on her upper breast that shimmered in the moonlight.

  “Fuck,” a man in the middle breathed, awe tingeing his voice. “You’re—”

  “The Mave, current leader of the high-bloods,” Lana offered as the man’s words faltered. Her gaze shifted toward the man nearest Wolfe, the power of her presence making the air sizzle. “Or at least I was the last time I checked.”

  The leader gave the man next to him a shove in the back. “Shoot her.”

  The norm stiffened, glancing over his shoulder in horror. “Are you out of your mind? I can’t kill her.”

  “Fine.” The leader aimed his gun. “Then I will.”

  Wolfe moved with lightning speed, grabbing the man by the head and giving it a sharp twist. His neck snapped like a twig, his body limp as Wolfe tossed him to the side.

  In the same motion he reached for the second man, wrapped his arm around his throat, and pulled until the man’s back was pressed against his chest. The idiot made the perfect shield.

  Waiting for the bad guy’s inevitable reaction, Wolfe was prepared when he jerked his gun up in an attempt to shoot him. If the moron had any sense he would have shot through his own body in an attempt to kill Wolfe. Or at least he should have rid himself of the weapon so it couldn’t be used against him.

  Grabbing the man’s wrist with enough strength to crack the bones, he forced the hand down, aiming the gun at the remaining norms.

  “I gave you an order,” he said, squeezing the man’s wrist to make him cry out in pain. There was nothing like a grown man screaming to make people nervous. “Put down your guns.”

  There was a flicker of movement from the man on the end as he tossed his gun to the side, and just as swiftly reached behind his back. He’d just managed to get his hidden gun pulled and pointed toward Wolfe when Wolfe shot him directly between his eyes.

  The man stood for a half second, blood dripping down his nose. Then, with a harsh sigh, he toppled to the side, hitting the ground with a sickening thud.

  Hissing in fear, the man in the middle dropped his gun, pressing himself against the SUV as if he could make himself invisible.

  The man that Wolfe still held tight against his chest shivered, the stench of his fear making him grimace.

  “What do you want?” the norm rasped.

  With a jerk of his hand, Wolfe forced the man to drop the weapon. Then, he shoved him next to his friend, waiting until both of them were staring at him with open terror.

  “That’s the question I was about to ask you,” he drawled.

  It was the man with the crushed wrist who answered, his wary gaze darting between Wolfe and the Mave.

  “We were hired to follow the wagon.”

  “And that’s all?” Wolfe prompted.

  He gave a jerky nod. “Yes.”

  “Do you want me to tell you what I do to liars?” he drawled in soft, lethal tones. “Or maybe I’ll just show you.”

  The second man gave a squeak of alarm. “No. Wait.”

  “Tell me.”

  “We were hired to track down the wagon and to kill the witches, but to keep the female who would be sleeping in the back of the vehicle alive.”

  Wolfe flashed a grim glance toward Lana. If they were hired to kill the witches, then whoever had done the hiring wanted Anna’s destructive power unleashed on the world.

  But why?

  He returned his gaze to the men. “And then?”

  “And then we were supposed to contact a specific number and say the deed was done.”

  Lana strolled forward, her eyes breathtakingly beautiful as they caught and reflected the silver moonlight.

  “Who hired you?”

  “I don’t know.” The man fell to his knees, his hands pressed together in a pleading motion. The Mave tended to have that effect on people. “I swear. We were hired by some dude who found us at a fight club. He said he worked for the new leader of the high-bloods and that we could expect some serious cash if we were willing to eliminate her enemies.”

  “Name?” Wolfe snapped.

  “He didn’t give it.” The man sent him a wary glance. “And before you ask, he didn’t give us his boss’s name either, but I’d bet my left nut that she’s a witch.”

  The revelation caught Wolfe off guard.

  He’d somehow leapt to the conclusion that the men had been hired by another norm.

  Why would a high-blood hire humans? Unless these men were mere cannon fodder?

  And why would a high-blood be willing to release such dangerous powers on the
world?

  He gave a frustrated shake of his head. More questions without answers.

  “Why are you so certain the leader is a witch?”

  “I spoke to another . . . employee who said he was taken to a dark room and a female came in and put some sort of spell on him,” the norm said. “He swore she was in charge.”

  Lana studied the two men with a searching intensity. “But she didn’t put a spell on you.” Her gaze moved to the dead men lying on the ground. “Or any of the others.”

  “Hell, no.” The man gave a shudder of revulsion. “I ain’t letting any freak screw with me.”

  Wolfe choked back a laugh as Lana narrowed her gaze. Had the idiot forgotten that he was speaking to the most powerful witch in the world?

  Clearly he wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box.

  Which was no doubt the reason he was chosen for what could easily have turned out to be a suicide mission.

  Wolfe yanked his dagger from the sheath at his lower back, moving toward the moron with a lethal smile.

  “I’m going to do more than screw with you.”

  With a fluid motion, Lana was abruptly standing next to him, her hand resting on his forearm.

  “Wolfe.”

  He sent her a questioning glance. “Shall I kill them?”

  She shook her head. “I prefer to take them to Valhalla to stand trial for attempted murder of high-bloods.”

  Both men gave low groans, the one on his knees trying to reach for Wolfe.

  “No, please,” he begged. “Just kill me.”

  Wolfe kicked away the man’s hand, offering Lana a wry smile.

  “Your reputation terrifies even norms.”

  “Enough.” With a rare display of her stunning power, the Mave lifted her hand and spoke a soft word of command.

  An instant later both men were sprawled face first on the ground, knocked unconscious by her spell.

  Wolfe sheathed his dagger, studying his companion’s tense expression.

  “I could have taken care of them.”

  “We don’t have time to play.”

  With a swift movement she was heading toward the end of the SUV, her gaze locked on the nearby wagon.

  Wolfe was on instant alert. “What’s going on?”

  “The spell is fracturing.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Serra struggled to regain consciousness, feeling like she was drowning in molasses as she forced her heavy lids to lift.

  It took a minute for her eyes to focus and she felt panic threaten to explode within her. She could tell she was lying on a hard surface and that she wasn’t in Valhalla. There was a stench of must and mildew the Mave would never tolerate.

  So where the hell was she?

  And what happened to her?

  Then her eyes slowly settled on a stark, beautiful male face hovering mere inches above her and her panic immediately receded.

  Fane.

  If he were near then nothing could hurt her.

  Her hand lifted to touch his clenched jaw, but Fane grabbed her fingers and pressed them to his lips.

  “Don’t move,” he urged.

  Concentrating on the concern in his dark eyes, Serra flinched in surprise when a lean male face shoved itself next to Fane.

  She grimaced, recognizing the astonishing bronze eyes.

  Bas.

  As the name tumbled through her brain, so did the recent events that led up to her current presence on the floor with Fane’s arms wrapped tightly around her.

  She shivered. They were in the abandoned warehouse and the male psychic had just shot himself in the head.

  And her brain felt as if it had been pierced by a hot poker.

  “What happened?” the assassin demanded, his voice lacking any concern for her welfare.

  The jerkwad.

  “It was the psychic,” she said, wincing when her voice came out as a thready whisper.

  There was nothing she hated worse than revealing weakness.

  Especially when Bas was watching her like a vulture.

  “Did he attack you?” he pressed.

  “No.” Ignoring Fane’s grunt of disapproval, Serra forced herself to a seated position, keeping her gaze firmly averted from the dead psychic. Not that she could entirely block out the presence of a corpse only a few feet away. There was the acrid smell of gunpowder that lingered in the air along with the unmistakable scent of blood. A lot of blood. She gave another shudder. “He mentally shoved through my shields.”

  Fane tightened his arms around her. “Why?”

  “To give me a name.”

  Both men stiffened at her revelation, their combined heat washing over Serra to sear away the lingering chill.

  “What name?” Fane asked, his fingers trailing a comforting path up and down her arm.

  “Jael,” she said, repeating the name that had been so roughly shoved past her mental barriers.

  Bas abruptly surged upright, his expression shocked. “Shit.”

  Serra tilted back her head to watch as the assassin paced jerkily across the office. The name had obviously disturbed him.

  “Does the name mean something to you?” she asked.

  “She was one of my witches,” he explained, waving a hand toward the dead man. “And the psychic’s lover.”

  Serra frowned. If the witch was a lover to the psychic, why the shock?

  Unless he was arrogant enough to assume anyone who’d ever worked for him maintained complete loyalty to him.

  “Did you fire her?”

  Bas halted his pacing to send her an impatient glance. “I thought she was dead.”

  Serra gave a confused shake of her head. “You killed her?”

  “Not me.” His gaze moved to the dead man on the floor. “But it’s possible that Sandoval held me responsible for her death.”

  Serra rigidly kept her gaze from Sandoval. Unlike her friend Callie, she wasn’t used to being around dead bodies. Fane, however, moved to investigate the corpse with swift efficiency.

  Ruthless, but necessary. The man might very well have a vital piece of evidence in his pocket.

  “So you think he kidnapped your daughter for revenge?” Fane demanded.

  “It’s possible,” Bas said, his tone unconvinced.

  “No.” Serra gave an emphatic shake of her head that made her wince in pain. Her connection to Sandoval had been brief, but it had given her a glimpse into his tortured mind. “When he spoke her name it was filled with . . . anger. Betrayal. He wasn’t naming his dead lover,” she said. “He was revealing his accomplice.”

  Bas returned to his pacing, his expression troubled. “He was saying she’s the kidnapper? How the hell is that possible?”

  Fane straightened, holding what looked to be a small cocktail napkin in one hand while covertly tucking a small scrap of paper into his pocket with the other.

  “We know there has to be a witch involved to spell the men who attacked us,” the Sentinel reminded the assassin. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  Bas turned to face her, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. As if she would lie about something that could lead them to his daughter.

  “If it is Jael, then why didn’t Sandoval just tell me?”

  She glared at the assassin in exasperation. If it weren’t imperative that they concentrate on discovering Sandoval’s accomplice, she would have punched him in the throat.

  She was only here because the ass had forced her to try to track his daughter.

  Now he wanted to question her psychic skills?

  “Because he was spelled. He couldn’t physically say her name or give details about her plans, but she wasn’t clever enough to include his psychic abilities,” she said between clenched teeth. “Once he realized he was going to die he used the last of his powers to try to bypass my shields. They’re strong enough that all he could get through was the name.”

  Fane moved to her side, wise enough to accept her claim without hesitation.

  “Do yo
u have a way to track Jael?”

  Bas hesitated, then, grudgingly accepting that Serra wasn’t plotting some mysterious trap, he shoved impatient fingers through his hair.

  “She lived at the lab with the rest of us so she didn’t have an apartment in town,” he said, his brow furrowed with concentration.

  “Any family?” Fane pressed.

  “No.”

  Fane held up the napkin he’d taken off Sandoval and unfolded it to reveal that it was emblazoned with gold.

  “Does the name The Emerald Lounge mean anything to you?”

  Bas sucked in a startled breath, his lean face beginning to show the strain of the past days. The shadows beneath his eyes had darkened to bruises and the high cheekbones were more prominent, as if he’d lost several pounds.

  “There was a club she used to visit whenever she was off-duty called The Emerald Lounge,” the assassin said. “The woman who ran it was a close friend.”

  Fane placed an arm around her waist, no doubt sensing she was barely keeping herself upright.

  “Do you know where it is?” he asked the assassin.

  “Yes. Jael took me there one night.” Bas grimaced at the memory. “She hoped that I would have sex with her and her friend.”

  Serra wrinkled her nose. She didn’t judge people for what they did behind closed doors. But she knew if Fane asked her to allow another woman into their bed there would be knives and the removing of balls included in her response.

  “Did you?” she asked.

  Bas scowled, as if offended she would even ask such a question.

  “No.”

  She snorted at his outrage. “It couldn’t have been your morals that stopped you.”

  “I don’t consider sex a spectator sport,” he growled, pulling his phone from his pocket and pushing the speed dial. Within seconds they could hear a male voice through the speaker.

  “Tell me you found her,” Kaede breathed, no doubt hiding from the norms who all wanted the opportunity to knock him out.

  “Lose your groupies and meet us at the car,” Bas commanded, heading toward the door with decisive movements.

  Serra turned to follow him, only to be halted as Fane stepped in front of her, his hands gently cupping her face as he studied her with a stark concern.

  “Are you all right?” His thumb brushed her pale cheek.