And now she was sabotaging his cynical belief that he was more likely to find a unicorn in this world than a truly good person....
He abruptly dropped his hand, feeling as if he’d been burnt. This was dangerous. He’d spent a lifetime honing his iron control over his reactions. It was the only way an assassin could survive.
She wasn’t supposed to be an irresistible sexual temptation. Or a loving mother. Or a tender female who could be concerned about a male she barely knew.
Christ.
Warily she watched him, no doubt wondering if he was about to bite. She should be worried. He wanted to sink his teeth into her. The tender curve of her throat, the soft curve of her breast, the silky skin of her inner thigh . . .
He clenched his hands as the truth struck him with the force of a cement truck.
He had to have her.
Not here. Not now.
But soon.
Very, very soon.
Realizing she was studying him with a growing concern, Bas gave a sharp shake of his head.
“Can you give me the directions to the compound?” he forced himself to ask, handing her his phone.
After typing in the coordinates to the compound, Myst shoved the phone back into his hand.
“There,” she muttered.
“Stay here, I won’t be long.”
He glanced around to make sure no one could approach her without going past him before he crossed the annex to stand beside his enforcer. He held up his phone to show the map that Myst had pulled up.
“Here are the coordinates.”
Kaede used his own phone to study his target, his brows drawing together as he plotted his strategy.
“It won’t be easy to slip in and out unnoticed,” he said with his typical understatement. The compound was sixty miles north of Casper in the middle of nowhere. It would be impossible to get near the place without alerting the natives. “I’ll travel to the nearest monastery and go in as a Brother who wants to join the commune.”
Bas absently shoved his hands into his pockets, his fingers automatically wrapping around the small locket he’d tucked into his slacks before leaving the hotel.
“Myst wants you to be careful.”
Kaede glanced toward the slender female who was swathed in black robes.
“She’s not the woman you thought she was,” he said in low tones.
Yet another epic understatement.
Bas grimaced. “No, she’s not.”
Kaede shifted his attention back to Bas. “Are you sure you want to take her to the Keeper of Tales?” he demanded. “There are rumors that he likes to play nasty games with people who petition for his services.”
Bas had heard the same rumors.
Along with wild tales that he kidnapped human women to fill his harem, performed blood sacrifices, and ate small children for breakfast.
It made it impossible to sort the truth from the fiction.
All he knew for certain was that the strange creature was an expert in the history of their people, and had the rare ability to decipher prophecies.
“If anyone can help Myst it will be Boggs.”
Kaede gave a grudging nod. “Don’t let him screw with her head.”
Bas swallowed a curse as a renegade anger clenched his muscles.
Christ, was he jealous at Kaede’s obvious concern for Myst?
What the hell was wrong with him?
“You worry about your own head,” he warned, attempting to disguise his lunatic reaction. “I prefer that it remain attached to your neck.”
Kaede gave a slow lift of his brows. “It will take more than a bunch of inbred yokels to decapitate me.”
Usually Bas would agree.
There were few people who could match Kaede in strength, speed, or cunning.
But he also understood there were few people more dangerous than fanatics.
“They’re trained soldiers who’ve proven a willingness to kill, and it’s rumored they own a stash of illegal weapons that were created specifically to destroy high-bloods,” he reminded the enforcer.
“Worry about your woman, Bas,” Kaede said. “I can take care of myself.”
His woman. Bas gave a sharp shake of his head. He didn’t want to consider just how right the words sounded.
Not now.
He reached out to clap a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Keep in touch.”
After waiting for Kaede to nod, Bas turned and retraced his steps to where Myst was standing. He tugged her hood forward, making sure nothing could be seen of her face before he wrapped a possessive arm around her shoulders and led her into the octagon-shaped room.
Unlike the outer chamber, the stone walls of this room were covered in elaborate carvings that matched the tattooing on the massive Sentinel who was standing by the copper post in the center of the floor.
The history of the pathways the guardian Sentinels used to travel had been lost in the mists of time, but the recent discovery of an ancient temple in the Middle East had revealed hints that the early high-bloods had been forced into a desperate escape from the Brotherhood.
It was suspected that was the start of traveling.
“We’re ready,” he said to the robed monk.
The monk gave a low bow, motioning toward the guardian Sentinel who was well over six feet and as thick as a tree trunk.
The Sentinel moved to touch the post with a tattooed hand, waiting for Myst and Bas to join him before he spoke a low word of power.
Bas grimaced. It didn’t matter how often he’d traveled the pathways, it always unnerved him.
Holding tight to Myst, Bas touched the post, feeling the world melt away. His stomach lurched, his knees threatening to give way, before there was a blur of light and they were suddenly standing in the center of a room that was identical to the one they’d just left.
Myst gave a small moan, landing against his chest as she lost her balance.
Instantly concerned, he wrapped her in his arms. “Are you okay?”
“I will be,” she muttered, sucking in a deep breath. “I’ve only traveled the pathways a few times.”
Bas grimaced, glancing toward the Sentinel who’d moved to the edge of the room, his stoic face impossible to read.
“It doesn’t get easier with practice,” he admitted, keeping her in his arms as he guided her out of the room, his senses on full alert.
The monastery should be safe, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
Not with Myst.
“Where are we?” she asked as they crossed the antechamber and entered the Great Hall.
His gaze took in the vaulted ceiling and the line of arches along one wall that opened into the public receiving rooms. On the opposite wall were heavy tapestries that were faded with age.
“France, near the border of Switzerland,” he said, pleasantly surprised by the heavy silence that surrounded them.
Usually the monastery was bustling with activity, but Lana had promised to send word that their visit was to be kept hush-hush.
The monks had clearly taken her words to heart.
Bas and Myst had reached the nearest archway when a gray-haired man wearing a simple brown robe stepped into view.
“Welcome to our monastery,” the stranger said with a small bow, his voice thick with a French accent. “I am Brother Jean-Luc.”
“Thank you, Brother.” Bas released his hold on Myst, covertly stepping in front to hide her from the view of the monk. “We have a meeting later, but I requested that the Mave pass along word that we would need dinner.”
“Of course. If you’ll come with me.” The monk beamed with obvious pleasure, waving a hand toward the end of the hallway. “I think you will enjoy our cuisine. We have the best chef in all of Europe, if I do say so myself.”
Bas followed the monk, not surprised when Myst grabbed his arm and hissed beneath her breath.
“I don’t want dinner. I want to find”—she hesitated, aware the walls might have ears—“the man
we came to speak with.”
Bas never slowed. “He will contact the Mave when he’s ready to meet with us. Until then we have to wait,” he said. “Besides, you barely pecked at your breakfast.” He sent her a chiding frown. “If you won’t take care of yourself, I will.”
He felt her stiffen, her lips parting to tell him what he could do with his concern. Thankfully they were stepping through an arched entryway and into an inner courtyard.
They both came to a startled halt, stunned by the sight of the formal gardens.
Framed by classic marble statues were wide swaths of grass that had been cut into intricate patterns lined by blooming roses, hollyhocks, and pansies. Flagstone pathways led to the center of the gardens where a vast fountain sprayed water into the air.
Bathed in the rich purples and pinks of the encroaching dusk, the courtyard possessed a magic that had nothing to do with witchcraft.
“This is . . . exquisite,” Myst breathed.
Jean-Luc urged them toward the small table that was draped with a white linen cloth.
“Our acolytes tend to the gardens as well as the vineyards. I will let them know their work is appreciated.”
Bas was swift to step past the monk, pulling out Myst’s chair so the older man didn’t have a reason to be near her.
Overly protective?
Hell, yeah.
But there didn’t seem to be any way to stop himself.
“You’ve spoken to the Mave?” he asked as Myst settled on her chair and he rounded the table to take his own seat.
“Oui.” The monk moved to pour them each a glass of wine from the bottle in the center of the table, before pulling a serving cart from behind a small hedge. “Everything is arranged.”
Bas had requested the dinner to make sure Myst ate something before their meeting with Boggs, but as the scent of warm onion soup and freshly baked bread teased at his nose he found his stomach rumbling with hunger.
“What cover did you give for us being here?” he demanded of the monk.
Although the monks and Sentinels would rather have their tongues sliced off before they gossiped about two mysterious guests enjoying dinner in the gardens, there were a number of servants who were hired to perform various tasks around the monastery.
Jean-Luc efficiently served them the soup and bread, placing a pot of fresh butter and honey in the center of the table.
“The servants have been told you’re a businessman from America who is here to purchase several bottles of our finest wine.” He sent Bas a satisfied smile. “It seemed a . . . beneficial story.”
Bas gave an abrupt chuckle.
The monk might look like a harmless grandfather, but he was a shrewd negotiator who’d just ensured that Bas was obligated to buy several thousands of dollars’ worth of wine.
“Vous êtes trop gentil, merci,” he murmured in wry tones.
“Bon appétit.”
With a bow toward Myst, the monk turned to exit the courtyard.
Once they were alone, Myst shook out the linen napkin, tucking it in her lap before lifting the earthenware bowl to take a sip of the soup. Instantly, her eyes closed in appreciation.
Bas buttered a piece of bread and set it in front of her, wise enough to hide his smug smile as she consumed the meal she’d insisted she didn’t want.
He had just polished off his own bowl of soup when she leaned back in her chair and arranged her hood so her expression was effectively hidden.
“Why is the Mave helping you?” she abruptly demanded.
Bas refilled their wineglasses. “She’s not helping me,” he corrected her. “She’s protecting Molly.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Lana has a soft spot for children.”
“And for you?”
Ah. Bas sipped his wine, heat licking through his veins.
Was that the sound of jealousy he could hear in her voice?
“What precisely are you asking, cara?”
* * *
Myst loved the gardens.
The clean, elegant lines. The vibrant blooms that perfumed the gentle breeze. The cool spray of water from the fountain.
The sense of being isolated from the world.
After one of the best meals she’d ever tasted and a fine glass of wine, she should be savoring this rare moment of peace.
Instead she’d found her thoughts dwelling on the stunningly beautiful female who’d returned to Valhalla with Molly.
She wanted to believe it was because she was concerned for her daughter. After all, the Mave had a reputation as a ruthless leader who would do whatever was necessary to protect her people. And she hadn’t been alone. The Tagos was every bit as intimidating as the woman he was there to protect.
His lean features had looked as if they’d been chiseled from granite, and the entire room had trembled beneath the force of his power.
But Myst wasn’t an idiot.
At least not a complete idiot.
The two might be the most dangerous high-bloods in the world, but they’d been utterly bewitched by Molly. She didn’t doubt for one second that both of them would lay down their lives to protect the enchanting little girl.
No, her interest in the Mave had more to do with the older woman’s obvious comfort in Bas’s company.
The two had a history together.
And if she had to guess, she’d say it’d been a very intimate history.
But while she wanted to know what had happened between them, she didn’t want Bas to know she wanted to know.
Yeah, it was crazy.
“Nothing,” she muttered.
A tiny smile tugged at his lips. “Are you asking if she’s my lover?”
Arrogant ass.
“No.” She ignored the glass of wine, sipping at the ice water that she’d poured from a pitcher on the serving tray. The one time she’d had alcohol in this man’s presence she’d ended up in bed with him. She wasn’t going to let that happen again. “I saw how the dark-eyed Sentinel watched her. He would kill any male who tried to touch her.”
He shrugged, clearly indifferent to Wolfe’s blatantly possessive attitude toward the Mave.
“True.” He continued to watch her with an aggravating smile on his lips. “But . . .”
She heaved a frustrated sigh. Dammit. She couldn’t stand it. Her curiosity was going to eat her alive if she didn’t know what Bas’s relationship was with the exquisitely beautiful witch.
Oh, he didn’t have to say they’d been lovers.
It’d been obvious when she’d seen them together at the hotel. Wolfe had known it too. The very air had prickled with violence whenever Bas had been near the Mave.
Her interest was in whether Bas was hoping to use this opportunity to remind the older woman what she was missing.
Why she cared was something she didn’t intend to ask herself.
“But it’s obvious the two of you know each other.”
He hesitated, and she assumed he intended to torment her by refusing to explain. Then he gave a small shrug.
“We once fought against the previous Mave.”
Myst gave a startled blink. “The woman who just took my daughter was an outlaw?”
His lips twisted. “Not in the way you think,” he assured her. “We worked together to save the high-bloods who’d been targeted for death.”
“Why would the previous Mave target high-bloods?”
He grimaced. “She thought the humans would be more willing to accept us if she eliminated the more extreme mutations. Especially the ones who had powers that tended to be unstable.”
Eliminated? Myst was genuinely shocked. Although she’d spent the past four years as a scribe in the Russian monastery, she’d concentrated most of her time on prophecies, not the history of Valhalla.
“She killed her own people?” Myst breathed in horror.
Bas’s expression was unreadable. A certain sign that he was hiding some intense emotion.
“She called it a necessary pur
ging.”
Myst shuddered. It’d been easy to think of the Brotherhood as evil. They were the enemy. And even her parents were dismissed as humans who were too weak to resist the temptation of money.
But the thought that there were high-bloods who could commit genocide made her stomach twist with horror.
“Good Lord.”
He nodded. “It was an ugly time in our history.”
Myst began to understand why she’d so easily sensed the bond between this man and the leader of the high-bloods. It was obvious they’d shared the sort of experience that would forever bind them together.
For some reason the realization made her stomach clench with regret, but still she couldn’t halt herself from pressing for more information.
She had to know . . . what?
If he was still in love with the beautiful witch?
“And then Lana took over the position as Mave?” she abruptly demanded.
He gave a slow dip of his head. “She did.”
“Why didn’t you join Valhalla?”
“Because I don’t take orders from anyone,” he answered with blunt honesty, a wicked hint of amusement in his eyes. “And I like the finer things in life.” His gaze did a slow, lazy survey of her tense body. “Being a mercenary pays a lot better than being a Sentinel.”
She tried to ignore the shiver of utter pleasure that raced through her body as his heat wrapped around her like a teasing caress.
“Mercenaries are against the law,” she said, as determined as a bulldog with a bone.
His smile widened, as if sensing she wasn’t going to be satisfied until he’d confessed his feelings for the older woman.
“So I’ve been told,” he murmured, giving nothing away. “Thankfully I’m too smart to get caught.”
She rolled her eyes. Did he have to be so smug?
“Then why didn’t the Mave or Wolfe arrest you?”
He glanced down at the wine he was swirling in his glass. “Because Molly is an innocent who deserves to have her mother in her life.”
Blood Lust Page 9