Blood Lust

by Alexandra Ivy

  It took a precious few minutes, but at last she found an old-fashioned key hidden in the bottom drawer of the desk. The cells were armed with scanners that needed the thumbprint of a Sentinel to open. So what did the key unlock?

  Determined to find out, she left the guard room and searched the area near the elevator.

  At first she could find nothing, then, at last, she shoved aside an ugly fake plant to reveal a hidden lock set into a seemingly blank wall.

  This had to be it.

  Refusing to consider what would happen if she was truly trapped in the dungeon, she stuck the key in the slot. For a terrifying moment it refused to budge. She forced herself to pause, sucking in a deep breath. Panicking wasn’t going to help.

  Giving the key a jiggle, she managed to loosen the tumblers enough to allow the key to turn. There was an audible click before a portion of the wall was sliding open to reveal a narrow tunnel.

  Stella had expected steps instead of the smooth ramp that headed upward, but she wasn’t about to question her stroke of luck. The tunnel was her escape from the dungeons. That was all that mattered.

  Stepping through the narrow opening, she shut the door behind her, still using the phone to battle the thick darkness.

  Not that there was much to see. A smooth stone ramp. Steel walls. And an occasional door. She assumed it was some sort of emergency exit for a mass evacuation.

  Hopefully it would be the last place any of the high-bloods would think to look for her.

  The thought had barely managed to form when she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind her. Shit. Someone was already searching the tunnel.

  Stella was arrogant. And vain. And utterly convinced she deserved to be treated as a queen. But she wasn’t stupid. There was no way she was going to be able to outrun a Sentinel. Refusing to panic, she continued forward, her breath hissing between her teeth as she caught sight of the doorway just ahead.

  Thank God.

  Not daring to slow down long enough to glance behind her, Stella grasped the lever and pressed the metal door open. There was always the chance she was about to walk into a crowd of high-bloods, but she didn’t have a lot of options.

  Stepping into a shadowed room, she silently closed the door behind her. Only then did she glance around her surroundings, taking in the miniature furniture and cartoon characters that were painted on the walls.

  A nursery. Her heart missed a beat.

  This was the place from Peter’s vision. It had to be. She hurried forward. There was supposed to be a child. The clairvoyant’s daughter.

  Ah. Satisfaction flared through her as her searching gaze landed on the tiny girl who was happily playing with a doll in the corner. This was the key to getting her hands on the weapon.

  As if sensing she was no longer alone, the girl turned her head to send Stella a radiant smile.

  “Hello. My name’s Molly,” she said, her eyes looking oddly bronze in the dim lighting. “What’s yours?”

  Moving to crouch beside the child, Stella ran her fingers over the silver curls. She gave a small gasp, yanking her hand away as she felt a strange tingle race through her.

  Did the child have some weird mutant powers?

  She shrugged. What did it matter?

  As long as she got her hands on the clairvoyant, she didn’t care.

  “Hello, Molly. I’m Stella,” she murmured. “And I’m here to see your mother.”

  * * *

  Finishing her call to Serra, Lana moved from her desk to stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling window that offered a stunning view of the inner courtyard. The glorious rose gardens, which were enhanced by magic, and the hand-carved marble fountains could rival Versailles. Today, however, she took little pleasure in the lush blooms or the classically carved sculptures that were arranged next to the marble benches.

  Instead her thoughts remained on the heavy sense of dread that refused to be dismissed.

  She wanted to tell herself she was overreacting.

  They had, after all, managed to round up one sect of the Brotherhood. And so far Myst hadn’t created a weapon. Maybe they’d managed to avoid disaster.

  But the anxiety continued to gnaw at her, urging her to pick up the phone and call her most talented psychic. Serra had recently left Valhalla to travel to Tibet with her Sentinel mate, Fane. The two had been manipulated by Bas into recovering his daughter from the crazed witch who’d kidnapped her, and while Lana appreciated their desire to spend time alone, she needed the woman’s skill.

  Once this latest threat was over they could return to their blissful isolation.

  There was a soft knock before the door was pushed open and Wolfe stepped into the office. Instantly the air was filled with the prickling force of his presence, the temperature notching up several degrees.

  She shivered, her heart skipping a beat as she allowed her gaze to skim down the length of his hard body, which was shown to advantage in the faded jeans that hung low on his hips and the khaki Henley with the sleeves shoved to his elbows.

  When Wolfe had first arrived at Valhalla, she’d managed to fool herself into believing she would become accustomed to his raw, male impact. Now she’d ruefully accepted that was never going to happen.

  Being near this male was like being struck by lightning.

  Shocking, intense, and life altering.

  Giving a shake of her head at her strange thoughts, she moved back toward her desk, ignoring his heated gaze.

  “Did you need something?” she demanded, taking her seat with an air of casual nonchalance she was far from feeling.

  “I wanted to know what happened with Stella.”

  Lana grimaced. “She refused to reveal anything of value. I’ve asked Serra to return to Valhalla to get the information I need.”

  Wolfe studied her in confusion. “Why? There are other psychics who are closer.”

  “None who have Serra’s ability to get information without causing irreparable harm,” Lana pointed out.

  “Do you really care if the bitch has her mind crushed?” he demanded. “She had every intention of destroying Valhalla.”

  “True, but she was with the Brotherhood for a number of years.” When Lana had first left Stella, she’d been determined to send the first psychic she could find to blast the information from the woman. Thankfully, by the time she’d reached the nursery to see Myst desperately hugging her daughter, she’d managed to regain command of her temper. There was too much at stake to be goaded into an impulsive decision. “Beyond what Peter Baldwin might have shared from his visions, she could potentially lead us to her contacts with human politicians and military leaders who share her hatred of high-bloods,” she continued.

  Wolfe heaved a rough sigh. “Fane isn’t going to be happy,” he growled. “Not with Bas lying in the infirmary. Hell, he’s likely to go ballistic.”

  Lana couldn’t suppress her smile. Fane was a six-foot-five behemoth covered from head to toe in exquisite tattoos. He was the sort of high-blood that gave humans nightmares.

  He’d also pledged to murder Bas as slowly and painfully as possible.

  “Thankfully he’s your problem.”

  Wolfe rolled his eyes. He might be the Tagos, but no one controlled Fane.

  “Awesome,” he muttered. Then, visibly shoving away the thought of the inevitable showdown with the lethal Sentinel, Wolfe instead focused his attention directly on her. “Did you eat lunch?”

  She arched her brows, well aware that he was keeping track of her.

  “You already know the answer to that question.”

  He smiled, his expression devoid of any remorse for being an interfering busybody.

  “I do. Which is why I’ve asked the chef to send up a tray.” He held up a slender hand as her lips parted in protest. “You’ll hurt his excessively fragile feelings if you don’t clear your plate.”

  She made a sound of frustration. He wasn’t lying about the chef. The Frenchman might be a genius in the kitchen, but he was
a prima donna who could throw a temper tantrum that made grown men cower in terror.

  “You don’t fight fair,” she muttered.

  He shrugged, his dark gaze lowering to linger on her mouth. “I fight to win.”

  She squashed the urge to lick her lips, desperate to disguise her instinctive reaction behind her cool composure. Not that she was truly fooling anyone, she wryly acknowledged.

  They both knew that ignoring the desire that pulsed between them wasn’t making it go away.

  For now, however, she was determined to focus on the very real threat to Valhalla.

  “Have you interviewed any of the Brothers?” she asked.

  His chest expanded as he sucked in a slow, deep breath. Then, holding her gaze, he forced himself to slip into Tagos mode.

  “A few,” he said, his lips curling with distaste. “They all tell the same story. Their leader abruptly died and Stella took his place with promises that they would have a weapon powerful enough to destroy their enemies.”

  Lana felt a stab of frustration. “No one asked any details about the mysterious weapon?”

  Wolfe gave a lift of his shoulder. “She told them it was a gift from their God.”

  “Of course she did.” Lana had lived for centuries but she would never understand the allure of cults. Probably because she wasn’t much of a follower. “A convenient way to avoid any proof that you’ll deliver on your promise,” she muttered.

  “Most of them join the Brotherhood because they don’t want to have to think for themselves,” Wolfe said, his tone revealing his opinion of anyone who would prefer to become a part of a herd. His Sentinels might follow his commands, but none of them would blindly obey, or do anything that went against their morals. In fact, most of the time, Wolfe complained they were more high-maintenance than a bunch of teenage girls. “Unfortunate for us, since none of them can give us information that might help stop Myst’s vision.”

  She leaned back in her chair. “What do you intend to do with the prisoners?”

  “Once we have time I’ll separate out the true fanatics and release the rest into the hands of the human justice system,” he said. “If nothing else they can be charged with possessing illegal weapons.”

  “And the fanatics?” Lana demanded, referring to the rare Brothers who seemed to have magical abilities.

  So far they remained a mystery to Valhalla, but they came from a direct line of descendants who’d battled the high-bloods since the beginning of time.

  “I want the healers to study them,” Wolfe told her. “If it’s true they can sense high-bloods, I want to know how they can do it.”

  She arched a brow. Damn, she should have thought of that herself.

  “A good plan.”

  Without warning, he planted his palms flat on the top of the desk and leaned forward.

  “I have my moments,” he assured her.

  Entrapped in the dark promise of his gaze, Lana felt his enticing heat wrap around her.

  “Wolfe.”

  “I could have even more moments if you would—” His words were sharply interrupted by a shrill beep. “Shit.” Straightening, Wolfe reached into the front pocket of his jeans to pull out his cell phone, pressing it to his ear. “What?” he snapped, his gaze still locked on Lana’s face. Then, a searing heat burst through the room as his fingers tightened on the phone. Whatever the news was, it wasn’t good. Lana rose to her feet, watching as he abruptly turned to pace toward the window. “Put Valhalla on lockdown and start the search. She can’t have gone far,” he ordered, the power of his authority a tangible force. Occasionally, she forgot just how intimidating he could be. “And, Arel, try to do this discreetly,” he warned the younger Sentinel. “I don’t want a panic to complicate our search.”

  Lana waited until Wolfe had ended the call and slid the phone back in his pocket. There was nothing she hated worse than a dozen questions when she was trying to sort through information she’d just received.

  It wasn’t until he turned to meet her steady gaze that she asked the question hovering on her lips.

  “What’s going on?”

  Wolfe stood in the center of the office, a muscle twitching at the base of his jaw.

  “Stella escaped her cell.”

  Lana absorbed the news, carefully leashing her flare of frustration. It was a skill she’d developed as a young child. Back then she hadn’t been in full command of her magic. More than once she’d caused damage, or even injured people when she was emotional.

  Oddly, it was her talent to remain coldly logical in the face of a crisis that had proven to be as much an asset in her role as the Mave as her skill as a witch.

  “How?”

  Wolfe didn’t flinch at her icy voice. He was accustomed to working with her during times of stress.

  “No one knows for sure, but she managed to knock out the electricity in the dungeon,” he shared.

  The dungeons were designed to hold high-bloods. How could a mere human manage to escape from her cell and cut off the electricity?

  There was one obvious solution.

  “Could someone be helping her?” she demanded.

  “I intend to find out,” he assured her, turning to head across the office. “Wait here.”

  With a roll of her eyes she was swiftly at his side as he moved through the door and down the hallway.

  “No way,” she muttered.

  His long strides never faltered as he sent her a warning glare.

  “Lana, right now we don’t know where Stella is, or what weapons she might have.”

  “Exactly.” She deliberately lifted her hand to touch the witch mark on her upper breast. The Tagos and his Sentinels were an overwhelming force, but she could level the entire building with one blast of magic. There was no weapon Stella possessed that she couldn’t destroy. “Which is why you need me.”

  The lean features tightened, but Wolfe was too wise to waste energy on trying to convince her to return to her office. She was the Mave. It was her duty to protect her people.

  They’d nearly reached the long bank of elevators when one opened and a large male with rich mocha skin and dark hair that had been buzzed close to his head stepped out of the nearest one and headed directly toward Wolfe.

  Elias was a guardian Sentinel, although it wasn’t until he was standing directly in front of them that his intricate tattoos that covered his dark skin became noticeable. Each mark was a specific spell intended to protect him from magic, psychic attacks, and mental compulsion.

  From a purely aesthetic point of view, they emphasized the male’s exotic beauty and the eyes that glowed with a golden shimmer in the fading dusk.

  “Talk to me,” Wolfe commanded.

  “This is the footage we managed to retrieve,” Elias said.

  The male held up an electronic pad, tilting it toward them before he pressed a small button. Instantly the image of a prison cell filled the screen.

  Lana leaned forward, watching as the dark-haired woman stood in the center of the floor with her back turned toward the camera. Stella. And according to the time stamp at the top of the video, it’d been seven minutes ago.

  In silence they watched as the woman lifted her hand, slipping it beneath her hair. Then, slowly lowering her arm, she moved to the pitcher set beside her bed. A second later she was whirling to toss it directly toward the camera.

  Abruptly the image went black.

  Lana frowned, reaching out to swipe her finger over the screen. There was a flicker of light, then the video replayed. Reaching the point where Stella was lowering her hand, she pressed the screen, freezing the image.

  “Look there,” she said, pointing toward Stella’s fingers. It was difficult to make out, but she was certain she could see a thin object. “She had something hidden beneath her hair.”

  “Yes,” Elias murmured. “When we realized something was wrong, we went to the dungeons to discover the electricity was out and both Karl and Oshi had been knocked unconscious.”


  Lana swallowed a curse. Later she would consider how to punish the female. For now, nothing mattered but returning her to the cell where she belonged.

  “How badly are they hurt?”

  “They both had damage to their ears, but they’re recovering,” Elias assured her. “Karl said there was a blast of energy, as if an unseen bomb had gone off.”

  “What about the search?” Wolfe demanded.

  Elias lowered the pad, his impatient desire to be back on the hunt obvious in the twitching of his rigid muscles.

  “We’ve cleared the dungeons,” he said. “She must have used the emergency tunnels to get out.”

  Wolfe hissed, the tiles beneath their feet trembling as he was forced to accept the female now had access to any floor in Valhalla.

  “Was there any indication she was working with a partner?” he demanded.

  “No.” Elias gave a shake of his head. “There was no indication that anyone else had entered the dungeons. It looks as if she’s working alone.”

  Wolfe reached to extract the gun he had holstered at his lower back.

  “Tell Arel to continue to search his way up each floor,” he ordered. “I’ll start up here and work my way down. I don’t want even a damned janitor closet overlooked.”

  “Got it,” Elias assured him, turning to jog back to the elevators.

  Waiting until the Sentinel was gone, Wolfe abruptly slammed his fist into his open palm.

  “Goddammit,” he ground out. “I underestimated her.”

  Lana studied his clenched jaw, knowing that the male was blaming himself for Stella’s escape. As the leader of the Sentinels, he assumed responsibility for any failures.

  Regardless of whether the situation could have been prevented or not.

  Lana shrugged, trying to ease his frustration. “Stella has become an expert at manipulating men.”

  Wolfe waved a slender hand. “I don’t care if she looks like a blow-up doll,” he growled. “I dismissed her as a potential threat because she’s human. And now I’m paying for my arrogance.”

  Lana believed him. Wolfe would never let himself be swayed by a female, no matter how beautiful. Besides, she’d been equally guilty of letting Stella’s lack of power blind her to the warning signs.