Blood Assassin

by Alexandra Ivy

  “Serra.” Fane held out his hand, his teeth clenching when she hesitated. Goddammit. She was allowing her wounded pride to put her at risk. “Please.”

  “Fine.” With an audible huff, she crossed to place her fingers in his hand. “I just want out of here.”

  “We’re going,” Fane assured her, his gaze trained on Bas as he took a step backward.

  Bas folded his arms over his chest, making no effort to block their exit. “She leaves this building and she dies.”

  Fane hesitated. Goddammit. He didn’t like the man’s expression. It said that he knew something that Fane didn’t.

  “You can try to stop me,” Fane bluffed.

  “I won’t have to.” The bronze gaze rested on Serra’s pale face. “The toxin is already in her system.”

  “Toxin?” Serra breathed. “What toxin?”

  “It was injected into your system when you touched the locket.”

  Serra held up her hand, glaring at the pinprick wound visible on the tip of her finger. “Oh, shit.”

  Fane was moving with a blinding speed, grabbing Bas by the throat and lifting him three inches off the ground.

  “You bastard,” he rasped. “Give me the antidote.”

  “No.”

  Fane squeezed his fingers. “Then you’ll die.”

  “Wait, Fane.” Serra was abruptly at his side, her heart pounding so loud he could have heard it without his enhanced senses. “What’s the toxin?”

  Bas glanced toward her, his face expressionless despite Fane’s crushing grip. “Belladonna.”

  Serra frowned. “That’s it?”

  They all knew the healers could easily cure her. Bas hissed as Fane’s fingers dug even deeper into his flesh.

  “The toxin doesn’t matter,” he choked out. “It’s how it was delivered.”

  Fane felt as if he’d just been hit upside the head with a shovel.

  Shit. He should have suspected the truth the minute he caught sight of the tattoo of lines on the man’s neck.

  Long ago they had represented a kill. Each line equaled one death.

  “Assassin,” he muttered, releasing his hold.

  Choking the man wasn’t going to force him to reverse his spell. And for now Fane needed the high-blood alive.

  He would have to delay his pleasure in ripping out the son of a bitch’s throat until he was certain Serra was out of danger.

  “What does that mean?” Serra demanded, trying her best to hide her fear.

  Fane moved to stand directly in front of her. It would be easier to lie. To soothe her with a vague assurance that everything would be fine.

  But Serra wasn’t a woman who would appreciate his efforts to shield her. Hell, she would accuse him of patronizing her.

  She would want the truth.

  No matter how painful.

  “The toxin has been enhanced by a spell. It’s in your system, waiting for the caster to either release it into your bloodstream or to cleanse it from your body,” he said. “It can’t be removed by anyone but the bastard who cast the original spell.”

  Her lips parted, sheer horror darkening her eyes. “Oh my God. Who would use magic like that?”

  Fane was one of the few who could answer the question. “Long ago the monks not only trained Sentinels, but they created a small, elite unit that had one purpose.”

  Bas smiled. “Death.”

  Chapter Five

  Serra launched herself forward, slapping Bas’s smug face.

  A part of her knew that the blow landed only because he allowed her to hit him. He was bigger, faster, and stronger than she was. But it was still satisfying to feel her palm connecting against his cheek.

  “You son of a bitch,” she snarled. “Why?”

  He met her accusing gaze. “You know why.”

  She did. His daughter had been kidnapped. And to get Molly back he’d been willing to compel her to St. Louis with a spell. And then to ensure her cooperation, he had filled her blood with a deadly toxin.

  Fane stepped forward, his face as hard as granite. “Then tell me.”

  Bas took a discreet step back. Not out of fear, but simple self-preservation. Fane caused that reaction in most people.

  “My daughter has been kidnapped,” the assassin grudgingly confessed. “I want her back.”

  Serra tilted her chin. “Remove the toxin and I’ll try.”

  “I’ve been alive a very long time, dear Serra,” Bas drawled. “The toxin remains until Molly is back in the bed she was stolen from.”

  It’s what Serra expected, but that didn’t prevent the sharp chill of fear that pierced her heart.

  She’d thought about death in a vague, far-in-the-distant-future sort of way.

  Now she could measure her potential lifespan in every tick of the clock.

  It was . . . horrifying.

  “Who has her?” Fane rasped.

  “First things first.” Bas calmly adjusted his cuff, pretending he was indifferent to the furious Sentinel waiting for the opportunity to rip off his head. Literally. “Call Valhalla and assure them that you’re with Serra and all is well.”

  Fane stood perfectly still, his lack of emotion a threat in itself. When Fane struck it would be without warning and with ruthless intent.

  A killer with no mercy.

  “They’ll suspect I’m being coerced unless we return.”

  Bas gave a short laugh. “Oh, I have every faith you’ll manage to convince them. You are, after all, the infamous Fane.”

  Fane shrugged. “I can’t perform miracles.”

  Bas turned to send Serra a warning glare, clearly realizing Fane wasn’t in the mood to be reasonable.

  “Convince him,” he commanded, heading back into his office. “I have a phone call to make.”

  A silence filled the small lobby as the door closed behind Bas and Serra fought back the panic that threatened to overwhelm her.

  It wasn’t like pounding her fists against the walls and screaming at the top of her lungs was going to change anything.

  She would still be humiliated, trapped, and staring in the face of death.

  Instead she turned to glance at the silent man standing in the center of the room.

  The very last man in the world she would want to see her in such a vulnerable position.

  “How did you find me?”

  Fane frowned, clearly baffled why she was asking. “Callie came to me when you missed your dinner date. She was concerned.”

  Ah. She smiled. She adored Callie for loving her enough to be concerned, but Serra wished to God she’d chosen someone else to rush to the rescue.

  “And?” she prompted.

  “I watched the surveillance tapes and knew which vehicle you’d taken,” Fane continued.

  “You used the GPS to follow me.”

  “Yes.”

  That explained how he had found her. But not why. She impatiently brushed a stray curl behind her ear.

  “Why you?”

  “What?”

  “I thought you were leaving for Tibet?”

  His frown became a threatening scowl. “When you were in danger?”

  Her gaze lowered to her fingers that were clenched together, her knuckles white as she struggled to hold her shit together.

  “You couldn’t have known I was in danger.”

  “I knew.”

  The soft, ruthless certainty in his voice sent a prickle of awareness over her skin. Dammit.

  How did he do that?

  “There are other Sentinels,” she pointed out.

  He hissed out an impatient breath. “Serra, it doesn’t matter why I’m here.”

  With a grimace, she lifted her head to meet his unwavering gaze. There was no way in hell she was going to admit just how much it mattered. Not now.

  “No, I suppose it doesn’t.”

  Something moved in the back of his dark eyes. A glimpse of a powerful emotion that was swiftly masked.

  “What do you know about the child that�
�s been kidnapped?”

  Serra sucked in a deep breath, wishing she possessed Fane’s ability to crush her emotions so easily.

  “She’s a four-year-old norm,” she said, proud when her voice came out steady. “And whatever the kidnapper is demanding from Bas it’s more than he’s willing to pay.”

  “Not money?”

  “No.”

  Fane planted his fists on his hips, his brow furrowed as he considered the possibilities. “He’s an assassin. It could be a demand for a hit.”

  “I can’t see him hesitating over a death or two,” Serra muttered. “His morals are obviously flexible.”

  “True.” Fane glanced toward the inner office. “He didn’t say anything about the kidnapper?”

  She shivered. “No.”

  He stepped toward her, his fingers cupping the side of her neck in a gesture of comfort. “It’s going to be okay, Serra.”

  She could count on one hand how many times Fane had deliberately touched her. She sucked in a sharp breath as the heat of his palm seared her skin.

  “How is it going to be okay?” She licked her dry lips, nearly overwhelmed by the impulse to lean into his touch. “If I don’t find Molly then I die.”

  His thumb stroked the tight line of her jaw. “Then we find her.”

  “We?”

  “You aren’t alone. I’m going to be with you every step of the way.”

  For a vulnerable second, Serra allowed herself to become lost in the dark promise of his gaze. Fane was a master at making everyone around him feel safe. As if nothing bad could ever happen when he was near.

  No doubt it came with the job of guardian.

  But even as she lifted a hand to touch the fingers that pressed against her neck, she was abruptly stiffening as she realized exactly why he was touching her . . . offering her the attention and tender care she’d so desperately desired over the years.

  “Damsel in distress,” she breathed.

  Fane’s jaw clenched as she sharply pulled from his touch. “What?”

  She shook her head. Even on the verge of death she was an idiot.

  Ugh.

  “Tell me about the assassins,” she said, fiercely latching on to the only thing that truly mattered. Finding a way to rid her body of the toxin flowing through it. “Why haven’t I heard about them?”

  Fane studied her rigid expression. He wasn’t stupid. He had to sense her retreat. But thankfully, he knew better than to press her.

  “They were the dirty little secret of the monks,” he said as he instead answered her question.

  The monks?

  Serra shook her head. She shouldn’t be surprised. They’d always been secretive, fiercely guarding their privacy. Who knew what went on behind the protected walls of their monasteries?

  “Are they Sentinels?” she demanded.

  “They’re similar. They have the heightened senses of Sentinels, but they usually aren’t as physically strong.” Fane explained. “Their power is their magic.”

  Which explained the witch mark.

  She shivered.

  The thought of a powerful witch being trained as a Sentinel was enough to give anyone nightmares.

  It was no wonder the monks kept them secret.

  “Why aren’t they tattooed?”

  “They work and live in the shadows,” Fane said, glancing down at the tattoos that protected him even as they revealed his position as a guardian Sentinel to the world. “They’re very careful not to do anything that would attract attention.”

  Serra grimaced. “What else is hiding in the shadows?”

  Fane looked grim. “I don’t think any of us know for certain.”

  Bas sat at his desk, ruthlessly quelling his urge to fidget as he stared at the blank screen of his laptop.

  During his years of training he’d been forced to sit completely still for hour after endless hour, ignoring whatever torture the monks had devised. At the time he’d hated the bastards; now he silently thanked them for the strength to remain impassive as he waited for the unknown kidnapper to respond to his attempt to contact him.

  It was a risk.

  Whoever had taken Molly was clearly insane. No rational person would deliberately provoke a group of mercenaries. And they certainly wouldn’t give an assassin a reason to hunt them down and kill them as slowly and painfully as possible.

  It was impossible to know how they would react to Bas’s attempt to renegotiate the deal.

  Concentrating on breathing in and out, Bas sensed he was being watched before there was a faint click and the outline of a shadowy form became visible on the screen.

  “I’m running out of patience,” the stranger immediately snapped. “I expected my prize to arrive by now.”

  Bas kept his expression bland. Emotions were the enemy.

  “I told you it would take a few days to transport her to the location you demanded,” he said smoothly. “Even in stasis she causes disruptions. And unfortunately there’s been a new complication.”

  There was a low hiss, but with the sound being artificially manipulated it was impossible to know if it came from a man or a woman. Just as it was impossible to know from the shadowed outline anything about the kidnapper.

  Bas was a master of illusion, which meant he could use the smallest detail to determine whatever he needed to know about his prey.

  A wave of their hand could tell him if they were male or female no matter what their disguise; the set of their shoulders could tell him if they were tall or short even when they were seated; and even from behind Bas could guess a person’s age within a few years.

  The fact that he hadn’t managed to discover anything useful about the kidnapper annoyed the hell out of him.

  “Complication?” The voice was distorted, but there was no missing the edge of warning.

  “A psychic and her Sentinel have arrived in town.”

  “What does that have to do with our deal?”

  Bas chose each word with care. “They could be in town for their own business or it could be that the Mave sensed the disturbance created as we released your prize from her cell.” He didn’t have to fake his frustration. It was a constant, gnawing threat to his well-honed logic. “We need to lie low until we can find out if we’re being investigated.”

  There was no visible change in the shadow, but Bas could sense a sudden fury. “This is a trick.”

  “You can find out for yourself, if you want,” he informed the kidnapper. “They just checked into my hotel.”

  The shadow shifted, as if it were leaning forward. Bas’s breath caught in his throat. There. That tilt of the head. A man.

  Definitely a man.

  “I warned you what would happen if you contacted Valhalla.”

  “Don’t be a fool—”

  “Careful, freak,” the stranger interrupted. “I have your daughter.”

  “Which is exactly why I would never contact the Mave,” Bas retorted. “Not only have I spent the past century deliberately avoiding her attention, but she has no connection to Molly. She would willingly sacrifice one little girl if she thought it was for the greater good. I won’t let that happen.”

  There was a sharp silence, as the kidnapper studied his every expression. Then, obviously hearing the truth in Bas’s voice, he made a sound of impatience.

  “Then get rid of the psychic.”

  Bas held up a calming hand. “I intend to, but it will have to be discreet.”

  “People disappear all the time.”

  “Not when they have a guardian Sentinel as a bodyguard,” he pointed out in dry tones. “Give me a few days. I’ll find out if she’s here because the Mave has sensed our secret or if her visit is just bad timing.” He paused, biting the inside of his cheek until he could taste blood. The next few minutes would determine whether he was forced to choose between his daughter or the annihilation of thousands, perhaps millions of norms. “And until then we have to stop the transportation.”

  The weight of the man’
s gaze could be felt through the computer. Was the stranger a high-blood?

  “If this is a trick—”

  “No trick, but neither of us will get what we want if the Mave discovers our bargain,” he soothed.

  There was a long pause before the kidnapper muttered a harsh curse. “You have four days. After that . . . Molly dies.”

  Not by the flicker of an eyelash did Bas reveal his brutal relief. Christ. His gamble had worked.

  He’d earned Molly a few days.

  He would rip apart this city to find her.

  Fane paced the lobby.

  It’s what a normal man did who was under enormous stress.

  Only Fane wasn’t a normal man. He was a trained Sentinel.

  Which meant he didn’t fidget. He didn’t twitch. And he most certainly didn’t pace.

  Like any predator he understood the necessity of conserving his strength until it was time to strike.

  Besides, pacing revealed a disordered mind.

  Something that could get a guardian killed.

  But for the first time in a very, very long time, Fane was battling emotions that refused to be leashed.

  Serra was in desperate danger. Even now there was a toxin flowing through her blood.

  And there wasn’t a damned thing he could do to avert her death if the assassin didn’t remove his spell.

  He wanted to smash everything in the small lobby. He didn’t doubt for a minute he could twist the fancy metal and leather furniture into a mound of pretzels. Or that he could hurl the desk through the window.

  Then he wanted to wrap his hands around Bas’s throat and squeeze until the life faded from his eyes.

  Unfortunately, he wasn’t going to get to do either.

  And worse, Serra had made it clear she wasn’t willing to accept the comfort he so desperately wanted to offer.

  Not that he blamed her. He’d been the one to slam the door between them. Now he could hardly complain when she wasn’t rushing into his arms.

  It all combined to make him feel as if he was going to explode.

  A faint click was the only warning the lock on the inner door had been released, but it was enough to urge Fane to come to a halt next to Serra, his body prepared to attack.