Blood Assassin

by Alexandra Ivy

  The door opened to reveal the assassin, his eyes narrowing as he sensed Fane was on a hair trigger.

  “Have you contacted Valhalla?” Bas demanded.

  Fane’s jaw clenched. He’d reported to Wolfe that Serra was safe and that they would return to Valhalla in a few days. The leader of the Sentinels had agreed to call off the cavalry, but Fane knew that they would be lurking just out of sight. One signal from Fane and they would come charging to the rescue.

  Until then, they would remain ghosts.

  “Yes.”

  Bas’s lips twisted. “A man of few words.”

  “You have no idea,” Serra muttered, giving a toss of her head. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Fane scowled, his gaze resting on the pallor of her skin and the bruises beneath her eyes. “You’re tired,” he said, not bothering to hide his anxiety. “You need to eat and rest before you collapse.”

  Her lips parted, her eyes sparking with anger. But before she could tell him what he could do with his concern, Bas was glancing toward the window where the city was beginning to stir with the promise of a new day.

  “I agree.” He reached beneath his jacket. “I’ve had rooms reserved for you at my hotel.”

  Serra made a sound of disgust. “Your hotel? Murder must pay well.”

  Bas smiled. “It depends on the contract.” He pulled his hand from beneath his jacket, holding out a business card. Fane smoothly moved to take the card, not trusting himself not to snap if the man was stupid enough to touch Serra. “The address is on the card. I’ll contact you later.”

  Fane lightly grasped Serra’s arm, steering her toward the outer door. The fact that she didn’t instantly pull away told him just how tired she truly was. But as he slammed his hand against the panel to open the elevator, she glanced over her shoulder.

  “How long do I have?”

  The assassin glanced at a gold Rolex strapped to his wrist. “You have a little over ninety-six hours.”

  Fane felt Serra sway in horror and his grip instinctively tightened as he tugged her closer. He studied Bas with an expression of cold purpose.

  “I’m going to kill you.”

  The man tilted his chin, his eyes shimmering bronze in the muted lights. “Not until Molly has been returned home,” he pointed out, his voice expressionless. “Nothing else matters.”

  The elevator door slid open and, urging Serra inside, Fane shifted so he blocked her from the view of the assassin.

  “Wait.” Bas was abruptly moving forward, ignoring Fane’s warning growl as he reached to shove something in Serra’s hand. “Here.”

  Serra hissed in protest, grudgingly glancing down at the crumpled photo of a little girl clutched between her fingers.

  “I don’t want anything from you.”

  Bas stepped back, his face hard. “Hate me all you want, but Molly is innocent. She needs you.”

  The door closed and they were headed downward at a stomach-dropping speed. Fane closed his eyes, forcing his breath in and out at a measured pace. It was the only thing that prevented him from returning to the penthouse and beating the assassin to a bloody pulp.

  Instead, he contented himself with the promise the day of retribution would come as his arm circled Serra’s shoulders.

  He was patient.

  He would bide his time and then take full, glorious pleasure in destroying the son of a bitch.

  The elevator came to a halt and they stepped into the dark underground parking lot. Fane led Serra to her vehicle, disturbed as she passively allowed him to help her into the passenger seat. She didn’t even squawk when he climbed behind the steering wheel and fired the engine.

  Shock.

  He grimaced as he punched the address of the hotel into the GPS and shoved the vehicle into gear.

  She’d been forced from her home, held captive by a man trained to kill, and informed she had ninety-six hours to save the life of a child or die.

  It was nothing less than a miracle that she was still functioning.

  Crushing the instinct to reach over and touch her too-pale cheek, Fane instead concentrated on following the directions that led him just a few blocks west of the office building.

  He rolled his eyes as he pulled to a halt in front of the towering glass and steel building. What was it with the assassin and glass? Screw the view. The last thing he wanted for Serra was to feel exposed.

  Tossing the keys to the uniformed valet, Fane kept Serra firmly at his side as he crossed the elegant lobby decorated in tones of blue and silver. Not surprisingly, the clerk was handing over the card key before Fane could open his mouth.

  If Bas had been trained by the monks, then he would be meticulous, efficient, and compulsively organized.

  And paranoid.

  Taking the key card, he tugged Serra toward the elevators, ignoring the speculative glances from the housekeeping staff who were preparing for the day.

  Thankfully Bas wasn’t the only one trained by the monks.

  Or paranoid.

  Very, very paranoid.

  Chapter Six

  Serra felt like she’d been shoved back into the fog of confusion that had compelled her to drive from Valhalla to St. Louis. Only this time she wasn’t completely oblivious to her surroundings.

  She knew that she was in an upscale hotel a few blocks from Bas’s office building. And that she was riding in a glass elevator up to the top floor. She even had a vague impression of the breaking dawn painting a beautiful pink glow over the nearby river. A sight that she might have appreciated any other morning.

  But the only thing that seemed truly real was the feel of Fane’s hand that was planted at her lower back, the heat of his touch a welcome assurance that she wasn’t alone.

  The elevator came to a halt and, following Fane to one of the two suites that composed the top floor, she waited for him to use the card key to push the door open.

  With an effort she tried to shake off the strange sense of lethargy, glancing around the large sitting room with low, comfy furniture in browns and tans that were arranged to take advantage of the glass wall that offered a stunning view of St. Louis.

  Against one wall was a fireplace with a large-screen TV suspended over the mantel and on the other was a wet bar complete with a wine rack. There were doorways leading to two bedrooms and another that offered a glimpse of a bathroom as large as her entire apartment at Valhalla.

  Serra forced a stiff smile to her lips. “I suppose there could be worse places to spend the last hours of my life—”

  Her words were cut off as Fane placed his hand over her mouth, leaning down so he could speak directly into her ear.

  “Shh.”

  Serra frowned, effectively snapped out of her weird fog as the Sentinel scoured the room, pulling out two hidden transmitters that he crushed beneath his feet before lifting his hand toward the chandelier in the center of the room. There was an electric prickle in the air as he used his powers to disrupt any hidden cameras.

  He sent her a searching gaze, as if trying to determine if she was going to do something stupid if he left her alone. Then, giving a nod at her fierce scowl, he jogged into the attached bedrooms to perform a similar sweep. The bathroom was last, and much to Serra’s disgust he found two transmitters and a camera hidden in the overhead light.

  She would have accused Bas of being a perv if she wasn’t certain he was more interested in keeping track of his guests than seeing them naked.

  Destroying the last of the expensive equipment, Fane returned to the sitting room, and headed directly toward her.

  “Happy now?” she asked.

  “No, I’m damn well not happy,” he growled, astonishingly wrapping his arms around her waist and yanking her against his chest.

  “Fane.” Serra tilted back her head. She couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d sprouted wings and begun flapping around the room. “What the hell?”

  He lowered his head, burying his face in her tangle of dark hair. “I need to h
old you,” he muttered.

  Oh.

  Serra briefly allowed herself to savor the strength of his arms as they held her as if he was never, ever going to let her go.

  God. It was . . . perfect.

  Just as perfect as she’d always fantasized it would be.

  His exotic, male scent that teased at her nose. The searing heat of his hands as they pressed against her lower back. The solid thud of his heart beneath her ear.

  He was all man. And he made her very glad she was all woman.

  The desperate urge to melt against him surged through her. To depend on him to support her, if only for a few minutes.

  She released a small sigh. Her hands were already sliding up his chest when she remembered why she felt so damned vulnerable.

  Bas, the assassin. Deadly toxin. Kidnapped a little girl.

  “No,” she breathed. With a sharp shove, she was out of Fane’s arms, her chin tilted to a defiant angle.

  Fane frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “I won’t be your damned damsel in distress.”

  His eyes narrowed, as if caught off guard by her defiant words. “Is that what you think?”

  “It’s not what I think, it’s what I know,” she corrected, wrapping her arms around her waist as her body trembled with an urgent desire to return to his embrace. “You were perfectly content to walk away when I was a capable, independent woman who could be a true partner.”

  Something that might have been regret tightened his stark, mesmerizingly beautiful features.

  “You could’ve been my partner, but we both know I could never give you what you need.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Time . . . attention.” His dark, piercing gaze lowered to her lips before returning to meet her glare. “A life we could build together.”

  She snorted. Fane had been using that wearisome excuse to keep her at a distance for years.

  “You’re no longer bound to Callie.”

  “No, but I am bound to my job,” he stubbornly countered. “It always comes first.”

  Serra understood what he was saying.

  Many hunter Sentinels had long-term relationships. Some even married. But guardian Sentinels found it much more difficult. They were mystically bound to the high-blood they were protecting with an intimacy that might not be sexual, but was just as intense.

  Few partners could bear to see their lovers that closely connected to someone else.

  Still, no relationship was perfect. And if she was willing to accept the inevitable strain of being with a guardian, what right did he have to try to convince her that she needed more?

  She gave an aggravated shake of her head. What did it matter? That was all in the past.

  Fane had made his choice.

  Even if her current . . . hmm, her current what? Situation? Difficulties?

  Near-death experience?

  Whatever.

  The fact she was in danger was stirring his need to play knight in shining armor.

  “Your problem is that you have a hero complex.”

  His jaw tightened, but he met her gaze squarely. “It’s my nature to protect.”

  “Well, I don’t want to be your latest victim that needs to be rescued.”

  “Serra—”

  “Okay, I’m not stupid,” she interrupted his protest. “I know I need your help. But that’s all I want from you.”

  His hand lifted, but he dropped it as Serra instinctively stiffened in rejection. “Serra, my decision to leave Valhalla was because I thought it would be better for both of us.”

  She pointed a finger directly into her face. “You know what? You don’t get to decide what’s good for me.”

  “Fine.” Moving with a speed that she didn’t have a hope in hell of avoiding, Fane lightly grasped her wrist, his thumb skimming over the pulse thundering beneath its skin. “Tell me how Bas managed to poison you.”

  Serra blinked, unprepared for his abrupt change of subject. Or maybe she was just so unbalanced by the light caress of his thumb that she couldn’t force herself to knock it away.

  “It was in the locket that was left in front of my door.”

  She could sense Fane’s surprise. “It was hand-delivered?”

  She nodded. “By Bas.”

  “He got into and out of Valhalla unnoticed?”

  “So it would seem,” she said dryly.

  The dark eyes flashed with fury. “Damn. Wolfe needs to examine our security system.”

  Serra desperately tried to ignore the searing heat of his fingers as they stroked slowly up her bare forearm. Was he deliberately trying to set her blood on fire? Or was it just an unconscious desire to offer comfort?

  Either way it was sending tiny jolts of renegade pleasure through her body.

  She sucked in a deep breath, needing a distraction.

  “Have you ever met an assassin?”

  “When I was still in training.” Seemingly unaware of her intense response to his touch, Fane allowed his fingers to drift back down to her wrist. “He was brought to the monastery when one of the monks was found dead in his bed.”

  She lifted her brows. The murder of a monk must have caused a shockwave through the high-blood community.

  “The assassin tracked down his killer?”

  “Yes.” Fane’s face hardened until it looked like it’d been carved from granite. Which meant he’d been emotionally attached to the dead monk. The deeper Fane’s feelings, the harder he tried to hide them. “Two days after the assassin arrived, the cook was left on the altar minus his head.”

  Yikes.

  Killing was one thing. Cutting off a head was another.

  Of course, it did leave a potent message.

  “Do you know why the cook had murdered the monk?”

  “The documents left with the body proved the cook was selling info on the monastery to Emperor Franz Joseph of Austria-Hungary.” There was an edge of his disgusted resignation in his words. Those in power had been trying to control, manipulate, abuse, or even eliminate high-bloods since the beginning of time. “The monk must’ve stumbled across his betrayal and the cook killed him to silence him.”

  Serra frowned. “A brutal way to die, but it was in the name of justice,” she said. “Isn’t that what hunter Sentinels do?”

  Fane shook his head. “Hunters are trained to deal with high-bloods that prove to be dangerous.” A barely leashed anger smoldered in his dark eyes. “They aren’t stripped of their emotions and turned into cold-blooded killers who are willing to deal out death to whoever is their latest hit. And no hunter would ever take money to kill. Not ever.”

  “Cold-blooded.” Serra grimaced, brutally reminded of Bas’s willingness to choose the threat of death as his first option. God forbid that he actually came to her and simply asked for her assistance. “Bas is certainly that. The snake.”

  Fane went rigid, his muscles bulging as he battled to maintain his composure. Serra knew it went beyond his anger that she was being threatened. Fane had a pathological need to be in control of events.

  That’s why he trained so hard, and why he constantly scoured the world for ancient knowledge or obscure spells that might give him the edge in a fight, and why he focused his entire life on his job.

  If he was the biggest, baddest, smartest man around then he could always be in the superior position.

  The fact that the toxin coursing through her body was beyond his ability to fix had to be making him nuts.

  Of course, he wasn’t about to admit his feeling of helplessness. Oh no. Not Fane.

  He’d rather cut out his tongue.

  “He does, however, care for his daughter,” Fane said, his voice predictably calm. “We can use that to our advantage.”

  Serra frowned. At this point she was willing to latch on to any hope.

  “How?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Great.” She rolled her eyes, heading toward the bathroom. “Until you do I want to have a hot s
hower.”

  “And breakfast,” he informed her. “I’ll order room service.”

  She halted, turning with a shake of her head. “Oh no. I’ll order my own breakfast, thank you very much.”

  His brows snapped together. “Serra, we have to work together if you’re going to survive.”

  “This has nothing to do with working together,” she muttered, moving toward the phone set on a smoke glass table. “If I have ninety-six hours left to live I’m not eating horse food.”

  Fane looked genuinely confused. “Horse food?”

  “Oatmeal, dry wheat toast, blah blah blah.” She shuddered. Unlike Fane, she wasn’t a follower of the philosophy “whole body/whole mind.” Her mind needed chocolate. Lifting the receiver of the phone to her ear, she pressed the number for room service. With admirable speed she was being asked what she wanted. “Yes, could you send up a Denver omelet with extra cheese, a stack of blueberry pancakes with maple syrup, hash browns, and a side of bacon?” She sent Fane a taunting smile. “Oh, and a carrot muffin, no butter. Bill it to the room.”

  Fane shook his head as she replaced the receiver. “You never eat bacon.”

  “Today I’m eating bacon.”

  With a toss of her head, Serra turned and continued her trek into the bathroom, firmly closing the door behind her.

  Fane was determined to give Serra the space she obviously needed.

  As much as he might want to bully her into accepting his support, he knew that he risked driving an even greater wedge between them. He’d hurt her too many times and the female was stubborn enough to put herself in danger rather than lower her guard.

  Which meant he’d have to respect her barriers until he’d earned back her trust.

  He stood in the center of the room, silently repeating the stern warning as he heard the rush of water as Serra turned on the shower. He even managed to convince himself that the closed door between them wasn’t making him twitch.

  Then he heard a faint, barely perceptible sniffle and all his good intentions were forgotten.

  He’d be damned if he was going to let Serra cry alone.

  Pausing to remove the handgun holstered across his chest and the other hidden at his lower back, Fane wrenched off his boots. He was removing his T-shirt and khakis as he entered the bathroom and by the time he’d crossed the tiled floor he was completely naked. Stepping into the shower it took him a second to find Serra. The marble stall was large enough to fit a dozen Sentinels with room to spare. But once his gaze adjusted to the jasmine-scented fog, he spotted her leaning against the marble tiles, her shoulders bent as the hot water cascaded over her slender body.