Blood Assassin

by Alexandra Ivy

  Cautiously lifting her head, she felt her breath tangle in her throat as she watched Fane in glorious action.

  Despite having seen him in training, she still marveled at his sheer beauty as he leaped forward to wrench the gun from the nearest attacker’s hand, using the butt to smash in the man’s forehead with a sickening thud.

  He was raw power, liquid speed, and ruthless, deadly skill.

  The perfect weapon.

  By then the second attacker was closing in, his gun pointed at Serra.

  Once again Fane was placing himself in front of her, protecting her with his solid body. Her heart clenched as she caught the unmistakable scent of blood. He’d taken a bullet and was bleeding out.

  The realization had barely crossed her mind when the second attacker fired off his shot, the bullet whizzing past her ear.

  “Stay down,” Fane commanded as he charged forward, ramming into the man with the force of a cement truck.

  Both men hit the ground and Serra desperately tried to battle through the haze in her mind, seeking her powers.

  She hated feeling helpless.

  Especially when Fane was in danger.

  Fane gave a soft grunt as the man slid from his grasp and managed to give him a vicious kick to the head as he jumped upright. Serra shoved a hand over her mouth to avoid drawing attention to herself. Even the smallest distraction could leave Fane open to attack.

  With a blinding speed, Fane was upright, his arm raised to block the second kick aimed at his head. At the same time he landed a solid punch to the man’s midsection.

  The man bent over, but as Fane threw a punch toward his head, the man jerked to the side, his movements a smooth flow that made him look like he was dancing. Fane stepped back, giving himself the space to adjust to the enemy’s fluid style.

  The man slid a hand behind his back, yanking free a dagger he sliced toward Fane’s neck. Serra swallowed a scream. Unnecessary, of course.

  Fane dodged the blow, managing to wrap his fingers around the attacker’s wrist. With a fierce tug he had his enemy close enough that he could grab him by the throat, lifting him three inches off the ground.

  With a low growl, the man kicked out, striking Fane in the knee. It was a blow that would have busted the leg of a normal man. But Fane barely flinched as he dug his fingers into the man’s throat, crushing his windpipe.

  There was one more weak kick before the man went limp in Fane’s grip, as dead as his companion.

  Fane tossed him aside with a gesture of contempt, and Serra rose shakily to her feet, too relieved that Fane was alive to take much notice of their attackers.

  Not when she already had a good idea who was responsible.

  Glad she’d ditched her cumbersome high heels, Serra hurried toward the first attacker. She had to make sure he was dead. They’d managed to avoid what looked to be certain death. This wasn’t any time to get sloppy.

  Convinced the creep wasn’t going to wake up and shoot them in the back, Serra returned her attention to Fane, her heart squeezing with fear as she watched him lean heavily against the pool house.

  Shit.

  Despite the darkness, she could see his face had gone pale beneath his tattoos and his broad shoulders were slumped in weariness.

  The rapid loss of blood was taking its toll on the warrior.

  Leaving them both dangerously vulnerable.

  They had to get out of there.

  Now.

  Moving to his side, she slipped beneath his arm, arranging it across her shoulder. Fane muttered a protest, but, too weak to actually stand on his own, he had no choice but to allow her to help him across the wide yard and through a gate that led to a narrow pathway.

  She hesitated, trying to decide the fastest means of getting Fane away from the estate without alerting Bas. The bastard could easily track them down, but she wasn’t letting him near Fane until he’d managed to regain at least part of his strength.

  A fine thought that barely had time to form before it was crushed by the sight of Kaede who appeared from the darkness.

  The henchman frowned as he took in Fane’s obvious pain and her own disheveled appearance.

  “What the—”

  With a speed that caught both men off guard, Serra had pulled Fane’s handgun from his pocket and had it aimed directly into Kaede’s face.

  “Call your boss and tell him to get his ass out here.”

  Kaede narrowed his eyes, but with a surprising lack of protest, he had removed his cell phone and sent a quick text. Then, pretending he couldn’t easily snatch the gun from Serra’s hand, he nodded his head toward Fane.

  “We need to get him to the car.”

  She wanted to tell him to go to hell. Or just shoot him in the knee.

  But Fane was obviously only seconds away from collapse and there was no way in hell she was going to be able to keep him propped up.

  “Fine.”

  Kaede held his hands up, revealing he wasn’t armed. As if Serra didn’t know he had at least half a dozen weapons hidden beneath his uniform, not to mention the fact he could easily snap her neck.

  “Can I help?”

  She glanced toward Fane, a shaft of fear piercing her heart. God. She’d never seen him so pale. Or his face clenched with such pain.

  “Fane?” she asked softly.

  He gave a nod, his breathing ragged. “Yes.”

  Keeping the gun pointed at the man, Serra allowed him to take Fane’s other arm and wrap it over his shoulder. She bore the majority of Fane’s weight as they moved along the edge of the pathway to the limo that was parked at an angle to prevent them from being blocked by the other cars.

  Kaede managed to pull open the back door and get Fane settled in the backseat. Serra moved to join them only to abruptly jerk to the side, the gun aimed toward the sound of approaching footsteps.

  She kept it pointed as she recognized Bas swiftly approaching, his illusion of an English aristocrat fading as he reached her side.

  “What happened?” he demanded.

  “An ambush, you son of a bitch,” she rasped.

  He frowned, his outrage annoyingly sincere.

  “Don’t be foolish,” he chided. “Why would I go to such an elaborate ruse? If I wanted you dead I’d kill you.”

  “And risk being hauled before the Mave for murder?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” he muttered, turning to glance in the car where Fane was sitting with his eyes closed and sweat dripping down his face.

  She blinked in shock at the blunt confession. “What?”

  Ignoring her question, he gestured for her to get into the car. Serra didn’t hesitate. Although she knew that Fane had an astonishing ability to heal even the most grievous of wounds, it would take time. And, more importantly, plenty of rest.

  Something he wouldn’t be able to get until they were back at the hotel.

  Sliding in beside him, she grasped his hand, relieved when he squeezed her fingers in a gesture of comfort.

  Joining them, Bas closed the door of the limo then waited for Kaede to take his place behind the steering wheel and pull onto the street before leaning forward.

  “Kaede, call for a healer to meet us at the office.”

  Fane’s breath hissed between his clenched teeth. “No. Take me to the hotel.”

  Bas made a sound of impatience. “You want to be seen in public like this?”

  Fane lifted his lashes just enough to glare at the assassin. “The hotel. And no healer.”

  “Stubborn bastard,” Bas breathed the obvious. “Kaede, take us to the hotel.” Without waiting for the driver’s nod, the assassin turned in his seat to study Serra with a piercing gaze. “Tell me what happened.”

  She hesitated, still angered by the thought the bastard might have been involved in the attack. Then, she grimaced, lowering the weapon she’d unconsciously been pointing at Bas.

  He was right.

  If he wanted them dead, he could have taken care of business as soon a
s she arrived in St. Louis.

  Hell, he could have killed her with the mysterious package she’d found outside her door and had so stupidly opened without taking precautions.

  For now, she had no choice but to assume he hadn’t sent them into a deathtrap.

  “We were approaching the house when two men appeared from the shadows and attacked without warning.”

  Bas didn’t bother to hide his surprise. “Only two?”

  She flattened her lips in annoyance. How dare the jackass mock her? She felt guilty enough that she’d been reduced to a helpless bystander as Fane had fought off the strangers. She’d never been this long without her powers and it made her feel . . . dangerously vulnerable.

  Not to mention she was battling a throbbing headache.

  “They used a mind-stunner on me.”

  He swiftly disguised his shock at her revelation. “Interesting.”

  She leaned against Fane’s broad chest, covertly testing his temperature. When she’d led him out of the estate, she’d been terrified by the chill of his usually hot skin. Now she was comforted by the knowledge that it was growing warmer. That had to mean he was getting better, not worse despite his ragged breathing and the sweat still dripping off his face.

  She sent the assassin a sour frown. “Someone tries to kill me and you find it interesting?”

  “I find it interesting that whoever tried to kill you already knew they would be dealing with a psychic.”

  She held Bas’s gaze. “Yeah, me too.”

  He waved off her implication that he could have been involved. “It means that it couldn’t have been my client.”

  “Why not?” she demanded, not nearly so convinced. “It was his property.”

  “He couldn’t possibly have known you would be there tonight.”

  “Not unless you tipped him off,” she pointed out. “Or someone in your merry band of misfits did.”

  Bas’s jaw tightened as the limo swept out of the gated neighborhood and picked up speed.

  Expecting an angry response to her continued implication he was somehow responsible, she felt a prickle of premonition as he gave a slow shake of his head, his expression unreadable. She didn’t have a clairvoyant’s ability to peek into the future, but she knew that she wasn’t going to like Bas’s explanation.

  “No. Not one of mine,” he said.

  “Then who?”

  “The kidnapper.”

  Her breath hissed through her teeth. Yep. She’d been right. She didn’t like the explanation at all.

  She had a lethal toxin flowing through her blood, just waiting to kill her. Like a ticking time bomb.

  Now she had to worry about being stalked by a stranger who was ruthless enough to kidnap a little girl for profit?

  “Why would he try to kill me?”

  Bas shrugged. “I told him that I had to delay his payoff until you left St. Louis.”

  Of course he did. The . . . creep.

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “It was the only way to buy time for Molly.” He shrugged, blatantly lacking any hint of regret in throwing Serra into the firing line. “Obviously the kidnapper has decided to take matters into his own hands.”

  Fane’s hand clenched her fingers, his temperature ratcheting up several more degrees in reaction to Bas’s confession.

  She returned the squeeze, a silent reminder to concentrate on healing his body. This was one battle she didn’t need him to fight for her.

  Leaning over Fane’s massive chest, she sent Bas a pissed-off glare. “Just what I need. Another psychopathic lunatic trying to kill me.”

  Another shrug. “Unfortunate, but his ill-fated attack might be a blessing.”

  Her lips curved into a humorless smile. “Unless you want me to kick you in the nuts you’ll stop talking.”

  He ignored her warning, reaching into his pocket to remove his phone. “I assume that the two attackers are dead?”

  She scowled. “Yes.”

  “Good.” He punched in a speed-dial number on his phone, waiting only seconds before he started barking orders. “I have a double stiff pickup. I’ll send the coordinates. Make sure the necro is with you. Also, have a ghost keep a watch on the estate. I want to know everyone who comes in or out.”

  Serra watched as Bas returned the phone to his pocket, squashing a brief hope that necros would arrive in time to read the last memories of the corpses. It would bring an end to the entire situation if they could dig out the name of the kidnapper.

  But a man capable of stealing Bas’s child from beneath his nose wasn’t stupid.

  He’d make damn sure that he didn’t jeopardize his ultimate goal.

  “The kidnapper would have to be an idiot to hire killers who could be traced back to him,” she pointed out.

  Bas tapped an impatient finger on his knee. “We might get lucky.”

  “Yeah, because our luck has been running so great,” she muttered.

  He glanced out the window as the limo turned onto the street leading to the hotel. “Did you have the opportunity to search for Molly?”

  Serra grimaced. She didn’t need to see his tight expression to know the cost of trying to keep his voice calm.

  The man might be all kinds of a villain, but he adored his daughter. And the fact that she was out there in the hands of some twisted stranger was slowly destroying him.

  “She wasn’t there,” she softly admitted.

  His tense shoulders abruptly slumped. “Shit.”

  Serra rested her head on Fane’s chest, taking comfort in the steady beat of his heart. “For once we can agree.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Fane wasn’t blind to his faults.

  He could be stubborn. Or pigheaded, as Serra preferred to refer to his ingrained knowledge that he was always right. And he didn’t take orders from anyone but Wolfe, and only then if he agreed with them.

  But his determination to return to the hotel had nothing to do with stubbornness. Well, at least not everything to do with his stubbornness.

  As long as he was wounded and Serra was without her powers they were utterly vulnerable.

  There was no way he was going to return to the office penthouse where they could easily be imprisoned by Bas and his cohorts.

  The hotel might belong to the assassin, but it was public enough that it would be difficult to keep out a horde of furious Sentinels if he sent out the signal for the cavalry to charge.

  So ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder and the lingering weakness from his blood loss, he forced himself out of the limo as it came to a halt in the underground parking lot.

  His one concession was allowing Serra to pull his arm over her shoulders as she wrapped her own arm around his waist. He didn’t need her to hold him upright, but she helped to stabilize his balance.

  Besides, having her pressed tight against his side provided something more than strength.

  It gave him the courage to put one foot in front of the other to enter the elevator, and then to ignore Bas’s mocking gaze as the doors closed and they were rushing to the top floor.

  The bastard was well aware that Fane was in agony. He’d been trained by monks, which meant he knew the well-guarded secret among Sentinels that healing was far more painful than the original injury.

  Not only more painful, but it took a hell of a lot longer to heal.

  The bullet had ripped through his shoulder in a nanosecond, but it would take hours for the muscles and tendons and skin to repair the damage. And several thousand calories to replenish the lost blood.

  With a low hiss the elevator doors slid open and he clenched his teeth as he waited for Kaede and Bas to step into the hallway before he moved forward. At his side, Serra sent him a worried glance, her face pale.

  He wasn’t the only one who was in pain.

  The mind-stunner didn’t just disrupt mental powers. It did physical damage to her brain. She had to be suffering behind her stoic mask.

  Not that she was worried about hers
elf, he ruefully acknowledged as she sent him a smile that didn’t reach her shadowed eyes.

  “Hang on,” she urged him softly. “Not much farther.”

  His fingers lightly brushed her shoulder, offering comfort. “I’ve got it.”

  Bas pulled out a key card to unlock the door, bringing a low growl from Fane. The first time Bas opened the door without being invited in while he was inside, the bastard was going to discover a boot shoved up his ass.

  The assassin sent him a taunting glance, no doubt reading his mind. Then, shoving open the door, he pointed into the hotel suite.

  “The healer is waiting for us.”

  Oh hell, no. Fane halted, literally digging in his heels. “I told you . . . no healer.”

  Serra frowned at his vehement refusal. “Fane.”

  Bas folded his arms over his chest, his gaze more curious than offended. “Do your glyphs interfere with their magic?”

  Fane narrowed his gaze. “I don’t trust anyone working for you.”

  Serra reached up to place her fingers against his cheek, her expression pleading. “Please, Fane.”

  He grabbed her fingers, pressing them to his lips. “I’ll be fine.”

  “You were shot.”

  He lowered his head, whispering directly into her ear. “Trust me.”

  She gave a slow, reluctant nod of her head. “Okay.”

  Bas shrugged. “Vicky, it appears your talents are not required.” They waited for the slender woman with red hair pulled into a braid to step out of the room. Her smile was deceptively kind and she was wearing a casual sundress that gave her the appearance of a bohemian. Bas halted the woman’s departure with a hand on her shoulder, his gaze shifting to Serra. “Unless you would like her to get rid of your headache, my dear?”

  “No,” Fane snarled.

  He had no desire for Serra to be in pain, but there were healers who could use their powers to do more harm than good, even creating diseases in the unwary. Long ago, disreputable healers would heal their client while subtly infecting them with a sickness that would force them back for further care.

  The healer offered a nod, continuing toward the elevator.

  Fane waited until he was certain she was gone before he allowed Serra to urge him into the suite. Then, moving toward the low couch near the window, he gratefully sank onto the cushions and pointed a finger toward Kaede as he followed Bas into the room.