Blood Assassin

by Alexandra Ivy

  “He stays outside.”

  The enforcer scowled. “No fucking way—”

  “Kaede,” Bas interrupted, giving a wave of his hand.

  The man hesitated, clearly wanting to argue before he muttered a foul curse and turned to leave, closing the door with lethal softness behind him.

  Serra settled at Fane’s side, their hands instinctively linking as they watched their unwelcome guest move to the center of the floor. But even as Bas opened his mouth to annoy him with questions, the assassin’s phone gave a shrill chirp and he was pulling it from his pocket with a sigh of impatience.

  “What?” The bronze eyes flared with fury. “Goddammit. Have you tried a tracker? Keep searching.”

  “Your stiffs are missing?” Fane drawled, easily overhearing the frantic voice on the other end of the line.

  Bas glowered, shoving the phone back into his pocket.

  “Describe your attackers,” he snapped.

  “For God’s sake, he’s injured,” Serra said, instantly leaping to his defense.

  He hid a weary smile. If he asked Serra if she cared about him, she’d cut out her tongue before she’d admit the truth. But she instinctively did everything in her power to protect him.

  “It’s okay, Serra.” He deliberately kept his gaze locked on the assassin’s too-handsome face. “We need to know who the bastards were working for.”

  “Agreed.” Bas gave a nod of his head. “What did you notice about them?”

  Fane paused, using the technique taught to him by the monks to strip away the emotions attached to his battle with the unknown enemies.

  Anger, fear, excitement could all color the memories and distort vital details.

  Only when he was certain that he could control the fury of how close Serra had come to being injured, or worse, did he allow the images of his attackers to form.

  “They were well trained, but not high-bloods.” He abruptly frowned. “Odd.”

  “Why odd?” Bas shrugged. “If there were other high-bloods in town I would know.”

  “They had a weapon that’s illegal for a civilian to own,” he said, referring to the mind-stunner that had disabled Serra.

  The assassin lifted a brow, belatedly realizing how difficult it would be for a mere norm to get their hands on a banned weapon.

  “True.”

  “How much does a stunner go for?” Fane demanded.

  Bas folded his arms over his chest, silently calculating. “On the black market they wouldn’t go for less than $2 million.”

  Fane nodded. That’s the price he would have put on it. “That amount of funds should be easy to track.”

  Serra cleared her throat. “It could have been stolen, you know.”

  Bas and Fane shared a grimace, acknowledging she had a point.

  “What else did you notice about the attackers?” Bas pressed.

  Fane considered their clothing, dismissing it as too generic to give them a clue as to their identities. The same with the handguns. They could have been bought on any street corner.

  Then he remembered the fluid, dance-like movements and the precise blows the attacker had struck.

  Just like a chess player, a skilled fighter had a series of calculated moves that they used in battle. Moves they learned from their master or sensei.

  “They were trained in Thailand.”

  Bas studied his stoic expression. “How do you know?”

  “From their style of fighting.”

  The assassin made a sound of disbelief. “You can’t be sure they’re from Thailand just because of their fighting style.”

  “You’re an idiot if you don’t listen to him,” Serra snapped, glaring at Bas.

  Fane slid his fierce defender a startled glance, but Bas merely smiled with wry resignation.

  “You’re right.”

  Forcing his attention back to Bas, Fane struggled to concentrate on the conversation. As much as he wanted to toss the assassin out of the hotel suite so he could reassure himself that Serra was alive and well in the most basic way possible, he understood it was far more important that they track down the bastards who had tried to kill her.

  “Did any of your clients have connections to the Far East?” he asked, the most obvious question.

  “I’ll need to do some research,” Bas said.

  “Do it quickly.”

  Bas sent him a narrow-eyed glare, but he turned toward the door, clearly intent on sorting through his clients.

  He’d reached the door when Serra abruptly stopped him. “Wait.”

  He turned back, the bronze eyes shimmering with impatience. “Yes?”

  “How could the corpses have disappeared so quickly?”

  Fane stiffened, turning to study Serra’s profile. Damn, but she never failed to amaze him.

  Not just her intelligence. But her rare ability to see right to the heart of the matter.

  “They must have had companions close enough to retrieve them,” Bas muttered.

  Fane shook his head, anger slicing through him.

  Goddammit. How had he been so blind?

  He should have suspected the truth from the minute the attackers appeared.

  “Or they were spelled,” he ground out.

  “Yes,” Serra breathed. “That would explain the sense of evil.”

  Fane nodded. A wise person who wanted to hire a professional killer would pay the astronomical fee to have that killer wrapped in a magic spell that would be triggered if they were to die performing their mission.

  The spell would rapidly destroy the bodies, leaving behind no evidence.

  If they’d lingered only a few more minutes they would no doubt have seen the spell in action.

  Of course, he should have suspected the truth from the minute they caught a whiff of the foul stench. Black magic always carried an unpleasant odor. The darker the magic, the worse the smell.

  “Shit,” Bas snarled. “That would mean the kidnapper has access to a witch.”

  “Have you considered the possibility the kidnapper might be a witch?” Fane asked. “Or some other kind of high-blood?”

  Fane’s logic made the assassin growl in growing frustration, the air heating with the force of his suppressed emotions.

  “Then it might not be a former client at all.”

  They all sucked in a deep breath, mutually terrified that they’d been on a wild goose chase.

  Every tick of the clock brought them closer to death.

  Not only for Molly. But Serra as well.

  Both unacceptable losses.

  In the back of Fane’s mind he began to solidify his various backup plans if things went to hell.

  “What about a former colleague?” he asked.

  Bas scowled. “I told you, I had my people questioned.”

  Fane gave a lift of his shoulder, relieved to discover he could move it without difficulty. That meant there hadn’t been any damage to his bone.

  “There must be a few who no longer work for you.”

  “A very few.”

  Fane held his gaze. “Maybe you should give them a call.”

  Bas stiffened, anger flashing through his eyes. He was a man who gave orders. He didn’t take them. Not even when they clearly were in his best interest.

  Stubborn bastard.

  Before he could open his mouth, however, the door to the suite was shoved open and Kaede stuck his head into the room.

  “We have trouble.”

  “Christ.” Bas moved to join his enforcer, his body rigid with the need to strike out. “What now?”

  Kaede stepped into the room to speak directly in Bas’s ear, his voice pitched low, thankfully unaware that Fane’s hearing was enhanced enough to catch the merest whisper.

  “I have to go,” Bas growled, moving to follow Kaede as he headed into the hallway.

  Serra abruptly surged to her feet, her hands clenched. “What about me?”

  Bas sent her a dismissive frown. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Ab
sently dodging the vase that Serra threw at his retreating back, the assassin slipped out of the room and firmly closed the door.

  Serra watched the vase splinter against the wall with a sense of satisfaction.

  She’d only wished it’d smashed against Bas’s bloated, arrogant head.

  He’d be in touch?

  That was it?

  She was hours from death and he’d be in touch?

  The jackass.

  “Woodward,” Fane murmured, still seated on the sofa with his legs outstretched and his head leaning against the cushions.

  Her breath was squeezed from her lungs as she noticed his lingering pallor and the shadows beneath his dark eyes.

  God, she’d come so close to losing him.

  Too close.

  The knowledge was like an open wound in the center of her heart.

  Momentarily forgetting her fury toward Bas, Serra turned to give Fane her full attention.

  “What?”

  “That’s what Kaede whispered to Bas.”

  She didn’t bother to ask how he could possibly have overheard Kaede. The man had the hearing of a freaking bat.

  “Woodward?” She wrinkled her nose. “A person?”

  “Impossible to say.”

  Struck by a sudden thought, she leaned down to grab her tiny purse. It had been sheer instinct that had kept her clutching the thing through the crazy-ass night, but now she was glad she had.

  Opening the purse she removed her cell phone and pulled up the Internet, swiftly typing in the name.

  “Maybe not impossible,” she murmured, scrolling through the links.

  A ski resort . . . a reporter . . . a handful of small businesses. . .

  “Anything?”

  She frowned, returning to the top story. “A citywide blackout hits Woodward, Oklahoma.”

  “Is there a reason given why?”

  She clicked on the link, swiftly scanning the story.

  “Not yet. It’s being investigated, but at last report the blackout is spreading.”

  “It’s a possibility.” Fane pulled his own phone from his pocket, punching in a short message that was no doubt heavily coded. “I’ll have Wolfe investigate. Anything else?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing that jumps out at me.”

  With an effort to disguise his lingering weakness, Fane rose to his feet.

  “Let me know if you find anything.”

  She stepped forward, pressing a hand on his chest as he swayed.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to shower and change out of these ridiculous clothes.”

  It was the innocence of his expression that set off alarm bells.

  Fane was many things, but innocent wasn’t one of them.

  “And then?”

  He hesitated, almost as if he was considering a lie. Then realizing not even he could lie to a trained psychic, he heaved a resigned sigh.

  “I want to do some investigating—”

  “No.”

  He arched a brow. “No?”

  “No.” She planted her fists on her hips, determined to stand her ground. “You know what Bas will do if he finds out you’re sneaking around behind his back.”

  He sucked in an outraged breath. “You think I’m incapable of slipping past Bas’s surveillance?”

  Damn. She grimaced. She’d just broken the cardinal rule when dealing with a man. She’d pricked his delicate male ego.

  Which was a certain way to make him dig in his heels.

  Time for a change of tactics.

  Softening her expression, she stepped forward so she could place a hand on his chest.

  “I think you’re wounded and tired and the only place you’re going is to bed.”

  The dark gaze lowered to her lips, his lips twitching. “Is that an invitation?”

  Serra resisted the urge to slide her hand over the hard muscles of his chest, exploring his physical perfection.

  His skin was warm beneath her palm, but it wasn’t the blaze of heat she’d come to expect when he was aroused. And even with his magical glyphs she could sense the pain throbbing through his body.

  He was far from recovered from his injuries. Besides, she didn’t believe for a second he’d been distracted from his foolish desire to charge into the night looking for a way to break Bas’s hold over her.

  “It’s an order,” she said in stern tones.

  His brows drew together. “Serra.”

  “I know,” she said. “The clock is running down, but you’re in no condition to try to creep around the city.” She pressed her fingers to his lips when they parted in protest. “Don’t even try to lie. You’re leaking.”

  He grimaced. “Leaking?”

  “A few hours’ rest isn’t going to change anything.”

  His jaw tightened, then, reading the unwavering resolve etched onto her face, he conceded defeat with a slow, heart-melting smile.

  “Very well, but I might need help getting out of my clothes.”

  She hid her surge of relief. “I think that can be arranged.”

  Taking his hand, she silently led him into the bedroom and across the carpet to the attached bathroom. Flipping on the overhead light, she turned to tug at his bow tie.

  He watched her from beneath half-lowered lashes as she tossed aside the tie and slid her hands beneath the tailored jacket to help him shrug it off his shoulders and down his massive arms.

  Unprepared for what was hidden beneath, she sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of the blood that stained the purity of his white shirt. Christ. The whole left side was painted in red.

  “Oh, Fane,” she breathed, her mouth dry with the realization that the wound was even worse than she had suspected.

  Grasping the front of his ruined shirt, Fane ripped it off his body, using it to wipe away the blood coating his skin.

  “It’s nearly healed.”

  She studied the ragged hole in his shoulder that continued to ooze blood, not nearly as convinced as he was pretending to be.

  “What about the bullet?”

  He kicked off his shoes, unbuckling his belt so he could allow the silk pants to slide to the floor.

  “Through and through,” he assured her, yanking off his socks to leave him standing in front of her in all his naked glory.

  And it was glorious.

  Her stomach clenched, sparks of excitement racing through her blood as her gaze traveled downward.

  The broad shoulders, the wide, sculpted chest, the narrow waist that flared only slightly at his hips. The muscular legs that ended at surprisingly narrow feet.

  And all that delectable manhood was covered in dazzling, exquisitely inked tattoos that made her fingers itch to explore.

  She forcibly kept her hands clenched at her side, returning her attention to his injury.

  She would have time later to indulge her seemingly insatiable need for this man.

  “Why didn’t you allow the healer to help?”

  He held her concerned gaze, his expression somber. “The only woman allowed to touch me is you.”

  Oh. Hell.

  A huge crack formed in the wall she was so desperately trying to build between them.

  “Dammit. You’re not supposed to be charming me,” she growled, even as she stripped off her itty-bitty dress and stepped into the shower.

  Indifferent to the damage to her silken panties and matching bra, she turned on the water, adjusting it until it was just a degree below scalding.

  “You’re joining me?” Fane demanded, stepping beneath the hot spray of water with obvious pleasure.

  “You’re always taking care of me,” she said, reaching for the soap. Pouring a small dollop in her hand, she began to spread it over his shoulders and down his chest, careful to avoid his wound. “It’s my turn to take care of you.”

  “It’s my job to protect you,” he murmured, his voice suddenly husky with emotion. “And my honor.”

  She leaned forward to press a tender
kiss directly over his heart.

  “Tonight, it’s my honor.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bas remained silent as they’d reached his safe house north of town. The onetime government lab had proved to be a perfect place to set up his St. Louis headquarters.

  Not only was the building heavily reinforced, it also had a built-in security system and several levels constructed underground, including one that had once been used as a bomb shelter.

  Once he’d taken over the property he’d only increased the layers of protection around the building, using both magic and technology to turn it into an impregnable fortress.

  Or at least he thought it was impregnable before Molly was stolen from him.

  Struggling against the tidal wave of frustration that threatened to sweep him into madness, Bas headed through the sterile hallways painted institutional white with linoleum floors to the private elevator that led to the top floor.

  Kaede remained closely at his side, monitoring his phone for incoming messages.

  The warrior understood that Bas was waiting to ensure they had absolute privacy before discussing the latest fuckup in a long list of fuck-ups.

  The elevator doors slid open and they stepped into a long room filled with top-notch computer systems, monitors, and a steel vault on the far side that was filled with special-force-grade weapons.

  Two trained Sentinels rose to their feet at his unexpected entrance, but waving them back to the security cameras they were monitoring, he headed directly into the back office.

  Placing his hand on the scanner, he waited for the door to slide open. He motioned Kaede to enter ahead of him, his brutal training refusing to allow him to have anyone at his back, even his most trusted warrior.

  With a last glance over his shoulders at the monitor that displayed the front gate to ensure they hadn’t been followed, he stepped into the office and closed the door behind him.

  Unlike his office at the Cavrilo International Building, this room was erected for comfort with glossy wooden floors and walls painted a soft ivory. There were built-in bookcases on either side of the window with a cushioned window seat built between them to look out the window at the wooded area at the back.