Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(111)

He had to get rid of this crazy-ass female and get to his daughter.

Watching the growing frown on her face, he inwardly prepared to launch his spell.

“A problem?” he demanded as she shut her phone off with an angry stab of her finger.

Something that might have been fear briefly replaced the madness in her eyes.

“They’re in the middle of nowhere,” she muttered, trying to convince herself her egotistical scheme wasn’t falling apart. “They probably lost service.”

“More likely my witches killed them. Unlike you, I choose my employees with care.” He allowed his gaze to move up and down her body in a blatant insult. “Or at least, most of them.”

She shook her head, taking a step backward. “No. It’s not possible.”

She was going to crack. It was a matter of seconds.

He had to pray that Molly was safe.

“Now what, Jael?” His body tingled as he allowed his magic to race through his blood. “Your men are dead. Sandoval is dead. Do you have another game to play?”

She licked her lips. “I still have your daughter.”

“Are you so sure?”

Her eyes widened at his soft words. “What have you done?”

His smile was as cold as the Arctic. “You don’t think I was actually interested in your pathetic dreams of grandeur, do you?” he mocked. “I was keeping you distracted while my associates were retrieving my daughter.”

“Kaede is downstairs . . .” she began, only to have her words trail away as the realization that she’d been tricked slowly tightened her damaged features. “The psychic,” she breathed. “She was working with you.”

Bas lifted his hand, his magic sparking on the tips of his fingers.

“You’re not nearly so clever as you think you are.”

Manic hatred flashed through the dark eyes as she made a frantic leap toward the potions on the nearby table.

“I’m clever enough to make sure that I don’t die alone.”

Bas released his stun spell, knocking her to her knees. “You of all people, Jael, should know I never lose.”

“No.”

Thwarted of her potions, Jael raised her hand, preparing to launch a counter-spell.

Bas didn’t give her the opportunity. Ignoring the weapons strapped to his body, he grabbed the potion she’d intended for him and tossed it directly into her face.

She screamed, her back arching as that magic ravaged through her.

It was a particularly nasty potion. One brewed to destroy the internal organs.

Bas, however, didn’t stay to savor the destruction of his enemy.

The bitch would soon be dead.

All he cared about was wrapping his arms around his daughter.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Serra stared at the paneled wall with a frown of impatience.

“She’s behind this wall,” she muttered, clearly able to sense Molly just a few feet away.

They’d managed to search through the dark house without incident. Fane had taken care of any guards and the witch was clearly still occupied with Bas.

Or, if they had any luck at all, she was already dead.

Foolishly she’d started to hope that this would be a quick in and out.

Find Molly. Grab her. Leave.

Easy peasy.

Of course it couldn’t be easy. Or peasy.

She glared at the blank wall, tired of playing games with the damned kidnappers.

“There has to be a hidden door,” Fane said, slowly running his hands over the paneling.

Squashing her seething impatience, Serra moved to place her hands on the wall of the hallway. Fane was right. There had to be a way to get into a secret room.

“I’ll search this side,” she said. Not that she knew what the hell she was searching for. All she could do was hope she could trip some lever and a hidden door would slide open. “I think—”

Her words came to an abrupt halt as there was a draft of air to her side and the muzzle of a gun was pressed to her temple.

“Don’t move,” a female voice commanded. “One twitch and I pull the trigger.”

Shit. Too late Serra realized a hidden door had indeed slid open. Only she hadn’t found a hidden lever.

The female norm had managed to catch her off guard.

Dammit.

Fane took a smooth step toward them, his expression stoic and his body relaxed.

At a glance it would be easy to believe he wasn’t particularly concerned that some strange woman was pressing a gun to Serra’s head.

Serra, however, was well aware that he’d retreated into warrior mode.

He was a predator poised to strike, patiently waiting for an opening that would allow him to kill with lightning speed.

Serra might have felt sorry for the woman who was about to die if the bitch wasn’t currently threatening to blow her brains out.

“Release her,” Fane commanded, his cold, flat tone more terrifying than any amount of shouting.

“I don’t think so.”

The woman moved closer to Serra. As if realizing the only reason she wasn’t dead was because Fane didn’t have a clear shot. Glancing covertly to her side Serra caught sight of a slender woman with shoulder-length hair dyed a deep black and pale, pale features. Her dark eyes that were framed by fake lashes were currently watching Fane with barely concealed terror.