Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(115)

Fane heaved a resigned sigh, already having had a tiny taste of the massive, chaotic, nerve-wracking project that would eventually lead to a wedding.

“Apparently it takes no less than a year to prepare for the big day,” he admitted with a shudder. “If it was up to me we would already be wed. I’m not taking the chance of ever letting her escape me again.”

Wolfe grimaced. “No wonder you’re so anxious to get to Tibet.” Stepping forward, the Tagos clapped Fane on the shoulder. “Enjoy yourself.”

Fane smiled, heading out the door. He fully intended to enjoy Serra.

As often and as thoroughly as she would allow him to.

Stepping into the hall his heart slammed against his chest as he caught sight of Serra leaning against the wall, her lush body shown to perfection in her leather pants, red halter top, and four-inch boots.

Christ . . . he went up in flames just looking at her.

With a small, wicked smile that revealed the clever psychic knew her exact effect on him, she pushed from the wall and moved to wrap her arms around his neck.

“Well?”

Fane studied the exquisite face of the woman he loved.

He’d fought it for so long.

Too long.

Now he just wanted to savor each and every minute with her.

“Are you packed?” he asked, his voice rough.

She tilted her head to the side, studying his face with the knowledge of a woman who knew him better than anyone in the world.

“He wasn’t pleased was he?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Wolfe thinks every Sentinel should live and breathe for their jobs.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think my life is yours, milaya.” His low voice was filled with promise. “For now and all eternity.”

She framed his face in her hands, her eyes shimmering with love.

“Now that was romantic.”

He lowered his head, burying his face in the curve of her neck.

“I’m just getting started.”

Epilogue

Downtown Kansas City

Bas was studying the skyline from his penthouse suite of the luxury hotel.

His first impulse after fleeing from St. Louis was to go underground. Keeping a low profile was easy for a man capable of altering his appearance.

But after only a few days in a squalid house in the middle of nowhere, he’d realized he couldn’t possibly drag Molly from one location to another.

She needed stability in her young life.

Not to mention three meals a day and a warm bed complete with her stuffed hippo, Daisy.

All things impossible to ensure when he was on the run.

Instead he’d headed to this hotel that was owned by his corporation.

Eventually the Mave would track him down, but he was confident he had a few weeks before she unraveled his complicated accounts and numerous false names to connect him to this hotel.

Until then he intended to plot his future in comfort.

Sipping his brandy, he watched as the sun dipped low in the sky, lost in his thoughts until he heard the pitter-patter of tiny feet.

Slowly turning, he watched as Molly entered the salon, Daisy clutched in her arms.

“Daddy?”

“Hey, sweetie.” Crouching down, he studied his daughter’s sleep-flushed face surrounded by her silvery curls, an undiluted joy piercing his heart. Christ, he still got up a dozen times a night to make sure she was safely tucked in her bed. Molly, on the other hand, barely seemed to remember her time with the witch. Thank God. “What are you doing up? Did you have a bad dream?”

Her sweet smile lit up the shadowed room. “Mama called me.”

Bas froze. Molly often spoke of her mother. Almost as if Myst were a constant companion.

He’d always assumed it was her childish way of coping without a mother.

“Called you?” He gave a tug on a silvery curl, his expression teasing. “On the phone?”

She giggled, a dimple appearing beside her mouth. “No, silly. In my head.”

“It was a dream,” he gently assured her.

The bronze eyes widened. “No. It was real.”

“Molly.”

“She talks to me all the time.”

He bit back his impulse to inform the child that her mother had walked out on him without a backward glance. Molly was innocent of Myst’s callous lack of concern for her daughter. Or the man who had created a child with her.

And if Molly needed to create fantasies about her mother then he would have to play along.

“Okay,” he murmured. “What does she say?”

“That she has something she has to do, but she misses me,” Molly promptly shared. “And that soon we’ll be together again.”

He tenderly smoothed her silken curls. “I don’t want you to be disappointed if she can’t come,” he said gently. “You have me. And I’m never going away.”

“But she is coming.” She flashed her dimpled smile at the sound of the door to the suite being opened. “Now.”

Bas surged to his feet, his hand reaching for the gun holstered at the small of his back.

How the hell had the intruder gotten past his locks?

“Molly, go to your room.”

The little girl sent him a puzzled glance. “But it’s Mommy.”