Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(12)

She knew which one she preferred.

Unfortunately, if she turned him into a babbling idiot she would never learn how he’d managed to ensnare her in his compulsion spell.

Which meant everyone in Valhalla would remain a potential victim.

Besides, the fog might be gone, but her psychic abilities remained on the fritz. Unless there was some other reason she couldn’t penetrate his thoughts. Which meant she would have to find out what was going on the old-fashioned way.

Forcing herself to meet his steady gaze, she went on the attack. It was her default response when she felt threatened or afraid.

Hell, it was her default response . . . period.

“What the hell is going on?”

He smiled, giving the pretense of the perfect, urbane host. “Can I get you anything? Water? Tea.”

She narrowed her gaze. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“What do you want to know?”

She allowed her glare to shift toward the office that could only have been designed by a high-priced interior decorator. It even smelled expensive. Cordoba leather. Venetian glass. Freshly cut flowers.

“You can start with telling me where I am.”

“St. Louis.” He waved a hand around the room. “The Cavrilo International Building to be precise.”

Cavrilo International. She allowed the name to rattle around in her brain.

Nope. Nothing.

“How did I get here?”

He shrugged. “You drove.”

“No shit.” She clenched her hands. Maybe she couldn’t squash his brains, but she could still punch his perfect nose. “Why would I drive to St. Louis?”

“I’ll explain everything.”

He moved to press a button on a wall, triggering a hidden panel that slid aside to reveal a small wet bar. Ignoring her impatience, not to mention the fact that once her powers came back online she could destroy his mind with one concentrated burst of energy, Bas poured an amber liquid into a balloon glass before turning and moving back to stand directly in front of her.

“Here. Drink this.”

Serra took a step back. “Yeah right.”

“It’s harmless, I promise.”

She made a sound of disgust. “And I should believe you why?”

With a nauseating calm, he lifted the glass to sip the liquor, a hint of mockery in his eyes.

“Obviously if I wanted to hurt you I could,” he murmured. “I have no need to be subtle.”

She refused to admit he had a point. “Fine. You said you would explain. So explain.”

“I needed your . . . services.” He took another sip of his drink before setting the glass on a table next to the chair. “So I called for you.”

She scowled. Called for her?

She didn’t remember any call.

Of course, everything had started to go fuzzy after Callie had left.

Oh hell. Was that what he was talking about? Had he spiked her tequila? Or bespelled something in her apartment?

No. A hot ball of rage exploded in the pit of her stomach.

Not something in her apartment.

Something she’d stupidly taken inside her apartment.

“Dammit,” she snarled. “It was the locket.”

“Very good, Ms. . . .” He paused to straighten a cuff of his jacket. “Can I call you Serra?”

She ground her teeth, sensing he was deliberately trying to annoy her. Logically she understood his tactic. If he could keep her emotions frazzled while he stayed in control, he would maintain the upper hand. But she didn’t want to be logical. She wanted to be pissed off.

“Whatever.”

His lips twitched. “Thank you.”

“There was a compulsion spell on the locket?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes narrowed as she realized the reason she couldn’t force her way into his mind. Her powers weren’t broken, he just had the ability to block her.

“You’re a high-blood,” she said, the words barely leaving her lips before he was allowing the illusion shrouded around him to fade.

Suddenly he was more than handsome, he was breathtakingly beautiful. His hair wasn’t just dark, it was a rich, glossy ebony. His skin wasn’t pale, it was a flawless ivory. And his eyes. Oh God, they were gorgeous. Not brown, but a shimmering bronze with flecks of gold.

“Guilty as charged,” he murmured softly.

He turned his head to the side, revealing the small emerald mark just below his ear. It wasn’t large, but the eye shape proclaimed it more than just a birthmark or a tattoo.

“Witch,” she hissed.

“You have a prejudice against witches?”

Of course she didn’t. Her foster father had been a witch. A man she adored. But he’d lived by a strict code of ethics.

He would consider a compulsion spell no less than rape.

“I have a prejudice against people who use their magic to steal my free will and force me from my home,” she snapped.

Bas was superbly indifferent to her outrage. “It was a simple, harmless spell.”

Harmless? She had a vivid image of her fist connecting with his arrogant nose. Oh, it was going to feel so good.

“Yeah well, I doubt the Mave is going to consider it a simple, harmless spell,” she warned. “She’s not going to be pleased when she finds out what you’ve done.”