Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(19)

But even as she lifted a hand to touch the fingers that pressed against her neck, she was abruptly stiffening as she realized exactly why he was touching her . . . offering her the attention and tender care she’d so desperately desired over the years.

“Damsel in distress,” she breathed.

Fane’s jaw clenched as she sharply pulled from his touch. “What?”

She shook her head. Even on the verge of death she was an idiot.

Ugh.

“Tell me about the assassins,” she said, fiercely latching on to the only thing that truly mattered. Finding a way to rid her body of the toxin flowing through it. “Why haven’t I heard about them?”

Fane studied her rigid expression. He wasn’t stupid. He had to sense her retreat. But thankfully, he knew better than to press her.

“They were the dirty little secret of the monks,” he said as he instead answered her question.

The monks?

Serra shook her head. She shouldn’t be surprised. They’d always been secretive, fiercely guarding their privacy. Who knew what went on behind the protected walls of their monasteries?

“Are they Sentinels?” she demanded.

“They’re similar. They have the heightened senses of Sentinels, but they usually aren’t as physically strong.” Fane explained. “Their power is their magic.”

Which explained the witch mark.

She shivered.

The thought of a powerful witch being trained as a Sentinel was enough to give anyone nightmares.

It was no wonder the monks kept them secret.

“Why aren’t they tattooed?”

“They work and live in the shadows,” Fane said, glancing down at the tattoos that protected him even as they revealed his position as a guardian Sentinel to the world. “They’re very careful not to do anything that would attract attention.”

Serra grimaced. “What else is hiding in the shadows?”

Fane looked grim. “I don’t think any of us know for certain.”

Bas sat at his desk, ruthlessly quelling his urge to fidget as he stared at the blank screen of his laptop.

During his years of training he’d been forced to sit completely still for hour after endless hour, ignoring whatever torture the monks had devised. At the time he’d hated the bastards; now he silently thanked them for the strength to remain impassive as he waited for the unknown kidnapper to respond to his attempt to contact him.

It was a risk.

Whoever had taken Molly was clearly insane. No rational person would deliberately provoke a group of mercenaries. And they certainly wouldn’t give an assassin a reason to hunt them down and kill them as slowly and painfully as possible.

It was impossible to know how they would react to Bas’s attempt to renegotiate the deal.

Concentrating on breathing in and out, Bas sensed he was being watched before there was a faint click and the outline of a shadowy form became visible on the screen.

“I’m running out of patience,” the stranger immediately snapped. “I expected my prize to arrive by now.”

Bas kept his expression bland. Emotions were the enemy.

“I told you it would take a few days to transport her to the location you demanded,” he said smoothly. “Even in stasis she causes disruptions. And unfortunately there’s been a new complication.”

There was a low hiss, but with the sound being artificially manipulated it was impossible to know if it came from a man or a woman. Just as it was impossible to know from the shadowed outline anything about the kidnapper.

Bas was a master of illusion, which meant he could use the smallest detail to determine whatever he needed to know about his prey.

A wave of their hand could tell him if they were male or female no matter what their disguise; the set of their shoulders could tell him if they were tall or short even when they were seated; and even from behind Bas could guess a person’s age within a few years.

The fact that he hadn’t managed to discover anything useful about the kidnapper annoyed the hell out of him.

“Complication?” The voice was distorted, but there was no missing the edge of warning.

“A psychic and her Sentinel have arrived in town.”

“What does that have to do with our deal?”

Bas chose each word with care. “They could be in town for their own business or it could be that the Mave sensed the disturbance created as we released your prize from her cell.” He didn’t have to fake his frustration. It was a constant, gnawing threat to his well-honed logic. “We need to lie low until we can find out if we’re being investigated.”

There was no visible change in the shadow, but Bas could sense a sudden fury. “This is a trick.”

“You can find out for yourself, if you want,” he informed the kidnapper. “They just checked into my hotel.”

The shadow shifted, as if it were leaning forward. Bas’s breath caught in his throat. There. That tilt of the head. A man.

Definitely a man.

“I warned you what would happen if you contacted Valhalla.”

“Don’t be a fool—”

“Careful, freak,” the stranger interrupted. “I have your daughter.”

“Which is exactly why I would never contact the Mave,” Bas retorted. “Not only have I spent the past century deliberately avoiding her attention, but she has no connection to Molly. She would willingly sacrifice one little girl if she thought it was for the greater good. I won’t let that happen.”