Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(29)

It’d been well over a century since anyone had been foolish enough to try to tell him what to do.

He gave the orders.

End of story.

But he needed this psychic. And if she wanted to pretend she had some control over him . . . hell, he’d let her hold on to the fantasy.

Until he had Molly.

After that there would be no doubt who was boss.

Serra ignored Fane’s steady gaze as she took the garment bag into the bedroom and began pulling out the various clothes. She knew it was a stupid waste of energy to taunt Bas. The man had her flattened between a rock and a hard place and mouthing off was only going to get her squished tighter.

But she’d never been able to play the obedient soldier.

Callie had been the good girl. Never in trouble. Never causing waves.

Serra had been the wild child. The hell-raiser who never met a dare she wouldn’t meet.

And keeping her mouth shut was about as likely as hell freezing over.

Tossing the clothes on the bed, she grimaced. She wasn’t surprised that they were all obscenely expensive. A smug bastard like Bas was hardly going to shop at some cheap second-hand store. But how the hell had he known her size?

She shook her head, digging through the lacy underwear and bras, refusing to dwell on the realization that Bas had such intimate knowledge of her.

That was the least of her concern.

Tugging on a pair of designer jeans that melded perfectly to her lush curves, she matched them with a cream sleeveless sweater and Gucci leather sandals with a three-inch heel. Then, in deference to the steamy July day, she pulled her thick hair into a high ponytail.

She didn’t know the dress code for a whorehouse, and she didn’t really care. No one was going to give her a second glance with Fane at her side.

He commanded attention by just . . . being.

A fact that was reinforced when she returned to the sitting room to discover him standing near the glass wall, his gaze trained on the city below.

Her heart did its familiar stutter-stop-stutter routine at the sight of him outlined by the golden rays of summer sunlight. God. He looked like he’d been carved by the hand of an artist, the intricate tattoos only emphasizing the sheer power of his muscular form.

His beauty was almost too perfect to be real.

But it wasn’t just his flawless features and buff body that made her heart jump and her knees weak.

He might be stern and aloof, and occasionally unsociable, but at his heart he was a champion.

One of the rare good guys who devoted his life to protecting the weak.

How was a poor woman supposed to resist?

Swallowing a sigh, she squared her shoulders and wiped the yearning from her face. She needed his help, but she’d be damned if she accepted his pity.

“I’m ready.”

He turned with a slow purpose, his expression stark with concern. “Are you sure?”

She shrugged. “As ready as I’m going to be.”

He stepped toward her, his movement fluid despite the rigid tension of his body. “I could contact the Mave. She might—”

“No,” she said, nipping the dangerous suggestion in the bud. Valhalla was still recovering from the disastrous battle against the crazed necromancer. “Bas wouldn’t be satisfied just killing me if his daughter dies. I don’t want to risk putting our people in danger so soon after we lost so many Sentinels.”

His gaze dropped toward the front pocket of her jeans. It would be nice to think he was enthralled by the soft curve of her hips; it was why most men ogled her, after all. But she knew enough about Fane to realize he’d somehow guessed she had the picture of a silver-haired child with a magical smile tucked in her pocket.

“And you want to find the girl?”

She turned away, heading for the door. She hated that he could read her so easily while his thoughts remained a constant mystery.

“I want to be done with this.”

With a dizzying speed he was standing directly in front of her, his hands lightly gripping her shoulders.

“Serra, don’t let your tender heart overrule your common sense.”

She snorted, meeting his piercing gaze. “What if it were you?”

“It’s not.”

“If it was, you’d find the girl.”

“But it’s you . . .” he growled, his fingers tightening on her shoulders. “And I’ll destroy anyone or anything that threatens you.”

The dark intensity in his voice sent a renegade thrill of pleasure inching down her spine. Worse, it made her want to collapse against that wide, powerful chest and allow him to wrap her in the comfort of his arms.

A weakness she couldn’t afford.

With an effort she pulled away from his touch and continued toward the door. “We need to go.”

“Stubborn.” She heard him mutter from behind her.

They traveled down to the lobby in silence, joining Bas who led them to a black Mercedes with dark-tinted windows waiting in front of the hotel.

The silence continued as she crawled into the backseat, sinking into the plush leather as Fane settled beside her. Bas took his own place behind the steering wheel and allowed the illusion to fade, revealing his stunning male splendor.

Putting the car into gear, he swiftly had them headed north.

Serra tapped an impatient finger on her knee, trying to ignore the tension that throbbed in the air.