Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(35)

Serra shrugged. That was fine with her. She had no intention of risking her neck by sneaking into the lair of a drug lord.

Bas was walking away, when Fane stepped forward. “Wait.”

The assassin muttered a curse as he turned back to glare at Fane. “What?”

“You’re going to meet the leader of a drug cartel alone?”

“How sweet.” He flashed a mocking smile. “Don’t tell me you care?”

“If you die the toxin remains in Serra.”

“True.” Bas shrugged. “I die, she dies.”

Serra’s breath caught at his sheer callousness.

Fane was a little more . . . demonstrative in his reaction.

With three strides he was directly in front of the assassin, his hand once again around his throat.

“Then you don’t do anything that puts you in danger.”

“You’re not giving the orders here, Sentinel,” Bas growled, his eyes narrowing as Fane squeezed his fingers. “Christ. Kaede is waiting for me. It would look odd if I didn’t have some muscle with me.”

Fane slowly released his grip, indifferent to the slender stiletto Bas held in his hand. Serra didn’t know where it had come from, but she didn’t doubt for a second that the assassin knew how to use it.

She moved to stand next to Fane, lightly touching his arm as his gaze remained trained on the other male. It seemed they were destined to be driven to the brink of insanity by Bas Cavrilo. Thankfully they were together to pull each other back from the edge.

“What excuse did you use to call the meeting?” she asked Bas, more for a distraction than any interest in his meeting.

Bas gave a twist of his hand and the stiletto disappeared. “To warn the cartel there’s a powerful psychic and her Sentinel in town,” he said, his composure perfectly restored. “No criminal wants to accidentally cross paths with someone who can peek into their thoughts. I share the info and he’s in my debt.”

“Debt I suppose is another weapon?”

He sent her a mocking smile. “You begin to know me so well, lovely Serra.”

Fane planted his fists on his hips. “Go. Away.”

Chapter Nine

Fane grimaced.

The neighborhoods had grown increasingly grungy as they traveled north, with houses that had gone from shabby to downright dilapidated. Hell, many were missing windows or doors, and sprayed with gang graffiti. And the few stores that remained open had heavy bars across the windows, while the lone park was overgrown with weeds.

Worse, he was forced to a slow crawl as he navigated through the narrow street that was made nearly impassible by the abandoned cars and overflowing trash cans.

If he were human, he would be terrified of the unnatural silence that cloaked the area and the clumps of men who stood on the corner, watching him pass with a malevolent glare.

But he wasn’t human and his only fear was the heavy cost this search was demanding from the vulnerable female at his side.

“Anything?” he asked as she pressed her fingers to her forehead, her shoulders tense with stress.

“The usual,” she muttered. “Anger. Fear. Lust.”

Most people distrusted psychics, even as they wished they could have the power.

Who didn’t want to know what other people were thinking? Or use telepathy to communicate? Or even have the ability to twist the mind of an enemy until they went crazy?

What they didn’t consider was the fact that Serra was constantly bombarded by unwelcome thoughts and emotions.

Her rigid training allowed her to block the intrusions when she was in the protection of Valhalla. But when she was surrounded by masses of bleak misery and desperate greed she became overwhelmed.

“Do you need to take a break?”

“There’s no break,” she said in weary tones. “Not as long as we’re in such a congested area.”

Keeping his gaze on the men clustered at the end of the block, Fane held his hand toward his companion.

“Here.”

“What?”

“Take my hand.”

He heard her breath catch. “I don’t need your pity.”

His hand remained outstretched. “That’s not what I’m offering.”

“Then what?”

He heaved a sigh. He might deserve her suspicion, but they wouldn’t survive this if she didn’t learn to trust him.

“Just take my hand, you stubborn female,” he growled.

“Bossy.”

She gave a sniff, but at last placed her palm against his so he could wrap his fingers around her hand.

Concentrating on the skin-to-skin contact, Fane opened himself to the bond that allowed him to share the sensory onslaught that was pounding against Serra. He grimaced. Holy shit. How did she stand it? Within a few seconds he felt as if his nerves were being scoured raw.

With an effort, he shoved aside the barrage of emotions, using his training from the monks to center himself. Instinctively, he visualized himself in a cave high in the Alps. It was a cave where he’d spent nearly thirty years seeking the perfect balance between mind and body.

In the center of the cave was a deep pool of water. Slowly he entered the pool, the brisk water lapping at his ankles. He paused, allowing the sensation to fill his mind before he continued forward. The water hit his knees, then his waist, then his chest. Then with one last step he was underwater, floating in the chilled darkness.