Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(37)

“You scream like my five-year-old niece,” he mocked, shifting the man so he was a human shield between him and the rest of the gangbangers. A bullet wouldn’t kill him, but it would hurt like a bitch. “Tell them to stay back,” he ordered.

The man muttered a foul curse, but he pointed toward his restless companions. “Listen to him.”

They scowled, but none had the balls to challenge him. It was easy to be the biggest bullies on the block when they were facing vulnerable females and children.

“Now this is what is going to happen,” he informed the cowards. “You’re going to put away your weapons and walk away. Then you’re going to call your friends waiting around the corner and tell them to stay out of my way.”

The leader stiffened, but he made no effort to fight Fane’s hold. “My boss won’t stop until he knows what you’re doing here.”

Fane glanced toward the idiots trying to hide behind a ramshackle fence. Dammit. It didn’t matter if the goons belonged to the drug lord who was currently meeting with Bas, or not. The last thing he needed was one of the overeager minions tracking them back to the hotel.

“My business is with Valhalla,” he said, pulling out his trump card.

The stench of fear filled the air, the thugs dropping their weapons to the ground as they backed away.

Unable to retreat, the leader glanced warily over his shoulder. “You’re a freak?”

“I am, but I’m not the one to worry about.” Fane offered a cold smile, nodding his head toward the black Mercedes. “With one psychic blast, my companion can turn you all into drooling, babbling idiots who will spend the rest of your pathetic lives being spoon-fed mushed bananas.”

“Fuck that, I’m outta here,” one of the men muttered, turning to run toward the nearest house.

As if his retreat was a catalyst, the rest of the cowardly fools were bolting after him, leaving the leader to fend for himself.

“What business does Valhalla have around here?” the man asked, trying to act as if he wasn’t on the verge of pissing his pants.

“Do you really want to know?”

“No.”

“Good choice.” Lowering the gun, Fane loosened his grip and stepped back. “Run.”

The man did.

And at a pace that might have earned him a spot on the Olympic relay team if he hadn’t been a pathetic putz.

Serra entered the private hotel suite with a sense of boiling frustration.

Who could blame her?

The clock was ticking toward her death, and Bas had her running in circles chasing after whores and a drug gang with nothing to show for her efforts but a headache.

But deep inside, she knew her frustration was caused as much by the silent man trailing behind her as the stress of potential death.

What the hell had he been thinking to confront six armed drug runners by himself?

Okay, she logically knew that he could have destroyed the humans. She’d even tried to pretend she was concerned they might end up bloody corpses. But inside she’d been a seething mass of terror that Fane would be injured.

Which for some reason pissed her off.

Was this why he’d always been so insistent that he couldn’t make her a permanent part of his life? Had he known she would be tormenting herself every time he stepped into danger?

After all, it was one thing to be at Valhalla knowing he might be at risk, and another to be watching as he deliberately placed himself in the line of fire.

She’d been so angry for so long at his stubborn refusal to believe she was capable of accepting his commitment to his duties. She assumed he thought she was too pampered, too sheltered to be the partner of a warrior.

Now she was forced to accept that he might have had a point.

Watching him . . . shit. She’d been a breath from stepping out of the car and blasting them with enough psychic force to knock them out for a week. Only the knowledge that Fane would put himself in even greater danger if she’d attracted the attention of the thugs had kept her in the car.

Not that the nerve-wracking afternoon had changed her feelings for the aggravating beast. She wasn’t sure there was anything that could destroy her love. But it forced her to admit that her resentment toward Fane hadn’t been entirely fair. And to acknowledge that being the lover of a Sentinel might involve more than she’d originally anticipated.

She hated being in the wrong.

“Well that was a waste of a day,” she muttered, pacing the sitting room.

Bas had dropped them off in front of the hotel, warning he was returning at eight. Of course he refused to say where they would be going, only insisting that she was to wear the formal gown.

The bastard.

Moving without a sound, Fane was standing directly in her path, his hands lightly gripping her shoulders.

“It’s not too late, Serra.”

Her heart skidded to a halt at his touch, her mouth going dry. She’d spent the entire day trying to ignore her acute awareness of this man. Now she was too damned tired to deny the thrill of excitement that raced through her.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice husky.

His expression remained grim, but his grip eased, allowing his fingers to lightly trace the line of her shoulders.

“I can contact the Mave.”

“No.”

He scowled. “Serra—”