Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(43)

And when it came to Serra being in danger . . .

He shuddered at the mere thought of anyone stupid enough to try to come between Fane and the woman who’d captured his heart years before.

“Don’t press it,” Wolfe warned.

Arel clenched his hands, refusing to let it drop. Understandable. The younger man had been Serra’s lover in the past.

“Why not?” he demanded. “Fane was the one who walked away from Serra.”

Wolfe flattened his lips. He was probably the only one who truly knew the price Fane had paid to try to do the right thing for the beautiful, unbearably young psychic.

“He had his reasons.”

Arel narrowed his golden eyes. “She deserves better. Much better.”

Wolfe stilled at the unexpected edge in the Sentinel’s voice. Christ. Did Arel feel more than affection for his previous lover?

That was a ticking time bomb he didn’t need.

It’d only been a matter of time before Fane gave in to his primal need to claim Serra as his own.

“You think you would be better for her?”

“I care about her, I always have,” Arel said. “Which is more than Fane can say.”

Wolfe released his breath. Arel was protective of Serra, but his feelings didn’t seem to go deeper than affection.

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” Wolfe informed his companion. “I just hope he hasn’t realized the truth when it’s too late.”

There was a faint prickle of electricity in the air before a hidden elevator door behind Wolfe’s desk silently slid open.

“Too late for what?” a low, mesmerizing voice demanded.

Wolfe knew who would be standing in the doorway before he ever swiveled his chair around. Only one person could make Arel jump from his chair and stand at rigid attention.

And certainly only one person could make him feel as if he’d been struck by lightning just by stepping into the room.

Besides, there were only two keys to the private elevator. And he had one.

Bringing the chair to a halt, he watched as the current leader of the high-bloods stepped out of the elevator.

No one knew the precise age of the current Mave, but her classically beautiful face was unmarred by time and framed by a smooth curtain of black hair that was currently left free to spill over her shoulders. Her eyes were a stunning gray, not the placid dove gray of most people, but a stormy, gunmetal gray that was at complete odds with her dignified composure.

He hid a smile of self-derision as his gaze slid down her tall, slender body, perfectly revealed by her casual jeans and her jade green sweater, cut low enough to reveal the birthmark on the upper curve of her breast.

The small mark in the shape of an eye proved that she was a born witch, and the brilliance of the shimmering emerald color revealed the thunderous depths of her powers.

The darker the color, the greater her magic.

Not that his gaze was lingering on the soft swell of her breasts because he was fascinated by her witch mark, he wryly acknowledged.

He’d long ago given up the effort to slam shut his awareness of this female.

She might be the Mave, his esteemed leader, but she was also an exquisite woman who called to him on a deep, primal level.

A damned shame since nothing could come of his fascination but frustrated nights and long, brutally cold showers.

The Mave was supposed to be a fair and impartial judge to her people. Which meant she avoided any intimate relationships, whether it was with family, friends, or lovers.

She’d even given up her own name, Lana Mayfield, to cut all ties with her past.

A lonely existence, but one she’d chosen with her eyes wide open.

And one he had no choice but to respect.

Of course, that didn’t keep him from being plagued by a savage urge to pounce and devour her delectable body.

Potent need blasted through him, leaving him gutted in its wake.

He wanted her pressed against the wall, those impossibly long legs wrapped around his waist. Or spread over his desk, her hands threaded in his hair as he went to his knees and tasted her most intimate magic.

Those infuriating, unstoppable images were a constant source of annoyance, which might explain why he was more of an ass than usual when she was near.

Slowly he rose to his feet. “Mave.”

“Am I interrupting?”

His lips twisted at the polite words. Unlike the previous Maves, this female preferred to lead with the pretense of civility. Not that anyone was fooled.

She would crush any opposition with a brutal swiftness.

“Would it matter?”

She regarded him with a lift of her brows, cool as a f*cking cucumber. “It’s a simple question.”

Wolfe glanced toward Arel who was inching backward, as if afraid of getting caught in the crossfire.

Smart Sentinel.

“Anything you wanted to add, Arel?”

“Nope. Nada. Not a thing,” he muttered, glancing toward the Mave with obvious unease.

Wolfe gave a resigned shake of his head. “Get back to your research.”

“Great.” Arel heaved a relieved sigh, giving a small nod of his head. “Mave.”

“Arel,” she murmured, his name barely leaving her lips before Arel was headed out of the office and shutting the door firmly behind him.

Wolfe perched on the edge of his desk. “I’ve asked you not to terrify my warriors.”