Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(45)

“I assume he’s not an insurance salesman?”

“Insurance salesman?” She lifted her head, glancing at him in confusion.

“That’s what he’s pretending to be.”

She shook her head. “He’s an assassin.”

“Shit,” Wolfe muttered, a cold chill inching down his spine. The secretive sect of Sentinels had been disbanded by the time he’d taken his position as Tagos, but there were whispers that their training had not only turned them into ruthless killing machines, but it had also stripped them of all human emotions. Which was why he kept close track of those who had been forced into retirement. Not all of them were . . . stable. “Why don’t I know about him?”

“He disappeared over a hundred years ago.” With a sharp gesture she tossed the picture back onto the desk, her eyes darkened with an emotion he couldn’t read. “I thought he was dead.”

Wolfe stilled, his instincts on full alert.

Lana had more than just a passing acquaintance with the assassin.

They shared a history.

One that had involved her emotions.

His hands unconsciously curled into tight fists, something dark and dangerous spreading through his blood at the thought of this woman being intimately connected to another man.

It didn’t matter if it’d been a hundred years ago.

Or that he hadn’t even known her then.

His inner caveman was convinced this female belonged to him, whether she shared his bed or not.

Any challenge to his claim was going to end in death.

“Unless the necromancer returned him from the grave he appears to be very much alive,” he said in grim tones.

Lana made a belated attempt to disguise her intense reaction. “So I see.”

Wolfe stepped close enough to breath in the light scent of vanilla that clung to the glossy black satin of her hair. It’d always struck him as incongruous that such a powerful female would choose such a light, feminine scent.

Now, it only served to intensify his possessive instincts.

With an effort, he forced himself to focus on the threat the bastard might pose to Fane and Serra.

Right now that’s all that mattered.

“What do you know about him?”

She hesitated, as if debating precisely what she was willing to share.

“He was trained by the monks to be a warrior,” she at last confessed. “But his true strength is his magic.”

“A born witch?”

She nodded. Many high-bloods had some affinity to magic, including guardian Sentinels like Fane, but they couldn’t conjure the same spells as a born witch.

“A powerful one. He also has some telepathy skills, but they’re limited.”

Wolfe grimaced. Lana’s definition of “limited telepathy” was skewed. Her own skills were off the charts.

“Anything else?”

Her lips thinned, the shadows of a painful memory darkening her eyes. “He doesn’t play by the rules.”

Wolfe hid a feral smile. Good. When people broke the rules it gave him license to use whatever means necessary to do his job.

Including beating the shit out of the bastard.

“Why would he be interested in Serra?”

“I don’t have a clue,” she said slowly. “I could try to contact him—”

“No.”

A dangerous expression settled on her pale, beautiful features. No one interrupted the Mave. And certainly they didn’t tell her no.

“What did you say?”

The air was thick with the choking force of her personality, but Wolfe refused to back down.

“Fane has kept his communication extremely limited and written in code as if he is afraid someone is monitoring his phone. I’m assuming he doesn’t want to spook this . . .” It took an effort to force the name past his lips. “Bas. We can’t allow anyone to know we suspect anything is wrong.”

Her lips thinned, but she gave a grudging nod, accepting that Wolfe might have a point. She might be a hard-ass, but she was always ready to listen to her advisors.

“What can I do?”

Wolfe hesitated. He should let it go. Tell her that they had it under control.

But of course that would imply he could be rational when dealing with this female.

Not. Gonna. Happen.

“How close were you and the assassin?”

She met his searching gaze without flinching. “Does it matter?”

“It might help us figure out what’s going on.”

“I can’t help.” Her words were final. Uncompromising. “The man I knew is dead.”

Wolfe felt a stab of fury. Was she willing to protect this assassin?

“Can’t or won’t?” he growled.

Ignoring the question, the Mave turned to step back into the elevator. “Keep me updated.”

“Lana.”

Her expression had returned to the calm, inscrutable mask that made him want to punch something.

“Yes?”

“Why were you so certain that Bas was dead?”

The doors of the elevator slid shut, but that didn’t halt his heightened senses from picking up her soft confession.

“Because I killed him.”

Chapter Eleven

Serra felt as if she were being blasted by a furnace.