Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(49)

And she’d killed that bastard Bas.

“Yes,” she breathed, forgetting everything but the explosive pleasure.

Serra took one last glance in the mirror.

Any other night she would have appreciated the Chanel silver lamé gown.

A skimpy sheath with spaghetti straps, it skimmed her lush curves before ending several inches above her knees. The short style combined with her three-inch Jimmy Choo shoes gave the illusion her legs went on forever, while her upswept hair emphasized the slender length of her neck.

It was shimmery and flirty and designed to drive men crazy.

Exactly what an expensive gown was supposed to do.

But this wasn’t any night, and she was far more interested in disguising the pallor of her skin with a light coat of powder and emphasizing her lips in a brilliant shade of red.

She grimaced.

Just an hour ago she’d been flushed and disheveled, her eyes smoldering with the pleasure from her most recent orgasms.

She forced her lethargic, delectably sated body into the shower. The knowledge that Bas would soon be arriving had stripped away the lingering haze of passion, brutally reminding her that this wasn’t a magical holiday with the man of her dreams.

This was life or death.

And not just for her.

Tucking the ribbon from Molly’s stuffed hippo along with the picture of the heart-wrenchingly vulnerable girl into a tiny silver clutch purse, Serra sucked in a calming breath and forced her feet to carry her to the sitting room.

Her lips twitched as Fane slowly turned to her from the windows where he was watching the spectacular sunset, his massive body covered in the elegant black tux that had been delivered just before she stepped into the shower.

Only a Sentinel could be dressed in a thousand-dollar suit and still manage to look completely feral.

His dark gaze searched her face, easily noticing the pallor beneath her carefully applied makeup.

“Ready?”

She grimaced, her mouth dry and her stomach clenched with nerves.

“As ready as I’m going to be.”

He stepped forward, grasping her hand in the heat of his. “You won’t be alone.”

The urge to melt against the solid strength of his chest was so overwhelming Serra actually caught herself swaying forward.

Dammit, this was exactly what she’d been scared of.

This instinctive desire to depend on a man who was only here because she was in danger.

With a muttered curse, she was yanking her hand from his comforting grip.

“Fane.”

He scowled, his jaw clenching as she stepped back. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you serious?” She forced a stiff smile to her lips. “What isn’t wrong?”

“Fine, let me be more specific.” His expression was tight, his fingers twitching as if they were longing to grab her shoulders and give her a good shake. “Why are you putting walls between us?”

She tilted her chin. “I wasn’t the one who put them there.”

“So this is my punishment?”

His dark, accusing gaze flayed over her skin, but she resisted the impulse to turn away. She’d given in to temptation. No, she hadn’t given in. She’d leaped headfirst into temptation and then wallowed in it. But that didn’t mean she had completely given in to insanity.

Not when she still carried the wounds of loving him.

“It’s survival.”

Heat filled the air as his temper threatened to combust, then with a visible effort, he regained his stoic Sentinel composure.

“You’re right.”

She studied him in suspicion. “I am?”

“You need to concentrate on finding the child.” He held her wary gaze, his voice soft. “Just know that I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”

She frowned. Damn, the aggravating man.

She was all braced for a battle of the wills. One she was determined to win.

Instead he slid past her fragile defenses, touching her where she didn’t want to be touched.

Lost for words, she was almost relieved when Fane turned toward the door, his acute hearing picking up the sound of Bas’s arrival before he ever knocked.

Moving to open the door, Fane reached into the pocket of his jacket, no doubt palming a handgun.

He had a hundred different methods to kill, many of them with his hands and feet, but Sentinels were trained to use the most effective tool for the job.

Sometimes a bullet to the head was the most effective.

Stepping into the room, Bas ignored both the gun and the massive Sentinel who was poised to kill.

It was a deliberate insult, as was his smooth stride that brought him directly in front of her so he could lift her hand to his lips.

Serra rolled her eyes. The bastard looked indecently handsome, of course. Dressed in a Gucci tux, he hadn’t bothered with an illusion to disguise his astonishing bronze eyes, or the dark hair smoothed from his pale, breathtakingly handsome face.

It was a damned shame he was a sociopath.

“My lovely Serra,” he purred, his low voice filled with a sensuous promise. “I understand why you hover at her side like a rabid pit bull.”

Fane snorted, refusing to rise to the bait. “Serra doesn’t need my protection.”

“True. A dangerous female.” The bronze gaze swept downward, lingering on the tantalizing hemline of her dress. “In more ways than one.”