Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(51)

She shook her head. She would have been fascinated by such a talent if it wasn’t being performed by a homicidal jackass.

“Who are you tonight?”

“Sir John Baxter.”

She snorted. Even his voice had changed, becoming higher with a distinct English accent.

“Royalty?”

He held up a slender hand, using his powers to create a gold ring stamped with the Baxter family suit of arms.

“A minor barony.”

“Arrogant.”

“A title opens doors.” He shrugged, climbing out of the limo as Kaede pulled open the door. “Especially when I also happen to be generous with my donations.”

Serra slid out behind him, barely managing to enjoy being out of the inferno before Fane was at her side, his arm possessively curved around her waist.

She didn’t try to pull away. She could feel the coiled tension of his muscles and the heat that still rolled off his body like a furnace.

He was hanging on by a thread.

Instead she turned her attention to the imposing red brick structure with large windows framed by white shutters and a large columned portico. It was large enough to house a football team, with all the warmth of a locker room.

She far preferred her parents’ cabin hidden in the woods less than two hours away. It was a quarter of the size, and probably cost less to build than the four-car garage, but it was filled with the light and warmth of a home well loved.

The thought had barely formed when the double doors opened and a slender, middle-aged woman with perfectly coiffed auburn hair stepped onto the flagstone porch, clearly eager to welcome her newest guest.

“Sir Baxter, welcome,” she called, holding out her hand for Bas to kiss.

Serra arched a brow. Was the woman for real?

She looked and acted like a damned Stepford Wife.

With an elegance that should have warned anyone with a brain that he wasn’t entirely human, Bas moved to obediently place his lips against her fingers, before straightening and glancing toward Serra.

“I hope you do not mind if I brought friends with me?”

She batted her lashes that were as false as her too-rounded tits.

“Certainly not. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine.” Latching on to Bas as if she feared he might escape before she could display him like a rare artifact to her friends, the woman herded him over the threshold. “I have someone you absolutely must meet.”

Forgotten, Serra exchanged a resigned glance with Fane.

Christ. She just wanted to be done with this horrible nightmare and back at Valhalla where she belonged.

Safe with her friends and family.

And Fane . . .

Shit.

She sharply slammed the door on her treacherous thoughts.

She could be impetuous. Even reckless.

She wasn’t about to repeat her self-destructive pattern over and over, hoping for a different result.

That was insane.

Chapter Twelve

Fane stood next to Serra as the string quartet hidden in a far corner struck up a waltz.

Instantly the guests crowded into the formal sitting room that had been converted into a dance floor.

Standing at an angle to block Serra from bay windows that offered a perfect opportunity for a sniper, Fane allowed his gaze to scan the room.

He ignored the pampered humans who twirled beneath the chandelier, their fine plumage and sparkling jewels designed to attract attention. The strutting peacocks were all norms, many already impaired by alcohol or drugs. They posed no immediate danger.

Instead he concentrated on the shallow alcoves that held imitation Greek statues and a distant door that led to a back hallway.

He didn’t actually think anyone was about to attack. Certainly not in such a highly visible area.

But he was nothing if not thorough when it came to his guardian duties.

Especially when he was guarding the female who was the reason his heart beat.

His senses tingled with the warning of an approaching high-blood and he turned to watch Bas stroll toward them with a narrowed glare.

The jackass stood just close enough to Serra to make Fane’s teeth clench, adjusting his cuff as he spoke in low tones that wouldn’t carry.

“Wait ten minutes, then meet me on the back terrace.”

His command delivered, Bas moved to join a buxom blonde who he soon had clinging to his arm as he coaxed her into leaving the room.

“Someday,” he muttered.

Serra clicked her tongue, pale green eyes flashing fury. “You’re presuming I won’t kill him first.”

Fane felt his heart slam into his ribs at the sight of her.

God, but she was magnificent.

Even surrounded by females who spent a fortune to look beautiful she stood out from the crowd.

The pale perfect features. The satin gloss of her dark hair.

The lush body with its sultry sensuality that was a challenge to every man who caught sight of her.

The unapologetic confidence in her own worth.

It all combined to make her a formidable female.

And that was before you added in her lethal psychic abilities.

“He was right about one thing,” he said, his voice edged with pride.

This amazing creature was his. All his.

Whether she was ready to accept the truth or not.

“What’s that?”

He stepped close enough that his breath would brush over the bare skin of her exposed neck. “You are dangerous.”