Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(65)

“A dangerous gift,” Wolfe murmured.

He’d never personally met the original Mave, but he’d heard enough rumors to know that she could be a hard-ass tyrant with a bloated belief in her own greatness.

Of course, it usually took an egomaniac to believe they could change the world.

“It can be.” The beauty of her eyes was abruptly hidden beneath the downward sweep of thick lashes. “Especially when you happen to have a ruthless belief in your own destiny.”

“The creation of Valhalla?”

She gave a slow nod, her eyes still hidden.

Shit. Whatever was coming had to be bad. Lana’s composure was the stuff of legend.

If she was struggling to maintain it . . .

Yeah. Bad.

“She believed it was the only solution to avoiding an inevitable war.”

“She was probably right.”

“Yes.” A tense pause. “Unfortunately.”

Wolfe waited for her to continue, his brows drawing together as she became lost in her thoughts.

“Lana?” he eventually prompted. “Why unfortunately?”

She gave a faint shake of her head, as if trying to dismiss her dark memories.

“There were high-bloods who believed in the Mave’s vision, but not her methods for achieving her goals.”

Wolfe frowned. The stories that talked about the birth of Valhalla didn’t mention the use of violence, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been a part of the Mave’s rise to power.

History had a way of rewriting itself.

“Did her methods include Sentinels?” he demanded.

“Assassins.”

Wolfe sucked in a startled breath. There was only one reason she would have needed assassins.

“She had her enemies eliminated.”

Lana slowly tilted back her head to meet his disgusted gaze, an ancient grief making his heart squeeze in fear.

“Not her enemies.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

And that was the pure truth.

Wolfe had been around long enough to know that sometimes ignorance truly was bliss.

“She believed the norms would never accept Valhalla as long as there were high-bloods that were a danger to them,” Lana said.

Wolfe frowned, not entirely sure where the conversation was going.

“We’re all a danger to them.”

“But there are some who are a danger by their very existence.”

Wolfe couldn’t argue. That was the primary reason the hunter Sentinels had been formed.

The mutations that created high-bloods weren’t always a blessing.

Sometimes they were a curse that had to be contained.

“We’ve always kept them properly isolated.”

“Not always.” Her beautiful features tightened with regret. “And their very existence gave humans a reason to claim they would never be safe as long as high-bloods existed. For the Mave there was only one obvious solution.”

Realization slammed into him, making his gut clench with horror.

Oh hell. It was bad.

Fucking hideously bad.

“She used the assassins to kill her own people?” he rasped.

“Yes.”

“Christ.”

Her eyes darkened to a stormy gray. “When her secret plans were uncovered a small group of dissenters banded together and tried to save the people targeted by the assassins.”

A tightness in Wolfe’s chest eased at the low words. He would never judge Lana. They all had made dark choices in their lives.

But he understood that she would never have forgiven herself for sacrificing an innocent. Not even if it meant achieving security for all high-bloods.

“You were a dissenter?”

She nodded. “Along with Bas.”

Chapter Fifteen

The man she’d supposedly killed?

Wolfe swallowed a primitive growl. Goddammit. The sound of the man’s name on her lips made him want to punch something.

Hard.

It didn’t make sense. But it didn’t have to.

“You worked together?” he asked, his voice hard.

“In the beginning,” she admitted. “Bas would track the high-bloods marked for death and I would use my magic to hide his trail so he could disappear with the target.”

“A rebel.”

She frowned. “You don’t have to mock.”

“I’m not, I swear.” With an effort he forced a wry smile to his lips. “But I have to admit I find it difficult to imagine you as part of an insurrection.”

She shrugged. “I believed in Valhalla, but I wasn’t going to build it with the blood of innocents on my hands.”

“No.” His hand was moving before he could stop his instinct to brush his fingers lightly down the slender column of her throat. His breath was jerked from his lungs by the tiny sparks of pleasure that raced through his body at the feel of warm woman and tingling magic. “I don’t doubt you would always fight to the death to protect the weak and vulnerable.”

Instantly she stepped from his touch, her face carefully devoid of expression.

“Thankfully my martyrdom wasn’t necessary.”

Wolfe waited for the pang of regret. It was a familiar cycle. He stepped over the boundaries. She shut him down. He felt like an ass.