Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(79)

Serra slid into the passenger seat and closed the door before turning to study Fane’s perfectly chiseled profile.

“All mine,” she murmured, her heart giving a treacherous flutter.

“No doubt about it.”

He sent her a smoldering glance before he shifted the car into gear and gunned the motor.

They turned in a tight circle and headed out of the warehouse at a speed that no doubt had their tails cursing.

Serra ignored the manly temper tantrum, instead concentrating on typing in the addresses they still had to search into the GPS system.

Once the voice began offering monotone directions to the first location, Serra settled back in her seat, trying to hide the pain stabbing into her brain.

Fane was just looking for an excuse to snap. Serra preferred to avoid bloodshed until they’d found Molly.

“Do you still intend to travel to Tibet?” she asked, hoping to soothe the Sentinel’s seething frustration.

Fane slowed the car to a reasonable speed, following the directions to a residential neighborhood.

He sent her a brooding glance. “I think I’ve proven that I’ll travel wherever you are.”

She shook her head. There never had been any doubt he would rush to her rescue.

He would have done it for anyone.

“I mean after I’m no longer in danger.”

“Exactly.”

Her heart missed a strategic beat. Was he saying . . .

She gave a sharp shake of her head. This wasn’t the fairy tale she’d created over the years.

It was real life that was messy and disappointing and didn’t always end up with Prince Charming riding off with the heroine.

“You can’t give up your future just to be with me.”

His hands tightened on the driving wheel, his knuckles white with the strain.

“It’s the only future I ever wanted,” he said, his voice so low she barely caught the words. “I just never dreamed it would be possible.”

Well . . . crap.

A rueful laugh was wrenched from her throat.

“For a man who spent years barely speaking more than two words, you’re remarkably talented in saying just what I want to hear,” she muttered.

He sent her a searching glance as they turned onto a narrow street that led to an increasingly grungy neighborhood.

“Is that a bad thing?”

In truth, she didn’t know what it was.

And it didn’t seem particularly wise to try and figure it out when she was smack-dab in the middle of a life and death situation.

“I was all prepared to spend the rest of my life as a tragic martyr,” she said, trying to lighten the suddenly tense mood.

Fane paused, as if wanting to demand that she believe his sincerity. Then, with a twist of his lips, he reluctantly followed her lead.

“You’d make a terrible martyr,” he informed her.

“Are you kidding me?” She sniffed, pretending to be offended. “If I put my mind to it, I could have poets writing epic poems to immortalize my tragicness.”

“Tragicness?” He turned the car into a parking lot. “Is that a word?”

“If it’s not, it should be.”

Pulling into a fire lane, Fane put the car in park and turned off the engine. Only then did he glance in her direction.

“It doesn’t matter since there’s no way in hell you’re ever getting rid of me.”

A hot flash blasted through her. She wanted to blame it on Fane’s damned ability to heat the air with his emotions. Or menopause.

She didn’t want to think she was the kind of woman who responded to the “caveman” approach.

That was just . . . pathetic.

“You should try to make it sound more like a promise and less like a threat,” she informed him with a sniff.

His lips twitched, as if aware of her renegade reaction. The annoying, oversized, tattooed brute.

“I’ll work on it,” he assured her, nodding toward the building in front of them. “This is the place.”

Serra grimaced. The faded brick structure with a flat roof and industrial windows was one of three structures that made up the apartment complex. It looked like any other low-rent, going-nowhere housing unit to be found in every city in America. The sort of place that was on your downward slide to the gutter.

“Why can’t it ever be a shopping mall?” she muttered.

Fane shuddered. An honest to God shudder at the mention of a lovely, sparkling, fashionista playground.

“I’d rather search through the sewers.”

“Hmm.” She gave a disapproving click of her tongue. “You’re going to need a lot of training.”

The dark eyes smoldered with a sudden heat as his gaze drifted down to the low scoop of her neckline.

“There’s some training I enjoy more than others.”

“So I’ve noticed.” With a roll of her eyes she shoved open the car door. “Let’s get this over with.”

Fane quickly joined Serra as she exited the car, shooting a brief glance over his shoulder.

The black Civic didn’t bother to be subtle as it slid to a halt at the far edge of the parking lot, the two Sentinels smart enough to keep their asses in the car.

With a cold glare, Fane turned his attention toward the building in front of them, searching for any hint of danger.