Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(80)

Not easy in an area where humans lived piled so closely together. His nose curled at the stench of rotting garbage from a nearby Dumpster, his attempt to catch the sound of movement blocked by the screech of a child being hauled toward the building by a frustrated mother.

He gave a shake of his head, glancing down at the paper in his hand. There was no way to adequately scout for potential enemies. The best he could do was get Serra in and out as quickly as possible.

“The apartment number is 512,” he said, grudgingly headed up the crumbling sidewalk toward the nearest door.

“I think we should start at the top and work our way to the basement,” Serra said, easily keeping pace. “That way we don’t miss any janitor closets or empty apartments where a child could be hidden.”

Reaching the building, he turned to study Serra’s pale face and the bruises that marred the delicate skin beneath her eyes.

She tried hard to disguise the toll this search was taking on her, but he wasn’t fooled.

He could feel her pain as if it were his own.

Lifting his hand, he brushed his fingers lightly down the curve of her throat.

For high-bloods it was a gesture of affection.

“Do you have to search each floor?”

“Yes.” She gave a decisive nod. “There are too many thoughts interfering for me to pick out just one from a distance.”

Fane bit back a curse. “I was afraid of that.”

She frowned, watching as he easily broke the lock and tugged open the door.

“Is something wrong?”

He nodded toward the long, narrow hallway lined by closed doors.

If an attacker suddenly jumped from one of the apartments there would be no room to fight. And he’d bet his left nut everyone in the building had a weapon. If the bullets started flying the humans wouldn’t hesitate to join in the gunfight.

“It’s a perfect location for an ambush.”

She offered that special smile that sliced straight through his heart.

“I trust you to protect me.”

“With my life,” he pledged, holding out his hand. “Will it help you to have me mute the voices?”

She started to grab his offered hand before giving a regretful shake of her head.

“I can touch your back if it becomes too unbearable,” she promised. “I know you prefer to keep your hands free.”

His lips abruptly twisted as he recalled the hours he had spent with his hands filled with lush, female curves.

“Under most circumstances,” he murmured.

She gave a choked laugh, eyeing him in surprise. “You are proving to be a man with many layers, Fane.”

“You have no idea, Serra Vetrov.” He leaned forward to steal a brief, but fiercely possessive kiss. Then straightening, he held her pain-darkened eyes. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

She sucked in a deep breath before giving a nod of her head.

“Ready.”

Taking the lead, Fane headed toward the nearby stairs to the top floor.

Inside the building wasn’t any better than its outside.

The stairway smelled of marijuana smoke and stale piss, the blare of TVs echoing through the stairwell. The once white walls were now yellowed and covered by graffiti while the windows were covered by chicken wire that blocked most of the late morning sunlight.

A depressing, bleak place that would suck the hope from the most optimistic person.

Finally reaching the top floor, Fane jerked open the thick fireproof door and moved down the long hallway. He kept his pace deliberately slow, knowing Serra needed time to process the various minds that were slamming into her.

He hated putting her through the relentless torture, but until he found a way to get rid of the toxin pumping through her bloodstream, he didn’t have an option.

Dammit.

They reached the end of the hall before he glanced over his shoulder to study her pale face.

“Anything?”

She shook her head. “Not yet.”

With a grimace, Fane pulled open the door to the opposite stairwell. They headed down to the fourth floor, entering the hallway that was an exact, depressing duplicate of the top floor.

“God,” Serra breathed, placing her hand flat on his back.

“What’s wrong?” He remained on high alert even as he allowed his powers to help her mute the overwhelming surge of human emotions.

“I’m beginning to appreciate your decision to travel to Tibet,” she muttered. “Although I prefer a remote mountaintop instead of the monastery.”

A lifetime with Serra on a remote Tibetan mountaintop? Hell yeah. Sign him up.

“Wherever you want,” he assured her.

They finished the sweep of the floor and headed down the stairs. Entering the hallway, Fane had taken fewer than a dozen steps when the door beside him opened and a large male norm stepped out of his apartment.

The man was middle-aged with greasy black hair and a flabby body. His heavy face was ruddy from years of alcoholism and his eyes yellowed from liver damage. Dressed in a filthy muscle shirt and saggy sweatpants he could have been the poster child for “A Life Wasted.”

Still, while he might be a pathetic specimen, even for a norm, Fane wasn’t stupid enough to underestimate the man.

Despite the early hour he was clearly drunk and looking for trouble.

The bleary gaze landed on Serra, a mean smile curving his lips.