Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(90)

“Shit.” Fane barely resisted the impulse to slam his fist into the steel wall of the elevator. “We’re running out of time.”

Marco’s tight expression revealed he was struggling against his own desire for violence.

“I’ve got my contacts searching for tonight’s location, but it’s going to be hard without someone with direct access to the group who runs the club.”

Fane nodded. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that the Sentinel was doing everything in his power to track down the information.

“Keep on it,” he muttered.

“Of course.” Marco pushed the button to open the elevator doors.

“You’re prepared?” Fane demanded as the Sentinel stepped out of the cubicle.

Marco paused to give him a nod. “Just give the word.”

The doors slid closed and the elevator resumed its swift climb to the top floor.

Fane avoided Serra’s steady gaze. The fact that her life remained in danger was like a hot dagger slicing through his heart.

And each second that ticked by only dug the dagger deeper.

Christ. He had to do something.

But what?

The elevator halted and the doors slid open. Instinctively taking the lead, Fane scouted for any hidden traps before allowing her to follow him into the hotel room. Once there he closed the door and did a swift sweep of the rooms, releasing small bursts of power to destroy any hidden bugs that might have been installed during their absence.

Once confident they were alone, he returned to the main room to find Serra staring out the wall of windows.

He halted in the middle of the floor, sensing she had something on her mind.

It took a few minutes, but finally she turned to face him, her chin tilted to an angle that warned he wasn’t going to like what she had to say.

“We have to tell Bas what we learned,” she abruptly said.

His brows snapped together. Nope. He didn’t like it one damned bit.

“Why?”

“He has far better resources in St. Louis than we do to track down tonight’s location,” she said, her expression stubborn.

“There’s no guarantee,” he growled.

It would be a cold day in hell when he shared any info with the bastard.

“Do you have a better suggestion?”

“No.”

His flat tone must have warned her that he wasn’t in the mood to discuss a partnership with the ass who’d poisoned her. Her lips thinned before she gave an annoyed shake of her head. Then with unerring accuracy, she managed to pounce on the only subject he wanted to discuss less than Bas.

“Why did you ask Marco if he was prepared?”

He kept his face devoid of expression. “If things go south he’ll have to get the Sentinels pulled out of the city before Bas or his people track them down.”

It was a perfectly reasonable explanation she didn’t buy for a second.

“Nice try.”

She gave a faint toss of her head, the movement releasing the dark silk of her hair to spill over her shoulders. The sunlight tangled in the glossy strands, picking up hints of fire.

Fane’s breath was jerked from his lungs as he studied her, arrested by her sheer beauty.

It didn’t matter how long he’d known her. Or how many times he’d seen her across a room.

She still captivated him.

Barely aware he was moving, he halted directly in front of her, his hand lifting to brush through her soft curtain of hair.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Her lips parted as his heat surrounded her, revealing his stirring arousal.

“Fane,” she breathed.

His fingers moved to stroke down her throat, deliberately replacing Marco’s lingering scent with his own.

Territorial?

Hell yeah.

“We have more important things to discuss.”

She laid her hand on his chest, directly over the steady beat of his heart.

“We do?”

He smiled in slow invitation, grabbing her wrist so he could press her hand to his lips.

“Or we don’t have to talk at all . . .” Debating between tossing her over his shoulder and heading for the bedroom or simply tumbling her onto the thick carpet, Fane suddenly stiffened. “Dammit.”

Stepping back, she studied his furious expression with a rueful grimace.

“Let me guess. Bas?”

Fane ground his teeth together, trying to battle back his bloodthirsty desire to break the man’s neck.

“He is truly wearing on my last nerve.”

She wrinkled her nose. “The sooner we’re done with this mess the sooner we can go home.”

Home.

The simple word helped to soothe his homicidal lust.

Okay. Maybe it didn’t soothe him. But it helped him maintain his composure as he ran a light finger down Serra’s pale cheek.

“I hope you’re serious about that mountaintop in Tibet,” he said in a husky voice. “I want you to myself for the next century or so.”

Serra stilled, her gaze warily searching his face.

“What about your duties?”

His finger moved to trace her lush lower lip. “You are my duty.”

“Duty?” She trembled beneath his soft caress, but the wariness remained. “That’s not very romantic.”