Blood Assassin Read online

  Turning, he strolled toward the cluster of Sentinels who were watching Serra cross the gym like a pack of starving hounds.

  Bastards.

  Serra kept her head held high and a smile pinned to her lips as she marched past the gaping men. She was female enough to appreciate being noticed by the opposite sex. Why not? But today she barely noticed the audible groans as she took a direct path toward her prey.

  She felt a tiny surge of amusement at the thought of Fane being anyone’s prey.

  The massive warrior was 250 pounds of pure muscle and raw male power. He was also one of the rare few who was completely impervious to her ability to poke around in his mind.

  Which was a blessing and a curse.

  A blessing because it was impossible for a psychic to completely block out an intimate partner, which was a distraction that would make any lover cringe. There was nothing quite so demeaning as being in the middle of sex and to realize your partner was picturing Angelina Jolie.

  And a curse because Fane was about as chatty as a rock. His feelings were locked down so tight Serra feared that someday they would explode.

  And not in a good way.

  Or maybe it would be good, she silently told herself, gliding to a halt directly in front of his half-naked form.

  There weren’t many things worse than watching all emotions being stripped away as you approached the man you’d loved for the past two decades.

  Especially when she was a seething mass of emotions.

  She wanted to grab his beautiful face in her hands and kiss him until he melted into a puddle of goo. No. She wanted to kick him in the nuts for being such a prick. Maybe she’d kick him and then kiss it better.

  To make matters worse she was on a lust-driven adrenaline high.

  Just standing next to his half-naked body coated in sweat made her heart pump and her mouth dry.

  God. She was so fucking pathetic.

  Accepting that her companion wasn’t going to break the awkward silence, she tilted her chin up another notch.

  Any higher and she was going to be staring at the ceiling.

  “Fane,” she purred softly.

  His dark gaze remained focused on her face, resisting any temptation to glance at her skimpy vest. Of course, if it hadn’t been for the rare times she’d caught him casting covert glances at her body, she might suspect he hadn’t yet realized she was a woman.

  “Serra.”

  On the way to the gym she’d practiced what she was going to say. She was going to be cool. Composed. And in complete control.

  Instead the fear lodged in the pit of her belly made her strike out like a petulant child.

  “You’re leaving?”

  He gave a slow dip of his head. “I’m returning to Tibet.”

  The fear began to spread through her body, her hands clenching at her sides. “Did you ever intend to tell me?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?” she snapped. “On your way out the door?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Oh yeah. He was definitely getting kicked in the nuts.

  “Yes, it damned well matters.”

  He remained stoic. Unmoved by her anger. “What do you want from me?”

  She lowered her voice. It wasn’t that she gave a shit that they had an audience. Living in Valhalla meant that privacy was a rare commodity. But she had some pride, dammit. She didn’t want them to hear her beg.

  “You know what I want.”

  Something flared through the dark eyes. Something that sliced through her heart like a dagger.

  “It’s impossible,” he rasped. “I’ll always care for you, Serra, but not in the way you need.”

  She should walk away.

  It’s what any woman with an ounce of sense would do.

  But when had she claimed any sense when it came to this man?

  Instead she stepped forward, bringing them nose to nose. Well, they would be nose to nose if he didn’t have six inches on her.

  “Liar.”

  He frowned, the heat from his body brushing over her bare skin like a caress. Serra shuddered. Oh God. She’d wanted him for so long.

  It was like a sickness.

  “A Sentinel doesn’t lie.”

  She snorted at the ridiculous claim. “Maybe not, but you can twist the truth until it screams. And the truth is that you’ve always used your duty to Callie as a shield between us.”

  His fists landed on his hips, his eyes narrowing at her accusation. “My duty was more than a shield.”

  Okay. He had a point.

  His bond with Callie had been very real.

  But that didn’t mean he hadn’t hidden behind his obligation as a guardian.

  “Fine.” She held his gaze. “And now that duty is done.”

  He was shaking his head before she finished speaking. “My duty to Callie is done, but my duty to the Sentinels remains.”

  She clenched her teeth. It was true most Sentinels never married. But it wasn’t against any rules.

  Niko had just returned to Valhalla with a wife who promised to be a valuable healer, and Callie had recently married Duncan who’d lately become a Sentinel.

  It might demand compromise and sacrifice on both sides, but it could be done.

  So why was Fane so unwilling to even give it a try?

  “I assume that’s going to be your new excuse?” she forced between gritted teeth.

  Without warning his expression softened and his fingers lightly brushed down her bare arm.

  “Serra, I don’t need an excuse,” he said, the hint of regret in his eyes more alarming than his previous remoteness. She was used to him pretending to be indifferent to her. Now it felt like . . . good-bye. Shit. “I’ve never made promises I can’t keep,” he continued, his tone soft. “In fact, I’ve been very clear that you should find a man who can give you the happiness you deserve.”

  For one weak, tragic moment she allowed herself to savor the brief touch of his fingers. Then her pride came galloping to her rescue and she was jerking away with a brittle smile.

  She would endure anything but his pity.

  Hell no.

  “Very generous of you.”

  He grimaced at her sarcastic tone. “I know you don’t believe me, but all I’ve ever wanted was your happiness.”

  “And you assume I’ll find it in the arms of another man?” She went straight for the jugular.

  The hesitation was so fleeting she might have imagined it. “Yes.”

  She leaned forward, infuriated by her inability to read his mind. Dammit. Just when she needed her talents the most she was flying blind.

  Was this how humans felt?

  This maddening helplessness?

  It sucked.

  “It won’t bother you at all to know that I belong to another?”

  “I will be . . .” He took a beat to find the right word. “Content.”

  “Bullshit,” she breathed, unable to accept he was actually prepared to walk away from her.

  “Serra—”

  “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want me.”

  He refused to be provoked. Worse, that pity continued to shimmer in his dark gaze. “I’m not going to play games with you.”

  “Because you can’t do it,” she snarled. “You want me. You’re just too much of a coward to do anything about it.”

  “Find another, Serra,” he warned, a muscle in his jaw bulging as he reached down to grab his towel and stepped around her. “Be happy.”

  Her heart screeched to a painful halt. “Where are you going?”

  He hesitated, but he refused to turn around. “To pack.”

  She glared at the broad back covered in swirling tattoos. God. He was destroying her.

  Did he ever care?

  “When are you leaving?”

  “In the morning.”

  Not giving her the opportunity for further discussion he simply walked away, his shoulders squared and his head held high.

 
“Bastard,” she breathed.

  Chapter Two

  Serra left the gym and headed toward her private apartment three floors below.

  Valhalla was the official home for many high-bloods, and by far the largest of all the various compounds that were based throughout the world. Including the monasteries where the Sentinels were raised, and where they were able to use the portals to travel from abbey to abbey.

  Located in the Midwest, it was a vast community that had workshops, garages, and a large school spread over several thousand acres. There were also extensive vegetable gardens, a lake large enough to support a fishery, and heavily timbered hills that were home to protected wildlife.

  In the center was a massive building constructed in the shape of a pentagon with a large inner courtyard.

  There were few visitors who could claim to have ventured beyond the official offices on the main floor or the formal reception rooms, although they did have a few guest rooms for VIPs. Absolutely no one who wasn’t a high-blood was allowed to explore the nine levels of private quarters and secret labs that were dug deep into the earth.

  Leaving the gym, Serra took the elevator to the lower floors and stomped her way down the long corridor.

  The thick-skulled, tattooed lummox.

  He wanted to scurry back to his monastery and forget she existed?

  Fine.

  More power to him.

  She hoped . . .

  She hoped one of his students accidentally chopped off his dick during sword practice.

  Then he could be a real eunuch and not just a man too scared to take on a real woman.

  She grimaced, her steps slowing as she neared her door. Okay. She didn’t want him to be castrated. Not even she was that vindictive. But she did hope he was miserable without her.

  Jackass.

  Reaching her apartment, she placed her hand on the touch screen, waiting for her prints to be scanned. The door was sliding open when she noticed the tiny, gift-wrapped box by the doorjamb.

  She leaned down to pick it up, frowning as she stepped into her private rooms.

  It wasn’t her birthday. And Christmas was five months away. So who would be leaving her gifts?

  A secret admirer? Yeah, right. More likely it was something her biological parents had sent.

  When Serra had first displayed her psychic talents when she was barely five, her parents had wisely brought her to Valhalla where she could not only be trained, but where she would grow up surrounded by others like her. But despite not living beneath their roof, her parents had remained in close contact. Not only taking her home whenever she felt the need to bond with them, but often sending her little surprises just so she knew they were thinking about her.

  She crossed her living room that was decorated in shades of silver and plum. The furniture was sleek stainless steel with overstuffed cushions and a large mirrored coffee table in the center of the tiled floor. She had one wall that was covered from floor to ceiling with shelves to hold her collection of romance novels and in one corner a curio cabinet that held the exquisitely carved wooden figurines that Fane had given her over the years.

  It’d never failed to astonish her that a man who was prized for his strength was capable of creating such delicate beauty.

  Jerking her gaze away from the painful reminder of the man who’d just ripped out her heart and stomped on it, Serra tossed the box onto a table before heading into the kitchen.

  She rarely drank since it affected her ability to shield out the psychic noises that constantly bombarded her, but she was in desperate need of something to wash away the bad taste in her mouth.

  A shot of tequila might just do the trick.

  She’d just entered the kitchen that echoed the rest of the rooms’ sleek, minimalist style, when she heard the sound of her front door opening.

  “Can I come in?”

  Serra rolled her eyes. She didn’t need her psychic ability to know who was intruding into her privacy.

  Callie Brown . . . no, wait, she was O’Conner now . . . was more than just a friend.

  They’d been raised together as foster sisters and were as close as any blood sisters despite the fact that it was Callie whom Fane had bonded himself to.

  Today, however, Serra wasn’t in the mood for company. She wanted to be alone so she could get shit-faced and forget the miserable day.

  She was dusting off a shot glass her parents had sent her from Paris when Callie entered the room, looking gorgeous as usual with her red hair, cut short and spiky to emphasize her pale features, and her slender body, displayed in a lemon cotton sundress. But few people noticed anything about Callie once they caught a glance at her eyes.

  They were the gemstone eyes of a necromancer. Perfectly faceted they shimmered with a pure sapphire glow. The beauty of those eyes was breathtaking, which was why she usually kept them hidden behind sunglasses when she left Valhalla.

  Serra would have been jealous as hell of the younger woman if Callie weren’t so impossibly sweet and utterly loyal.

  “It’s not really a good time,” Serra said, pulling the bottle of tequila from the glass-paned cabinet.

  Callie wrinkled her nose, moving to lean against the marble-topped counter. “I know, you’ve been leaking.”

  Serra clicked her tongue, pouring herself a shot. Because they’d grown up together they’d become connected on a psychic level. Which meant that Callie could sense the vibrations when Serra’s thoughts were slipping past her mental walls.

  “I told you not to call it that. You make me sound like I have a bladder dysfunction.”

  Callie smiled, but it didn’t disguise her concern. “What’s going on?”

  Serra swallowed the tequila, savoring the fire as it slid down her throat. “Fane,” she at last admitted, knowing there was no point in trying to keep it a secret.

  By now all of Valhalla would have heard of her latest, embarrassing encounter with the aggravating Sentinel.

  Callie’s smile faded. “What’s he done?”

  “You haven’t heard?”

  “No.”

  Serra shrugged, pouring another shot. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “He’s still being an ass?”

  Serra lifted her shot glass in a mock toast. “A grade-A, platinum-plated ass.”

  Cassie shook her head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

  “Join the crowd,” Serra muttered before heaving a sigh. “Maybe I’m just deluding myself.”

  “About what?”

  “Maybe he truly doesn’t want me.”

  Callie gave a sharp shake of her head. “He wants you.”

  The tequila was spreading a warm glow through Serra. So why the hell was she shivering with cold?

  “How can you possibly know?”

  “I’ve seen how he stares at you when he thinks no one is watching. How he always waits until he knows you’re in the dining hall before he goes to dinner. How he takes twice as long to carve the figurines he creates for you.” Callie pushed away from the counter and crossed the short distance to gently remove the shot glass from Serra’s hand. “He wants you bad.”

  “Then why the hell won’t he do anything about it?” Serra snapped, fiercely holding back the tears. By God, she wasn’t going to cry over the bastard. Not one tear. “I’m tired of being treated like I carry the plague.”

  Callie set the glass on the countertop, biting her lower lip before she tentatively made the suggestion that Serra had been dreading.

  “Do you want me to talk to him?”

  “No.” She unconsciously pressed a hand to her heaving stomach.

  Fane had not only been connected to Callie on a spiritual level, he’d also indulged her every whim.

  God. The mere thought that he would force himself to show an interest in her to please Callie . . .

  A low groan escaped her lips and Callie grabbed her hands to give them a gentle squeeze. “This can’t go on, Serra.”

  Serra gave a sad smile. Calli
e was right.

  This was it.

  She’d tossed herself at Fane for the last time.

  She wasn’t wasting another day on something so stupid as unrequited love.

  “I know,” she admitted, a humorless smile twisting her lips.

  Easily sensing Serra’s sudden resolve, Callie regarded her with open concern.

  Understandable.

  Serra tended to act on impulse. Especially when her feelings were hurt.

  “What are you going to do?”

  Serra shrugged. “What I should have done a long time ago.”

  “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “I’m going to find a man who isn’t afraid to love me.”

  It was a promise that Serra had made a dozen times before, but this time there was no mistaking the grim sincerity in her voice.

  Callie gave a slow nod. “If you need me—”

  “I know.” It was Serra’s turn to give her friend’s fingers a comforting squeeze. “I’ve always known.”

  “Good.” Callie took a step back, continuing to keep a worried gaze on Serra’s face. “Come to dinner tonight.”

  Serra forced a teasing smile to her lips. “And watch you make goo-goo eyes at Duncan? No thanks.”

  “Goo-goo eyes?”

  Serra gave a dramatic shudder. “It’s sickening.”

  “Okay, okay.” Callie gave a small chuckle, then her smile slowly faded. “Serra, I don’t want you to be alone.”

  “I won’t. At least not for long,” she swore, abruptly deciding she needed more than tequila to improve her dark mood. “I have a new pair of Fendi boots that are just dying to go out dancing. I intend to oblige them.”

  Callie hesitated, as if weighing her chances at insisting that Serra spend the evening in the protective custody of her and her new husband. It took only one glance at Serra’s stubborn expression for her to accept defeat.

  “Arel’s here,” she instead murmured.

  Serra’s smile became genuine.

  Despite her pitiful love for a man who barely noticed her, Serra had occasionally sought out a partner who could help to ease her aching loneliness. Why not? It wasn’t as if Fane gave a shit what she did.

  And Arel had been her favorite.

  The hunter Sentinel was not only a charming companion, but he was a lover who understood exactly how to please a woman.