Blood Assassin Read online

  Hiding in plain sight had proven to be far easier than skulking in the shadows.

  Fucking amazing.

  On this night, however, he wasn’t savoring his latest success. Or sorting through his files to select a potential client.

  He’d been warned his entire life that his sense of superiority would eventually bite him in the ass. And his entire life he’d laughed at the warning.

  He wasn’t laughing anymore.

  The faint footstep in the outer lobby would have been undetectable to human ears, but Bas was already turned toward the door when it was pushed open and Kaede stepped into the office and crossed to stand directly in front of him.

  A slender man with smooth black hair brushing his shoulders and dark eyes, Kaede was built along trim lines with the Asian features of his ancestors. Tonight he was wearing a black T-shirt and black jeans.

  To the public he was Bas’s administrative assistant. In truth, he was Bas’s enforcer.

  Despite his lack of bulging muscles, Kaede was one of the most lethal killers Bas had ever met.

  Ironically, he also happened to be a damned fine administrative assistant.

  Organized. Efficient.

  Prompt.

  “The psychic has reached the outskirts of the city,” the younger man said, bringing the news that Bas had been waiting for. “Do you want her taken into custody?”

  Not by the flicker of an eye did he allow his relief to show. He was a leader of thugs, outlaws, and misfits.

  The second they sniffed weakness he would be devoured by his own sect.

  But he better than anyone knew the thousand things that could have gone wrong.

  “No.” He shook his head, his tone low but filled with the authority he’d earned over the past century. “We don’t know if our people are being monitored. The less attention we attract to her arrival the better. Meet her in the underground parking lot and bring her up by the back elevator.”

  “You got it.”

  Without hesitation his companion began to turn back toward the open door, only to halt when Bas lightly touched his shoulder.

  “Kaede.”

  The enforcer turned back to meet Bas’s narrowed gaze. “What?”

  “She was alone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Tell the watchers to make sure she wasn’t followed.”

  Kaede arched a brow. “By who?”

  Bas’s humorless laugh bounced off the walls. “A good question, old friend. We seem to be gathering enemies at an alarming rate.”

  “No shit.”

  They shared a mutual grimace.

  Until two days ago their small sect had managed to fly under the radar.

  They had their selective clientele, but they went to extreme measures to make sure that they avoided any unwelcome attention.

  Now he had his balls in a vise and they were being squeezed so tight he had no choice but to put a target on his back.

  “I was referring to our guest’s abrupt departure from Valhalla,” he clarified. He’d done everything in his power to lure Serra from Valhalla without attracting attention, but no plan was perfect. Especially one that had been slapped together in less than an hour. He’d be an idiot not to be prepared for failure. “The Mave isn’t stupid.”

  His companion frowned. “If she suspected something was wrong wouldn’t she have stopped the psychic from leaving?”

  “Not if she wanted to know who was tampering with her people.” He knew what he’d do. He would use the victim to track down the bastard responsible. “Make sure you scan the psychic and her car for any hidden bugs and disable the GPS.”

  Kaede touched the knife hidden beneath his shirt. The enforcer could filet a grown man in under three minutes.

  “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  Kaede moved toward the door. “I wish to God you did.”

  “So do I,” Bas muttered, reaching into his pocket to pull out a small photo of a silvery blond-haired, bronze-eyed girl with a smile that could light the world. “I’m coming, Molly.”

  Beneath the fog that clouded her mind, Serra understood that something was terribly wrong.

  She was supposed to be enjoying a night of mindless fun with Arel, wasn’t she?

  But even as she tried to clear her thoughts, she couldn’t battle the overwhelming urge to get into her vehicle and speed through the night. She didn’t know where she was going, or why she was going there. She just knew that she couldn’t stop.

  Her confusion only deepened as she hit the outskirts of St. Louis and drove straight downtown.

  She’d visited the area before, but not enough to have navigated with such ease through narrow back streets until she was pulling into an underground parking lot. It was as if she was deliberately choosing a route that would throw off anyone trying to track her.

  It was creepy as hell.

  Pulling to a halt in the nearly empty lot, she crawled out of her SUV and stood as still as a mannequin until a slender, dark-haired man appeared from the shadows and led her toward an elevator hidden in a dark alcove.

  Her teeth clenched, sweat beaded her forehead as she desperately struggled to organize her muddled thoughts. This wasn’t right. She didn’t know this man or why she was so easily allowing herself to be herded into the steel-lined elevator that whisked them toward the top floor, but her instincts were screaming in warning.

  There was a faint shudder beneath her feet as the elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open. Then, while she struggled to breathe, the man beside her grasped her elbow and led her through a small reception room and into an elegant office.

  If she’d been thinking clearly, she might have admired the minimalist vibe of the black and white room. And she most certainly would have been charmed by the impressive view of St. Louis revealed by the bank of windows.

  Instead her restless gaze continued to scan the massive office until she was shoved onto a low, leather chair and a stranger was crouching down until they were face-to-face.

  Her first thought was that he was handsome.

  Dark hair slicked from a lean, clean-cut face. Light brown eyes and surprisingly full lips.

  Her second thought was that there was a callous ruthlessness etched onto his pale features.

  An icy fear trickled down her spine.

  “Welcome, Ms. Vetrov,” he murmured, his velvet tone disguising the power of his magic that wrapped around her. “Can you hear me?”

  She gave a jerky nod. “Yes.”

  “Good girl.” His voice soothed, even as it tightened something deep inside her. “I want you to think back.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you remember leaving Valhalla?”

  She frowned. The memory was fuzzy, but it was there. “Yes.”

  “Did you tell anyone you were going to come here?”

  It took a second before she shook her head. “No.”

  “Did anyone try to stop you from leaving?”

  “No.”

  “Excellent.” He leaned forward, the scent of his expensive cologne teasing at her nose. “Did you speak to anyone after you left? Maybe on your cell phone?”

  Had she? She had a vague suspicion that she’d heard her phone ring more than once, but she hadn’t answered.

  “I haven’t spoken to anyone,” she assured the stranger, reaching up to lightly touch the man’s face. Was he real? Or was he just a part of an ongoing nightmare? “Do I know you?”

  “I’m Bas.”

  Bas. She allowed the name to seep through her mind. When it didn’t strike any bells of recognition she gave a shake of her head.

  “I don’t understand what I’m doing here,” she muttered.

  “All will be explained, but first.” He turned to wave a hand toward the silent man standing a few feet away. “Leave us.”

  “You’re sure?” the man demanded, making Serra wonder if he was some sort of security guard.

  He didn’t look very b
ig, but she’d been around enough Sentinels to know that size rarely mattered.

  “Make certain we’re not interrupted,” Bas commanded.

  There was a tense silence before the man grudgingly left the room and shut the door, leaving Serra alone with the stranger.

  Another tingle of fear inched down her spine as Bas lifted a slender hand and gently touched the side of her neck.

  There was a weird pop, as if a bubble had just burst inside her brain. And just like that . . . the fog that had been clogging her thought process was suddenly gone.

  Serra blinked. And blinked again.

  Then with a hiss of fury she was on her feet, glaring at the bastard who slowly straightened to watch the heat of embarrassment crawl beneath her cheeks.

  She’d been mind-fucked.

  Her.

  Serra Vetrov.

  One of the most powerful psychics in the world.

  She didn’t know whether to crawl into the corner and hide in shame or use her skill to crush the bastard’s brains.

  She knew which one she preferred.

  Unfortunately, if she turned him into a babbling idiot she would never learn how he’d managed to ensnare her in his compulsion spell.

  Which meant everyone in Valhalla would remain a potential victim.

  Besides, the fog might be gone, but her psychic abilities remained on the fritz. Unless there was some other reason she couldn’t penetrate his thoughts. Which meant she would have to find out what was going on the old-fashioned way.

  Forcing herself to meet his steady gaze, she went on the attack. It was her default response when she felt threatened or afraid.

  Hell, it was her default response . . . period.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  He smiled, giving the pretense of the perfect, urbane host. “Can I get you anything? Water? Tea.”

  She narrowed her gaze. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  She allowed her glare to shift toward the office that could only have been designed by a high-priced interior decorator. It even smelled expensive. Cordoba leather. Venetian glass. Freshly cut flowers.

  “You can start with telling me where I am.”

  “St. Louis.” He waved a hand around the room. “The Cavrilo International Building to be precise.”

  Cavrilo International. She allowed the name to rattle around in her brain.

  Nope. Nothing.

  “How did I get here?”

  He shrugged. “You drove.”

  “No shit.” She clenched her hands. Maybe she couldn’t squash his brains, but she could still punch his perfect nose. “Why would I drive to St. Louis?”

  “I’ll explain everything.”

  He moved to press a button on a wall, triggering a hidden panel that slid aside to reveal a small wet bar. Ignoring her impatience, not to mention the fact that once her powers came back online she could destroy his mind with one concentrated burst of energy, Bas poured an amber liquid into a balloon glass before turning and moving back to stand directly in front of her.

  “Here. Drink this.”

  Serra took a step back. “Yeah right.”

  “It’s harmless, I promise.”

  She made a sound of disgust. “And I should believe you why?”

  With a nauseating calm, he lifted the glass to sip the liquor, a hint of mockery in his eyes.

  “Obviously if I wanted to hurt you I could,” he murmured. “I have no need to be subtle.”

  She refused to admit he had a point. “Fine. You said you would explain. So explain.”

  “I needed your . . . services.” He took another sip of his drink before setting the glass on a table next to the chair. “So I called for you.”

  She scowled. Called for her?

  She didn’t remember any call.

  Of course, everything had started to go fuzzy after Callie had left.

  Oh hell. Was that what he was talking about? Had he spiked her tequila? Or bespelled something in her apartment?

  No. A hot ball of rage exploded in the pit of her stomach.

  Not something in her apartment.

  Something she’d stupidly taken inside her apartment.

  “Dammit,” she snarled. “It was the locket.”

  “Very good, Ms. . . .” He paused to straighten a cuff of his jacket. “Can I call you Serra?”

  She ground her teeth, sensing he was deliberately trying to annoy her. Logically she understood his tactic. If he could keep her emotions frazzled while he stayed in control, he would maintain the upper hand. But she didn’t want to be logical. She wanted to be pissed off.

  “Whatever.”

  His lips twitched. “Thank you.”

  “There was a compulsion spell on the locket?”

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she realized the reason she couldn’t force her way into his mind. Her powers weren’t broken, he just had the ability to block her.

  “You’re a high-blood,” she said, the words barely leaving her lips before he was allowing the illusion shrouded around him to fade.

  Suddenly he was more than handsome, he was breathtakingly beautiful. His hair wasn’t just dark, it was a rich, glossy ebony. His skin wasn’t pale, it was a flawless ivory. And his eyes. Oh God, they were gorgeous. Not brown, but a shimmering bronze with flecks of gold.

  “Guilty as charged,” he murmured softly.

  He turned his head to the side, revealing the small emerald mark just below his ear. It wasn’t large, but the eye shape proclaimed it more than just a birthmark or a tattoo.

  “Witch,” she hissed.

  “You have a prejudice against witches?”

  Of course she didn’t. Her foster father had been a witch. A man she adored. But he’d lived by a strict code of ethics.

  He would consider a compulsion spell no less than rape.

  “I have a prejudice against people who use their magic to steal my free will and force me from my home,” she snapped.

  Bas was superbly indifferent to her outrage. “It was a simple, harmless spell.”

  Harmless? She had a vivid image of her fist connecting with his arrogant nose. Oh, it was going to feel so good.

  “Yeah well, I doubt the Mave is going to consider it a simple, harmless spell,” she warned. “She’s not going to be pleased when she finds out what you’ve done.”

  A strange emotion flickered through the bronze eyes. “The Mave hasn’t been pleased with me for several decades.”

  Serra was caught off guard by the warm familiarity in his tone. “You know her?”

  “Our paths crossed years ago. It was . . . memorable.”

  Hmm. She’d trade her Ferragamo purse to hear that story. But later. After she knew what the hell she was doing in St. Louis.

  And after she’d broken his nose. And made him spend a few days believing he was a mushroom.

  “How did you get the locket past Valhalla’s security system?” she instead demanded.

  He shrugged. “I have a talent for becoming invisible when I want to.”

  He’d snuck into Valhalla? Was it even possible? Surely it would have taken a miracle to get past the magical layers that protected Valhalla, not to mention the high-tech alarms.

  Or someone who had skills she’d never heard of.

  “Who are you?”

  “I told you, I’m Bas. A witch and businessman.”

  She shook her head. A mere witch couldn’t have snared a powerful psychic with a compulsion spell. And he sure as hell couldn’t have gotten into Valhalla unnoticed.

  “Who are you really?”

  His lips twisted. “It depends on who you ask. To most of the world I’m B. D. Cavrilo, a highly successful businessman.”

  “And to the rest?”

  He hesitated, the beautiful features hardening to reveal the ruthless nature she’d already sensed.

  “I’m the leader of a shadow society of high-bloods.”

  Serra
frowned. Was he screwing with her?

  “Sounds very James Bond,” she taunted.

  “Not really,” he denied. “We’re just trying to survive.”

  “Why in the shadows?”

  “Because we don’t play nice with others,” he said, obviously proud of their outsider attitude. “Those who follow me have turned their back on Valhalla. Either by choice or necessity.”

  She wrinkled her nose, unimpressed. Long ago she might have been intrigued by a man who refused to play by the rules; now she just found them childish.

  A true man understood that power came from protecting those weaker than himself, not flexing his muscles to prove he was a badass.

  “You’re criminals?”

  “Some.” He smiled at her blatant disapproval. “Others have an allergy to following the Mave’s rules.”

  “But they’ll follow yours?”

  “Follow is a debatable term,” he conceded. “They accept my protection in return for offering their services when I need them. Otherwise, I stay the hell out of their business.”

  She couldn’t deny a curiosity. She’d met a few high-bloods who preferred to live as norms. And even a few who lived in complete isolation, far from Valhalla and civilization.

  But she’d never met an entire community of high-bloods living in secret.

  “What services?”

  “It varies depending on their powers.”

  He was deliberately vague, but Serra abruptly realized what had been staring her in the face.

  “You’re mercenaries,” she said in shock.

  He shrugged away his lack of concern that he was breaking one of the high-bloods’ most sacred laws. Since the formation of Valhalla it’d become illegal to peddle talents to the norms. Once high-bloods had bartered their services to survive. Gypsy fortune-telling, magical conjuring, and sideshow acts had been the most famous, but most weren’t nearly so harmless. Sentinels had hired themselves out as warriors and bodyguards and trackers. Paid killers. Psychics had compelled norms to become little more than slaves. And witches had used magic so dark it had tainted entire swaths of land.

  Now high-bloods were forbidden from using their gifts for financial or personal gain. They were dedicated to benefiting society.

  Or at least, that was the goal for most high-bloods.