Myst relished her daughter’s pure, uninhibited affection, breathing deep of her sweet scent.
“First, a glass of milk,” she murmured.
Molly wrinkled her nose. “I want soda.”
Myst reached up to tug a silver curl. “Milk.”
Molly heaved a deep sigh, but made no protest when Myst settled her on one of the chairs before opening the small refrigerator in the built-in bar, where she found several individual containers of milk.
“’Kay,” Molly grudgingly agreed, glancing toward the man standing as still as a statue in the middle of the room. “Aren’t you going to eat a donut, Daddy?”
“Later, pet,” Bas murmured. “Daddy has some work to take care of first.” The bronze gaze shifted toward Myst, his expression unreadable. “You.” He pointed a finger toward her. “Don’t even think about leaving.”
Myst rolled her eyes.
Bossy bastard.
Chapter Three
Bas understood there were several reasons for his success.
His hunger for power.
His ambiguous moral code.
His ruthless discipline.
His natural ability to lead.
But he knew his greatest asset had always been his patience.
While most Sentinels charged into situations with guns blazing, metaphorically speaking, Bas hid in the shadows, cunningly waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Which was why he retreated to his desk in the corner of the suite for the majority of the day. Pretending to work on his computer, he kept a close watch on Myst as she interacted with his daughter. She read to her, patiently taught her to play some complicated game of solitaire, and watched some dreadful show that included lots of dancing and jumping around. After sharing a nap they braided each other’s hair, painted toenails, and watched yet another show that made Molly giggle.
Bas didn’t know precisely what he was looking for.
Perhaps a sign that she was there to use Molly for some nefarious purpose. Or that she was angling to try and get her hands on his considerable fortune.
Or hoping to crawl back into his bed . . .
But all that he could see was a tender affection between mother and daughter that couldn’t be faked.
Waiting until he heard Myst telling the sleepy Molly some outrageous fairy tale that seemed to include a number of bumbling trolls and a princess who was armed with a sword and the habit of saving the world, Bas rose to his feet and strolled toward the windows.
Outside, the skyline of Kansas City was bathed in deepening shades of amber and lavender as the sun dipped over the horizon. It was a magnificent view, but Bas was far too focused on the sound of Myst’s soft voice and the pervasive scent of honeysuckle to notice.
Enough was enough, he abruptly decided.
He’d assumed for years that Myst had dumped her newborn baby because she couldn’t be bothered to take care of Molly.
Now he not only knew that Myst had kept in constant contact with her daughter, but she obviously possessed her fair share of maternal instincts.
Which meant that there had to be some desperate reason for abandoning her newborn baby with a male she barely knew.
And she wasn’t leaving until he knew what that reason was.
Holding himself completely still, he waited until he heard Myst leave his daughter’s room and enter the main area. She briefly hesitated, then, catching sight of him by the windows, she hurried toward the door.
Bas felt an intoxicating anticipation flow through him as he moved with supple speed to stand directly in her path. He might have trained to become a cold-blooded assassin, but at heart he was still a predator. There were few things he loved more than being on the hunt.
Especially when his prey was as sweet as this silver-haired, velvet-eyed female.
“Going somewhere?” he asked in low tones.
Myst glanced toward the door, almost as if considering the futile effort of trying to make a run for it. Swiftly coming to her senses, she heaved a deep sigh and met his smoldering gaze with a tight smile.
“Molly’s asleep.”
He took a step closer, savoring the sight of her tiny shiver of excitement.
Awareness feathered over his skin.
It might have been five years since they’d come together, but neither of them had forgotten just how glorious it had been.
“Good,” he murmured, his hand reaching to trace the line of her shoulder.
Christ. He could spend the next century stroking that satin skin.
“So I’ll return tomorrow,” she said, taking a step back.
A dangerous smile curled his lips as he took two steps forward, deliberately intruding even farther into her space.
“What’s your hurry?”
Belatedly realizing that she’d stirred his primitive instincts, Myst visibly forced herself to halt her retreat.
Smart woman.
“It’s late,” she said.
“It’s not that late.” He nodded toward the small table that room service had discreetly covered with a white cloth before unloading the dinner that was hidden beneath the silver covers. They’d also added a bowl of fresh flowers and tall candles that flickered in the fading light. “I ordered dinner.”
She blinked in confusion. “Dinner?”
“We both have to eat,” he pointed out smoothly. “We might as well do it together.”
“I don’t understand.”
His gaze lowered to the lush temptation of her lips before returning to meet her wary gaze.
“Sharing a meal is a fairly simple concept.”
Her eyes sparked with a hint of that temper she attempted to keep hidden from him.
“You’ve been hoping to get rid of me since I arrived. Now you want to have dinner with me?”
Unable to resist, he allowed his fingers to brush the pulse that hammered at the base of her throat.
“I’m a mercenary, Myst.”
Her wariness deepened. “I know what you are.”
“Then you realize I never do anything for free.”
She searched his face, clearly sensing the trap but unable to avoid her inevitable fate.
“What does that have to do with me?”
“You asked for a favor,” he reminded her in soft tones.
“Favor?”
His fingers drifted down to explore the prominent line of her collarbone. Inwardly he frowned.
She was so ridiculously fragile. Why the hell didn’t she take proper care of herself? For some reason, her too-slender body pissed him off.
“The day with your daughter.”
Genuine shock widened her eyes. “You want me to pay for spending time with Molly?”
His fingers found the deep dip of her neckline, skimming over the swell of her upper breasts.
“In a manner of speaking.”
“I see.” With a gesture of disdain she slapped his hand away. “I don’t have much money, but you’re welcome to—”
“I’m not asking for money,” he interrupted, his smile never faltering.
“Then what do you want?”
He leaned forward, brushing his lips down the curve of her neck before he was whispering in her ear.
“A dangerous question, cara.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, unable to halt the flush of arousal that stained her pale cheeks.
“Bas.”
Without warning a sharp-edged desire twisted his gut. Instantly he was hard and aching. Oh . . . hell. He’d intended to use Myst’s reaction to him as a weapon to cloud her thoughts.
An assassin knew that questioning his target was always easier when they were distracted. But he should have known better than to play those sorts of games with this female.
They were destined to bite him in the ass.
Needing to hide the visible sign of his fierce arousal, he turned to stroll toward the nearby sideboard, pouring himself a glass of red wine before opening a bottle of sparkling water that had been chill
ing in the fridge.
Waiting until he was certain he had his expression smoothed to a polite mask, Bas poured the water into a glass and turned to press it into her hand.
She took a careful sip before meeting his brooding gaze. “You haven’t told me what you want.”
“You know my price, cara,” he said, lightly grasping her elbow to lead her toward the table. Placing his wineglass on the table, he pulled out a chair. “I want answers.”
She instantly tensed. “I need to go.”
With a gentle insistence he pressed her into the chair. “Sit down, Myst.”
“You have no right to bully me,” she muttered, glaring at him as he rounded the table to take his seat.
He studied her stubborn expression, his lips twitching.
For such a tiny thing she could radiate disapproval at a hundred feet.
“You got what you wanted. Now it’s my turn,” he reminded her.
The dark eyes narrowed with frustration. “Fine, but no dinner. I’m not hungry.”
Bas placed his hand flat on the table, leaning forward to allow the heat of his body to flood the air.
“Myst, you’ve had one donut and nibbled on half a grilled cheese sandwich,” he said in stern tones. He didn’t give a shit that he was revealing just how closely he’d watched her throughout the day. If she wouldn’t take care of herself, then he damned well would. “Eat.”
Her lips parted, no doubt to tell him what he could do with his dinner, but she forgot what she was going to say when he pulled the lids off the chafing dishes to reveal the crisp green salad, bowls of creamy squash soup, and the portabella mushrooms stuffed with wild rice.
“Did you order this?” she demanded.
“I did.” He arched a brow. “Why?”
She studied the meal with a faint frown. “I assumed you would be a steak and potatoes kind of guy like most Sentinels.”
Bas shrugged. Sentinels tended to burn through enormous amounts of energy and needed high doses of protein to keep up their strength.
“I used to enjoy a fine steak, but like you, Molly prefers a vegetarian diet, so I’ve learned to adapt,” he said.
Her head snapped up, something that might have been fear tightening her features.
“How did you know I’m a vegetarian?”
He held her gaze. She needed to know just how ruthless he could be when he wanted answers.
“Five years ago you had lunch at a small diner near my office in St. Louis before you came in for your interview.”
She looked confused. “Were you having me watched?”
“Unfortunately, no.” He filled a plate with the lightly dressed salad and placed it in front of her before serving himself. “After your disappearing act I went in search of you.”
“Why?”
His lips twisted as he recalled his reaction when he turned from his untimely phone call to discover the warm and welcoming female he’d left sated and drowsy on his couch had done a vanishing act. His furious disbelief had lasted for days.
“Because I wasn’t done with you.” He deliberately paused. “Not even close.”
There was no mistaking the meaning of his low words, and a pretty blush stained her cheeks.
“I . . .”
“Eat,” he commanded as she floundered for a response.
Clearly rattled, Myst picked up her fork and attacked her salad. Keeping a close watch, Bas instantly had the soup placed in front of her the second her plate was clean, sipping his wine as he shared amusing stories of Molly when she was just a baby.
He waited until she’d polished off the mushrooms and rice before he leaned back in his seat and studied her with an expression that warned that he was going to get answers from her.
One way or another.
“Now.” He tapped his finger on the table, his gaze taking in every nuance of her body language. He didn’t have the ability to read minds, but he’d been trained to sense a lie. “We start at the beginning. Your name isn’t Myst, is it?”
There was a tense silence as she wavered between answering his questions and trying to make a dash toward the door. Perhaps realizing there was no way she could outrun him, she heaved a sigh of pure resentment.
“Not originally,” she admitted between gritted teeth.
He ignored the scent of charred honeysuckle. The search for the truth had gone from a casual itch to a relentless quest.
“What’s your real name?”
“I won’t tell you.”
The words and her expression were uncompromising. Bas didn’t press.
For now.
“Why did you change it?” he instead demanded.
“Because my family sold me to the Brotherhood.”
Bas froze. If she’d meant to shock him, then she’d succeeded. Beyond her wildest dreams.
He silently studied her tiny face.
“You’re serious?” he at last demanded.
She grimaced. “It’s not something I would joke about.”
His fury heated the air as he shoved himself to his feet. Her family sold her to their enemies?
It was . . . inconceivable.
He paced to refill his wineglass, struggling to leash his emotions.
“Humans,” he growled, wanting to punch something. His own uncle had skinned him when he’d barely been out of the nursery. He’d claimed he was trying to rid Bas of his demons. “They will never accept us.”
“It wasn’t about acceptance,” she corrected, the words clipped. “It was a financial decision.”
“Financial?”
“Yes.”
Bas drained the wine, sensing he hadn’t heard the worst.
The Brotherhood was a secret organization of humans who devoted their lives to the elimination of high-bloods. For years they’d hidden in the shadows, forgotten by Valhalla. But recently they’d started to make pests of themselves again.
“Bastards,” he hissed.
Her expression tightened. “My parents never wanted me once they found out I was a high-blood.”
His brows snapped together. “If they knew you were a high-blood why didn’t they send you to Valhalla?”
Many high-bloods were sent to Valhalla so they could be raised by foster families. Some because their human parents were unable to give them the proper care, and some because they were abandoned.
And overall the system worked well.
“They lived off the grid in a remote community in Alaska,” she said, the words obviously painful. “The colony believed that Valhalla would come and round them all up if they discovered they had a high-blood child.”
Bas made a sound of impatience. “So instead they put you up for sale?”
She hunched a shoulder. “As a group, the colony had always sympathized with the Brotherhood. They believed in their cause.”
“What about your parents?” he demanded. “It didn’t matter to them that they had a daughter who was a high-blood?”
“They just wanted to forget they had me.” She lowered her gaze, but not before Bas could see the savage sense of betrayal in her dark eyes. “Until I had my vision and they realized I could make them a lot of money.”
The table nearly shattered as Bas slapped his hand on the glass surface.
“I’m going to kill them.”
* * *
Myst bit back a curse.
Dammit. She was handling this all wrong.
Not that it was entirely her fault.
How could she have known that Bas would react as if he was personally offended by the fact her parents would see her as a means to an easy paycheck? He’d been determined to drive her out of Molly’s life from the moment she showed up in Kansas City.
Or was this just another act to try and keep her off guard? Just like the perfect dinner and the charming baby stories about Molly?
He was an assassin.
They were infamous for playing games with people’s heads.
Setting aside his empty wineglass, Bas glared at her a
s if she was to blame for being hunted like an animal.
“I don’t even know if they’re still alive,” she muttered, giving a shake of her head. She’d never felt more than an obligatory sense of duty toward her parents and the small community, but she’d never dreamed they would actually be willing to barter her like a piece of property. “They were both older when I was born.”
“Tell me what happened,” he commanded.
She wanted to condemn him to hell. He had no right to probe into her past. Unfortunately, he had every right to keep her away from Molly if he wanted. She’d give him anything he demanded for the opportunity to spend these few precious days with her daughter.
Her gaze lowered to where her fingers were twisted in her lap.
“I told you I’m a clairvoyant.”
“So you said, but you were unable to give me a reading.”
Most clairvoyants were able to touch a person and witness a brief glimpse into their future. It was usually no more than a slice in time that offered little information.
“I’m not a seer,” she admitted.
She could sense his surprise.
“You’re a foreseer?”
She gave a grudging nod. She couldn’t see the future of individuals. Instead she was given visions that affected the entire world.
“Unfortunately.”
There was a blast of heat as Bas moved to stand next to her chair. She shivered. Yow. He always ran hot, but this was . . . intense.
“It’s a rare gift,” he murmured.
“Not a gift.” She gave a short, humorless laugh. “A curse.”
Without warning Myst found her chair being turned to the side so Bas could crouch in front of her. She blinked, unnerved to discover his fiercely beautiful face only inches from her own.
“Why?”
Her heart raced as she met the bronze gaze.
Annoyance? Fear? Excitement?
Probably a combination of all three.
Grimly squaring her shoulders, she pretended she wasn’t acutely aware of the erotic chemistry that smoldered between them.
“Because on my fifteenth birthday I foresaw that I would create a powerful weapon that would be used by our enemies.”
“A weapon?” His brows pulled together. “What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. The vision had come without warning. One minute she’d been standing in the community center preparing for dinner, and the next she’d fallen onto the floor, the prophecy wrenched from her lips as her mind had exploded with horrifying images of the future. “I just saw blood and death being spread through Valhalla.”
Blood Lust Page 4
