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BLOOD LUST
The Sentinels #3
Alexandra Ivy
Released May 31st, 2016
Kensington
Blessed
and cursed by their hidden abilities, the Sentinels have no choice but to live,
and love, on the edge of humanity…
The Sentinel assassin, Bas, is
facing the greatest challenge of his outcast existence. His young daughter,
Molly, has been kidnapped. But her disappearance has brought the return of her
mother, Myst, whom Bas has never forgotten--or forgiven.
Haunted by a vision that she's
destined to create a weapon that will destroy thousands, Myst was never
impulsive--until she met the irresistibly handsome Bas. But with the
Brotherhood, the enemy of the high-bloods hunting for her, Myst had to stay on
the run, to keep her child, and the world, safe. Now, with the most important
thing in both their lives at stake, she and Bas must embark on a treacherous
journey to save Molly, to confront the truth of Myst's fate--and to face their
fierce desire for one another.
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He looked . . . offended.
“You
didn’t tell me you were a telepath.”
She
shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”
“You
applied for a job. I assumed you would have shared your complete resume.” He
leaned down, wrapping her in the scent of clean male skin and scotch. “Or were
you keeping secrets even back then?”
His
lips brushed the top of her ear, sending streaks of lightning through her body.
Danger,
excitement, and pure lust twisted her stomach into a knot.
Dammit.
She’d spent the past four years isolated in the bowels of a Russian monastery.
She wasn’t prepared to deal with the cascade of sensations.
She
struggled to suck air into her lungs. “I wasn’t a telepath when I applied for
the job,” she said in hoarse tones.
He
frowned, his fingers resuming their absent path up and down her arm. Was he
even aware of what he was doing?
Her
skin shivered with delight.
“Is
that supposed to be a joke?” he demanded.
She
grimaced, understanding his annoyance. High-bloods were born with their
mutations, even if some didn’t reveal themselves until after puberty. Most
people only had one, but a rare few could claim a combination.
Like
Bas, who’d been born with both the magic of a witch and the superior strength
of a Sentinel. And even more rare were those powers that appeared later in
life, seemingly out of nowhere.
None
of the healers had an explanation.
It
simply happened.
“The
talent didn’t reveal itself until I was pregnant,” she grudgingly confessed.
He
lifted his head, genuine amazement in his eyes. “A spontaneous manifestation?”
“Yes.”
He
studied her with a searing intensity. “Fine. You should have told me you were in
contact with Molly.”
She
forced herself to hold that raptor gaze. Bas was a natural leader with a male
confidence that easily intimidated others.
In
other words . . . an arrogant ass.
He
would run her over completely if she didn’t try to stand her ground.
“As
I said, you’re not my boss.”
“No,
but I am Molly’s father.”
“I
know that—” she started to snap, only to bite her tongue. Well, hell.
He
was right.
“And?”
he prompted.
She
grimaced. It was true he was an arrogant ass, but he’d taken in a baby that he
hadn’t known existed, without question and without hesitation, and surrounded
her with the sort of love every little girl deserved.
As
much as it might pain her to stroke his bloated ego, she owed him her eternal
gratitude.
“I’m
truly appreciative that you’ve done such a wonderful job with Molly.” She
managed to force the words past her stiff lips. “She’s a very special little
girl and I know that you had a very large part in that.”
He
blinked, a flare of color staining the sharp line of his cheekbones.
Had
she managed to knock him off guard?
Amazing.
Then
his lips abruptly thinned. “You’re very good at deflecting my questions,” he
accused.
She
dropped her gaze to his thousand-dollar Italian shoes. “Then stop asking them.”
“Myst.”
His finger curled beneath her chin, tilting her head up. “Why didn’t you let me
know you were in contact with my daughter?”
A
fresh pain sliced through her heart. “Our daughter,” she corrected in fierce
tones.
His
lips parted, but before he could deny her right to be a mother, Molly’s
plaintive voice interrupted their tense confrontation.
“Daddy,
I want Mommy to tell the story.”
Myst
glanced toward the tiny girl who was perched on the edge of the bed before
returning her wary gaze to the predator who was nearly vibrating with the urge
to toss her through the nearest window.
“Let
me go to her, Bas,” she said in low tones. “Please.”
Frustration
tightened his stark features, but dropping his hands, he forced himself to take
a step back.
“Tell
her the story. Then we talk,” he warned, turning his head to send his daughter
a smile that held uncomplicated affection. “Good night, pet.”
Bas
stalked from the room, his phone pressed to his ear as he reached the main room
of the suite.
“Kaede,”
he snapped as soon as his enforcer picked up. “I need you in Kansas City
He
shoved the phone back into his pocket and paced to the bank of windows that
overlooked the Kansas City
Unfucking
believable.
After
five years of paying a fortune to trackers, witches, and even a human private
investigator to hunt down Myst, she waltzes into his penthouse as if she had
every right to be there.
Worse,
he discovered that she’d been in constant contact with Molly.
A
short, humorless laugh was wrenched from his throat.
No,
that wasn’t the worst.
The
worst was the undeniable fact that he found her just as damned exquisite as the
first time she’d sashayed that tiny body into his office.
His
fingers had twitched with the urge to run through the moonlit silk of her hair.
To yank off her pretty sundress and explore the pale ivory skin that had
haunted his dreams. To crush the soft curve of her lips until they parted in
help-less surrender.
Emotions are the enemy.
He’d
been taught that by the monks who’d honed him into the perfect killer.
But
Myst managed to shatter a lifetime of training, stir-ring his passions with an
ease that was frankly terrifying.
He
needed her gone.
Now.
Alexandra
Ivy graduated from Truman University with a degree in theatre before
deciding she preferred to bring her characters to life on paper rather than
stage. She currently lives in Missouri with her extraordinarily patient husband
and teenage sons. To stay updated on Alexandra’s Guardian series or to chat
with other readers, please visit her website at www.alexandraivy.com.
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