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.”