Blood Lust - Alexandra Ivy Page 0,92
to skim down the length of his hard body, which was shown to advantage in the faded jeans that hung low on his hips and the khaki Henley with the sleeves shoved to his elbows.
When Wolfe had first arrived at Valhalla, she’d managed to fool herself into believing she would become accustomed to his raw, male impact. Now she’d ruefully accepted that was never going to happen.
Being near this male was like being struck by lightning.
Shocking, intense, and life altering.
Giving a shake of her head at her strange thoughts, she moved back toward her desk, ignoring his heated gaze.
“Did you need something?” she demanded, taking her seat with an air of casual nonchalance she was far from feeling.
“I wanted to know what happened with Stella.”
Lana grimaced. “She refused to reveal anything of value. I’ve asked Serra to return to Valhalla to get the information I need.”
Wolfe studied her in confusion. “Why? There are other psychics who are closer.”
“None who have Serra’s ability to get information without causing irreparable harm,” Lana pointed out.
“Do you really care if the bitch has her mind crushed?” he demanded. “She had every intention of destroying Valhalla.”
“True, but she was with the Brotherhood for a number of years.” When Lana had first left Stella, she’d been determined to send the first psychic she could find to blast the information from the woman. Thankfully, by the time she’d reached the nursery to see Myst desperately hugging her daughter, she’d managed to regain command of her temper. There was too much at stake to be goaded into an impulsive decision. “Beyond what Peter Baldwin might have shared from his visions, she could potentially lead us to her contacts with human politicians and military leaders who share her hatred of high-bloods,” she continued.
Wolfe heaved a rough sigh. “Fane isn’t going to be happy,” he growled. “Not with Bas lying in the infirmary. Hell, he’s likely to go ballistic.”
Lana couldn’t suppress her smile. Fane was a six-foot-five behemoth covered from head to toe in exquisite tattoos. He was the sort of high-blood that gave humans nightmares.
He’d also pledged to murder Bas as slowly and painfully as possible.
“Thankfully he’s your problem.”
Wolfe rolled his eyes. He might be the Tagos, but no one controlled Fane.
“Awesome,” he muttered. Then, visibly shoving away the thought of the inevitable showdown with the lethal Sentinel, Wolfe instead focused his attention directly on her. “Did you eat lunch?”
She arched her brows, well aware that he was keeping track of her.
“You already know the answer to that question.”
He smiled, his expression devoid of any remorse for being an interfering busybody.
“I do. Which is why I’ve asked the chef to send up a tray.” He held up a slender hand as her lips parted in protest. “You’ll hurt his excessively fragile feelings if you don’t clear your plate.”
She made a sound of frustration. He wasn’t lying about the chef. The Frenchman might be a genius in the kitchen, but he was a prima donna who could throw a temper tantrum that made grown men cower in terror.
“You don’t fight fair,” she muttered.
He shrugged, his dark gaze lowering to linger on her mouth. “I fight to win.”
She squashed the urge to lick her lips, desperate to disguise her instinctive reaction behind her cool composure. Not that she was truly fooling anyone, she wryly acknowledged.
They both knew that ignoring the desire that pulsed between them wasn’t making it go away.
For now, however, she was determined to focus on the very real threat to Valhalla.
“Have you interviewed any of the Brothers?” she asked.
His chest expanded as he sucked in a slow, deep breath. Then, holding her gaze, he forced himself to slip into Tagos mode.
“A few,” he said, his lips curling with distaste. “They all tell the same story. Their leader abruptly died and Stella took his place with promises that they would have a weapon powerful enough to destroy their enemies.”
Lana felt a stab of frustration. “No one asked any details about the mysterious weapon?”
Wolfe gave a lift of his shoulder. “She told them it was a gift from their God.”
“Of course she did.” Lana had lived for centuries but she would never understand the allure of cults. Probably because she wasn’t much of a follower. “A convenient way to avoid any proof that you’ll deliver on your promise,” she muttered.
“Most of them join the Brotherhood because they don’t want to have to think for themselves,” Wolfe said, his tone revealing his opinion of anyone who would prefer to become a