Blood Lust - Alexandra Ivy Page 0,4
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. I’ll explain when you get here.”
He shoved the phone back into his pocket and paced to the bank of windows that overlooked the Kansas City skyline.
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 discovers 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 helpless 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, stirring his passions with an ease that was frankly terrifying.
He needed her gone.
Now.
Pacing toward the long bar that was set near the leather sectional couch, Bas grimly poured himself a scotch. Tomorrow he would have the suite cleaned from top to bottom. Maybe that would get rid of the lingering scent of honeysuckle.
He was on his second drink when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps and he whirled to study the woman who came to a hesitant halt in the center of the room.
His brows snapped together. He told himself it was because she was an unwelcome interloper and not because she looked as delicate and ethereal as a moonbeam.
A very sexy moonbeam.
She wrapped her arms around her slender waist, making a visible effort to meet his gaze.
“There’s no need to glare at me,” she chided.
He set aside his empty glass, smoothing his face to an unreadable mask.
It was something that should have come easily. He was a cold, ruthless assassin, wasn’t he? Unfortunately, this woman had a unique talent of getting under his skin.
In more ways than one.
“You’ve been screwing with my daughter’s mind,” he said between clenched teeth, still unnerved by the revelation that this woman had been speaking with Molly without his knowledge.
Her chin jutted to a defensive angle. “I’ll admit that I’ve often communicated with Molly, but I was hardly screwing with her mind. We talked like any other mother and daughter.”
He narrowed his gaze. “You knew very well that I was unaware of your telepathic powers. You deliberately used that lack of awareness to take advantage.”
“Molly was the one to reach out to me.”
His scowl deepened. “How? You’re not trying to claim she’s a telepath?”
“No, but I could sense her,” Myst muttered. “She needed to know that her mother loved her.”
“A mother who loves her child doesn’t abandon her.”
She flinched at his deliberate attack. “I didn’t . . .”
“Didn’t what?”
“Nothing.”
He studied her pale face.
She was hiding something. But what?
“Why are you here?”
“You know why.” She hunched a shoulder. “I’m here to see my daughter.”
“Why?” he pressed again. “Four years ago you left her on my bed and walked away without looking back. Surely you can understand my confusion as to why you were struck with a burning need to see her now.”
Her lovely face, which looked far too young to be a mother, flushed at his accusation.
“Molly was traumatized when she was kidnapped.”
His breath hissed between his teeth.
The memory of Molly’s kidnapping was still a raw wound that made him think about killing things.
“You don’t have to remind me,” he snapped. “We were