Page 60 of A Touch of Crimson
“Do you have an idea of how long the vampire was infected before you captured him?”
The somberness of Raguel’s voice snared Adrian’s complete attention. “No. Why?”
“The vamp is dead, and the blood sample degraded during testing. It was, I am told, as if his blood turned into a ‘motor oil–type sludge’ in an instant.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that.” Furious was more apt, but he made certain that wasn’t evident in his tone.
“Whatever you are dealing with,” the archangel went on, “is apparently lethal and perhaps fast-acting, depending on when the subject was infected.”
“Thank you. Your help is appreciated.”
Ending the call, Adrian looked at Jason and Damien. They were waiting nearby, looking bleak and disheartened beneath a flashing neon keno sign. Adrian wished he could have spared them this hunt for one of their own, but he couldn’t risk losing Helena or her lycan if they decided to split up. Already, Helena’s second guard was traveling separately from the couple, stopping less frequently and swiftly pulling ahead.
“We need to capture more minions,” he told them. “Infected and not.”
Jason’s golden good looks were made stark by concern. “What’s going on?”
“Perhaps the end of the vampires is finally nigh.” Adrian returned his phone to his pocket. Jehovah does love his plagues, Raguel had said. Perhaps the archangel had been onto something.
“What a blessing that would be,” Damien said grimly, following Adrian around the corner of the casino parking lot in preparation for takeoff.
Adrian didn’t voice the rest of his thoughts.
Or we are about to be tested in ways that may yet see the end of us all.
15
Lindsay fingered the screen of her phone and debated the wisdom of calling Adrian. She’d been strong the first few days and refrained from contacting him, but the night before had been hard. She had roused from sleep at three in the morning, her thoughts filled with memories from a dream so vivid she still recalled it eight hours later.
She’d been standing with Adrian in a lush valley. A massive river had flowed beside them, providing the water necessary to support the miles of grasses spreading outward from its banks. The sun was bright and fierce, the air humid and almost too hot.
Adrian wore only coarse linen pants and leather sandals, his hair long enough to hang to the tops of his broad, powerful shoulders. His head was tilted back, his eyes closed, his sensual mouth thinned with frustration or displeasure. There was a blade in his hand—a thick, sturdy weapon that reminded her of a medieval sword or glaive, like King Arthur’s Excalibur. He spun it deftly, absently, his skill apparent in his easy familiarity with its weight and length. He was both regal and fierce. Heartrendingly beautiful.
As the wind slid lovingly through his hair, he looked at her with such torment. She felt pierced by his gaze, as if he’d stabbed her with the weapon he wielded with such obvious agitation.
Ani ohev otach, tzel, he’d said to her dream self. I love you, shadow. But I cannot have you. You know this. Why do you tempt me? Why do you flaunt what I crave, yet am forbidden to possess?
Her sorrow over his pain had constricted her lungs and created an ache so overwhelming it roused her from a dead sleep. She’d bolted awake to find tears wetting her face and pillow, and the remnants of sympathy and grief twisting in her stomach.
He’d been talking to her, as if she were the source of his agony, yet she couldn’t imagine doing anything to elicit that devastated look on his face. She would die before she ever wounded him so deeply.
Spending the rest of the night alone in her suite at the Belladonna had felt nearly as desolate as when she’d talked to Adrian on the phone four days earlier. The urge to call him again was becoming too forceful to resist. She was worried about him and missed him more than she should.
She sucked in a sharp breath, fighting through a rush of greedy desire and feelings of possession she had no right to. She’d lived her entire life struggling to find a place for herself on the outside looking in at the “normal” people, but it had taken only a couple of days to get irrevocably used to fitting in somewhere. Forging it alone after that acclimation was damn hard; wondering if Adrian might be feeling equally adrift was even harder.
Lindsay hit the dial button on her phone and lifted it to her ear.
He picked up almost instantly. “Lindsay—is everything all right?”
The knot in her stomach loosened at the sound of his warm, confident voice. “I called to ask you the same question.”
“Ask me…?” His voice faded. “I?—”
“Adrian? Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry. I’m still getting used to being asked that question. It’s been a rough couple of days, but it’ll soon be over.”
Her heart faltered a beat. He was so collected and smooth, so pulled together and in command of himself and others; she could see how easy it would be to assume he was always all right. Whom did he lean on when his burdens wearied him? With Phineas gone, did he have anyone?
