Page 79 of A Touch of Crimson
“Who oversees that for you? Or do you do it?”
“The dispatching of the Alphas is delegated to Reese. I can introduce you, if you like. He can answer your questions more thoroughly.”
Sighing, she tilted her head to the side. Her soft lips whispered against his chin. “I don’t know how you carry the weight of everything you’re responsible for, but I respect you for doing what has to be the most difficult job ever.”
He’d noticed in Utah that Lindsay refrained from contradicting him in front of an audience, showing him respect and displaying a restraint that was unique to her. Although she was as strong-willed and passionate as Shadoe, she was far more intentional when weighing the ramifications of her words and actions. She maneuvered well through group interactions, but in a way that minimized her presence and participation.
While Shadoe had always been the most vibrant individual in any gathering, Lindsay could recede from notice when she chose to. It was a defensive tactic she must have cultivated to deal with her feelings of abnormality. Who would notice she was strange if they didn’t notice her at all?
Adrian admired her circumspection, which made him ever more determined to protect her from further experiences that might erode her confidence. Lindsay Gibson was an extraordinary woman in so many ways. He never wanted her to question her worth for a moment.
Yet he’d put her in a position of being surrounded by those who distrusted and resented her. When he took himself out of the equation and thought only of her, he knew what had to be done. The sooner he killed Syre, the sooner she would be free of Shadoe’s soul and this life of war that wasn’t meant for her. But with every hour that passed, he fell a little farther, and the thought of losing her gnawed a little deeper.
He knew he must have dreaded losing her with such ferocity before, but he was damned if he could remember when.
Lindsay sank into the chaise in Adrian’s bedroom and stretched out. His personal space was surprisingly spartan compared to the bedroom she had been given. No art adorned the walls, and the furniture was Shaker-style.
This, she thought, was more like him. Although he appeared at home surrounded by the trappings of massive wealth, it was in this room that he fit best. As she surveyed the space, her affinity for him deepened. She knew how it felt to wear a guise all the time. It was exhausting and wore a person out after a while.
Adrian was busy unpacking his bags. It didn’t escape her notice that he did it the old-fashioned way—with his two hands. Busywork hinted at agitation. Or avoidance.
Tucking her hands behind her head, she stared up at the ceiling. It was something she and her father had often done over the years—had lain on their backs and looked up at the sky, feeling the wind move over them as it whispered softly. Eddie Gibson never doubted that Lindsay heard voices in the air, even though he couldn’t hear them himself. She was so grateful to him for that unconditional love. It enabled her to love others who were extraordinary, like Adrian.
“Thank you, by the way,” she said, “for looking out for my dad. I know you need every hand right now, but I won’t talk you out of watching his back. He’s my rock. I couldn’t get by without him.”
“You’re welcome.”
She rubbed absently at the ache of homesickness in her chest. “You’re being quiet. A penny for your thoughts.”
“I’m thinking about the questions you brought up earlier.” He glanced at her. “You’re quiet, too. What are you thinking about?”
“My dad, which led me to think about the lycans guarding him. I’m trying to wrap my mind around you enforcing this you-work-for-me-or-die rule. I can’t see it in you. Commander of military forces, yes. An employer, yes. Even an angel—no problem. But someone who forces people to do things against their will under threat of death? No.”
He exhaled audibly. Although his facial expression didn’t change, she sensed disquiet in him.
“Are they slaves?” She looked at him again. “Adrian?”
He’d paused with his hands in his duffel bag, frowning. “I’ve always used the word ‘indentured.’”
“That’s a form of servitude.”
“I don’t abuse them. I make every attempt to see to their comfort. I try, in all ways, to be fair to them.”
“But they can’t quit? Or leave?”
His chest lifted and fell on a deep breath. “No.”
“Yeah… I see a problem there.”
“But neither can the Sentinels. Or the vampires. We’re all trapped in our roles, which were established eons ago. This push and pull between us—it’s bigger than all of us. The brutal fact of the matter is, if the lycans don’t help me keep things together, there won’t be a world to be free in.”
Lindsay pushed her hair back from her forehead. “I understand what you’re saying. But I still don’t like it.”
“You think I do?”
“No, I don’t think you do. I don’t think you have it in you to like it, which is why I wonder how you’ve done it for so long.”
“I’m a soldier, Linds. I’m given orders, and I follow them. It’s all I can do.”
