Page 100 of A Touch of Crimson
Adrian returned to the SUV for the tools stored in the back. “As per protocol, we’ll burn the bodies, then level this place. We can’t leave anything behind for the curious to find.”
“Yes, Captain.”
The use of his rank chilled him.“When we get back to the Point, you and Oliver should put your heads together and come up with some suggestions for how to proceed from here. By the day after tomorrow, you should have settled on a replacement for me.”
“Adrian.”
He felt the weight of Damien’s gaze on his profile. The other Sentinels with them, Malachai and Geoffrey, stepped closer.
“I’m sorry,” he said gruffly, his throat tight with remorse. It was his duty to support his men, to encourage and motivate them when their morale was low. But he, too, was lost. “I failed you all. I should have withdrawn from the mission the moment I fell. Perhaps this could’ve all been avoided.”
Lindsay. Where are you?
“I’ve always believed your ability to feel human emotion is an asset to us,” Damien said.
Beside him, Malachai nodded.
Geoffrey, a seraph of few words, shrugged. “I’d be lying if I said I’ve never found a mortal woman attractive.”
Wings flexing restlessly, Adrian took several moments to decide what to say. “Perhaps we should recall all the Sentinels to the Point. Together, reflection may give us the answers and strength we seek.”
“I take strength from you, Captain,” Malachai said with quiet conviction.
How was that possible, Adrian wondered, when he didn’t have any strength to give? He didn’t know if there were hidden reserves left within him; he felt so tapped out.
Lindsay. Where are you?
The vein pulsed and throbbed with life, pumping nutrient-rich blood through the maid’s industriously working body.
Lindsay heard every beat of the woman’s heart as if she had a stethoscope to her ear. Her canines elongated, and her mouth watered. Her hands fisted against the driving urge to feed.
Nearby, Syre sat on the love seat with his elbows resting on his parted knees and his forehead in his hands. His face was downturned, but Lindsay knew his gaze was bleak. He was grieving, his pain a palpable thing in the hotel room.
Torque stood in front of the small refrigerator at the wet bar, guarding the empty blood bags they’d used while watching her complete the Change. He studied her too closely, searching, as if he might find his sister in her, or some other miracle.
As for Lindsay, she sat at the small dining table and waited for the red-haired murderess to make an appearance. Impatient and anxious, the fingers of her right hand spun her phone on the tabletop. The red light blinking above the screen told her she had unheard messages from both Adrian and Elijah, but she felt no urge to listen.
She was too far gone with hunger, like a junky jonesing for a fix. She was shaky and nauseous. Her body craved sustenance, but her stomach roiled at the thought of ingesting blood.
“It’s all in your head,” Torque had told her just that morning. “Have a taste, and you’ll see.”
He was kind and considerate to her, as was Syre, but she felt like an imposter. As comfortable as she’d felt with Adrian, she felt equally awkward with the vampires. They didn’t know she’d spent the majority of her life hunting their kind. They didn’t know she wasn’t going to stop until she took out Vashti.
That slaying would mark the end of her life, she was pretty sure. They’d kill her then, and that would be a blessing. There was nothing left for her anymore. Her parents were dead, she had to suck on veins to live, and Adrian would hate her if he saw her. He’d killed Shadoe—the woman he had loved to obsession and fallen from grace for—rather than see her become a vampire.
Outside the room, the wind moaned along the open hallway circling the inner atrium. The plaintive sound broke her heart—Adrian was in mourning, too.
The maid hurried out of the suite as if the hounds of hell were breathing down her neck. She couldn’t fail to feel the tension in the room. Lindsay wondered what the woman would do if she knew she was being contemplated as a great afternoon snack.
As the door began to swing closed, it was suddenly thrust inward again. Vash strode in on four-inch-heeled boots as if she were queen of the world.
Lindsay felt bloodlust and aggression explode inside her. Her nostrils flared, her eyes zeroing in on the woman she’d been waiting forever to kill. Her senses were so powerful now that they overwhelmed her, but she wouldn’t get the opportunity to grow into them. She’d be permanently out of commission in about thirty minutes.
Vash tossed her long hair over her shoulder and shot a glance at Lindsay. She froze when their gazes met, her face taking on a look of disgruntled resignation.
“Aw, shit,” she muttered, the instant before Lindsay launched herself across the room.
She tackled the vamp into the love seat, narrowly missing Syre, who darted up and out of the way with impossible speed. The sofa snapped in half, folding around them like a taco. Sandwiched in the middle, Vash could do little to protect her jugular. With canines extended, Lindsay bit deep. Her fist pierced the cushions of the love seat, her hand searching for a length of broken wood from the frame. Vash writhed beneath her, cursing in a gurgling voice.
