Sylvia Day - A Touch of Crimson

She could only tense for the blow and pray it didn’t kill her.

Then she’d be able to kick his ass.

Adrian stood at the window overlooking the Las Vegas Strip and struggled with the roiling emotions he shouldn’t be feeling. When the door opened behind him, he turned, expecting Lindsay. Instead he found Raguel Gadara entering the penthouse suite as if he owned the place-which he did. The world-famous Mondego Hotel and Resort was the archangel’s property. Regardless, Raguel ranked far below Adrian’s station in the angelic hierarchy. He should show more respect.

“Raguel.”

“Adrian. I expect you are comfortable.”

“You would know if I wasn’t.”

The archangel hesitated a moment, then dipped his head with the expected deference. His smile was dazzlingly white within the framework of skin as smooth and rich as the finest milk chocolate. There was a smattering of tight gray curls at Raguel’s temples, but that telltale sign of aging was an affectation to disguise his immortality. Unlike Adrian, the archangel embraced the media attention that came his way.

Raguel withdrew a cigar from his pocket and offered it to Adrian.

“No.”

The archangel’s grin widened. He was dressed in a loose guayabera and linen pants, but the man-of-leisure appearance was as much of a guise as his gray hair. Like the other six archangels, Raguel was intensely and ruthlessly ambitious. “That minion you brought along with you… He is sick.”

Foaming mouth. Reddened eyes. Nearly mindless. The infected were like zombies. The nest had been partially filled with them-the diseased living alongside the healthy. Adrian had interrogated the vampress with the shotgun, questioning her about who was responsible for the attack on Phineas the day before. How many of the Fallen were feeding them? Only a few of the members of the nest had been photosensitive. The rest of the group-a rough guesstimate of nearly one hundred minions-had been able to charge into the light of day.

The woman had laughed for long minutes, gasping for breath. Then, with her amber eyes bright with malice, she’d hissed, “How does it feel to be hunted, Sentinel? You’d better get used to it.”

In the end, she’d revealed nothing at all. He’d severed her head with frustration eating at him and fear for Lindsay still riding him hard. The sight of her crumpling to the ground had broken something inside him. He remembered nothing of what he’d done between her collapse and the moment he determined she would live. If Lindsay Gibson died before Syre, the cycle of Shadoe’s reincarnation would continue-another round of waiting for her return and the numbness that accompanied it. But more than that, watching Lindsay fall had elicited a different kind of horror. He’d just discovered her, just begun getting to know her, just started envisioning a few years of hunting with her at his side. Faced with losing the myriad possibilities that lay between them, he’d found a unique hell.

Fear. That’s what he’d felt. He hadn’t recognized it at first because he’d never experienced it before. He knew it now because he had lived through it via Lindsay’s memories; he’d felt the raw terror that had frozen her from the inside out. What she recalled of her mother’s murder was a nightmare capable of warping the minds of adults, let alone that of a child of five-a blood-splattered picnic, a mother’s pleas for mercy for her daughter, a sunny summer afternoon shattered by a child’s screams. The images of crimson dripping from blades of grass and the remembered feel of claws almost breaking fragile skin were so vivid in her mind they’d imprinted themselves in his.

It was nothing short of miraculous that Lindsay Gibson had matured into the woman she was-strong and sane, determined and compassionate. It was one of the many great ironies in his life that the woman who was his downfall was also responsible for restoring a little of his tarnished faith. She proved that redemption was always possible, no matter how dire the circumstances or how insurmountable the odds.

And so with his heart racing with fear, he’d joined her in the backseat of the town car and gingerly lifted her unconscious body into his lap. Her decimated arm had lain across her chest, the bone exposed and tendons flayed. The flesh sizzled as the blood he’d squeezed out of a slice in his palm worked its miracle, mending the rent tissues and rebuilding what had been blown away by the shotgun blast. Had she been hit directly, he wouldn’t have been able to save her arm. He couldn’t give her back a lost limb; he could only heal what was still alive.

She’d risked her mortal life for his.

“He’s not the first diseased minion I’ve seen lately,” Adrian said, forcing his focus back to Raguel. “I need to figure out what’s wrong with him and how widespread the illness is.”

“Perhaps the vampires’ time has finally come. Jehovah does love his plagues.”

“I considered that and I can’t rule it out, but I think it more likely that they’re trying to combat their photosensitivity with a new drug that has horrendous side effects. There were too many minions in that nest capable of tolerating sunlight.” Another alternative was that Syre had sent large quantities of Fallen blood to Hurricane. Considering how close the nest was to the Navajo Lake pack, it was a very real possibility. But that wasn’t a speculation he would share with Raguel at this time, if ever.

“Would you like me to have his blood tested?” The glimmer of avarice in the archangel’s dark eyes belied the altruistic nature of his offer.

“Yes.” Adrian intended to have a full blood workup done at home, but he still had to make the trip up to Navajo Lake. Meanwhile, he needed answers and he needed them now. Although it had been proven to be a vampire attack that killed Phineas, it was still necessary to finish the lycan population reduction the lieutenant had started.

“I will see to it. If I can be of further assistance, just let me know.”

Adrian arched a brow. “You’re being helpful.”

“It pays to be useful.” Raguel smiled enigmatically.

“I’ll keep that in mind. If there’s nothing else…?”

With a slight mocking bow, the archangel left without getting what he’d really come for.

Adrian stared at the door after it closed, knowing Raguel had visited for one reason and one reason only: to see Lindsay. To see Adrian with Lindsay. To see how vulnerable she made him. The conversation itself could have been managed over the phone.

It wasn’t just the vampires who would smell blood and circle like vultures.

Fresh from the shower, Lindsay stood in front of the brightly lit vanity mirror and examined her left forearm. Twisting it to and fro, she noted the baby pink hue of the hairless flesh. Although it looked tender, the muscles and tendons beneath had been strong enough to wash her hair with. Her fingers and hand flexed smoothly and with only slightly compromised strength.

Her arm was regenerating . A fucking miracle.

She exited the bathroom wrapped in a towel… and found a lover’s gift waiting on the bed-champagne-colored silk pajama pants and tank top with a luxurious full-length robe in the same hue. The matching lace thong sealed the deal.

She stared down at the ensemble for a long moment, then removed her towel and dressed. She couldn’t fight the flare of desire the feel of the silk evoked, but it was tempered by everything she knew and everything she didn’t know. Adrian was intricately complicated, and she had more than enough complications in her life.