Sylvia Day: A Touch of Crimson

Dismounting, he withdrew a shotgun from its holster on the bike. He wore a pistol and a dagger strapped to each thigh, and his spine tingled with the need to employ his most powerful weapons. The rage of angels pumped hot and hard through his veins.

Before he reached the bottom step of the exterior staircase leading up to the Fallen leader’s office, Adrian knew something was off. Raceport was crowded as always, due to its reputation for being a mecca for motorcycle enthusiasts from all over the country, but very few people glanced twice at him. Even when a group of chaps-wearing women across the street catcalled and whistled to him, it didn’t divert much attention his way. If Syre had been nearby, security would be as tight as what Adrian employed at Angels’ Point.

Grim faced and determined, he climbed the stairs without incident and stepped into the hallway at the top.

Two shadowy figures rushed toward him. He took them down with bullets, unable to utilize his wings in such a small space. Two more came up behind him just before he reached Syre’s office. He threw open the door and darted in, hearing a scream from one of his pursuers as sunlight flooded the hallway behind him.

Kicking the door shut, Adrian shoved a chair beneath the knob, all without taking his eyes or his pistol barrel off the vampress seated at Syre’s desk.

“Hello, Adrian,” she muttered, her lips curved in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Sunlight fell over her pale bare arms and chocolate-colored hair. Her amber eyes glittered like tiger’s-eye, but he remembered when they’d been blue like his own.

“Raven.”

“He’s not here.”

“I can see that.”

“He’s not even in Virginia.”

He moved to the closet door, opened it, and shot a cursory glance inside.

“It’s just you and me,” she assured. “And I have orders not to kill you.”

“Ah. So we’re playing by the same rules.”

She stood in a singularly graceful movement, revealing an ultrashort denim skirt that she wouldn’t be able to bend over in without exposing herself. Her top was gingham and tied in a knot between her full breasts, giving her a country-girl appearance he was sure went over well with the men visiting the area.

Rounding the desk, she trailed the fingertips of her right hand down her left arm and looked up at him beneath long, thick lashes. “You look good, Adrian. Real good. Having sex suits you.”

He smiled, used to this game. The Fallen liked to taunt Sentinels with their sexuality. It was as if they wanted to flaunt the reason for their fall, as well as goad beings known for their abstinence. “Where is he?”

“What’s the rush?” She sidled closer, licking her lower lip.

He whipped out his wing, forcing her to spin away to avoid getting sliced. She ended up sprawled facedown atop the desk. He had her hands pinned behind her back before she could retaliate.

Bending over her, he hissed in her ear, “Where is he?”

“You don’t have to manhandle me,” she shot back, struggling. “He wants me to tell you.”

Adrian knew why. His stomach knotted. “He’s on his way to California.”

“Actually,” she purred malevolently, grinning, “he’s already there.”

Syre turned away from the bed upon which his daughter slept and exited out into the living room of the two-room hotel suite he’d reserved in Irvine. Torque sat on the couch with his elbows on his knees and his fingers steepled together beneath his chin. Vash paced restlessly.

“She’s brainwashed,” she hissed. “I don’t know how long Adrian has had her, but he’s trained her well. She tried to kill me!”

Torque met his gaze and shrugged. “I didn’t see her in action, but I patched up Vash’s wounds. Shadoe did a number on her.”

Vash’s long hair swayed around her hips with her agitated movements. “I don’t think you have time to talk it out with her. It’ll take years to deprogram her, and the lycan who was with her is the one who snatched Nikki.”

Torque growled.

Syre ran a hand through his hair. His phone had beeped with a text message an hour before, telling him Adrian had made an appearance in Raceport. By now the Sentinel leader knew Lindsay Gibson was out of his safekeeping and a search would have been mounted. They didn’t have long before it would be impossible to leave the state without Adrian knowing about it. If Syre hadn’t Changed Shadoe by then, nothing would save them.

“You might have to turn her first,” Torque said, “then explain later. Once she’s back to being Shadoe, she won’t have reason to hate us anymore. She’ll remember what we are to her.”

Syre moved to the adjoining door and waved them out. “Go. Both of you. Leave me alone with her.”

“That’s not wise,” Vash said. “She might try to kill you.”

“Without the lycan here to tell her what I am, how will she know?”

“You’re assuming she can’t tell. But I saw her run-watched her leap over a damn eight-foot-high wall. She’s not entirely mortal, whatever the hell she smells like.”

She smelled like Adrian, which turned Syre’s stomach. He was ready for her to know why she’d suffered all these years. He was ready for her to remember just how much Adrian’s desire had cost her.

“Then Shadoe is close to the surface in Lindsay Gibson,” he said. “And I’m safer than you give her credit for. Now go. Help Torque track the lycan. Let’s try to tie up all the loose ends we can while we’re here.”

They shuffled out the door into the connecting room, with Vash sending him a scowl over her shoulder. He turned the lock behind them, smiling. Vash hated to be bested in anything. That she’d been bested by a student of hers was chafing her mightily. If Lindsay Gibson hadn’t been the vessel carrying his daughter, she’d be dead now.

He heard the soft creak of the mattress in the bedroom and turned to face the door leading into it, his heart thudding violently in his chest. He’d never been this close to having her back. Adrian had always kept her close, waiting for Syre to break down and come for her. The Sentinel had no idea how many attempts Syre had made over the years. Adrian was too precise, too methodical-a machine. It was next to impossible to break his code. But something was different this time. Something had prompted him to act rashly, to allow her out into the open, to leave her alone… It had to be Lindsay Gibson herself and how close Shadoe was to the surface in her. Maybe that’s what Adrian had been waiting for all this time.

She appeared in the doorway, her gaze as sharp as a hawk’s. A predator’s gaze. The gaze of a huntress. It lit on him first, then swept around the relatively small space. “What are you?”

“How precise do you want me to be?”

He saw the shadow of confusion sweep across her features. She looked nothing like him, nothing like her mother or brother, whose Asian heritage was evident in their skin tone and sloe eyes. But something in her recognized him, and that perplexed her.

“Very,” she said.

“I’m Syre. A vampire”-his mouth curved gently, with genuine affection-“and your father.”

Lindsay stared at the seriously hot man standing a few feet away from her…

… and broke into crazed laughter that bubbled up from the stew of emotions inside her. She laughed until tears came to her eyes and coursed down her cheeks. She laughed until her chest was racked with harsh, hiccoughing sobs.

Syre, who actually managed to look alarmed, took a tentative step toward her. She lifted up her hand to hold him off.

He stopped. The leader of the vampires, who’d somehow kidnapped her from Angels’ Point, stopped at her uplifted hand.

He deferred to her. And she knew him.