Chapter 9 #2
The strengthening of his grip on her hand wasn’t an indication of disquiet, but she knew visiting this place must be hard.
Helena had been special to him. She’d been a Sentinel who Adrian considered pure of purpose and unshakable in her faith.
She had been his proof that the Sentinels weren’t destined to fail their mission as a rule, that his transgressions with Shadoe and Lindsay were unique failures of his.
But Helena had fallen in love with her lycan guard, and she’d given up her life trying to be with him, shattering that tender hope.
Adrian unlocked the door, and they stepped inside. As he typed the access code into the beeping security system keypad, she frowned. “Is someone staying here?”
His gaze raked the room. “Good question. Nice and cool in here, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, my thought exactly—why is the air conditioning on?”
Skirting him, Lindsay moved deeper into the living room. A glass walkway bisected the vaulted ceiling, connecting rooms over the garage with a room over the kitchen. Square windows near the ceiling let light flood the space, creating an open, airy feel in the small, welcoming home.
Her nose twitched, and she caught his wrist, pushing her thoughts at him. Doesn’t smell musty, like you’d expect a closed-up house would. The plants are looking healthy, too.
Sleek tendrils of smoke unfurled from his back, taking on the shape and substance of wings.
Gorgeous, bloodstained wings. They were soft to the touch, but deadly, capable of slicing through anything with the precision of the finest sword.
If she was ever inclined to forget how dangerous he truly was, those wings would remind her—she’d watched him deflect bullets with them.
He was a being created for war, an enforcer of such power that he wielded the fist of God.
I’ll take the upstairs, he said. Please be careful.
Not for the first time, Lindsay wondered if he knew how much his trust in her ability to defend herself meant.
He was a possessive man, ferociously concerned for her well-being, yet he knew that holding her back or smothering her would only lead to resentment and unhappiness.
She wasn’t equal to him and never would be, but she couldn’t hide behind his wings and still look at herself in the mirror.
As disparate as their skills and natural weapons were, they had to face their battles side by side, or there would be no hope for them as a couple.
Adrian understood and made concessions for that tenuous balance between them, even though she knew it cost him dearly to do so.
Concentrating hard, she got her fangs and claws to extend.
She was still getting used to what she was—a monster; one of the bloodsucking creatures she’d trained herself to kill in vengeance for her mother’s murder.
Making peace with her new identity was difficult at the best of times, but there were occasions—such as this one—when she appreciated the benefits.
Adrian moved quickly and silently, one moment at her side, the next on the glass walkway above her. If transients had holed up in the house, they were about to receive the fright of their lives. Perhaps that would teach them not to squat in someone else’s abode.
Lindsay entered the combination family room/kitchen through an open archway.
The space was small but cozy. A dinette filled the alcove in front of a backyard window, and a couch faced a flatscreen TV hung over a small gas fireplace.
A homey fragrance hung in the air, soothing her enough that her claws retreated without her volition.
She was trying to process her lack of control over her body when a photo of Adrian and Helena on the mantel caught her eye, momentarily distracting her. It was a costly lapse.
“Hello, Lindsay.”
An agonizing shard of pain in her shoulder dropped her to her knees with a sharp cry. Dizzy, her flesh sizzling, she looked at the small throwing knife embedded in her shoulder. Then she lifted her head to meet a face that haunted her nightmares. “Vashti.”
Lindsay’s memories of her mother’s killing were hazy at best—more like impressions and feelings than true pictures—but Vash was a hard woman to forget.
The vivid red hair and penchant for painted-on black clothing gave her a comic book superhero look.
But when Lindsay had bitten into Vash’s throat and swallowed the vampress’s blood, she’d been exposed to the memories that blood carried, and Rachel Gibson’s brutal slaying was absent from them.
Vash was the spitting image of her mother’s killer, but that was all. Still, Lindsay couldn’t fight the terror and revulsion she felt every time she saw the vampress.
Residual fear gave her the strength to yank the blade from her arm, but she moved too slowly. A mere split second and she found herself on her feet with Vashti pressed to her back and another silver blade—a dagger—held to her throat.
“Let her go, Vashti.” Adrian’s voice was chillingly modulated, his face impassive as he suddenly filled the threshold between the kitchen and living room.
Lindsay wasn’t fooled by his calm demeanor. With her heightened senses, she felt his turmoil and fury roiling through the air—a tempest barely leashed.
“An unexpected surprise finding you here,” Vash said, speaking over Lindsay’s shoulder, their faces nearly cheek to cheek. “I was waiting on Helena, but you’ll more than compensate.”
“Let her go,” Adrian repeated, taking a step into the room. “I warned you, Vash. I won’t do so again.”
“She’s as weak as a babe.” Vash shifted, positioning her body so that both Lindsay and the kitchen island stood between her and Adrian.
“Fledglings are like infants, you know. Floundering in their own bodies, overwhelmed by their senses, easily damaged. She really should be with the rest of us. We can teach her how to survive.”
“Which part of ‘she’s mine’ don’t you understand?”
“As much as you hate it, she’s also mine, and she’s presently a rogue minion. I have the right to take her life. We police ourselves, as you know.”
“And do a piss-poor job of it.”
“We have to leave you something to do.”
His chest lifted and fell with a deep inhalation. “What do you want, Vashti?”
“And so the fierce and mighty Adrian bends…for a vampire. I so wish I had time to enjoy this.” Vash snatched something off the counter and tossed it at Adrian, who caught it deftly. “But I’m in a hurry. Fill it up.”
Lindsay began to struggle when she saw what it was.
A blood bag.
“Don’t do it,” Lindsay said, realizing just how dangerous this confrontation had become.
If Vash had sniffed out the effects of Sentinel blood on the infected vampires and wanted to test the cure, the resulting discovery endangered every life on earth.
As few Sentinels as there were, they still managed to keep the vampire population in check, sparing countless mortal lives.
If they were hunted to extinction for their blood, the whole world would suffer.
“How noble and self-sacrificing,” Vash murmured scornfully. “And monumentally stupid. The helpless fledgling martyring herself for the all-powerful Sentinel. You two are so sappy you’re making me nauseous.”
Adrian took another step toward them. “You used to know what it was like to love.”
“Not a step closer or I’ll have to kill her.” The flat of the blade sizzled against Lindsay’s neck, making her squirm. “Don’t think I won’t. My life means nothing to me—you know that.”
Lindsay stared hard at Adrian. “Don’t do it.”
Vash’s lips pressed to her ear like a lover’s. “Isn’t Elijah worth it to you? Or is your friendship so fickle?”
Stiffening, Lindsay’s breath quickened. The familiar scent that had sent her claws into retreat was Elijah’s—and it was all over Vash. “What have you done to him?”
“What’s been done can still be undone…with a little Sentinel blood.”
A tremor racked Lindsay’s frame. She hadn’t spoken to Elijah since he mutinied. She had no idea what had prompted him to revolt or whether his doing so made them enemies.
But it doesn’t matter, she thought grimly. What she and Elijah were to each other now might be a mystery, but what they’d been to each other before was not. He’d been a friend and trusted companion when she needed one. She couldn’t bear to think of him suffering.
“He might die,” Vash prodded. “This could be the one thing capable of saving him.”
Swallowing hard, Lindsay continued to stare at Adrian, who would’ve heard every word with his powerful Sentinel hearing.
“Your blood is damn near as good as mine, Vash.” Adrian’s wings flexed, a sign Lindsay recognized as agitation. “If you want to save him, do it yourself.”
“I’ve given him what I can.”
“If that wasn’t enough, he’s dead already.”
Lindsay’s stomach knotted. “Take me. I’ll be your blood bag. I’m easier to transport, and there’s no risk of spillage.”
“Lindsay, no.” To the casual observer, Adrian appeared unmoved by her statement. But the compulsory resonance in his words hit her like a Mack truck, sending a racking jolt through her body.
Vash’s grip loosened a fraction. “When’s the last time you fed from him?”
It took her a moment to squeeze an answer past Adrian’s compulsion. “Three hours ago.”
“Vashti.” Adrian’s voice rumbled through the room like thunder.
The world exploded in a shower of glass.
Lindsay was thrown outside the house and into the street…
or so it seemed. When the world juddered back into place, she realized Vash had leaped with her through the glass door and over the wall…
into a waiting convertible. They tore off like a bullet with Adrian directly behind them.
Lightning split the sky and hit the asphalt in front of the car.
Cursing, Vash jerked the wheel to the left and punched it around a corner, tires squealing as they nearly careened up the side of the curb and into a streetlamp.
“Better grab the wheel when the time comes,” the vampress hissed. “You’ll be the only one who dies if you don’t.”