A Touch of Crimson

“At what cost?”

“She’ll be an asset.” Adrian swiveled his chair around, absently noting the lightening of the sky that signaled the coming dawn. “No one sees her coming. That stealth can be useful to us in a variety of ways.”

“Use her as bait?”

“As a distraction.”

“She’ll definitely be that.”

Adrian addressed the slightly mocking note he heard in his lieutenant’s tone. “Do you have a problem with your orders?”

The smile left Jason’s face. “No, Captain.”

“In the last forty-eight hours, the two highest-ranking Sentinels were attacked. You saw the minion on the helicopter-she was diseased-and Damien mentioned possible illness in his report on Phineas’s attack. I’ve ordered updates from all the Sentinels in the field. I want you to sift through them as they come in and see if there are similar mentions there.”

“What are you thinking?”

“One or more of the Fallen is giving their blood to enable these minions to come after us in daylight. Syre called me about the pilot, so he was aware of her location, but he sounded genuinely surprised by my assertion that I was attacked unprovoked. He suggested that it wasn’t in her nature to make such a move.”

“You know you can’t trust him. He jacked her up with some kind of drug, then called to see how you fared in your run-in with her. How else would he know she was with you?”

“Right. That was my thought from the beginning-that he was playing innocent to dodge the blame. We both know he wouldn’t call me about just any vamp, so his interest alone speaks to his guilt. But when I mentioned the attack on Phineas, he didn’t say a word. I didn’t expect him to take responsibility for it, but the lack of any acknowledgment whatsoever…? No denial, no questions to fake ignorance, nothing? I find that really fucking strange. He can’t trust me any more than I can trust him, so he’d never admit that his control over the Fallen is slipping. Maybe he’s feigning cluelessness about the attacks, but if he’s not and he really has no idea what’s going on, there could be a cabal or even a coven of vampires out there who are setting us up to war with one another. They can’t take Syre down, but they know I can and that I will if he’s gone rogue, which would leave the field wide-open for a coup.”

Jason’s brows rose. “Hoping you’ll do the heavy lifting? Fuckin’ A. It would be poetic justice if we completed our mission because of a vampire revolt.”

Adrian had ceased to think in terms of justice and injustice long ago. “I need to know if Syre is behind these attacks or not. Regardless of his culpability or innocence, we can use the information to weaken his hold on the Fallen. Either he’s deliberately jeopardizing their dreams of redemption or he’s jeopardizing them through neglect. Neither is helping their cause.”

“Their hopeless cause. You want to turn the Fallen against Syre?”

“Why not? As you said, a revolt would benefit us. Especially if he’s making it easy to incite one.”

“I’m on it.” Jason left.

Adrian decided a workout was what he needed to shed his lingering restlessness. Lindsay would wake soon. He needed to have a clear mind to solidify his plans for her before then.

Lindsay stirred from her dreams before she was ready. Part of her mind still clung to sleep, longing for another touch of wickedly knowledgeable hands, another whisper of firm lips across her throat, another brush of silky white and crimson wings…

Her eyes opened on a soundless gasp, her heart racing and her skin hot. She was painfully aroused, her thoughts filled with flame blue eyes and raw, sexual words spoken in a purring voice of sin.

Scrubbing a hand over her face, she kicked the covers off and stared at the exposed wood beams above her head. Her future had taken a monumental detour when she’d caught Adrian Mitchell’s eye. Her life had been so black and white before-get up, go to work, come home, and in between kill anything that set off alarm bells. Now everything was so complicated.

Lindsay rolled out of bed and crossed the massive bedroom to a private bath that was the size of her old apartment back home. There was a fireplace by the bathtub and a stunning mosaic in a shower that had six showerheads. She’d never even stayed in a hotel as luxurious, yet she felt comfortable and at ease. Despite the opulence, the overall effect was soothing. The soft yellow and blue palette kept the space light and airy, a look she gravitated to because her life could be so dark.

After washing her face and brushing her teeth, she returned to the bedroom and found her gaze drawn to the unadorned wall of windows facing the west. The view was of rocky hills covered in dry native brush. The vista inspired feelings of remoteness and isolation, but she knew the city wasn’t far away.

She dressed, pulling on a pair of yoga pants and a ribbed tank top.

“Don’t get used to this,” she warned herself, even as she walked toward the windows. As she neared, the huge center pane slid leisurely to one side, opening the way for her to step out onto the wide deck. The morning air was cool and crisp, luring her outside. Clutching the wood railing in a white-knuckled grip, she took a deep breath and absorbed the enormity of her change in circumstance. The sun rose at her back and a soft breeze buffeted her from the front. Below, two more tiers of the house jutted over a steep craggy drop, but she couldn’t look for more than a moment, her fear of heights kicking in with a vengeance.

The rush of anxiety startled her. Not because she was feeling it, but because she realized she hadn’t been feeling it until now. All her life, she’d felt rushed and agitated. The sensation was magnified by proximity to nasty creatures, but it was always thrumming inside her regardless. The expectation that she was waiting for something to happen, waiting for the other shoe to drop, had been a part of her existence forever. And now it was gone, leaving behind an unfamiliar but welcome calm. Whatever might happen next, right now-at this moment-she felt grounded and peaceful. To make it even better, she was actually enjoying the serenity.

As she backtracked away from the edge, a large shadow swept across her back and raced along the railing. She glanced up. Sucking in a sharp breath, Lindsay turned completely around.

The sky was filled with angels.

Against the pale pink and gray morning, they dipped and spun in unique, mesmerizing dances. At least a dozen, maybe more, gliding around each other with such grace and skill. Their wingspans were enormous, their bodies so sleek and poised. They were too powerful and athletic… too lethal to inspire piousness, but they stirred reverence nevertheless.

She moved around the corner of the house, discovering that the deck widened extensively at the rear, forming a landing area of sorts. Awestruck and faintly afraid, she remembered to breathe only when her lungs burned. She’d thought she was in over her head with Adrian when he was just a man. Now-

He stood out even among angels. His pearlescent wings glimmered in the rising sun, the crimson tips streaking across the horizon as he picked up speed. He shot upward like a bullet, then plummeted straight down, spinning in a blur of blood red and alabaster.

“I think he’s trying to impress you.”

Lindsay dragged her gaze away. She found Damien standing beside her, his hands on his hips and his attention on the aerial acrobatics taking place above them. He was gorgeous: long and sculpted, with his dark brown hair cut short, and sleek, framing eyes nearly as blue as Adrian’s. But unlike Adrian, there was a stillness about him-like an ocean becalmed. His wings were on display, which she suspected was an intimidation tactic. They were gray with white tips, reminding her of a stormy sky. Framing his smooth ivory skin, they created the effect of a classical marble statue brought to life.

“It’s working,” she confessed. “I am impressed. But don’t tell him I said that.”

A surge of air and the flap of great wings preceded Adrian’s landing in front of her. His feet hit the deck almost silently, something she barely registered because he was bare chested and barefoot.

Holy shit.

Wearing only loose black pants and those glorious wings, his luscious body was on full display. Rich olive skin stretched taut over hard, lean muscle. Her hands ached to stroke his beautifully defined biceps and pectorals; her mouth watered with the desire to lick the fine line of hair bisecting his ridged abdomen. As real as her dream had felt, the reality of him was far more devastating. He’d been crafted by a master hand and honed by battle, and she