Page 71 of A Touch of Crimson
Her head turned. Adrian stood beside the open rear door of the Maybach, which sat idling at the start of the circular part of the driveway. The wind was all over him like a lover, riffling through his dark hair, which had grown at least a half inch since she’d last seen him. He looked rakish and beautiful in a black long-sleeved Henley and dark blue tailored slacks. His face was serenely composed and his posture relaxed, but she sensed the turmoil raging within him.
His gaze dropped to the suitcase in her hands, and an icy surge of desolation washed over her, making her shiver. She’d never felt such hopeless despair, such heartrending guilt and pain. His and hers. Tears stung her eyes. She could scarcely catch her breath.
God. Of all the things she had to give up, why did it have to be him? She’d give up what little she had if it meant she could have him without restriction for any amount of time.
He shattered his stillness by lunging toward her and breaking into a dead run.
The carry-on fell from her slackened grip and hit the gravel drive. “Adrian.”
She’d barely taken a few steps when he snatched her up, tackling the breath from her lungs.
His wings burst free in an eruption of crimson-stained alabaster, and they surged into the air.
17
Elijah entered the lycan barracks and was met with chilling silence weighted by the expectation of imminent death. The rows of neatly made bunk beds stretched on endlessly, the far side of the room extending away from him even as he traversed its length.
He followed the sound of a beeping heart monitor, but he knew where he was going without that guide. Micah had one of the private rooms at the end, those that were set aside for the mated pairs. The door was open and a handful of lycans, including Esther and Jonas, formed a gauntlet to the threshold.
They watched him with haunted and beseeching eyes. He looked away from their crushing expectations, hating their belief that he was some kind of messiah. Just because he held absolute control over his beast didn’t mean he exerted a similar level of control over other lycans’ fates and circumstances, but that’s what so many hoped for and believed.
Entering the room, he found Micah in bed, stuck with multiple intravenous lines and tended to by Rachel. She stood when Elijah approached and met him partway, looking as pale and thin as her mate.
Swallowing through the tightness in his throat, Elijah asked, “How is he?”
She ran a shaking hand through her dark hair and jerked her chin in a silent gesture for him to step outside. Back in the barracks’ great room, she said, “He’s dying, El. It’s a miracle he’s even alive now.”
He scrubbed at his eyes with his fists, trying to rub out the sting of grief.
“He’s been waiting for you,” she went on. “Honestly, I think that’s all he’s been waiting for.”
Elijah looked at her helplessly.
She swiped tears from her cheeks.“He really loves you.”
Pushing past her in a desperate rush, he reentered the room and took the seat she’d vacated. He scooched it closer to the bed, then reached out and gripped his friend’s cold hand.
Micah’s eyes slitted open. Turning his head, he met Elijah’s gaze. “Hey,” he whispered. “You made it.”
“That’s my line.”
A slow smile briefly transformed the lycan’s features, but was quickly gone. “Had to tell you… Vash?—”
“Vash did this to you?”
“She’s looking…for you.”
“Me? Why?”
“A vamp in Shreveport…missing. Your blood was there.”
“I’ve never been to Shreveport.”
A violent shiver racked Micah’s emaciated frame. “Yeah, well…your blood was.”
“Stop talking. Get some rest. We’ll catch up later.”
Micah’s once-clear green eyes were clouded with pain and weariness. “No time. I’m going, Alpha. This is it.”
