Page 89 of A Touch of Crimson
Which made this partly her own fault.
His wings unfurled and wrapped around her, sheltering her. He caught her close, gripping her nape and hip to press her fully against him. “I can’t rule that out. I’ll investigate until I know for sure.”
A broken, serrated noise filled the room. Lindsay realized she was sobbing, her entire body racked by violent quaking.
Adrian held her, his warmth penetrating from the outside and sinking into her. No—he was inside her. Inside her mind, like before, curling around everything like insidious tendrils of smoke. Her agonized grief began to fade, the sharpest edges softened by a strange sense of comfort.
Lindsay wrenched away from him, stumbling backward before crumpling to the floor. “What the f-fuck are you doing?”
Crouching beside her, he reached to brush her hair away from her face. His eyes flickered with preternatural flame and glistened with tears. “Taking away your pain. I can’t bear it.”
“W-what? How…?”
“I can pull the painful memories from you, neshama. I can heighten your recollection of the happy ones.”
“Don’t you dare!” She pushed to her feet, shoving away his hand when he reached to steady her. “If you ever steal a memory from me, painful or not, I’ll never forgive you.”
“You can’t resent the loss of something you don’t remember.”
How she remained standing when it felt like a glowing-hot poker was piercing her chest was a miracle. “If you care about me at all, you won’t take away the events that shaped me into who I am today… God—” She gripped her pounding head in her hands, her thoughts tumbling through her mind in a chaotic deluge. Her chest was heaving in its struggle for air, her sobs half-crazed to her own ears. “I have to go. I can’t stay here.”
“Stay tonight,” he said quietly. “Can you do that for me? You’re in no condition to be alone now.”
“Adrian—” She couldn’t even see him through the rush of tears that burned her eyes and throat. They’d made love in this room, held each other for hours. It was fitting that she would face the punishment for that transgression in the same space. “We’re killing each other. Every moment we spend together comes back to us in torment inflicted on people we love. We have to stay away from each other.”
“Yes,” he agreed quietly. “I’ll let you go. But not tonight. Not like this. One night in my home, where I know you’ll be safe. I won’t disturb you. Can you give me that?”
“You promise to let me go?”
“Yes, neshama sheli. I promise.”
She no longer wanted to know what that meant. It was all too painful, the sweet and hot intimacy they shared. She nodded in acquiescence to his request, her mouth too dry to allow her to speak.
He bowed his head slightly. “Thank you.”
There was something in the severe austerity of his features that unsettled her. A hint of grim determination. But she couldn’t take any more right now. She was falling apart, shattered by a blow she’d never recover from.
Daddy…
Without another word, Lindsay left the office and shut the door behind her. She was a mess. Her life was a mess. And she was fucking up the lives of everyone around her.
She retreated to her room and crawled into bed, crying herself into dark, restless sleep.
Adrian packed an overnight bag with quiet deliberation. He set aside a week’s worth of clothes, but didn’t anticipate needing all of them. God willing, Syre would be dead within the next forty-eight hours.
There was so little time. Vash had recognized Lindsay as Shadoe; there was no other reason why she would’ve allowed Lindsay to live. At this very moment, Syre knew his daughter had returned. The Fallen leader would be weighing his options. He’d be consulting those he trusted, gathering data, and deciding what to do with it.
Adrian had to get to him before that decision was made. Then he had to get to Vashti. The attack on Lindsay’s mother had been so unlike Syre’s second that it could only have been done as a message to Adrian. Vash had to have known Lindsay was Shadoe and anticipated his learning of the murder when they inevitably met. The few decades in between were nothing to an immortal, the wait inconsequential.
The question was: why? If she’d known who Lindsay was that long ago, why not tell Syre? Adrian intended to get the answer directly from the source.
Damn it. He hated hunting like this—too poorly thought out, too hasty. That was why, in all of Shadoe’s past incarnations, he’d waited for Syre to come to him. Better to face his opponent on his home turf, where every advantage was at his fingertips. But sometimes a swift, foolhardy strike was just what was needed to slip beneath an enemy’s defenses. He prayed that was the case this time, because he was going for it. Because this time was different. Lindsay was different. He was different with her. That was worth whatever price he would pay.
His gaze darted to the clock on the nightstand. It was shortly before midnight. Blessedly, Lindsay had stopped crying around ten, then fallen asleep. Every sob from her room had cut him deeper and deeper until now his heart bled steadily. It had never been like this between them. In the past, she’d always swiftly wiled her way into his bed and stayed there. In any other incarnation, he’d be in her arms now. Holding her, making love to her, choosing not to rush the inevitable confrontation with Syre, so that he could steal one more day with the woman he loved.
Now he had a flight booked to Raceport in a few short hours. He was traveling alone, flying commercial, and arriving just after sunrise. The time of day wouldn’t affect Syre, but it would limit the number of minions Adrian had to contend with.
He was shoving another Henley into his bag when he heard her whimper. He stilled, his senses zeroing in on the woman who was sleeping in the room next door. The mattress sighed as she moved; then a soft, sultry moan drifted over his senses.
