“They could expose us to mortals,” Damien said.
“They could hunt us to neutralize the risk we present to them,” Malachai suggested.
“They could al y with the vampires,” Geoffrey threw in. “I wouldn’t put it past Syre.”
Adrian nodded, knowing Syre was hurting now, having lost his daughter forever when Lindsay had exorcised Shadoe’s reincarnated soul from her body. “That’s the most likely scenario of the three.”
The three Sentinels didn’t know what it was like to lose a piece of one’s heart—they hadn’t been compromised by human emotions as Adrian and Syre had been. Adrian didn’t doubt that the vampire leader wanted to strike out in his grief, and the lycan revolt would give Syre the perfect means to that end.
Lindsay’s eyes lost their brightness. She shook her head vehemently. “I can’t see that happening. Elijah lives to hunt vamps, and he wants Vashti’s head on a platter for what she did to Micah.”
“And Syre, Torque, and Vashti want his because of Nikki’s abduction,” Adrian said, “but vengeance can be postponed with the right incentive.”
He softened his voice, knowing she considered the lycan a friend. “You never thought he would revolt and he did.”
She bit her lower lip, her eyes reflecting her concern. Even now she worried about the Alpha.
Adrian brushed across her mind, a gentle caress to calm her, because he couldn’t bear to see her troubled. It wasn’t just Elijah’s fate making her anxious, but Syre’s, too. She wasn’t the vampire leader’s daughter by blood, but carrying Shadoe’s soul inside her had left a mark—she’d been exposed to Shadoe’s memories of Syre: fond, sweet recol ections of a daughter’s love for her father. While they weren’t her memories, Lindsay felt the emotion of them as if they had been, and she grieved their loss.
She shot him a warning look, reminding him of her demand that he not “mess” with her mind. His head tilted in acknowledgment, but he didn’t cease soothing her because he didn’t perceive that as messing with her. At least not to his way of thinking.
Lindsay caught his wrist and imagined sticking her tongue out at him, the thought entering his mind with vivid clarity. He felt a silent laugh move through him. She was so ful of vitality and humor despite the many blows life had dealt her. He was so different from her, having been created to punish and imprison, to maim and kil . But she was teaching him a different way, changing him in slow degrees, bringing her light into his darkness.
And he made a concerted effort to learn and grow, to be the sort of man who could bring a smile to her face and happiness to her life. Because she was his soul. Who was he if not the man who loved her beyond al reason and self-preservation?
The phone began to ring in his office. They al heard it despite the distance from where they stood and the glass patio door that closed off his workspace from the outdoors. Lindsay frowned and turned, stil growing accustomed to her vampiric senses.
Adrian moved away, rounding the corner. The glass panel slid aside as he approached and he wil ed his wings away. They dissipated like fog in a stiff wind when he stepped inside, affording him comfortable movement as wel as the ability to blend with mortals. The speakerphone was engaged by the third ring and his gaze held Lindsay’s as he settled into his chair.
“Mitchel ,” he greeted the cal er.
“Captain. Siobhán here.”
He leaned back in his chair, settling in. He’d tasked Siobhán with studying the disease ravaging the vampire ranks, and she had been working ceaselessly on that mission for weeks. It was she who’d inadvertently discovered that Sentinel blood cured the il ness when a Sentinel working with her was bitten by one of the infected, resulting in the infected returning to a normal vampiric state. Considering the tens of thousands of vampires in North America alone and the less than two hundred Sentinels left in existence, it was information they couldn’t afford to have the vampires discover before an alternate cure was found. “How are you progressing?”
“Slowly but surely. I’ve got a dozen infected in stasis now. We can keep them alive with steady blood transfusions, but they have to stay anesthetized or they’re impossible to control.”
Adrian had seen the monstrosities in action firsthand. He knew how mindlessly violent they were. “How quickly do they lose higher brain function?”
“How far do you want me to go to find out?” she asked grimly. “They’re already infected by the time I get them. If you want a play-by-play of what happens from exposure to il ness, I’l need to deliberately infect healthy subjects.”
“Do it. Our blood is a cure, so we can reverse the damage.” It was a brutal order and one he didn’t enjoy making, but the ends justified the means. When Nikki had attacked him and nearly taken his life, she’d stil been cognizant enough to speak to him coherently. How recently had she been exposed? Had she been an example of someone who’d been recently contaminated? Or someone who’d been il for a while? “Have you been able to spot any patterns in the rapidity of progression?”
Some vamps were dead within a few days, others lasted a few weeks, and stil others appeared to be immune. Why?
“I think I’m onto something in that regard.” Her excitement came through in her voice. The pixielike Sentinel was ravenous for knowledge. “I’m not entirely positive yet, but it seems as if the advancement varies depending on how far removed the minion is from the Fal en heading their vampiric hierarchy. For example, Lindsay is once removed from Syre. Her infection would advance much more slowly than a minion she Changed, who would be twice removed from Syre. And so on and so on.”
He set his elbows on the armrests and steepled his fingers together. “You need to test Fal en blood.”
“It would be helpful, yes,” she conceded, certainly knowing how difficult it would be to attain. “Then I could see if it at least slows the development of the disease.”
“I’m your best chance of getting it,” Lindsay interjected. “As a vampire myself, I’d fit right in to any location where they congregate.”
Adrian’s response was immediate. “No.”
Her brows lifted. Her amber eyes chal enged him—the distinctive irises of a vampire. One who could move among the others with ease, but who was stil frail in many ways. His Sentinel blood would protect her from the il ness, and she knew how to fight and wouldn’t hesitate to kil , but she’d stil be vulnerable and he wouldn’t be close enough to protect her. And there was the fact that while most minions would have no idea who she was, some of the Fal en did because of Syre and Shadoe. She wasn’t total y anonymous.
He couldn’t risk her, couldn’t lose her. “No,” he said again, pushing the negation into her mind for emphasis.
“Stay out of my head, angel,” she growled.
Siobhán’s melodious voice floated out of the phone’s speaker. “I’m also going to need more lycan blood.”
“Not a problem.” He had plenty cryogenical y stored, for identification and genetic testing purposes. “Anything else?”
“Perhaps…” She hesitated a moment. “Perhaps other angelic blood samples. From a mal’akh or even an archangel. Preferably both. Perhaps we Sentinels aren’t the only ones who carry the cure in our veins.”
“You don’t ask for much, do you?” Adrian said drily. Even though malakhim—the lowest rank of angel in the lowest sphere—were the most numerous, getting blood from one was no easy task. “I’l see what I can do. Keep me posted.”
“Yes, Captain. Of course.”