Free A Touch of Crimson by Sylvia Day Page B

fingers. “I don’t have aspirations of saving the world, if that’s what you’re asking. I hate killing. But I can feel the evil in these things for a reason. I can’t turn my back on that. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night.”
    “You feel you have a calling.”
    She took a slow, deep inhalation. The silence stretched out. “Something like that.”
    “Who knows that you hunt?”
    “You and your guards, and whoever you tell.”
    “All right. This is a no-brainer, but I have to say it anyway: you’re going to have to trust me,” he said softly. “I have no chance of helping you otherwise.”
    “That’s what you intend to do? Help me?” Her shoulders went back. “Did you know about me when you saw me in the airport?”
    “Did I know you could sense demons and vamps, and were actively hunting them?” he clarified, deliberately narrowing the scope of her query so he could answer honestly. “No. I saw you, I wanted you, and you made it clear there was a possibility I could have you. I acted on that.”
    Lines bracketed her mouth and eyes. A muscle in her jaw twitched with tension. “And that sort of coincidence just rolls right off your back?”
    “I happened to be in the same place you were at the right time. After that, we met because you sensed I was ‘different,’ right?”
    “Actually, I thought you were the hottest man I’d ever seen. The vibe came later. As for right place/right time, I should have been on an earlier flight. I missed my connection.”
    “And I was attacked by a vampire this morning, which resulted in the crash of my helicopter and a need to travel commercial. See?” He shrugged. “Random chaos.”
    “You’re an angel. Aren’t you supposed to preach about a divine plan or something?”
    “Freedom of choice, Lindsay. We all have it. Today you and I were affected by the ramifications of other people’s choices.” He held her gaze. “But you don’t really want to get into a theological discussion with me. You want to avoid talking about the events that led you to hunt. I’m not going to push you—yet—but we’re at an impasse until I know what’s going on with you.”
    She stared back. “You’re so sure I have a story to tell.”
    “I saw you in action. It takes years of practice to learn how to wield a blade like that. Who taught you?”
    “I taught myself.”
    Fierce admiration heated his blood. “What materials are you using to forge your blades? You must use at least trace amounts of silver.”
    “Yes. I figured out most . . . things have a negative reaction to it.”
    “Dragons don’t. In fact, aside from two points of weakness, they have an impenetrable hide. Your blade would’ve bounced right off of him if he’d shifted.”
    Lindsay held up her left hand and showed the pad of her thumb. A straight crimson line betrayed a recent injury. “Some creatures have a negative reaction to my blood, too. I always smear a little on my blades before I toss them, just in case. The blood by itself won’t kill, but it gives my weapons a chance to get the job done. Found that out the hard way.”
    Adrian’s mind spun with the implications. She was mortal, but even if she’d been a naphil like Shadoe, her blood shouldn’t have any effect on others.
    She continued to eat, blissfully unaware of his confusion.
    Reining in his thoughts, he said, “So you dedicated what had to be a substantial portion of your free time to learning how to kill things that frighten you. You have a strong sense of right and wrong, Lindsay, but no one who’s sane begins killing things without provocation. No matter how evil you sense someone may be, you had to have witnessed that evil firsthand to resort to lethal force. Something tipped you off, and something else keeps you motivated. Vengeance, perhaps?”
    “And you want to help me get it?” Her expression was wary and assessing. “How would you do that, exactly ? Why would you?”
    “Why not? Our goals are the same. You’ve