*****
Adrian stood among the wreckage of his army in Liandrin's crocked house and felt nothing but contempt.
The Crimson Hunt soldiers were stirring slowly, groaning as they dragged themselves upright, clutching wounds, blinking in confusion. Some tried to stand. Others struggled just to breathe. To Adrian, they were all the same.
Useless.
He paced through them like a god among insects. His jaw was clenched so tightly it ached, fury coiled hot and vicious in his chest.
They had escaped.
Lorraine had slipped from his grasp.
His gaze snapped to the ground a few paces away.
Liandrin lay there, sprawled in a widening pool of her own blood. Her chest rising and falling shallowly, each breath a labor. Blood bubbled at the corner of her mouth.
Stupid.
Wretched.
Stubborn old woman.
She had done this. Held him down with the last scraps of her strength, burned through her own life just to buy them seconds. Seconds that had been enough.
Enough for Lorraine to get away.
