Adrian leaned back, attempting to ease the tension created by restraining wings that wanted to spread and stretch in a physical manifestation of his pained rage. What Elijah had said was true, which left him facing the possibility of a vampire offensive. His head fell back against the seat. The need for vengeance burned like acid. The vampires had taken so much from him-the woman he loved, friends, and fellow Sentinels. The loss of Phineas was akin to severing his right arm. He intended to sever far more than that from the one responsible.

Knowing his sunglasses wouldn’t hide the flaming irises that betrayed his roiling emotions, he shuttered his gaze…

… and almost missed the glint of sunlight on silver.

He jerked to the side by instinct, narrowly missing a dagger slash to the neck.

Comprehension flashed. The pilot.

Adrian caught the arm reaching around his headrest and snapped the bone. A female scream pierced the cabin. The pilot’s broken limb flopped against the leather at an unnatural angle; her blade clattered to the floorboard. Adrian released his harness and spun around, baring his claws. The lycans shot forward, one on either side of him.

Without a guiding hand at the stick, the helicopter pitched and yawed. Frantic beeping sounded from the cockpit.

The pilot ignored her useless arm. Using the other, she thrust a second silver dagger through the gap between the two rear-facing seats.

Bared fangs. Foaming mouth. Bloodshot eyes.

A goddamned diseased vampire. Distracted by Phineas’s death, he’d made a fucking major oversight.

The lycans partially shifted, unleashing their beasts in response to the threat. Their roars of aggression reverberated in the confined space. Elijah, hunched by the low roof, pulled back his fist and swung. The impact knocked the pilot into the cyclic stick, shoving it forward. The nose of the helicopter dove, hurtling them toward the ground.