by Sylvia Day
A DARK KISS OF RAPTURE
A Renegade Angels Novella
SYLVIA DAY
Published by Sylvia Day
Smashwords Edition
ePub ISBN: 978-0982857175
A Dark Kiss of Rapture
Copyright 2011 Sylvia Day
All Rights Reserved.
Cover art by Trish at Pickyme Digital Art
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
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License Notes
Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form and proper attribution is given. If you enjoyed this book, please return to www.SylviaDay.com to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.
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Praise for the Renegade Angels Series
Praise for A Touch of Crimson
“A Touch of Crimson will rock readers with a stunning new world, a hot-blooded hero, and a strong, kick-ass heroine. This is Sylvia Day at the top of her game!"
—Larissa Ione, New York Times bestselling author
“Angels and demons, vampires and lycans, all set against an inventive, intriguing story world that hooked me from the first page. Balancing action and romance, humor and hot sensuality, Sylvia Day’s storytelling dazzles. I can’t wait to read more about this league of sexy, dangerous guardian angels and the fascinating world they inhabit. A Touch of Crimson is a paranormal romance lover’s feast!”
—Lara Adrian, New York Times bestselling author
“Sylvia Day spins a gorgeous adventure in A Touch of Crimson that combines gritty, exciting storytelling with soaring lyricism. Adrian is my favorite kind of hero — an alpha male angel determined to win the heart of his heroine, Lindsay, while protecting her from his lethal enemy. Lindsay is a gutsy, likable woman with paranormal abilities of her own, as well as a dedication to protecting humanity against a race of demonic monsters. This is definitely a book for your keeper shelf."
—Angela Knight, New York Times bestselling author
“A Touch of Crimson explodes with passion and heat. A hot, sexy angel to die for and a gutsy heroine make for one exciting read!”
—Cheyenne McCray, New York Times bestselling author
“Only Day can take a reincarnation plot and make it a gripping, touching and scintillating page-turner. She skillfully blends a timeless tale of love lost and found. A Touch of Crimson is a perfect romance with excellent worldbuilding rich with angels, lycans and vampires.”
—RT Book Reviews
Praise for Sylvia Day writing as S.J. Day
“Great characters and terrific storytelling in a hot-blooded adrenaline ride. A keep-you-up-all-night read.”
—Patricia Briggs, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“Exhilarating adventure in an edgy world of angels and demons...will keep readers enthralled.”
—Publishers Weekly
THE AUTHOR
Sylvia Day is the national bestselling, award-winning author of over a dozen novels written across multiple sub-genres. A wife and mother of two, she is a former Russian linguist for the U.S. Army Military Intelligence. Sylvia’s work has been called an “exhilarating adventure” by Publishers Weekly and “wickedly entertaining” by Booklist. Her stories have been translated into Russian, Japanese, Portuguese, German, Czech, Italian, and Thai. She’s been honored with the Romantic Times Reviewers' Choice Award, the EPPIE award, the National Readers’ Choice Award, the Readers’ Crown, and multiple finalist nominations for Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA Award of Excellence.
Sylvia also writes under the pseudonyms S. J. Day and Livia Dare.
Connect with Sylvia Day online:
http://www.sylviaday.com
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/SylDay
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/AuthorSylviaDay
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright
Praise for the Renegade Angels Series
The Author
GLOSSARY
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
A Touch of Crimson
GLOSSARY
CHANGE—the process a mortal undergoes to become a vampire.
FALLEN—the Watchers after the fall from grace. They have been stripped of their wings and their souls, leaving them as immortal blood drinkers who cannot procreate.
LYCANS—a subgroup of the Fallen who were spared vampirism by agreeing to serve the Sentinels. They were transfused with demon blood, which restored their souls but made them mortal. They can shape-shift and procreate.
MINION—a mortal who has been Changed into a vampire by one of the Fallen. Most mortals do not adjust well and become rabid. Unlike the Fallen, they cannot tolerate sunlight.
NAPHIL—singular of nephalim.
NEPHALIM—the children of mortal and Watcher parents. Their blood drinking contributed to and inspired the vampiric punishment of the Fallen.
SENTINELS—an elite special ops unit of the seraphim, tasked with enforcing the punishment of the Watchers.
SERAPH—singular of seraphim.
SERAPHIM—the highest rank of angel in the angelic hierarchy.
VAMPIRES—a term that encompasses both the Fallen and their minions.
WATCHERS—two hundred seraphim angels sent to earth at the beginning of time to observe mortals. They violated the laws by taking mortals as mates and were punished with an eternity on earth as vampires with no possibility of forgiveness.
Go tell the Watchers of heaven, who have deserted the lofty sky, and their holy everlasting station, who have been polluted with women, and have done as the sons of men do, by taking to themselves wives, and who have been greatly corrupted on the earth; that on the earth they shall never obtain peace and remission of sin. For they shall not rejoice in their offspring; they shall behold the slaughter of their beloved; shall lament for the destruction of their sons; and shall petition for ever; but shall not obtain mercy and peace.
The Book of Enoch 12:5–7
CHAPTER 1
Raze’s night had been going pretty well, until the woman he’d just spent four hours fucking stumbled across a naked, disemboweled body on his doorstep. Her scream had shattered the serenity of the predawn, forcing him to knock her out before she drew a crowd. Now, as the sun stretched sleepy tendrils of light over the horizon, he stood over the corpse and struggled to contain his roiling fury.
“Dumped on my goddamn porch like trash.” He ran both hands over his shaved head. “Poor bastard.”
“Guesstimate of the time your gift arrived?” Vashti asked, her stiletto-heeled boots tapping out an impatient staccato as she paced. Her crimson hair swayed around her shoulder blades, the vividly-hued tresses the only wash of color against her skintight, all-black jumpsuit. She was a comic book aficionado’s wet dream, with her lush tits and ass offset by a fallen angel’s incomparable beauty. Her appearance was as lethal as the twin katanas she often wore in crisscrossing sheaths on her back, her physical beauty another weapon in the arsenal she used as second-in-command of the entire vampire nation.
“Hell if I know,” he bit out. “There was nothing out of place when I got home at midnight. He was found at four.”
“You
didn’t hear anything? Nothing at all?”
Raze scowled. He had a squeaky board on his front porch and everyone knew it. Even if they ruled out the benefit of his vampire hearing, his powerful sense of smell should have picked up on the freshly spilled blood. “No. Christ. If I’d heard anything I would have caught the fuckers.”
Damned if he’d tell her that it hadn’t been possible to hear anything over the woman moaning beneath him and the steady banging of his headboard against the wall as he pounded into her. The smell of hot sex, dripping sweat, and semen filled-latex had saturated the air along with the scent of the blood he’d drunk from her—a lover whose name he couldn’t remember now. It shamed him that the broken body on his doorstop had been lost among the sexual excess.
He stared at his name carved into the corpse’s left biceps and the cattle-branded monogram he recognized as the mark of a vampire known as Grimm. A growl rumbled up from his chest. Even without the mutilation, the victim was Raze’s now. He would stand for the man and the vengeance due him. “I almost wish Grimm was still alive so I could kill him again.”
“You’ve got enough on your plate dealing with his minions,” Syre said, entering the room soundlessly.
Despite the hour, the vampire leader looked flawless. Even in casual dark jeans and a plain T-shirt, there was an elegance to him that was regal and commanding. Raze would brave the pits of hell for Syre if he commanded it. They’d come to earth together, fallen together, lost their wings together. Two hundred of them. And there wasn’t one of the Fallen who wouldn’t give their life for their leader. From the heights of grace as Watchers to the fall that cursed them with vampirism, Syre led them forward with a confidence that inspired them all.
Vash’s pacing came to an abrupt halt. “Do we have any idea how many minions we’re talking about here? How many have you taken out so far, Raze?”
“A dozen pairs, give or take a few. Adrian was on it, too,” he said, referring to the angel who’d severed Syre’s wings. Raze had a lot of reasons to resent Adrian, as well as the Sentinel angels who served under him—the Fallen’s vampiric punishment being the least of it—but there was no denying that when they were aligned and hunting the same prey, Adrian’s involvement was a benefit.
Syre crossed his arms and looked at Vashti, his second-in-command. “Remind me: how long did Grimm evade our attention?”
“Too fucking long. He was in our faces, but I didn’t look deep enough. On the surface, his theory had merit. Still does. Or maybe it’s wishful thinking. With the number of minions we lose to madness during the Change from fledgling to vampire, I’d like to think there’s some way to cut the waste. He wrapped his dogma up with pseudoscience and I bought it.”
“He was the one pairing fledglings into couples to ease the transition? I remember discussing it with you. He had enough success in the beginning to justify allowing him to proceed, if I recall.”
Raze shot her a chastising glance for being hard on herself. “If you were looking for a ball and chain, and vampirism was one of your requirements in a perfect mate, Grimm was the man to see. He had personality profiles, compatibility charts, etc. All of which he used to weed out the whack jobs so he could pair them with nutcases. I knew his doctrine was dangerous, so when I took him out I hunted down all his disciples, too. Whoever is responsible for this, Grimm didn’t document them the way he did the others.”
“Disciples,” Syre murmured. “Interesting word choice.”
“It’s the right word, trust me. What else would you call the followers of an idiot playacting as a messiah preaching revolt against you?”
Syre ran a hand through his thick black hair, the only sign he gave of any disquiet. “Whoever is responsible, they came directly to you. This is personal.”
“You’re goddamned right it’s personal.” He looked at the body again, knowing it wasn’t merely a taunt but a message. “Help me turn this guy over.”
Syre stepped forward, waving Vash back.
It was a gruesome task. The smell emanating from the open body cavity would torture a human; for a vampire, it was pure hell. They got as far as getting the corpse onto its side. Then the loosened entrails slid out with a soft sucking sound, and they both leaped back and away. Raze had eviscerated his own share of enemies, but this man was a victim, and that made all the difference.
“Do you guys need a hand?” Vash asked, stepping up to them.
“No.” Raze had seen the tattoo on the corpse’s shoulder blade. Unlike Grimm’s brand, the ink was a mark the man had voluntarily applied as a show of loyalty, affection, and team spirit.
“The Cubs,” he muttered. “Guess I’m heading to Chicago.”
CHAPTER 2
Raze hit the ground running in the Windy City. Within an hour of his plane landing, he’d swept through the building that had once housed Grimm’s operation (presently a printing shop) and checked his way through a quarter of the list of Grimm’s known haunts. Then, impatient, he took a chance and headed to Wrigley Field.
Although the ballpark was dark and quiet for the night, Raze knew wrong when he came across it and he damn well felt it as he drove by. Parking a few streets away, he slid out from behind the wheel and opened the back door of his rental to grab his blades. He strapped them on with the efficiency of long practice: daggers on each thigh and two katanas crisscrossing his back. Then he darted over on foot, moving so quickly the mortal eye couldn’t catch him.
As he approached, he picked up the faint sound of a melodious male voice coming from the field, followed by a chorus of murmurs in reply—sounds too slight for anything but a vampire’s hearing to catch. Grimm had been big on staging, too, which made Raze wonder just how closely this protégé had been to Grimm and how long he or she had been working in the shadows.
He rounded the back of the ballpark and climbed up the rear of the bleachers. Pulling his head up over the top, he looked down at the darkened field below. A lone man stood before a group of approximately two hundred robed and kneeling minions. Segmented into pairs with the men in black and the women in red, they formed a perfect pattern of stripes in the center of the field.
Raze listened to a couple lines of bullshit about the supremacy of the vampire nation, then he tuned it out and focused on the leader. The man was tall and lean, dark-haired and dressed in a three-piece suit. He had a mesmerizing cadence to his speech, a lulling sonorousness that was evident even though Raze had stopped picking out the words.
He debated his next step, knowing this was an elaborate trap for him, one that would be designed with the expectation that he wouldn’t come alone. Which was why he’d done exactly that.
But he could still take them by surprise.
Pulling out his phone, he jumped the hoops necessary to reach Adrian.
“Mitchell,” the Sentinel leader answered.
“It’s Raze. I’ve got a situation you’ll be interested in.”
“Where are you?”
“Chicago.”
“Yes, that is interesting. So am I.”
Raze stilled, his hackles rising at the softness of Adrian’s tone. “That’s not a coincidence.”
“No, it’s not. Location?”
He wasn’t surprised that the angel was so far from his home base in Anaheim, California. That was Adrian’s way. While Syre was cerebral in his leadership, using Raze and Salem to investigate and Vashti as his iron fist, Adrian was the opposite. The Sentinel leader left the administrative duties to others so he could remain a hands-on hunter in the field. A vampire hunter and goaler—those roles being the sole purpose of his existence.
Raze gave his location, then pointed out, “I wouldn’t have called you if I just needed a hand or two. If you’re going to send a couple lycans and call it a night, don’t bother.”
“Don’t tell me how to respond to a request for a favor.” The lack of inflection in the angel’s voice was more disconcerting than an outright threat would have been.
“If you’d let us establish
some cabals and covens in the major cities, I wouldn’t need to call you at all.” The Sentinels used their lycans to keep vampires contained in rural, lower population areas. They said the policy was to protect mortals, but the side effect was the hindering of the Fallen’s ability to police their own minions. And every transgression was another mark against them, another smudge barring them from any possibility of redemption.
“How many more rogue minions would there be if vampires were allowed access to such a smorgasbord of food? The spread would become uncontainable. It’s already out of control as it is or you wouldn’t be calling me.”
The line died, leaving Raze cursing at his cell phone. One of these days, he and the angel were going to have it out. But not tonight.
As the couples swayed like hypnotized king cobras, Raze leaped over onto the uppermost bench, then started taking the stairs down, applauding as he went. “Man, you’ve really got your delivery down. I mean, I could almost buy it... if I was a whacked out moron.”
