by Sylvia Day
Published by Sylvia Day
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Sylvia Day
All Rights Reserved.
Cover art by Trish at Pickyme Digital Art
This supplemental material 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 ebooklet. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the work remains in its complete original form and proper attribution is given. If you enjoyed this ebooklet, 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
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Copyright
Praise for the Renegade Angels
SUPERNATURAL SMACKDOWN
BLACK AGNES
AUTHOR OVERRIDE INTERVIEW
MONDAY MANDY INTERVIEW
A Touch of Crimson
THE AUTHOR
The following vignette was originally posted on DarkFaerieTales.com, Sept 2011.
SUPERNATURAL SMACKDOWN
Adrian Mitchell
Name: Adrian Mitchell
Book Series: Renegade Angels
Job: Captain of the Sentinels, an elite special ops team of seraphim tasked with punishing the Fallen
Height: 6’3”
Weight: 200lbs (minus wing weight)
Hair Color: black
Eye Color: flame-blue
From (Location): presently headquartered in Orange County, CA
Significant Other: Lindsay Gibson/Shadoe
Signature Move: lashing out with his wings, which are impervious to mortal weapons and feature razor-sharp tips that slice like blades
Kill Highlights: ripping beating hearts straight out of the chest cavity, decapitation, evisceration, limb severing, mind warping
Enemies: Syre, Captain of the Fallen and leader of the vampires
Favorite Pastime: flying (via his wings or with state-of-the-art aircraft–he heads a cutting-edge aeronautics corporation) and seducing Lindsay–preferably both at the same time.
Other Facts: Aside from giving up Lindsay, there’s nothing Adrian won’t do to complete his mission–misdirection, torture, twisting minds into insanity, death… The ends always justify the means.
I remember quite vividly how I came to be here at this Supernatural Smackdown. I was working in my home office when Damien showed my visitor in. I glanced up briefly, intending to tell Ms. Day that I didn’t have time for her that afternoon when the brilliant red of her pants caught my eye. Flannel, I noted, before looking out the window at the beautiful Southern California weather. I returned my attention to her as she helped herself to one of the chairs facing my desk. My gaze narrowed and I tried to figure out what the atrocious pattern on her pants was.
Frosty the Snowman, I realized with more than a little horror. The woman had come to see me in her pajamas.
“Ms. Day,” I said, leaning back. “I know you spend an inordinate amount of time occupied with writing your books, but surely someone told you it’s September.”
She blew a stray strand of hair out of her face. “I know what month it is, Adrian. That’s why I’m here.”
I took in the haphazard way she’d clipped up her hair and the lack of makeup, and sighed inwardly. She could be moderately attractive when she chose to be. Apparently, I wasn’t worth the effort. “Well, fill me in, then. I’m busy.”
“Don’t take that tone with me,” she retorted, foolishly believing I wouldn’t hurt her if I had to. She’s always been too confident because I sought her out. She probably thinks that means I need her. “You have an appointment, and if you don’t leave now you’ll be late. They’ve already emailed and asked where you are.”
Setting my elbows on the armrests of my chair, I steepled my fingertips together, as if in prayer. I do occasionally make an attempt to update the Creator on the status of my mission, but it’s been a very long time since he’s paid any attention to me.
“I’m never late,” I reminded her. “At least not when I’m aware I need to be somewhere.” She, however, is rarely on time. In the nearly two years we’ve been working together, I’ve waited on her countless times.
“Don’t tell me you forgot the Supernatural Smackdown. I know Lindsay reminded you.”
The event sounded vaguely familiar. My head fell back into the headrest as I thought about it. “Ah, yes. I remember now.”
“Good. Now, go kick some ass.”
I savored the savage rush of bloodlust. I’d been agitated for days and was still working on seducing Lindsay Gibson into my bed. With sex not yet an option, a death match was the second best stress reliever.
“I know that look,” Ms. Day said with narrowed eyes. “Don’t forget this is an exhibition match. No killing.”
I stilled. “Beg your pardon?”
“You can’t kill anyone. It’s just for sport.”
“Oh, no,” I crooned softly, pushing leisurely to my feet. “If you think I’m going to put on a show for you, you’re as mistaken as I was when I came to you with my story instead of Kresley Cole or J.R. Ward.”
She tried to hide it, but she pouted a little. “That was mean. It wasn’t easy working with you, you know. I
did my best. I’ve never worked harder on a book.”
I rounded my desk with an unwelcome twinge of contrition. For all her faults and foibles, she wasn’t half-bad as far as mortals went. There were times I found myself… liking her. “I’m sorry.”
She blinked. “Oh my god, I have to write the date and time down for posterity.”
The moment of affection faded as quickly as it had come. “Send Lindsay.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not? She’s an expert with knives, a brilliant marksman, and she’s too fearless for her own good. She’ll have a blast.”
“I love Lindsay,” Ms. Day said. “I would’ve broken you two up if I didn’t.”
I was infuriated by the mere thought and my wings materialized in a visible manifestation of my irritation. They emerged as ephemeral wisps of smoke before solidifying into alabaster feathers with crimson tips. I stretched them out, flexing them to shake off my increasingly volatile mood.
“See?” she breathed, her gaze soft and dreamy. “That’s why you have to go.”
I snapped my fingers in front of her face. “Ms. Day. Focus, please. Mortals aren’t supposed to know we’re here among them, remember?”
“This is a special circumstance. Everyone’s coming out of the woodwork for this event. They’re all showing off their signature moves. You’ve got to show them how you deflect bullets with those beautiful wings. And how they spin around you so fluidly, like a cape, when you’re in battle.”
“I’m not a sideshow amusement. Find someone else. Or let me kill something. Your choice.”
She looked at me with compassion I didn’t want. “You don’t how much longer you’ll have those,” she said gently. “Not now that you’re with Lindsay.”
There was no need to say more. I knew what I risked by loving a mortal, but I wouldn’t change how I felt about Lindsay even if I’d been given the option to. She was everything to me. The reason I pushed through every day and looked forward to every night. The reason I might one day lose my wings.
“All right,” I said, holding out a hand. “Give me the address.”
So here I am. Who’s ready to get wing-slapped?
The following vignette was originally posted on AllThingUrbanFantasy.blogspot.com, Oct 2011.
BLACK AGNES
Adrian Mitchell
“What’s spookier than a graveyard a night? One full of vampires, warrior angels, and statues that come to life. Sylvia Day’s Adrian Mitchell from the first book in the new Renegade Angels series, A TOUCH OF CRIMSON (available now from Signet Eclipse), is telling us a suitably scary and sexy version of the Black Agnes urban legend.”
~ AllThingUrbanFantasy.blogspot.com
Adrian Mitchell tossed the crime scene photos on the dining table in his hotel suite, watching them fan outward as they slid across the glass. “We’ll be staying a while.”
The two lycans seated at the table reached for the images, dividing them between them.
Unable to look at them anymore, Adrian pivoted and walked to the massive window overlooking the city of Phoenix, Arizona. Fighting his unwelcome agitation, he unfurled his wings, the pristinely white feathers with their crimson tips emerging first as tendrils of smoke, then solidifying into shape. He stretched and flexed them, the only sign of his disquiet hidden in what would be perceived by the lycans as a simple bid for comfort.
“Black Agnes,” one of them said behind him.
“Excuse me?” Adjusting the angle of his position, he looked at the two men examining the photos. One was stocky, built for brute force. The other was taller, leaner yet stronger. He’d watched them work, noting their strengths and weaknesses. They were a good team and a good match for him. Together they’d taken down three rogue vampires in less than two weeks. He expected to add this latest one to their kill sheets before they headed home again.
The taller one—Elijah—lifted his head and looked at Adrian with the luminescent green eyes of a creature tainted with demon blood. It was that touch of demon that enabled the lycans to shapeshift between man and beast. It also indentured them to Adrian. “An urban legend. There’s a cemetery statue—two of them actually—of a hooded figure. One was rumored to have supernatural properties. College kids used it as a pledge to join sororities and fraternities. The initiate was supposed to spend the night sitting in the statue’s lap, but one of them was found dead in the morning, with bruises and marks that suggested the statue had come to life and held her until she croaked.”
“That’s not a shrouded figure,” Adrian pointed out, his voice kept carefully neutral to hide his roiling fury. He was a seraph, a Sentinel. He was expected to stand above the vagaries of human emotions. But he couldn’t fight his reaction to the pictures spread out before him, those of a once beautiful young woman laid dramatically upon the lap of a massive marble statue of an angel. An angel whose head was bowed as if weeping over the bloodless body draped across its thighs.
A taunt. An undeniable “fuck you” from the vampire who’d taken the very last drop from a promising life.
“No,” Elijah agreed. “This rogue is a young one. Too stupid to know better.”
Only one who was young and foolish would deliberately attract the attention of a Sentinel. Adrian’s mouth curved grimly. “And he’ll get what he’s asking for.”
* * *
When night fell, they split up and cruised the college parties and local hangouts. They attracted attention, predators prowling through gatherings of their prey. Men shied away from them instinctively, but the women were drawn to that edge of danger. With focused attention and flattery, it was easy to get them to talk. By the time Adrian regrouped with Elijah and Trent, they’d each gathered intel on upcoming pledge initiations, many of which now included the cemetery statue due to its morbid notoriety.
Adrian looked up at the moon. “Our vamp isn’t going to wait. We’re here, and now that we’ve canvassed his haunts he knows it. My bet would be on another strike tonight, one last show of arrogance before moving on.”
“The cemetery, then?” Trent asked.
“Right. Let’s go.”
* * *
Having lived for millennia, nothing surprised Adrian anymore. He’d seen everything, countless times. Or so he’d thought.
From his vantage in a tree a half mile away from the statue, he tracked the young couple crouch-walking toward the massive angel, laughing softy and pausing occasionally for breathless kisses. He watched them reach their destination and lean against the marble in a passionate embrace. Her hands slid through the young man’s hair as he took her mouth with more enthusiasm than skill. Then he lifted her onto the angel’s lap, putting her at the perfect height for him to step between her legs and push up her pleated mini-skirt.
Dropping from the tree, Adrian approached carefully, eyes on the prize as he waited for a sign that he was dealing with more than just an ordinary set of horny college kids. He was distantly aware of Elijah and Trent on the perimeter, holding back to keep their scent from reaching the sensitive nostrils of their vampire quarry.
The girl’s head fell back with a sigh of pleasure, exposing the creamy expanse of her throat to the greedy slide of her boyfriend’s parted lips.
Then Adrian saw the soft amber glow of her irises.
His brow arched. Well, then.
Her furtive hand signal alerted him to the presence of the others, warning him to shift into the shadows of a massive tree for cover. The pack converged from points behind the young man, four vampresses, their fangs gleaming in the moonlight. Their gender took him aback, although he would later wonder why it had. Although they hid it well, females were usually more vicious than males.
