By Marjorie M. Liu
“Readers of early Laurell okay. Hamilton, Charlaine Harris, and the simplest thrillers available in the market should still try out Liu now.”
“Anyone who loves my paintings may still love [Lui’s].”
Award-winning, New York Times bestselling writer Marjorie M. Liu’s brilliant Dirk and Steele novels are the most excellent of paranormal romance fiction. Stepping in brief clear of her designated detective supplier of shapeshifters, psychics, and striking beings, Lui enters the damaging shadows of purple urban with A flavor of Crimson. Set in a depressing and twisted model of Los Angeles—a “City of Angels” from which the angels have lengthy for the reason that fled—A style of Crimson has a stunning creature of the evening teaming up with an enemy, a slayer, to get to the basis of an approaching disaster that threatens to shatter a tentative peace among people, vampires and werewolves. a wide ranging combination of sensuous romance with enhanced city fable within the bestselling vein of Jeaniene Frost and Nalini Singh, A style of Crimson is a delightful dinner party for each paranormal fan. maybe Booklist placed it top: “If you might have but so as to add Liu on your must-read checklist, you’re doing your self a disservice.”
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Additional info for A Taste of Crimson
A dead werewolf had turned up only days previous with fang marks in his throat, obviously a vampire kill. Keeli didn’t know the wolf personally, but he’d had a bad reputation. D. and B-Ops alike. Keeli knew for a fact that the wolf had been close to exile—nothing less was suitable punishment for a wolf who betrayed his clan. A vampire wouldn’t know that, though. A vampire who wanted to get back at the wolves for all the recent crimes. Either way, a werewolf was dead, and so was a vampire. One more vampire to add to the list of those killed in the past month, all with superficial evidence suggesting a werewolf had committed the crimes.
The Grand Dame had consulted with the lower Alphas before agreeing to speak with the vampire negotiators, and while the Alphas had tried their best not to leak the news, it was inevitable. The only difference was that the local werewolf journalists—Brian O’Dell included—were not permitted to write or speak about the subject. In fact, the Alphas had made it very clear that any wolf caught leaking information about even the possibility of a pact between vampires and werewolves would be severely punished.
Suddenly, eerily. A cur-tain of silence dropped hard and fast, creating an expectant voice within the night: Not right, not right. Michael pushed himself away from the wall, drifting higher. He had almost cleared the rooftops when he heard a whistle, a low catcall. Laughter, again, but lower this time. A promise. More silence… and then shoes slapping against concrete—hard, fast. More and more, a group of people running. Chasing. A woman screamed. And just as Michael shot into the sky, pursuing the sound of that terrified cry, the men began screaming, too.
A Taste of Crimson by Marjorie M. Liu