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REVIEW: A Taste of Crimson by Marjorie M Liu | HOT SAUCE REVIEWS

Try refreshing the page. If that doesn't work, there may be a network issue, and you can use our self test page to see what's preventing the page from loading. Learn more about possible network issues or contact support for more help. Search Search Search Browse menu. Sign in. Strong — the wolf in her was strong — and she slammed him into the ground, wrenching his left arm behind his back.

Canines slid gentle against her lip, jaw narrowing, jutting sharp. Keeli lowered her head. She felt a presence, then, at her side. Strong hands grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked hard.

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Keeli did not think; she whirled, snarling, and sank her teeth into flesh. And then — oh, oh, fucking shit what have I done — the blood turned sour and she ripped her head away, gasping. Gone too far, too far. She had bitten a human — and oh, if not one then how about another, because she had wanted it — in that moment she had wanted blood — and there was still a man beneath her, the man she had been going to kill — and the old rage felt so damn good —.

Her gaze slid sideways and slowly, slowly, up. Sagging leather boots filled her vision, and then black silk robes — reminiscent of old Asia — belted tight around a narrow waist, hugging a lean chest and bony shoulders. A pale striking face, with more bone than flesh, framed by loose black hair threaded with braids. His right cheek glittered. Keeli stared for one precious moment, lost in the velvet underground of that deep-set gaze. And then a click — the recognition of Something Not Quite Right, and she realized what he was, and what she had bitten. Relief made her weak, as did humiliation, but she fought for composure, stamping down another fresh swell of inexplicable rage.

As though the warmth dripping on her hand, the blood from his torn arm, meant nothing. Her bite, meaningless. The man beneath her trembled. She smelled piss, sour sweat. His friends were long gone. He was all she had left, and the wolf still wanted him dead. One bite, a break in his neck. He would never hurt anyone again. He bent so close they brushed noses. Keeli froze. Control the wolf. You have witnesses. Her gaze darted sideways. Jim, Shelly, and a handful of strangers stood a short distance away.

Everyone but Jim stared at her with eyes that seemed too full of shock, numb horror, to ever fade away into a forgivable memory. Shelly had her arms wrapped around the victim of the attempted rape, her straight red bob pressed against blond curls.

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Jim stood over them both. He looked worried. Everything she had worked for — trying so hard to fit in — to be, for once, more woman than wolf—.

His cheek shimmered; round lines, etched in gold. For the first time, Keeli noticed his scent. Dry, with a hint of wild grass, horse hair. The taint of age. Keeli looked at her hands, still holding down the shivering man. She was fully human again. Pink skin, clear nails. She let go of her captive and slid off his back. He continued to lie there, his eyes squeezed shut. She almost touched him — to comfort, reassure — and then memory resurfaced.

Keeli looked at the vampire; really looked, hard, and saw nothing but calm acceptance. No anger.

A Taste of Crimson (Crimson City #2)

She glanced down at his arm. His mouth twitched. Keeli refused to touch him. Monsters beneath a veneer of refinement, big money. Hypocrites and fakes. Pretending to be better, more human than everyone else. Keeli pushed away from him, scrambling to her feet. The cops will be here soon. They might have a mech with them. The vampire hesitated. He glanced at Jim and the others, still hanging back, watching. I can carry the both of us.

She was too surprised to say a word — surprised at the gentleness of his touch, surprised at her reaction to it. She saw blood on his fingers; he had wiped her mouth.

Not even an outline against the dim stars. The sirens were loud now, eardrum-shattering. She looked at Jim and Shelly; the weeping woman, her weeping attacker.

A Taste of Crimson (Crimson City)

Facebook Instagram Twitter. Excerpt The Man was around, which meant that Keeli had to slip out of Butchies through the back, leaving Shelly in the weeds with five tables, one of which had been screaming for their fries just before that familiar starched white shirt ghosted through the front doors. It could be worse. At least you have a job. You work in a place where the people like you.

Of course, that was the way she wanted it. She was sick of expectations. A dangerous thing, her grandmother had taught her. Arrogance leaves you vulnerable. Something Keeli had vowed to never let herself be. She did not like sitting still for long periods of time — it was the wolf in her, the need to run, to feel the ground beneath her feet, the rush of air in her hair, against her skin, drawing out each breath like it was her last living moment in the world — Keeli sagged against the wall, savoring the cool damp brick.

From the other direction, a new sound. Soft soles.

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A light quick tread. Common sense.