Adrian: Bonus Material for A Touch of Crimson by Sylvia Day Page A

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