Isolated and alone, Sin Evernight is one of the most powerful supernatural creatures in heaven and on earth. As an angel of vengeance, he hunts down the darkest evil, but when his long-lost friend, Layla Starling, needs him, he vows to become her protector. Even though she will be horrified by the man he has become.
Now a famous singer and the toast of London, Layla believes that Sin is only here to guard her from rabid fans and ardent suitors. However, the truth is far more sinister. Desperate to avoid losing Layla a second time, Sin will face a test of all his powers to defeat an unstoppable foe – and win an eternity with the woman he loves.
Review: Nobody does steampunk like Kristen Callihan. Though at times the books are hard to get into—her Darkest London series will knock you off your socks and the time spent trying to figure out what the heck is going on and why you need so much detail ends up being such a huge pay off that you want nothing more than to stand up and applaud once it’s over (that is after you’ve drank a few glasses of wine).
This book is no different.
My heart is still pounding. I was gripped from the very beginning in this final Darkest London book. I feel like I wasn’t even given a chance to take a breather until the very last page and even then I was left staring wide eyed at my kindle like, what just happened to me?
Miss Callahan is brilliant at creating a paranormal world that feels so utterly real that you can’t help but want to believe it actually is real…maybe another dimension? Haha, her attention to detail is staggering, I felt lost in a world of darkness.
Sin, or Saint, is the perfect hero with both enough darkness to make him and utter ass but a stubborn streak of light that refused to abandon the flame he holds for Layla.
GAH! Trust me, their story is the ultimate. The moments between Layla and Sin stole the show and had my heart pounding as I devoured the book, hoping for that final thread of self restrain between them to completely shatter.
I wanted it to snap.
And snap it did. Bursting them both into flames right along with the reader.
You are immediately pulled into a chaotic and passionate world and relationship that leaves your senses whirling and your mind constantly wondering about what truly goes bump in the night.
With Lycans, vampires, demons, angels, judgement, and a hell of a lot of damnation, this book beautifully pulls together everything in one crazy, intense and utterly erotic story.
Be prepared for a book hangover.
Be prepared for awesome.
I give this book five roses that RULE and highly recommend it to anyone looking for a historically set paranormal with a steam punk flair!
Layla Starling had not been in London for over a year. She’d been touring the continent, Paris, Vienna, Prague, Austria, Venice. After a while, the cities began to blur, and no matter how luxuriously appointed the hotel rooms were, they did not feel like a home.
For her entire life, Layla had a love for singing. It was her joy, the soaring power of freedom and love and sorrow all rolled into one. She sang and she was alive, wholly and completely. Even better, she sang, and people stopped to listen. It seemed only natural to take to the stage. A dream made reality.
Only reality was not a dream. She felt drained. Her throat hurt constantly, and her body battered. Layla had sent her manager and her assistant on holiday, cancelled all further performances, and took the first steamer home.
And as the fine carriage turned into the circular drive, rocking slightly as it took the corner, she nearly wept with relief. A footman, dressed in crisp black, awaited, opening the door as soon as the coach halted. Gathering her skirts, Layla stepped down.
A butler waited for her at the front door, letting her in with a nod. “Miss Starling, I am Pole, at your service.”
“Hello, Pole. Is the master in?”
“He and the gentleman are waiting for you in the drawing room, Miss.”
In a breath, Layla deflated. She had little patience to entertain or make nice with a visitor. But she knew without doubt that Augustus was aware of her arrival. To slink off now would be unforgivably rude.
Squaring her shoulders, Layla followed Pole. She spotted Augustus first, standing by the mantle, his lean frame silhouetted by the fire crackling in the hearth. “Augustus, it is so good to see you again.”
Layla moved to cross the room and embrace her guardian when she caught sight of another man, standing just left of Augustus. He’d been clinging to the shadows as if not wanting to be seen. But it was too late, her attention lit upon him, and she promptly froze, the blood draining from her cheeks then rushing back with a force that made her skin prickle.
She had not laid eyes upon that face since she was fifteen years old, when this man was no more than a youth himself. And perhaps she ought not recognize him at all. But there was no forgetting those eyes, green sea glass, surrounded by long, ink-black lashes. Or that strange, unearthly hair that had caused the boy such trouble, shiny black with red tips as if his very hair was aflame.
He used to shear that hair right off his head, hating the sight of it. Only to despair when it grew back thick and full in a fortnight.
And here he was, standing in her parlor, his pale green gaze so potent it made her knees weak and her breath short.
Happiness fluttered in her heart. “Saint?”
Until then, his expression had been stoic, a frozen mask she knew he often wore among strangers. That had hurt. But at the sound of his nickname, the firm curve of his lower lip kicked up at one corner, and his eyes grew warm, the pale green darkening.
“Hello, little bird.” His voice was much deeper now, carrying a resonance that spoke of power. “I wondered if you would remember me.”
“Remember you?” A small laugh left her, as her heart did that flutter thing again. “Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you in some small way.”
At that, he blinked with the slightest jerk of his head, a look of extreme discomfort flitting across his features. And Layla winced, cursing her loose lips. But the moment was gone, and he was looking upon her as if she was some exotic bird suddenly let out of its cage.
So she did the only thing she could. Uttering a little sound of apology mixed with self-depreciation, she hurried forward and embraced him, just as she would any other dear friend.
A mistake realized in hindsight, as the smoky, amber scent of him surrounded her, and his intense warmth buffeted her skin. He held himself stiff as new starch, his chin grazing the top of her head, as he peered down at her. Lord but he was unmistakably a man now, tall and strong. His shoulders were like oak beneath her palms.
“Welcome, Sin,” she murmured, flushing a little as she drew away. “I’m so happy so see you.”
The gentle brush of his fingertips at her elbow sent awareness skittering down her spin. Or maybe she imagined it, for he remained as reserved as ever, and both of his hands hung at his sides, as if he’d never moved at all.
Fortunately, the arrival of tea gave Layla a moment to settle. After she’d served them all a cup, she sat back with a sigh of relief. Regardless of whether Sin was here or not, it was good to be home.
“Please do not take this as rude, Sin,” she said, “but we haven’t seen each other for years. What brings you here now?”
It was Augustus who spoke, however. “St. John and I have become well acquainted since you’ve been gone. I’ve asked him to stay here with us, while he is in London.”
Sin made a slight sound in his chest, then leaned forward in his seat, resting his forearms upon his bend knees. “I am here to watch over you.”
“What? Why?” Her gaze darted from him to Augustus, who was glaring at Sin.
Sin returned the look with a placid one. “I’ll not lie to her. And Layla needs to know. Duplicity will only make my task more difficult.”
With one last frown at Sin, Augustus turned back to her. “I did not want to cause you undue concern. However, St. John speaks the truth. He is to be your guard.”
When Layla had performed on stage, Augustus had employed men to protect her. Some admirers could be aggressive. And while that was all well and good, she could only gape at Augustus now, hurt pressing into her ribs. He knew that was all moot now.
“Are you deliberately trying to be cruel?” she asked him.
“No,” Augustus said quietly as Sin frowned on, his gaze darting between them.
“Then why throw this at my head? Because it feels very much like a sick joke.”
Sin tried to speak. “Perhaps we had better—.”
“No,” she snapped, getting to her feet. “I’m going to assume you had no part in this, so let me inform you, St. John. I can no longer sing.” A sob struggled to break free. She would not let it. “My voice is gone. Destroyed, and I cannot bring it back.”
Kristen Callihan is an author because there is nothing else she’d rather do. She is a three-time RITA nominee, and winner of two RT Reviewer’s Choice awards. Her novels have garnered starred reviews from Publisher’s Weekly and the Library Journal, as well as being awarded top picks by many reviewers. Her debut book FIRELIGHT received RT Magazine’s Seal of Excellence, was named a best book of the year by Library Journal, best book of Spring 2012 by Publisher’s Weekly, and was named the best romance book of 2012 by ALA RUSA. When she is not writing, she is reading.