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GOE 08 - Bound By Darkness [calibre 0.9.30]
- Автор: Рэли Дебора
- Год: 2011
- Язык: французский
- Год: Kensington Publishing Corp.
- Жанр: Ужасы
Электронная книга - «GOE 08 - Bound By Darkness [calibre 0.9.30]». Краткое содержание книги:
He had just experienced the most shockingly blissful climax of his long, long life. The last emotion he could stir up was regret.
Actually, he wasn’t sure what the hell he was feeling as he snuggled the silent vampire against his chest, his fingers running through the cool silk of her hair.
“Tell me about your nightmare,” he commanded before he could halt the words.
Not surprisingly she stiffened, her reluctance to discuss her past a tangible force in the air.
“Give it a rest, fairy,” she growled.
“ No.”
She pulled back to stab him with a steely glare. “Do you want to talk about your years with Morgana le Fey?”
His jaw clenched. Of course he didn’t want to discuss that crazy-ass bitch. If he had his choice the name of Morgana le Fey would be scrubbed from the history of the world.
But for reasons that should no doubt be making him wail in fear, he wanted to know what haunted her when she slept.
No, not wanted. Needed.
“What do you want to know?”
She frowned, caught off guard by his abrupt capitulation. Had she been bluffing? Then he felt the slight easing of her muscles as she nestled against him and a genuine curiosity melted the frost on the indigo eyes.
“Were you her lover?”
“I was her slave, not her lover.”
She gave a slow nod. Did she understand the soul-numbing difference between the two?
“Did she hurt you?”
“She took pleasure in causing pain.”
“She tortured you?”
“In the beginning.” His arms tightened around her as he was battered by the memories he struggled so hard to keep buried. “Eventually she discovered that it caused me far greater distress to see my brothers hurt.”
She paused, clearly sensing his injuries ran far deeper than a few scars.
“Did she use her magic?”
“Sometimes.” His voice was thick as he choked on the vivid image of blood. So much blood. “Usually she preferred to carve them with her knife.” He shuddered. “She called it her living art.”
She stroked a tentative hand over his chest. As if unfamiliar with offering comfort.
“She made you watch?”
“Yes.”
“Bitch.”
Oddly her simple condemnation was more soothing than any amount of fancy words of sympathy.
“That was the general consensus,” he agreed dryly.
She paused, studying him with an unwavering gaze. “Was it worth the sacrifice?”
He shrugged.
It was a question that was never far from his mind.
It didn’t seem possible that anything could be worth enduring such pain and loss. But then he had only to recall the brutal days beneath the rule of the Dark Lord to be reminded of why they were willing to sacrifice everything to be free.
“It will be if I can prevent the return of the Dark Lord,” he said, tugging a strand of her raven hair. “Which is why I’ll do whatever I have to to keep him imprisoned.”
She ignored his warning. “What will you do if you succeed ?”
“Live in peace with my tribe.”
“With you as their prince?”
He shrugged. He’d never asked to become prince.
“Until they choose a new leader.”
“Do you get a throne and a crown?”
His brows lifted. Was she actually teasing him?
The thought was unexpectedly erotic.
Okay, every thought that included Jaelyn was erotic, he wryly conceded, rolling on top of her slender frame with a low groan of satisfaction.
“No, but I do get my choice of consorts,” he murmured.
“Really?” Her lips tightened. Ah, feminine disapproval. It spanned the species. “I suppose you have them all picked out?”
He shifted until he could press his hardening erection against her inner thigh.
“One, at least.”
A dark emotion flared through her eyes before it was being ruthlessly crushed.
Had it been ... yearning?
No, impossible.
“Don’t look my way, fairy. Even if I didn’t want to constantly punch you in the face, I’m not consort material.”
“I’m a patient man,” he assured her, bending down to whisper against her lips, still swollen from his kisses. “I’m willing to train you.”
She rammed her fingers into his hair, but she made no effort to push him away.
Thank the gods.
“For a fairy who claims he wants to live in peace you play a dangerous game.”
He traced her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. “Your turn to share.”
She shivered, the scent of her arousal spicing the air. “I think I’ve shared more than enough.”
“Tell me, Jaelyn.”
“Tell you what?”
“Why do you have nightmares?”
She cursed, abruptly pressing her hands against his chest. “Levet.”
He lifted his head with a frown. “The gargoyle?”
“Yes.”
Ariyal had a vague recollection of the miniature demon who had been traveling with the vampire Tane.
Aggravating pest.
“Well, he would certainly give anyone nightmares, but I’m not sure what he has to do with our conversation,” he muttered.
“He’s approaching.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“ Damn.”
With a pang of regret, he rolled off the bed and yanked on the jeans that had replaced his dojo pants before he left Avalon. Then, holding out his hand, he muttered the harsh words of magic that called his bow and arrows.
Behind him he heard Jaelyn pulling on her bits of spandex before she moved to stand at his side.
“What are you doing?”
“His arrival can’t be a coincidence.” Ariyal concentrated on the door, prepared to shoot the moment it opened. “The creature has obviously followed us here.”
“Not us,” Jaelyn corrected. “He’s looking for your charming spirit.”
“Who?”
“Yannah. He has some sort of gargoyle crush on her.”
He turned to watch her efficiently pull her hair into a smooth braid.
“Is this a joke?”
She crushed his brief hope with a decisive shake of her head. “No. He scented Yannah on me when I arrived in London and decided to join us.”
“And you let him?” he snarled in disbelief.
“Hey, he helped me rescue your ass, so just ...”
“Just what?”
“Chill.”
The King of Were’s lair in St. Louis
Santiago shuddered as the mists at last cleared.
Mierda.
He hadn’t signed up for this when Styx had sent him in search of Cassandra.
He was prepared to battle demons, Sylvermyst, and even a mage if necessary.
He wasn’t prepared to be hauled around in a strange, choking mist by an exquisite female who had turned her back on the world centuries ago.
Or to abruptly find himself in an unfamiliar room miles from where he’d started.
Swiftly he took stock of his surroundings.
A dirt floor. Cement walls that were lined with towering shelves that held hundreds of dusty bottles. A collection of aged-wood barrels in the center of the room. And at the far end a series of arched doorways where Santiago could catch the low hum of refrigerators.
A wine cellar?
“Where the hell did you bring me?” he muttered in confusion.
“I am not entirely certain.” Nefri shrugged, not looking nearly as troubled at having dumped them in this strange cellar as she should. Not even when an unmistakable stench filled the air.
Santiago yanked the dagger from the sheath hidden at his lower back.
“Dogs,” he hissed.
“Bloodsucker,” a mocking voice retorted as one of the shelves slid aside to allow a pureblooded Were and a cur to step out of a hidden tunnel.
Santiago lifted his brows at the sight of Salvatore and his faithful sidekick Hess.
As always, the King of Weres was dressed in a hand-tailored designer suit. This one was an Italian wool in a pale charcoal with a white shirt and a burgundy tie. With his dark hair pulled into a neat tail and his lean face freshly shaved, he looked more like a mobster than a Were. His companion, on the other hand, looked like a hired thug with his six-foot-six, heavily muscled body and shaved head.