JК
Mistrals Kiss :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 131 из 148Outrunning someone whose legs were almost as tall as he was took more effort than was pretty, even for a warrior as formidable as he. His voice held only a hint of the breathlessness that made his shoulders and chest rise and fall so rapidly. “The archers will be ready in moments. We need the princess.”
“I am not much of an archer,” I said, still cradled in the heat of Jonty’s body, and the blood. The blood that flowed from his cap down to my body was warm. Warm as if it spilled from a freshly opened wound.
Holly gave me a look that appeared irritated even in the forgiving glow of moonlight. “You carry the hand of blood,” he said. He let that anger that was always just below the surface for him fall into his voice.
I nearly asked what that had to do with archers. But the moment before I said it, I did know. “Oh,” I said.
“Unless Kitto exaggerated what you did in Los Angeles to the Nameless,” Holly added.
I shook my head, the warm blood creeping down my neck between my skin and the borrowed trench coat. The blood should have been disturbing, but it wasn’t — it felt like a warm blanket on a cold night: comforting. “No, Kitto didn’t exaggerate,” I said. I didn’t like that Kitto had borne tales to the goblins, but forced myself to accept that he was half theirs and still had to answer to their king. He’d probably had little choice in what he told them.
“The full hand of blood,” Holly said, and his voice wasn’t so much angry as skeptical. “Hard to believe it lies in such a fragile creature.”
“Look at my cap, if you doubt her power,” Jonty rumbled.
Holly gazed upward, but his eyes didn’t stay on the cap long. His gaze slid down to me, and something in that look was both sexual and predatory. I could feel the blood plastering the back of my hair, my shoulders, arms; I must have looked like an accident victim. Most men would have found it frightening, but Holly looked at me as if I’d covered myself with perfume and lingerie. One man’s nightmare, another’s fantasy.
He reached a hand up, tentatively, as if he thought either Jonty or I would protest. When we didn’t, he touched my shoulder. I think he meant to merely get a touch of blood on his fingers, but the moment his fingers brushed me, a look of wonder came over his face. He leaned in toward me, the wonder being eaten by something that was part desire, and part violence. “What have you been doing, Princess, to feel like this?”
“I don’t know what you’re feeling, so I don’t know how to answer.” My voice was small.
“I am not much of an archer,” I said, still cradled in the heat of Jonty’s body, and the blood. The blood that flowed from his cap down to my body was warm. Warm as if it spilled from a freshly opened wound.
Holly gave me a look that appeared irritated even in the forgiving glow of moonlight. “You carry the hand of blood,” he said. He let that anger that was always just below the surface for him fall into his voice.
I nearly asked what that had to do with archers. But the moment before I said it, I did know. “Oh,” I said.
“Unless Kitto exaggerated what you did in Los Angeles to the Nameless,” Holly added.
I shook my head, the warm blood creeping down my neck between my skin and the borrowed trench coat. The blood should have been disturbing, but it wasn’t — it felt like a warm blanket on a cold night: comforting. “No, Kitto didn’t exaggerate,” I said. I didn’t like that Kitto had borne tales to the goblins, but forced myself to accept that he was half theirs and still had to answer to their king. He’d probably had little choice in what he told them.
“The full hand of blood,” Holly said, and his voice wasn’t so much angry as skeptical. “Hard to believe it lies in such a fragile creature.”
“Look at my cap, if you doubt her power,” Jonty rumbled.
Holly gazed upward, but his eyes didn’t stay on the cap long. His gaze slid down to me, and something in that look was both sexual and predatory. I could feel the blood plastering the back of my hair, my shoulders, arms; I must have looked like an accident victim. Most men would have found it frightening, but Holly looked at me as if I’d covered myself with perfume and lingerie. One man’s nightmare, another’s fantasy.
He reached a hand up, tentatively, as if he thought either Jonty or I would protest. When we didn’t, he touched my shoulder. I think he meant to merely get a touch of blood on his fingers, but the moment his fingers brushed me, a look of wonder came over his face. He leaned in toward me, the wonder being eaten by something that was part desire, and part violence. “What have you been doing, Princess, to feel like this?”
“I don’t know what you’re feeling, so I don’t know how to answer.” My voice was small.