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Mistrals Kiss :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 94 из 148She crawled on top of me and put her blade tip over my throat. I grabbed her hand, wrapped both my hands around it, and still trembled with the effort to hold her off me.
“So weak,” she gasped above me. “Why do we follow the sidhe? If I were not dying, you could not hold me off.”
My voice came out tight with strain as I said, “I’m only part sidhe.”
“But you’re sidhe enough for him to want you,” she growled. “Glow for me, sidhe! Show me that precious Seelie magic. Show me the magic that makes us follow the sidhe.”
Her words were fatal. She was right. I had magic. Magic that no one else had. I called my hand of blood. As I summoned it, I tried not to think about the fact that I could have done it sooner — before she hurt Sholto.
I wielded the hand of blood. I could have made her bleed out from just a tiny cut, and these were not tiny cuts. I started to glow under the press of her body. My body shone through the blood she was dripping on me. I whispered, “Not Seelie magic, Segna, Unseelie magic. Bleed for me.”
She didn’t understand at first. She kept trying to shove the blade into my throat, and I kept holding her just off me. She dug her hand into my hair so that her claws raked my scalp, bloodied me. I called blood, and her wounds gushed.
The blood poured over me, hot — hotter than my own skin. I turned my head away to keep my eyes clear of it. My hands grew slippery with her blood, and I was afraid that her knife would slip past my defenses before I could bleed her out. So much blood; it poured and poured and poured. Could a night-hag bleed to death? Could they even be killed this way? I didn’t know, I just didn’t know.
The tip of her knife pierced my skin like a sharp bite. My arms were shaking with the effort to keep her off me. I screamed, “Bleed for me!” I spat her blood out of my mouth, and still her knife wormed another fraction into my throat. Barely, barely below the skin — I wasn’t hurt yet, but I would be soon.
Then her hand hesitated, pulled backward. I blinked up at her through a mask of her own blood. Her eyes were wide and startled. There was a white spear sticking out through her throat.
Sholto stood above her, bandages gone, his wound bare to the air, both hands gripping the spear. He pulled the spear out with a wrenching motion. A fountain of blood spilled out of her neck. I whispered, “Bleed.” She collapsed in a pool of crimson, the knife still clasped in her hand.
Sholto stood over her and drove the white spear into her back.
“So weak,” she gasped above me. “Why do we follow the sidhe? If I were not dying, you could not hold me off.”
My voice came out tight with strain as I said, “I’m only part sidhe.”
“But you’re sidhe enough for him to want you,” she growled. “Glow for me, sidhe! Show me that precious Seelie magic. Show me the magic that makes us follow the sidhe.”
Her words were fatal. She was right. I had magic. Magic that no one else had. I called my hand of blood. As I summoned it, I tried not to think about the fact that I could have done it sooner — before she hurt Sholto.
I wielded the hand of blood. I could have made her bleed out from just a tiny cut, and these were not tiny cuts. I started to glow under the press of her body. My body shone through the blood she was dripping on me. I whispered, “Not Seelie magic, Segna, Unseelie magic. Bleed for me.”
She didn’t understand at first. She kept trying to shove the blade into my throat, and I kept holding her just off me. She dug her hand into my hair so that her claws raked my scalp, bloodied me. I called blood, and her wounds gushed.
The blood poured over me, hot — hotter than my own skin. I turned my head away to keep my eyes clear of it. My hands grew slippery with her blood, and I was afraid that her knife would slip past my defenses before I could bleed her out. So much blood; it poured and poured and poured. Could a night-hag bleed to death? Could they even be killed this way? I didn’t know, I just didn’t know.
The tip of her knife pierced my skin like a sharp bite. My arms were shaking with the effort to keep her off me. I screamed, “Bleed for me!” I spat her blood out of my mouth, and still her knife wormed another fraction into my throat. Barely, barely below the skin — I wasn’t hurt yet, but I would be soon.
Then her hand hesitated, pulled backward. I blinked up at her through a mask of her own blood. Her eyes were wide and startled. There was a white spear sticking out through her throat.
Sholto stood above her, bandages gone, his wound bare to the air, both hands gripping the spear. He pulled the spear out with a wrenching motion. A fountain of blood spilled out of her neck. I whispered, “Bleed.” She collapsed in a pool of crimson, the knife still clasped in her hand.
Sholto stood over her and drove the white spear into her back.