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A Stroke Of Midnight :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 207 из 293“How long have we dreamed of wings?”
She let her arms fall limp to her sides. “Forever,” she said.
“I didn’t give Sage wings,” I said.
“No,” Royal said, “you gave him wings.” He pointed at Nicca.
“But Nicca wasn’t tasting my blood when it happened.”
Royal nodded, and stepped from the cart. He gazed up at me. “It was during sex.”
I looked at him. He was about ten inches tall, a little shorter than a Barbie doll, but not by much. I tried to think of a polite way to say it, and finally settled for, “I think the size difference is a little much.”
He flashed me a grin. “Sage has given a very full report to the court. I am willing to take blood while you have sex with others, in hopes that it will bring my wings.”
I shook my head. “Nicca may have been a special case.”
Royal gripped the hem of his tunic and lifted it off in one smooth movement, letting it drop to the floor. He was naked before me, miniature and perfect. He turned around, displaying a perfect tattoo of wings covering his back down to his upper thighs. The wings were almost black, with lines of charcoal running through them. The edges curled over his shoulders like the draping edge of a shawl. Bright scarlet and black graced his lower back and buttocks in soft curving stripes, like the ruffled edge of a petticoat.
He turned so that I could see that the black and scarlet was edged by a thin stripe of the dark, almost spots, cut with white, and a thin line of gold. That edging strip curved over the side of his hip, so that the sides of his hips were striped with color, too.
Nicca’s wings belonged to some long-lost moth. Something that had flown the skies of Europe more than a thousand years before. But I knew what had painted itself upon Royal’s skin.
“You’re an underwing moth, an Ilia Underwing.”
He looked back over his shoulder at me, smiling. “That’s one of the names humans use.” He seemed pleased that I’d known what his wings belonged to. His small face suddenly became very serious. “Do you know the other name for the Ilia?”
My pulse sped just a bit, which was silly. He was the size of a child’s toy. The heat in his eyes shouldn’t have had that strong an effect, but my mouth was dry and my voice just a little whispery. “The beloved underwing.”
“Yes,” he said. He started toward me, and if it hadn’t been silly, I would have backed up. A man that is shorter than my forearm couldn’t possibly have been intimidating, but he was.
She let her arms fall limp to her sides. “Forever,” she said.
“I didn’t give Sage wings,” I said.
“No,” Royal said, “you gave him wings.” He pointed at Nicca.
“But Nicca wasn’t tasting my blood when it happened.”
Royal nodded, and stepped from the cart. He gazed up at me. “It was during sex.”
I looked at him. He was about ten inches tall, a little shorter than a Barbie doll, but not by much. I tried to think of a polite way to say it, and finally settled for, “I think the size difference is a little much.”
He flashed me a grin. “Sage has given a very full report to the court. I am willing to take blood while you have sex with others, in hopes that it will bring my wings.”
I shook my head. “Nicca may have been a special case.”
Royal gripped the hem of his tunic and lifted it off in one smooth movement, letting it drop to the floor. He was naked before me, miniature and perfect. He turned around, displaying a perfect tattoo of wings covering his back down to his upper thighs. The wings were almost black, with lines of charcoal running through them. The edges curled over his shoulders like the draping edge of a shawl. Bright scarlet and black graced his lower back and buttocks in soft curving stripes, like the ruffled edge of a petticoat.
He turned so that I could see that the black and scarlet was edged by a thin stripe of the dark, almost spots, cut with white, and a thin line of gold. That edging strip curved over the side of his hip, so that the sides of his hips were striped with color, too.
Nicca’s wings belonged to some long-lost moth. Something that had flown the skies of Europe more than a thousand years before. But I knew what had painted itself upon Royal’s skin.
“You’re an underwing moth, an Ilia Underwing.”
He looked back over his shoulder at me, smiling. “That’s one of the names humans use.” He seemed pleased that I’d known what his wings belonged to. His small face suddenly became very serious. “Do you know the other name for the Ilia?”
My pulse sped just a bit, which was silly. He was the size of a child’s toy. The heat in his eyes shouldn’t have had that strong an effect, but my mouth was dry and my voice just a little whispery. “The beloved underwing.”
“Yes,” he said. He started toward me, and if it hadn’t been silly, I would have backed up. A man that is shorter than my forearm couldn’t possibly have been intimidating, but he was.