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Mistrals Kiss :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 119 из 148Had Frost thought Doyle left him behind on purpose?
A world of emotion seemed to pass between the two men. If they’d been human men, they might have exchanged some profanity or sports metaphor, which is what seems to pass for terms of deepest affection between friends. But they were who they were, and Doyle said, simply, “Remove enough weapons so we can see the wound.” He smiled when he said it, because of all the guards Frost would be the one carrying the most weapons, with Mistral a distant second.
“Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast,” Rhys said.
We all looked at him, and then beyond him. The air boiled black, grey, white, and horrible. The hunt was coming toward us like a ribbon of nightmares. It took my eyes a moment to find Sholto on the island. He was a small, pale figure running — running full out — with that sidhe swiftness. But fast as he was, he wouldn’t be fast enough — what chased him moved with the swiftness of birds, of wind, of water. It was like trying to outrun the wind; you just couldn’t do it.
Doyle turned back to Frost. “Take off your jacket. I’ll make a compress. We’re not going to have time for more.”
I glanced back toward the island. Sholto’s guards, his uncles, tried to buy him time. They offered themselves as a sacrifice to slow the hunt. It worked, for a while. Some of that fearful boil of shapes slowed and covered them. I think I heard one of them scream over the high bird-like chittering of the creatures. But most of the wild hunt stayed on target. That target was Sholto.
He crossed the bridge and kept running. “Goddess help us,” Rhys said, “he’s coming here.”
“He finally understands what he’s called into being,” Mistral said. “He runs in terror now. He runs to the only sanctuary he can see.”
“We stand in the middle of four-leaf clovers, rowan, ash, and thorn. The wild hunt cannot touch us here,” I said, but my voice was soft, and didn’t hold the certainty I wished it had.
Doyle had ripped Frost’s shirt away and torn Frost’s own jacket into pieces small enough to be used as compresses.
“How bad is it?” I asked.
Doyle shook his head, pressing the cloth in an area that seemed to run under Frost’s arm and into his shoulder. “Get us out of here, Meredith. I will tend Frost. But only you can get us out.”
“The wild hunt will pass us by,” I said. “We stand in the middle of things that they cannot pass through.”
“If we were not its prey, then I would agree,” Doyle said.
A world of emotion seemed to pass between the two men. If they’d been human men, they might have exchanged some profanity or sports metaphor, which is what seems to pass for terms of deepest affection between friends. But they were who they were, and Doyle said, simply, “Remove enough weapons so we can see the wound.” He smiled when he said it, because of all the guards Frost would be the one carrying the most weapons, with Mistral a distant second.
“Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast,” Rhys said.
We all looked at him, and then beyond him. The air boiled black, grey, white, and horrible. The hunt was coming toward us like a ribbon of nightmares. It took my eyes a moment to find Sholto on the island. He was a small, pale figure running — running full out — with that sidhe swiftness. But fast as he was, he wouldn’t be fast enough — what chased him moved with the swiftness of birds, of wind, of water. It was like trying to outrun the wind; you just couldn’t do it.
Doyle turned back to Frost. “Take off your jacket. I’ll make a compress. We’re not going to have time for more.”
I glanced back toward the island. Sholto’s guards, his uncles, tried to buy him time. They offered themselves as a sacrifice to slow the hunt. It worked, for a while. Some of that fearful boil of shapes slowed and covered them. I think I heard one of them scream over the high bird-like chittering of the creatures. But most of the wild hunt stayed on target. That target was Sholto.
He crossed the bridge and kept running. “Goddess help us,” Rhys said, “he’s coming here.”
“He finally understands what he’s called into being,” Mistral said. “He runs in terror now. He runs to the only sanctuary he can see.”
“We stand in the middle of four-leaf clovers, rowan, ash, and thorn. The wild hunt cannot touch us here,” I said, but my voice was soft, and didn’t hold the certainty I wished it had.
Doyle had ripped Frost’s shirt away and torn Frost’s own jacket into pieces small enough to be used as compresses.
“How bad is it?” I asked.
Doyle shook his head, pressing the cloth in an area that seemed to run under Frost’s arm and into his shoulder. “Get us out of here, Meredith. I will tend Frost. But only you can get us out.”
“The wild hunt will pass us by,” I said. “We stand in the middle of things that they cannot pass through.”
“If we were not its prey, then I would agree,” Doyle said.