JК
A Kiss Of Shadows :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 215 из 338Except the colors in his eyes were rich and pure, not ghostly, and there were reds and purples and colors that shone nowhere near us.
I closed my eyes, suddenly dizzy and nauseated. I answered with my eyes still shut. "Sad to think that Washington may someday be a tired ruin. Sad to know that the glory days passed this place by long before we arrived." I opened my eyes and looked up at him. His eyes were just black mirrors once more. "Sad to think that the fey's glory days are passed and us being here in this place is proof of that."
"Would you prefer that we be out among the humans, working with them, mating with them like the fey that stayed behind in Europe? They are no longer fey, just another minority."
"Am I just a part of the minority, Doyle?"
A look passed over his face, some serious thought that I couldn't read. I'd never been around a man whose face reflected so many emotions, and yet been able to read so few of them. "You are Meredith, Princess of Flesh, and as sidhe as I am. That I will stake my oath on."
"I take that as a great compliment coming from you, Doyle. I know how much store you set by your oath."
His head cocked to one side, studying me. The movement pulled some of his hair farther out of his cloak to fold under but not fall free as he straightened his neck. "I have felt your power, Princess, I cannot deny it."
"I've never seen your hair when it wasn't braided or tied in a club. I've never seen it loose," I said.
"Do you like it?"
I hadn't expected him to ask my opinion. I'd never heard him ask anyone's opinion of anything. "I think so, but I'd need to see the hair without the cloak to be sure."
"Easily done," he said, and undid the cloak at his neck. He let the cloak slide off his shoulders, spilling it over one arm.
He was wearing what looked like a leather-and-metal harness from the waist up, though if it had been meant to be armor, it would have covered more. The colored lights played over the muscles in his body as if he were indeed carved of some black marble. His waist and hips were slender, long legs encased in leather. The pants clung to him and spilled into black boots that came up over his knees where the loose tops of the leather were held in place by straps with small silver buckles. The buckles were echoed in the straps that covered his upper body. The silver glittered against the blackness of him. His hair hung like a second black cloak boiling in the wind, tangling in long strands around his ankles and calves. The wind sent the feathers that edged his face across his mouth.
"My, look what you're not wearing," I said, trying for flippant and failing.
I closed my eyes, suddenly dizzy and nauseated. I answered with my eyes still shut. "Sad to think that Washington may someday be a tired ruin. Sad to know that the glory days passed this place by long before we arrived." I opened my eyes and looked up at him. His eyes were just black mirrors once more. "Sad to think that the fey's glory days are passed and us being here in this place is proof of that."
"Would you prefer that we be out among the humans, working with them, mating with them like the fey that stayed behind in Europe? They are no longer fey, just another minority."
"Am I just a part of the minority, Doyle?"
A look passed over his face, some serious thought that I couldn't read. I'd never been around a man whose face reflected so many emotions, and yet been able to read so few of them. "You are Meredith, Princess of Flesh, and as sidhe as I am. That I will stake my oath on."
"I take that as a great compliment coming from you, Doyle. I know how much store you set by your oath."
His head cocked to one side, studying me. The movement pulled some of his hair farther out of his cloak to fold under but not fall free as he straightened his neck. "I have felt your power, Princess, I cannot deny it."
"I've never seen your hair when it wasn't braided or tied in a club. I've never seen it loose," I said.
"Do you like it?"
I hadn't expected him to ask my opinion. I'd never heard him ask anyone's opinion of anything. "I think so, but I'd need to see the hair without the cloak to be sure."
"Easily done," he said, and undid the cloak at his neck. He let the cloak slide off his shoulders, spilling it over one arm.
He was wearing what looked like a leather-and-metal harness from the waist up, though if it had been meant to be armor, it would have covered more. The colored lights played over the muscles in his body as if he were indeed carved of some black marble. His waist and hips were slender, long legs encased in leather. The pants clung to him and spilled into black boots that came up over his knees where the loose tops of the leather were held in place by straps with small silver buckles. The buckles were echoed in the straps that covered his upper body. The silver glittered against the blackness of him. His hair hung like a second black cloak boiling in the wind, tangling in long strands around his ankles and calves. The wind sent the feathers that edged his face across his mouth.
"My, look what you're not wearing," I said, trying for flippant and failing.