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A Kiss Of Shadows :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 326 из 338"He'll do as much damage as he can before they catch him." I took three quick, gulping breaths, and my voice came out strained, but holding. "I assume he's fled the area."
"We will find him," Frost said. "The world is not that big."
That made me laugh, but the laughter turned into tears. I slid off the chair onto the floor among the scattered pieces of the Post-Dispatch. It hurt to land so hard on the floor. I was aching from the sex, bruised. The pain helped remind me that things were not that bad. Horrible, but I still had access to the men of the court. I was still welcome back in faerie. The queen had given her word—and her power—to keep me from harm. Things could be worse. Or at least that's what I kept trying to tell myself.
I got my breathing under control, but not my anger. "I did not mean him harm last night, but now… " I grabbed the tabloid from Frost and forced myself to look inside. It wasn't the partial nudity that really cut me up. It was the happiness in our faces, our bodies. We'd been in love and it showed. But if he could do this to me, then he'd never really loved me. He'd lusted after me, desired me, wanted to own me, maybe, but love… love didn't do things like this.
I threw the pages up into the air and watched them flutter slowly back to earth. "I want him dead for this. Don't tell the queen that. In a few days I may change my mind, and I don't want her doing anything dramatic." My voice was cold with anger, the kind of anger that settles in your heart and never leaves. Hot rage runs through you, and is close kin to hot passion, but cold rage, that is close kin to hate. For this I hated Griffin, but not enough. "I don't want her to send me his head or heart in a basket. I don't want that."
"She may be planning to kill him anyway," Doyle said.
"Yes, but if she does, then it's on her head, not mine. I won't ask for his death. Let her come up with it on her own."
Frost knelt beside me, gazing up at me with those storm-grey eyes. He took my hands in his. His hands felt warm, which meant my hands were cold. Maybe I was more upset than I thought, maybe I was in shock.
"I am sure our queen has already decided his fate," Frost said.
"No," I said. I stood, pulling away from his hands, from his eyes. I hugged myself, because I knew I could trust my own arms; I was beginning to have doubts about everyone else's. "No, if she catches him right away, she might kill him. But the longer he eludes capture, the more creative she'll get."
Frost stayed kneeling on the ground looking up at me.
"We will find him," Frost said. "The world is not that big."
That made me laugh, but the laughter turned into tears. I slid off the chair onto the floor among the scattered pieces of the Post-Dispatch. It hurt to land so hard on the floor. I was aching from the sex, bruised. The pain helped remind me that things were not that bad. Horrible, but I still had access to the men of the court. I was still welcome back in faerie. The queen had given her word—and her power—to keep me from harm. Things could be worse. Or at least that's what I kept trying to tell myself.
I got my breathing under control, but not my anger. "I did not mean him harm last night, but now… " I grabbed the tabloid from Frost and forced myself to look inside. It wasn't the partial nudity that really cut me up. It was the happiness in our faces, our bodies. We'd been in love and it showed. But if he could do this to me, then he'd never really loved me. He'd lusted after me, desired me, wanted to own me, maybe, but love… love didn't do things like this.
I threw the pages up into the air and watched them flutter slowly back to earth. "I want him dead for this. Don't tell the queen that. In a few days I may change my mind, and I don't want her doing anything dramatic." My voice was cold with anger, the kind of anger that settles in your heart and never leaves. Hot rage runs through you, and is close kin to hot passion, but cold rage, that is close kin to hate. For this I hated Griffin, but not enough. "I don't want her to send me his head or heart in a basket. I don't want that."
"She may be planning to kill him anyway," Doyle said.
"Yes, but if she does, then it's on her head, not mine. I won't ask for his death. Let her come up with it on her own."
Frost knelt beside me, gazing up at me with those storm-grey eyes. He took my hands in his. His hands felt warm, which meant my hands were cold. Maybe I was more upset than I thought, maybe I was in shock.
"I am sure our queen has already decided his fate," Frost said.
"No," I said. I stood, pulling away from his hands, from his eyes. I hugged myself, because I knew I could trust my own arms; I was beginning to have doubts about everyone else's. "No, if she catches him right away, she might kill him. But the longer he eludes capture, the more creative she'll get."
Frost stayed kneeling on the ground looking up at me.