Darkest Mercy. Melissa Marr
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Название: Darkest Mercy
Автор: Melissa Marr
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Детская проза
isbn: 9780007442645
isbn:
To Anne Hoppe, for loving Donia even more than I do, for faery wings and temp tattoos, for putting the “good parts” at the end of the letter, for arguing and for not arguing, and for skipping your tea one Saturday morning to fall for these characters
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the author
Also by Melissa Marr
Copyright
Prologue
Niall walked through the ruins of the tattoo shop. Shards of painted glass crunched under his boots. The floor was strewn with vials of ink, unopened needles, electric apparatus he couldn’t identify, and other things he’d rather not identify. The Dark King had known rage before, known grief; he’d felt helpless, felt unprepared; but he’d never before had all of those emotions converge on him at once.
He paused and lifted one of the mangled bits of metal and wire from the floor. He turned it over in his hand. Only a year ago, a tattoo machine—maybe this one—had bound Irial to the mortal who had brought the former Dark King and Niall together again after a millennium. Irial was the constant, the one faery that had been a part of Niall’s life— for better and worse—for more than a thousand years.
Niall stabbed his bloodied hand with the broken tattoo machine. His own blood welled up and mingled with the drying blood on his hands. His blood. Irial’s blood is on my hands because I couldn’t stop Bananach. Niall lifted the broken machine in his hand, but before he could stab himself a second time, a Hound grabbed his wrist.
“No.” The Hound, Gabriel’s mate, Chela, took the machine. “The stretcher is here, and—”
“Is he awake?”
Mutely, Chela shook her head and led him toward the living room, where Irial lay.
“He will heal,” Niall said, trying the words out, testing the Hound’s reaction to his opinion.
“I hope so,” she said, even as her doubt washed over him. Irial was motionless on the litter. The uneven rising and falling of his chest proved that he still lived, but the pinched look on his face made clear that he was suffering. His eyes were closed, and his taunting grin was absent.
The healer was finishing packing some sort of noxious-smelling plants against the wound, and Niall wasn’t sure whether it was worse to look at Irial or at the bloodied bandages on the floor.
The Hound, Gabriel’s second-in-command, lowered her voice. “The Hunt stands at your side, Niall. Gabriel has made that clear. We will fight at your side. We will not let Bananach near you.”
Niall came to stand beside Irial and asked the healer, “Well?”
“He’s as stable as can be expected.” The healer turned to face Niall. “We can make him comfortable while the poison takes him or we can end his suffer—”
“No!” Niall’s abyss-guardians flared to life in shared rage. “You will save him.”
“Bananach stabbed him with a knife carved of poison. He’s as good as d—” The rest of the words were lost under the Dark King’s roar of frustration.
Irial opened his eyes, grabbed Niall’s hand, and rasped, “Don’t kill the messenger, love.”
“Shut up, Irial,” Niall said, but he didn’t pull his hand away. With his free hand, he motioned for the waiting faeries to approach. “Be careful with him.”
Niall released Irial’s hand so that the faeries could lift the stretcher.
As they left the tattoo shop, Hounds fell into formation around Niall and the injured king, walking in front, flanking them, and following them.
The former Dark King’s eyes closed СКАЧАТЬ