Demon's Kiss. Maggie Shayne
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Название: Demon's Kiss

Автор: Maggie Shayne

Издательство: HarperCollins

Жанр: Ужасы и Мистика

Серия:

isbn: 9781408921494

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СКАЧАТЬ and he was damned if he knew where the other two had come from—were all around him, blocking his vision. He couldn’t see anything except legs in faded, torn jeans that hung loosely, and the front ends of unlaced Columbia suede work boots, with the tongues sticking out.

      “Gimme the money bag, asshole,” one of the thugs said.

      Seth smiled slowly, but it hurt, so he stopped. He figured his lip was split, and maybe his jaw was busted, too. He wasn’t going to tell these bastards that J.J. was the one carrying the bag. Not just yet. Give the kid time to get clear. He figured his own ass was grass, either way. “Why don’t you take it from me?” he asked.

      “My pleasure.”

      The beating really began then. And there wasn’t a hell of a lot Seth could do about it. He tried to get a few blows in, tried to block the punches and kicks with his arms, but eventually he was hurting too bad and bleeding too much to do more than curl up like a boiled shrimp and wait for them to get tired.

      He wondered, after a while, if this was it, the big shining moment he’d always known he was meant for. Maybe his entire purpose in life had been to be here tonight, to take the heat off J.J. So maybe it was J.J. who was truly meant for something big. Maybe he would end up being president or something. And Seth was just a pawn, a sacrifice for the greater good.

      Damn. He had always thought it would be something more. And his biggest regret was her—the girl he’d been dreaming about for so long. Could he really die without ever once meeting her face-to-face? It didn’t seem possible, but it looked pretty damned likely.

      After thoroughly tapping the vampiric grapevine, Reaper’s only lead to Gregor was a spoiled rich vampiress who called herself Topaz. She lived in a mansion on Emerald Isle, in North Carolina, and rumor had it that she’d recently lost a substantial portion of her wealth to a vampire con man who’d broken her heart. No one had heard the man’s name, but his description matched that of Gregor’s sidekick. The M.O. was right, the location was right, and Reaper was pretty sure his gut instincts were right, too. The con artist must have been the vampire known as Jack of Hearts. And if he could find Jack, he could find Gregor and the rest of the rogue band.

      So he was on his way to Emerald Isle when the sensation hit him. First it was a sense of nervous energy, a clenching of his stomach, a twitching of various muscles, a surge of epinephrine. Fight or flight. But it came for no reason. He wasn’t in danger.

       No, but someone is.

      He felt pain, then. Excruciating pain. Not his own.

      And then he sensed the essence behind it, the aura that came whenever one of his kind came into proximity with one of theirs, or whenever one of his kind was in dire need. The feelings were coming from one of the Chosen.

      And not just any one of the Chosen. But his. Seth Connor. The young man was in trouble. And the bottom fell out of Reaper’s stomach in spite of himself. The kid was always in trouble of one kind or another, but the pain he was feeling now…This was no minor scrape.

      “God, now of all times?” Reaper rolled his eyes and told himself that Seth was proving to be exactly the kind of nuisance Reaper had told Rhiannon he was. He told himself that, even as he stopped everything he was doing to race to Seth’s aid. He reminded himself that there was no choice. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Rhiannon that he was compelled, as were all vampires, to protect and watch over Seth’s kind. If he could have ignored the call, he thought deliberately, determinedly, he might very well have kept on driving.

       Yeah. Right. And just who do you think you’re kidding, Reaper?

      So he obeyed his instinctive need to go to the younger man, and go fast. He took an exit, following his senses, his intuition, and as he got nearer, he realized it was a damn good thing he had.

      Reaper felt the cold breath of his grim namesake nearby and knew that Seth, his own charge, was near death. He skidded the car to a halt, leapt out, turned and ran, moving so quickly that he was invisible to human eyes. Moments later, he was at the mouth of an alley, where four upright men were kicking and beating one who lay on the ground, curled loosely in on himself.

      Reaper didn’t speak, he just moved. His first blow sent one man smashing into a wall, where his head took a chunk out of the cinder block it hit. He grabbed the second one by his nape and hurled him through the air, not bothering to watch where he came down, though he heard glass breaking. He grabbed the third by his hair and slammed his face into the ground. And then he delivered a kick to the solar plexus of the fourth that probably split his intestine apart. And all of it in the space of two seconds, possibly less.

      Finally he knelt beside the young man, his cast-iron stomach churning as he bent closer. Seth’s face had been badly beaten. His eyes were swollen and purple, his nose broken, lips split, jaw unhinged or broken. His own mother wouldn’t have known him. Reaper knew him, though. He knew his scent, his essence. His restless, frustrated energy.

      As much as he disliked physical contact, there was nothing else for it right then. Reaper slid an arm beneath Seth’s shoulders and lifted his head up from the concrete floor of the alley where he lay. His body was as broken as his face, but it didn’t show as much to the naked eye.

      “Did J.J. get away?” Seth asked. His voice was coarse and soft.

      Reaper narrowed his eyes, then probed the younger man’s mind and saw the scene unfolding through Seth’s memory. The attack. The other, even younger, man, J.J., being beaten. He saw what Seth had done, taking the attackers on himself to give J.J. the chance to escape. He could easily have gotten away himself, but he hadn’t. Reaper sensed that J.J. had. “Yes, he’s safe,” he said.

      Seth sighed and closed his eyes. “I’m glad.”

      Seth was dying. Or else he wasn’t. The decision was his.

      “Open your eyes, Seth,” Reaper said. “I need to talk to you.”

      Seth wasn’t sure if he was alive or dead. The pain was fading, and so was everything else. He felt as if he were falling farther and farther away from everything real. And then an insistent voice, a man’s voice, one that was oddly familiar to him, made its way through a long and winding pathway from his ear to his brain.

      “Open your eyes, Seth. I need to talk to you.”

      He tried to obey—something about that voice made him want to—but he couldn’t. And really, he didn’t want to, not all that much. He was dreaming about her again. She was so real, so freaking real, this time. He could feel her when he touched her. Soft skin, masses of coppery hair he couldn’t stop stroking. Her petite frame, her soft voice, the uncertainty that always seemed to linger behind her eyes.

      “I really don’t have time for this, you know. If you don’t wake up and give me an answer, I’m just going to have to do it without your consent.”

      Consent? Do what without his consent?

      “Seth, honestly, I’m nearly out of patience.” The man sighed, and when he spoke again, his voice was different. It held some kind of power that hadn’t been there before. “Hear my voice and obey, Seth Connor. My will is yours. Do as I say. Open. Your. Eyes.”

      Seth realized he was alive after all. He had to be, to hurt this bad. He supposed he had to wake up and pay attention if he wanted to keep it that way. He hated leaving his dream girl behind, but maybe this way he would get that chance СКАЧАТЬ