Demon mentor. Crypt of the Seven Angels. Natalie Yacobson

Чтение книги онлайн.

      And again a moment of silence. They looked at each other, as if asking prices. Blaise did not slow down in a circle. They walked here like animals in a cage. And each either did not dare to attack first, or gave the other the opportunity to assess the situation.

      For a moment she thought she saw right through Damian. It was a moment of feeling of some kind of absolute power over him, as if he was her puppet, and not a mentor. Everything was decided by the coldness in her. It was he who prevailed over the creature that entered this world to teach her.

      But what about physical strength? Blaise was pretty sure Damian had it huge. But he wants her to defeat him. Not because he can succumb to her, but because in the end she will be stronger. Blaise had no idea how this could be achieved. But she wanted to be strong. Very strong. So strong that no one dared to attack her.

      With her eyes, she appraised the enemy. Blue eyes sparkled dangerously from beneath ash brows, graceful fingers curling around the stick.

      «Anything can be a weapon,» Damian taught her. «Anything you want to use as a weapon.»

      Now it was time to move from words to action. But she did not dare. Although Damian had not for nothing brought her to this gloomy basement hall, where the ceiling, though propped up by a column, was enough free space to feel like on a training arena. Like in the ring. As in a vicious circle.

      Blaise experienced all sensations at the same time. It was both the battlefield and the enchanted ring. Both physical strength and spiritual. Both realism and a fairy tale. She needed to combine two principles in herself to win: the present and the desired.

      Although if the desire is too strong, it conquers everything around, even you. These were also Damian’s words. She wanted him not to be wrong. His parting words became her dark prayer. For a moment. She could no longer pray either to God or to the angels who did not answer her. Only strength.

      «Come on, bolder,» he finally encouraged.

      And she attacked. A couple of hits. The stick clinked on the stick. Blaise suddenly felt the power that even such a simple weapon in her hand gives. Even it can become overwhelming. Damian had explained to her the general techniques of this type of fighting a few minutes ago, and she tried to practice. Pretty good. He praised her mentally. She could almost hear. And she liked the very feeling that she was doing it. Fights! Then at the decisive moment, when her family was being killed, she could not, but now everything worked out. It’s too late. It’s too late. She seemed to rise from the grave to do what she could not before.

      Determination, concentration, accuracy. That’s all she needs. And to hell with empty prayers to the angels. Blaise finally felt like herself. There is nothing to believe and pray for, you can just pick up something simple like this stick and feel yourself in battle as if your wings really opened up behind you.

      Everything was going well. Even fine, but suddenly she felt like she was trying to take a breath underwater. Her throat was tight. The room they fought in was not a crypt, but Blaise felt as if the insistent wings of marble angels were flapping over her. The feeling is from a dream, not from life, but it has never been so real, even there, in the crypt. It seemed that one of the marble statues had come off the pedestal right now and was trying to wrap it in its crushing embrace. For just a moment, Blaise lost control of herself, and the stick slid past, hitting Damian across the face.

      He swore. It seems she nearly knocked out his eye. She, too, accidentally touched herself with the other end of the stick, and now there was an abrasion on her cheek.

      Did Damian sense the presence of the marble creature nearby? She did not dare to ask him about it.

      «How do you?»

      «Nothing.»

      For a moment, she noticed a large abrasion above Damian’s eyebrow, but a thick bang almost immediately fell on it.

      «It heals quickly on me,» he boasted. «So don’t be shy and don’t lose control of yourself.»

      He lightly touched her shoulder, and the feeling of pressing marble embrace immediately disappeared. There was only an unpleasant sediment from them, as if they tried to freeze or drown her in the cold ocean, but they could not. The touch of his hand was warm, and alive, and quite pleasant. This is what people call friendly support. Blaise stood motionless for a minute. She didn’t know what struck her more: dark illusions about the angels from the crypt or a completely unexpected reaction to physical contact with him.

      She noticed that the abrasion on his forehead had really disappeared somewhere, or it was impossible to see it in the semi-darkness. Blaise didn’t even ask him why they were learning to fight in the semi-darkness: because of the lack of electricity in this old building, or because of the danger that someone might notice them here. It was better not to ask questions about which she did not want to think at all. There was too much to watch out for. Until… Until she learns to stand up for herself. The first lesson seems to have failed.

      The oppressive sensation of marble statues where they are not and cannot be instead of the usual crypt, slightly warped her.

      «Did you feel it too?» she finally decided to ask, looking around the room in search of something unusual left of them.

      «Pain?» He grinned, running his hand over his forehead.

      «Cold,» she prompted. «Grave cold.»

      Damian stopped smiling.

      «There’s a cemetery not far from here,» he explained. «A very old cemetery, if that’s what you mean.»

      «I am not talking about that.»

      Blaise shook her head stubbornly, and luxurious blonde strands fell over her eyes. She pulled her long hair into a ponytail so that it would not get in the way during class, but it got in the way anyway. The wild, silky strands were so rebellious. She would have cut them, but Damian would not let her. Taking the scissors from her hands, he began to whisper to her some biblical nonsense about the power of Samson, hidden in her hair, and about the consequences of cutting them, drawing frightening associations between her and him. And then the scissors disappeared somewhere. True, they were already stupid. In general, there were not so many things left in this old house, and almost all of them were unsuitable for the household. In any case, Blaise could cut her hair with a knife, but Damian managed to intimidate her. She remembered that she really hadn’t cut her hair in a very long time, because it seemed to her that this should not be done. Or it was his words that had such a narcotic power on her. They were intoxicating like sweet poison. All barriers were destroyed. He said that she would fight with truly masculine dignity, and she started to get it out.

      It’s a shame that the golden hair, which had grown below the waist, was a good omen by which she could be recognized in the crowd. No one else has such luxurious hair. And she is the heiress of de Rozier. The only survivor of all the heirs. Only her inheritance has most likely already been divided among others.

      «The cold that follows you from the crypt will disappear by itself if you stop going there,» Damian said finally.

      «I don’t go,» she snapped.

      «Mentally, you are there.»

      He was right. She had nothing to say to that.

      Blaise СКАЧАТЬ