"C. S. Friedman - Coldfire 2 - When True Night Falls" - читать интересную книгу автора (Friedman C. S)

Damien, and the priest sensed just how much was being left
unsaid. Her species is still primitive. Still possessed of a
bestial soul. Who can say whether instinct or intelligence
will rule, when she perceives herself to be threatened? But
there was more than that also: a darker undercurrent that
flickered momentarily in the pale eyes, and then was
carefully hidden again.

He still hates her, he thought. All her people. They
bound him once, and he'll never forget it.

God help her if he ever decides she's expendable.

"Now," the Hunter said softly. The familiar warning was
all the more powerful for not being voiced: Don't interfere.

Tarrant sat by her side on the narrow bed, and for a
moment was still. Gathering himself. Then he reached out
and placed his hands on her face, slender fingers splayed
out across her features like the legs of a hungry spider. She
stiffened and gasped and a soft moan of pain escaped her,
but she made no struggle to escape. Not that it would have
done her any good. The dark fae bound her now, more
perfectly than mere ropes ever could. Damien was
sickened, envisioning it.

"Now," the Hunter whispered. Coaxing the power.
Seducing it. Meticulously manicured fingers stroked the
sleek fur of her face with what seemed like loving
tenderness, but Damien had seen the man Work often
enough to know his power for what it was. Killing, always
killing. The object of his attention might be a lone,
frightened woman or a swarm of bacteria - or the follicles
on a rakhene woman's face - but the pattern was always the
same. The Hunter drew his power from Death.

Beneath his fingers the fine fur was coming loose, and it
fell from her cheeks in a fine cloud of gold as he ran his
hands across her skin. It was clear that the process was
painful; Hesseth hissed as he Worked, her long claws biting
deeply into the wood of the bedframe. Once she cried out, a
keening note of suffering more bestial than human - and
Damien knew Gerald Tarrant well enough to see the
distaste flicker in his eyes. But she offered no pleas, despite
the pain, and was clearly doing her best not to draw back
from him. She had asked for this, after all. It had been her
idea. And - as much as Damien hated to admit it - it was a
damned good one.

It's not just fur she's sacrificing, he reminded himself.