"Huff, Tanya - Blood 4 - Blood Pact" - читать интересную книгу автора (Huff Tanya)"Well, then, you'll be happy to know that I did, as you so inelegantly put it, scare the living shit out of him."
"Good." She loosened her grip on the throw pillow. "Did you ... uh ... feed?" "Would it matter if I had?" Would she admit it if it mattered. "Blood's blood, Vicki. And his fear was enough to raise the Hunger.'' "I know. And I know you feed from others. It's just..." She dragged one hand through her hair, standing it up in dark blonde spikes. "It's just that ..." "No. I didn't feed from him." Her involuntary smile was all he could have asked, so he crossed the room to see it better. "You're probably hungry, then." "Yes." He took her hand and gently caressed the inner skin of her wrist with his thumb. Her pulse leapt under his touch. She tried to stand, but he pushed her back, bent his head, and ran his tongue down the faint blue line of a vein.''Henry, if we don't go soon, I won't be able to . . ." Her voice faded out as her brain became preoccupied with other things. With a mighty effort, she forced her throat to open and her mouth to work. "We'll end up staying on the . . . couch." He lifted his mouth long enough to murmur, "So?" and that was the last coherent word either of them spoke for some time. "Four o'clock in the morning," Vicki muttered, digging for the keys to her apartment. "Another two hours and I'll have seen the clock around. Again. Why do I keep doing this to myself?" Her wrist throbbed, as if in answer, and she sighed. "Never mind. Stupid question." Muscles tensed across her back as the door unexpectedly swung fully open. The security chain hung loose, unlocked, arcing back and forth, scraping softly, metal against wood. Holding her breath, she filtered out the ambient noises of the apartment-the sound of the refrigerator motor, a dripping tap, the distant hum of the hydro substation across the street-and noted a faint mechanical whir. It sounded like . . . She almost had it when a sudden noise drove off all hope of identification. The horrible crunching, grinding, smashing, continued for about ten seconds, then muted. "I'II grind his bones to make my bread . . ."It was the closest she could come to figuring out what could possibly be happening. And all things considered, I'm not denying the possibility of a literal translation. After demons, werewolves, mummies, not to mention the omnipresent vampire in her life, a Jack-eating giant in her living room was less than impossible no matter how unlikely. She shrugged the huge, black leather purse off hershoulder and caught it just before it hit the floor. With the strap wrapped twice around her wrist it made a weapon even a giant would flinch at. Good thing I hung onto that brick . . . The sensible thing to do would involve closing the door, trotting to the phone booth on the corner, and calling the cops. I am way too tired for this shit. Vicki stepped silently into the apartment. Four in the morning courage. Gotta love it. Sliding each foot a centimeter above the floor and placing it back down with exaggerated care, she made her way along the short length of hall and around the corner into the living room, senses straining. Over the last few months she'd started to believe that, while the retinitis pigmentosa had robbed her of any semblance of night sight, sound and smell were beginning to compensate. The proof would be in the pudding; although she knew the streetlight outside the bay window provided a certain amount of illumination in spite of the blinds and the apartment never actually got completely dark, as far as her vision was concerned, she might as well be wearing a padded blindfold. Well, not quite a blindfold. Even she couldn't miss the blob of light that had to be the television flickering silently against the far wall. She stopped, weapon ready, cocked her head, and got a whiff of a well known after-shave mixed with . . . cheese?'' The sudden release of tension almost knocked her over. "What the hell are you doing here at this hour, Celluci?" "What does it look like?" the familiar voice asked mockingly in turn. "I'm watching an incredibly stupid movie with the sound off and eating very stale taco chips. How long have you had these things sitting around, anyway?" Vicki groped for the wall, then walked her fingers along it to the switch for the overhead light. Blinkingaway tears as her sensitive eyes reacted to the glare, she gently lowered her purse to the floor. Mr. Chin, downstairs in the first floor apartment, wouldn't appreciate being woken up by twenty pounds of assorted bric-a-brac slamming into his ceiling. Detective-Sergeant Michael Celluci squinted up at her from the couch and set the half-empty bag of taco chips to one side. "Rough night?" he growled. Yawning, she shrugged out of her jacket, tossing it over the back of the recliner. "Not really. Why?" "Those bags under your eyes look more like a set of matched luggage." He swung his legs to the floor and stretched. "Thirty-two just doesn't bounce back the way thirty-one used to. You need more sleep.""Which I had every intention of getting," she crossed the room and jabbed a finger at the television control panel, "until I came home to find you in my living room. And you haven't answered my question." "What question?" He smiled charmingly, but eight years on the force with him, the last four intimately involved-Now that's a tidy label for a complicated situation, she mused-had made her pretty much immune to classical good looks used to effect. "All right, I came by to see what you remembered about Howard Balland." She shrugged. "Small-time hood, always looking for the big score but would probably miss said big score if it bit him on the butt. I thought he left town.'' Celluci spread his hands. "He's back, in a manner of speaking. A couple of kids found his body earlier tonight behind a bookstore down on Queen Street West." "And you've come to me to see if I remember anything that'll help you nail his killer?" "You've got it." "Mike, I was in fraud for only three short months before I transferred to homicide and that was a good chunk of time ago." "So you don't remember anything?" "I didn't say that ..." "Ah." The single syllable held a disproportionate weight of sarcasm. "You're tired and you'd rather screw around with your little undead friend than help get the bastard who slit the throat of a harmless old con man. I understand." Vicki blinked. "What the fuck are you talking about?" "You know what I'm talking about. You've been off playing Vlad the Impaler with Henry Fucking Fitzroy!" Her brows drew down into a deep vee, the expression making it necessary for her to jab her glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose. "I don't believe this. You're jealous!" They were chest to chest and would Ve been nose to nose accept for the difference in their heights. Although Vicki was tall at five ten, Celluci was taller still at six four. "JEALOUS!" Over the years Vicki had learned enough Italian to get the gist of what followed. The fight had barely begun to heat up when a soft voice slid through a pause in the screaming. "Excuse me?" Expressions ludicrously frozen in mid-snarl, they turned to face the wizened concern of Mr. Chin. He clutched a burgundy brocade bathrobe closed with one frail hand and had the other raised as though to snare their attention. When he saw he had it, he smiled into the silence. "Thank you," he told them. "Now, shall we see if we can maintain this situation?" At their puzzled frowns, he sighed. "Let me make it a little simpler for you. It's 4:22 a.m. Shut up." He waited for a moment, nodded, and left the apartment, gently pulling the door closed behind him. Vicki felt her ears grow hot. She jerked around as a cross between a sneeze and a small explosion sounded from Celluci's direction. "What are you laughing at?" He shook his head, arms waving as he searched for the words. "Never mind." She reached up and pushed the curl of dark brown hair back off his face, her own mouth twisting up in a rueful grin. "I guess it was pretty funny at that. Although I'm going to spend the rest of the day with this vaguely unfinished feeling." Celluci nodded, the thick curl dropping back down into his eyes. "Like not remembering if you've eaten the last bite of doughnut.'' "Or drunk the last swallow of coffee." |
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