"Mercedes Lackey & Larry Dixon - Mage Wars 01 - The Black Gryphon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

somehow over the past candlemark. Well, I know what that usually means. Some feather-work
and oils should increase this unique beauty of hers, so her lover will be especially pleased by her
after our session. Still...
Still, this sleek little creature wasn't coming across like the usual gryphon client to be prepared for a
special tryst. There was anticipation, and an electric desire, but there didn't seem to be any confidence in
the outcome of the night, nor the sense of certainty that gryphons were so well known for.
And no gryphon went for an expensive tryst-grooming unless she was positive she had a partner
waiting for her!
Suddenly, Zhaneel looked directly at him and stepped forward, causing Amberdrake to rebalance
himself—and then she kept moving forward. Amberdrake fell backward as Zhaneel straddled him. Her
long wings spread to either side of them, with her tail up and neck feathers roused. Her beaked face was
nearly touching his nose when she asked, "You will give me pleasssurrre, Amberrrdrrrake?"
Oh, gods... that explains what...
He stared at her beak, remembered the size of gryphon talons, and felt himself blanch. "Zhaneel,
no—wait—you'll hurt me," he begged. "Please let me up!"

Skandranon marked his page with a discarded feather and stretched, looking back to where Gesten
meticulously brushed and treated his back just above his tail. Urtho had sent down a book by an explorer
who had been in his employ from before the war had started, and the heavy tome was filled with small
notes written in the margins, observations and anecdotes by others that the book had been loaned to.
Urtho had sent it by messenger-kyree to make up for his hasty departure earlier; yet another small
gesture that told the Black Gryphon of his status in Urtho's eyes. Gesten had been there for at least two
candlemarks, quietly putting all of the details right for Skandranon; cutting, sanding, and rounding partially
snapped feathers, rubbing in soothing gels around strained feather-shafts. Without saying a dozen words,
he'd moved Skandranon—who was twice the weight of most human men—into easier positions for
tending tiny cuts the Healers hadn't gotten. He had sanded down the chips in Skan's beak, filling in
near-invisible cracks with cement, and coping his overgrowing talons. He then moved on to a deep and
thorough combing, removing all the tiny snags and remaining bits of burr and twig from Skan's black coat.
Skan was in good shape—much better than even this morning, he mused—and in little pain, thanks
to one of Lady Cinnabar's clever abilities, a trick with shunting pain away. She was a delight to know,
even peripherally, and seemed to have the sort of personality he'd like to find in a gryphon mate one day.
Skan counted himself fortunate that he'd lived this long. Ah, but taking a mate? Seriously considering
the possibility of fathering young had been reduced to a worn pastime over his years of service, one that
at some times felt like his only reason for persevering, and at others like an impossible fantasy from a
laugh-singer's tale. The concern was not one of merely finding sex. He had no lack of lovers; there were
few gryphons who wouldn't be ecstatic to raise their tails to him, but, still, they were at best casual
friends, and none of them fertile. Mmm, but there were those that had been so sweet, so warm....
He shifted the way he was lying; thinking about lovers was causing his belly to tighten with longing.
He'd never been embarrassed about his virility before and felt no pangs about such now, but his healing
state kept poking reminders at him about how limited his movement really was.
Gesten didn't miss a stroke while grooming Skan's flank and tail, although he surely noticed the
outward signs of Skan's line of thought. There seemed to be very little the little hertasi missed; but, as
with other topics that came up around him daily, Gesten's best comment was not to comment at all.
Tchah, by now little Zhaneel is settled in warm and comfortable with Amberdrake.
Amberdrake knows how to make everything right. He's such a good kestra'chern; so clever, so
graceful, so intelligent. I'm proud to know him; I'm glad I sent her to him.

I'm going to kill Skandranon for this, Amberdrake fumed as he faced away from Zhaneel. Surely
that mindless, oversexed, bug-bitten, arrogant mass of black feathers had given Zhaneel the impression
that Amberdrake was going to make love to her somehow. This was an unforgivably cruel joke on