"The Summoning" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morgen Shelby)

Chapter One



Marylin was positive that if she so much as blinked her eyes her head would explode. God. What had she been thinking? She wasn’t nineteen anymore. Apparently Amaretto wasn’t what it used to be, either. Hadn’t ever given her a hangover before. That was the reason she drank Amaretto—to avoid mornings like this.

For that matter, she didn’t remember ever having a morning after quite like this.

She’d have called out, asked some kind soul to bring her a damp, cool cloth to unglue her eyes, but she was afraid the sound of her own voice might shatter her brittle eyelids. As if by magic a cool cloth appeared in her hand.Thank you, God. Whichever, whatever god. She’d pray to any deity who was handy right now if her head would quit pounding. Moving carefully, she laid the scrap of cloth over her eyes, concentrating on slow, deep, even breaths, willing the pain away. Mind over matter. That was all there was to it. Simple chemical process really. Re-oxygenate the blood.

In with the good air. Out with the bad. Gray had taught her that.A dancer’s technique. She didn’t want to know where he’d learned it, or why.

As the pain subsided, awareness of sensations outside her body returned. Where was she? She wasn’t in her own bed, that was for sure. The surface beneath her was hard, and the air was cool, but fresh. She couldn’t remember… Gray. She’d e-mailed Gray. They’d met at a place she’d found on the Internet.DesireIsland , in theGulf of Mexico .

She smiled experimentally. Her lips didn’t crack. Gray must be watching her, trying not to laugh. Gray would know to have the cloth ready. Its coolness made the thought of opening her eyes at least tolerable. Cautiously she wiped the warming water over the rest of her face, wondering just how bad she looked. Well, Gray’d seen her at her worst before. He’d cope. Slowly, carefully, giving them time to adjust to the light in the room, she pried her eyes open.

There was a man watching over her, all right, but he wasn’t Gray. Long, pale blond hair framed an oval face that was just a little too masculine to be pretty. It was a quiet face, the kind of face that soaked up all emotion, so that it was impossible to tell whether he was happy, or sad, or even interested.

Since at the moment he was studying her, in fact staring at her rather intently, and she seemed to be lying quite naked on a strange bed in a strange room, she did the sensible thing. She screamed. The watcher stood up, unfolding long, long legs that had been tucked beneath him somewhere. Paying no heed to her screams as she lunged for the closest covering—some sort of thick, heavy hide—he walked to the doorway.

“She is awake, Lord Lindall.”

“Indeed. So I gathered.” The voice was deep and rumbling and tinged with humor, betraying traces of a Scots brogue. The man who went with the voice ducked his head to enter the small chamber, pausing there in the doorway, filling it so thoroughly that he blocked the light.

Marylin ceased her screaming abruptly. Good Lord. The man must be close to seven foot tall. His shoulders filled the doorway. From there he narrowed to slimmer hips and long, muscular legs. For the first time since she’d been a child staring up at her father, she felt small and vulnerable.

She glanced to his face as he paused to stare at her. She knew this man. Had seen him before. Had dreamed of him for years now. In her dreams he was her knight, her protector, her partner, her lover. Usually she knew him as a shadowy, indistinct figure. She always recognized him, sometimes even spoke to him, but she’d never heard his voice before, never seen his face.

Until last night. He was the man from the ferry. She’d seen him. Known him. Loved him. Fucked him.

He had promised to find her. Perhaps…

No. He couldn’t be her dream lover. This man was real. Maybe he really was the man she’d seen on the ferry. Had he been stalking her? Had he kidnapped her? But that didn’t seem plausible. She wasn’t tied up. Nothing kept her here but her own frozen inability to move.

She could see him clearly now, long, dark hair pulled back from his face, a close-cropped beard dusting his jaw, wide set green eyes studying her, questioning, probing, drinking her up. Their gazes locked. He moved toward her hesitantly, almost as if drawn against his will, his heavy woolen kilt barely swaying against his leggings. He paused again at the edge of the raised platform, towering over her as she lay clutching the hide over her breasts. Like a giant tree toppling, he dropped slowly to one knee beside the bed. Marylin’s head reeled as she read the emotions swirling in those eyes.

Grief. Hunger. Pain. Need. Fear. Love.

Hewas the man from the ferry. He was the man from her dreams. Her knight, her lover, her protector. He was the one who held the missing pieces of her soul.

He picked up her hand, lifting it to his lips for a kiss that nearly broke her heart with its tenderness. “I have missed ye,Mel~amin . Do no’ leave me so again, for my heart nearly split asunder.”

His heart? What about hers? One moment he’d been there, and everything had been right. The next he was gone, and she was alone—more alone than she’d ever been.

It was a dream. Just a dream. He hadn’t been real last night. He wasn’t real now. She’d seen a man on the ferry and added his face to that of the man in her dreams. She’d dreamed about him last night. A rough, wanton dream of a middle-aged woman too long alone. Dreams. That was all it was. She was dreaming again now.

Marylin broke eye contact as a gust of wind shook the pavilion, which she realized was actually a tent of great proportions, walled with huge, thick hides. She had to wake up, before this gentle giant of a man stole what was left of her heart. She could not fall in love with a dream. “No. Not again,” she whispered to herself. She would not make the same mistake again. Just a dream.

The big man raised his eyes quizzically to the watcher, who merely shook his head once so that his long pale mane lifted slightly, then settled again against his shoulders. Marylin clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle another scream. The blond man—she’d thought him tall until the Warrior entered the room—had ears that rose to sharp points at the tips. There was no mistaking those ears. She was staring at an Elf!