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

“Kine? The Kine are gone, M’Lady, as are all the old species. Those that had been changed by the hand of man did not survive the cataclysm. Only the old races survived.”

Cataclysm. Old races. Like Elves. Marylin stared at those pointed ears. No. She would not, could not believe this was real. She needed to wake up. She needed to wake up now. Maybe now was the time to panic. Yeah. Panic was a real possibility.

“We have other meat,” the one who claimed to be her husband offered, his voice attempting to soothe her. “Do no’ fear. Ye will no’ go hungry here, my love.” Roanen lifted his chin, and Shammall immediately disappeared beneath the hide that covered the doorway.

Marylin turned her attention back to Roanen. Her panic subsided. It was so hard to stay detached when a man looked at you like that. Would it hurt if she touched him? He wasn’t real, after all. None of this was real. “That’s hard on your knees. Sit beside me here and tell me everything.”

He sat carefully, not quite touching her, hesitant, as if afraid she might break. “Ayailla, I—we—I am sorry, my love. We—we lost the baby. It could no’ be helped. For a time I thought we had lost thee as well. Nafйsti, their High Priestess, is very powerful. We were lucky to escape with our lives, any of us. I—the Mage brought ye back for me. I—I should not have asked it of him, I know, nor of ye, but I had no desire to live without ye by my side. I know ‘tis forbidden, once the spirit has left the body, but there was no time sooner, no’ in the midst of battle, and I thought ye could no’ be too far away just yet. ‘Twas wrong of me, I know, and selfish, but I need ye here with me.”

Baby?

Tears formed along the lines of her lashes, threatening to spill over. Her dreams had turned dark and cruel. She blinked them away, trying to maintain some coherent thought. No dream went like this. But if it wasn’t a dream, if this Warrior was real, he must be insane. Or was she the crazy one for even thinking this might be real?

The only thing that made any sense was the one thing she couldn’t tell him. She was Marylin. She needed to be Marylin. But she couldn’t be. Not now. He needed her to be Ayailla. Roanen was at the edge of his sanity, of that she was sure. She didn’t have to be a member of the Psych Department to figure that out. A wrong word from her would destroy him. Her heart would have to have been made of stone not to be moved by the man’s grief. They would deal with who she was and what had happened to Ayailla and the baby some other time. For now, there was healing to be done, and that, at least, was something Marylin understood. She opened her arms to the huge bear of a man, offering what comfort she could.

The tears she’d sensed in him broke free to trail unobstructed down his cheeks as he collapsed against her, sobs shaking his frame. She wound her arms around him as best she could, though the battle accoutrements were a bit in the way. She wanted to tell him everything would be all right, there would be other babies, but that was a lie she could not manage. She was not Ayailla. If this wasn’t a dream, if Mage’s and Summoning and Elves really existed, then whatever the Mage had done had gone horribly wrong. She was not supposed to be here, wherever here was, she was not Ayailla, and she was much too old for babies. The thought of the babies she’d never borne lent her a grief of her own. Their tears mingled until she could not tell them apart.

Was it wrong to let Roanen think, even for these few minutes, that his wife had come back to him? Was she hurting him even more by not telling him who she was and that there was, perhaps, a good reason why what he had done was forbidden?

Right now she wanted to be Ayailla. She wanted this to be real. More than anything, she wanted to be the woman this man loved enough to have mourned her so desperately that he was willing to follow her past the limits of time and even death itself.

Shewas going crazy. This was a dream, a nightmare brought on by overindulgence in Amaretto. She was going to wake up with one mother of a hangover, alone once again. Damn it. Even the man in her dreams was in love with someone she wasn’t, someone she could never be. She had to wake up, before she let herself become the woman Roanen needed. Before she lost her heart to a fantasy man who didn’t exist, and if he did exist, would not, could not see her for who she was.

Damn it, if he’d only loved her like that, she would have embraced the fantasy with all her heart. What was it Gray had said?We’re too good for this reality! We would have to go to an alternate universe, back in time, another planet or something, to find people who are good enough for us…

This wasn’t fair! Gray was right. She deserved a man who would love her the way Roanen had loved Ayailla. She was ready. Whatever alternative reality this was, she was ready to lose herself in this dream. What was there to a name? She couldbe Ayailla. Could play the part well enough to comfort him now when he needed her the most.

Would it matter so much that he had loved another before? He might notice the differences, and if he asked, she might try to explain that she had once been someone else, in another time, another place. Surely a man who loved like this would forgive her such a simple deception. He had summoned her, after all. Would it be so wrong to let him think she was who he wanted her to be? Was it so wrong to take what she needed from a man who seemed more than willing to give?

But she’d seen his face when he told her about the child they’d lost. He wanted babies. She couldn’t give him that. She wasn’t Ayailla, and it would do her no good to pretend she was. Just about the time she gave herself up to this fantasy, everyone would realize the truth, and she’d be alone again, heartbroken once more, trapped in a reality even worse than her own.

No. She couldn’t do that to herself or this fantasy man. Whether he was real or just a figment of too much Amaretto, he deserved better. She deserved better. She wanted what he had to offer, but not like this. Not with a man who only loved her because he thought she was someone else.

She had to tell him.

Just not right this minute.

The curtain-door opened as the Mage Shammall reentered the room. He would be able to see Roanen had been crying. Marylin wished she had a damp cloth to wipe the big man’s face. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than a scrap of toweling appeared on her fingertips. Fuck. Not cold water! That was for headaches, damn it. Warm! Soothing, not a frickin’ iceberg. As if in apology, the cloth quickly adjusted to body temperature.

Whoa.The Mage wasn’t even close. He couldn’t have done that.

Marylin’s hand shook as she raised it to wipe Roanen’s cheeks. “Can’t have you looking uncared for, can we? You look like you’re still wearing half the battlefield.”

Roanen smiled, turning his cheek against the fingers that held the cloth, nuzzling her hand for a moment before he turned to the Mage. “Have ye heard anything?”

“Nothing, M’Lord. The enemy seems to have melted into the ground. I fear they are but regrouping, readying a counterattack. As soon as I am able I will do reconnaissance.”

“No, Shammall. I can no’ ask that of ye. I know what this has cost thee. Ye must rest. Tomorrow will have to be soon enough.”