"Sizemore, Susan - Laws of the Blood 3 - Companions" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sizemore Susan)

"You... tasted him?"

The strigoi female who'd spoken looked shocked, sickened. All the strigoi stared at Rosho. The dhamphir almost laughed at how confounded the monsters were to hear of a breach of their unholy rules.

Rosho did laugh. "His mistress was weak." He laughed again. "I was her guest. It was hospitable to share." He gestured to the companions, and the privileged slaves backed quickly out of hearing distance. Rosho then caressed the dhamphir's face, making the injuries ache even more. His jaw was broken; so were many other bones. He hurt like hell, but he would mend soon if left alone. All his injuries would. That was one of the gifts passed to him from his father. His strigoi father.

"He killed his own father," Rosho said, aware of the dhamphir's thoughts. "And the mistress his father bound him to for his own good."

"Never mind his sins against his nest. He lives to destroy all our kind," the female said. "Kill him for that."

"That was the plan," one of the others said. "You were right, Rosho. We only had to puzzle him a little before his vaunted defenses slipped."

"He's dangerous all right, Pyotr," Rosho said, "but not very bright. An ignorant peasant boy." He turned to face the strigoi. "A peasant you've feared for years."

"A peasant, eh?" a new voice spoke from out of the darkness. A woman's voice, but deep and commanding. A jolt as powerful as lightning went through the gathered monsters. Fear blossomed just below the surface of their arrogant shells. Even disdainful Rosho shrank into himself, raising all the defenses in his mind, but still terror leaked from him. From all of them. And all this from the sound of a woman's voice. Despite the pain, the dhamphir looked curiously into the night, wanting to see this monster's monster, willing Rosho to get out of his line of sight.

"Move away, boy," she spoke to Rosho. "Let me have a look at this prey you've taken without permission."

"Olympias, we thought -!"

"Did I give you permission to think?" the one called Olympias cut the other female off. "Did I call a hunt?"

"But he's... the dhamphir!"

"I've heard of him," Olympias answered.

"His crimes - "

"Despite what you might have heard," Olympias said coldly, "the hunters still rule the night Stand aside, Rosho."

The strigoi moved, and he finally saw the woman they so feared. She was the tallest woman he'd ever seen, as tall as he was. She was thin, of course, but all lean gristle and muscle, with a sharply boned face and square, stubborn jaw. She was beautiful in the way a fine knife is beautiful. And her eyes -

He wished to God the moment their gazes met that he'd never looked into her eyes.

Her eyes were the night, with all the stars in it and all the flames of every fire that had ever burned.

He had never feared fire. He had never feared the strigoi. And he didn't fear her.

It was much worse than that.

The hell of it was, he knew it was the same with her. She stepped up to him, where he hung from the tree like trussed meat, and put her hands on him. She caressed him as Rosho had, but from her -

"You need to die, dhamphir," she said and smiled to show her beautiful, glittering fangs. "I need to kill you." Her mouth came down on his, and her voice came into his mind, But I won't.


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Chapter 2
CHICAGO, FIVE HUNDRED YEARS - GIVE OR TAKE A DECADE - LATER