"Freda Warrington - A Taste of Blood Wine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Warrington Freda)

away. A mass of brown turrets, dark-tiled roofs, arched windows
and balconies edged with ivy, it seemed a natural outgrowth of the
sheer wooded gorge on the edge of which it stood, framed against
the sky and the steep folds of vineyards.
Below, the river Rhine was a cloud-grey mirror.
Always alive, this river. Kristian leaned on the wooden rail and
looked down at the broken reflection of the gorge, soft browns and
greens, the subtle hues and details that human eyes could not
perceive. It endured forever. Its moods changed continually, but in
the end it was always the same, always there.
"Like me," he said to himself. "Like us."
When Kristian spoke of "us" and "we," he meant himself and God.
Inside the castle lay the web of bare corridors, cells and chapels
through which his vampire flock moved softly as monks. They
numbered only a few dozen; there had been more in the past, but
Kristian had had to destroy so many who were not perfect. The ones
who remained were obedient. They went away to feed but they
always came back to their master, carrying with them the dark aura

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A Taste


of what they were; an aura that over the centuries had seeped into
the very stone of the walls. Delicious, blood-dark power.
Ilona was in the castle. Kristian had sensed her presence the
moment she had arrived. She was like quicksilver, the elusive way
she came and went. Humans he could always sense, of course; they
were like furnaces, scattering their auras wastefully around them.
But vampires were cool as diamonds; some, like Ilona, so
transparent as to be almost invisible. Nevertheless, she could not
hide from him.
Kristian did not go down to meet her. He was waiting for her to
come to him, and as he waited he brooded on Karl.
It was five years since he had confronted Karl in the infernal
landscape of the War. It had been a painful decision to let Karl
follow his own misguided path for a while longer, but it was for the
best. Let him learn by his own mistakes.
"My children all come back to me in the end," Kristian said softly.
Five years… so little time against the great fiery arc of eternity
across which he sailed like an ever-rising sun. "My patience is
boundless." Kristian looked up at the clouds. "Our patience, Lord,
endures forever."
Yet the thought of Karl was a stitch in his heart, and each pull filled
him with rage. And when the rage rolled away, the emptiness and
silence of Karl's absence were still there.
Kristian gripped the rail, feeling the wood fibres fraying under his
fingers. "You presume too much on my mercy, Karl," he whispered
to the air. "If I am forced to harm my angel Ilona, it's your fault.