Бесплатная библиотека, читать онлайн, скачать книги txt

БОЛЬШАЯ БЕСПЛАТНАЯ БИБЛИОТЕКА

МЕЧТА ЛЮБОГО КНИГОЛЮБА

Пятница, 30 сентября, 21:38

Авторизация    Регистрация
Дамы и господа! Электронные книги в библиотеке бесплатны. Вы можете их читать онлайн или же бесплатно скачать в любом из выбранных форматов: txt, jar и zip. Обратите внимание, что качественные электронные и бумажные книги можно приобрести в специализированных электронных библиотеках и книжных магазинах (Litres, Read.ru и т.д.).

ПОСЛЕДНИЕ ОТЗЫВЫ О КНИГАХ

Михаил (19.04.2017 - 06:11:11)
книге:  Петля и камень на зелёной траве

Потрясающая книга. Не понравится только нацистам.

Антихрист666 (18.04.2017 - 21:05:58)
книге:  Дом чудовищ (Подвал)

Классное чтиво!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ладно, теперь поспешили вы... (18.04.2017 - 20:50:34)
книге:  Физики шутят

"Не для сайта!" – это не имя. Я пытался завершить нашу затянувшуюся неудачную переписку, оставшуюся за окном сайта, а вы вын... >>

Роман (18.04.2017 - 18:12:26)
книге:  Если хочешь быть богатым и счастливым не ходи в школу?

Прочитал все его книги! Великий человек, кардинально изменил мою жизнь.

АНДРЕЙ (18.04.2017 - 16:42:55)
книге:  Технология власти

ПОЛЕЗНАЯ КНИГА. Жаль, что мало в России тех, кто прочитал...

Читать все отзывы о книгах

Обои для рабочего стола

СЛУЧАЙНОЕ ПРОИЗВЕДЕНИЕ

Ты не скажешь. А я не спрошу ни о чём.
В этот вечер мы так далеки,
Как луна, что танцует за тёмным окном,
Как звезда – от моей руки.

Наше счастье давно умирает в снегах.
Невозвратны весенние дни.
Ты меня не оставишь в своих стихах.
Только ложью прекрасны они.

Не узнает никто, что такое любовь...
Мы с тобой не нашли ответ.... >>

29.06.10 - 14:52
Нина

Читать онлайн произведения


Хотите чтобы ваше произведение или ваш любимый стишок появились здесь? добавьте его!

Поделись ссылкой

A Caress Of Twilight   ::   Гамильтон Лорел

Страница: 2 из 91
 
He shut the door behind him, as soundlessly as he'd opened it. I never understood how he did that. If I'd opened the door, it would have made noise. But when Doyle wanted to, he moved like the fall of night itself, soundless, weightless, undetectable until you realized the light was gone and you were alone in the dark with something you couldn't see. His nickname was the Queen's Darkness, or simply Darkness. The Queen would say, "Where is my Darkness? Bring me my Darkness," and this meant that soon someone would bleed, or die. But now, strangely, he was my Darkness.

Nicca was brown, but Doyle was black. Not the black of human skin, but the complete blackness of a midnight sky. He didn't vanish in the darkened room, because he was darker than the moonlit shadows, a dark shape gliding toward me. His black jeans and black T-shirt fit his body like a second skin. I'd never seen him wear anything that wasn't monochromatic except jewelry and blades. Even his shoulder holster and gun were black.

I pushed away from the window to stand as he moved toward me. He had to stop gliding at the foot of the king-size bed, because there was barely room to squeeze between the bed and the closet doors. It was impressive simply to watch Doyle slide along the wall without brushing the bed. He was over a foot taller than I was and probably outweighed me by a hundred pounds, most of it muscle. I'd have bumped into the bed a half-dozen times, at least. He eased through the narrow space as if anybody should have been able to do it.

The bed took up most of the bedroom, so when Doyle finally reached me, we were forced to stand nearly touching. He managed to keep a fraction of distance so that not even our clothing brushed. It was an artificial distance. It would have been more natural to touch, and the very fact that he worked so hard not to touch me made it the more awkward. It bothered me, but I'd stopped arguing with Doyle about his distance. When questioned, he only said, "I want to be special to you, not just one of the mob." At first it had seemed noble; now it was just irritating. The light was stronger here by the window, and I could see some of that delicate curve of his high cheekbones, the too-sharp chin, the curved points to his ears, and the silver gleam of earrings that traced the cartilage all the way to the small hoops in the very pointed tops. Only the pointed ears betrayed that he was a mixed-blood like myself, like Nicca. He could have hidden the ears with all that hair, but he almost never did. His raven black hair was as it usually was, in a tight braid that made his hair looked clipped and short from the front, but the braid's tip hung to his ankles.

He whispered, "I heard something." His voice was always low and dark like thick candied liqueur for the ear instead of the tongue.

I stared up at him. "Something, or me moving around?"

His lips gave that twitch that was the closest he usually came to a smile. "You."

I shook my head, hands crossed over my stomach. "I have two guards in bed with me and that's not protection enough?" I whispered back.

"They are good men, but they are not me."

I frowned at him. "Are you saying you don't trust anyone but you to keep me safe?" Our voices sounded quiet, peaceful almost, like the voices of parents whispering over sleeping children. It was comforting to know that Doyle was this alert. He was one of the greatest warriors of all the sidhe. It was good to have him on my side.

"Frost. . perhaps," he said.

I shook my head; my hair had grown out just enough to tickle the tops of my shoulders. "The Queen's Ravens are the finest warriors that faerie has to offer, and you say no one is your equal. You arrogant. ."

He didn't so much step closer — we were standing too close for that — he merely moved, pressing close enough that the hem of my robe brushed his legs. The moonlight glinted off the short necklace he always wore, a tiny jeweled spider hanging from the delicate silver chain. He bent his face down so that his breath pushed against my face. "I could kill you before either of them knew what had happened."

The threat sped my pulse faster. I knew he wouldn't harm me. I knew it, and yet. . and yet. I'd seen Doyle kill with his hands before, empty of weapons, only his strength of flesh and magic. Standing, touching in the intimate darkness, I knew beyond certainty that if he wished me dead, he could do it, and not I or the two sleeping guards behind me would be able to stop him.

I couldn't win a fight, but there were other things to do when pressed together in the dark, things that could distract or disarm as well or better than a blade. I turned minutely toward him so that my face was pressed into the curve of his neck; my lips moved against his skin as I spoke. I felt his pulse speed pressed against my cheek. "You don't want to hurt me, Doyle."

His lower lip brushed the curve of my ear, almost but not quite a kiss. "I could kill all three of you."

There was a sharp mechanical sound from behind us, the sound of a gun being cocked. It was loud enough in the stillness that I jumped.

"I don't think you could kill all three of us," Rhys said. His voice was clear, precise, no hint of sleep in it. He was simply awake, pointing a gun at Doyle's back, or at least I assumed that's what he was doing. I couldn't see around the bulk of Doyle's body; and Doyle, as far as I knew, didn't have eyes in the back of his head, so he had to guess what Rhys was doing, too.

"A double-action handgun doesn't need to be cocked to fire, Rhys," Doyle said, voice calm, even amused. But I couldn't see his face to see if his expression matched his tone; we'd both frozen in our almost embrace.

"I know," Rhys said, "a little melodramatic, but you know what they say: One scary sound is worth a thousand threats."

I spoke, my mouth still touching the warm skin of Doyle's neck. "They don't say that." Doyle hadn't moved, and I was afraid to, afraid to set something in motion that I couldn't stop. I didn't want any accidents tonight.

"They should," Rhys said.

The bed creaked behind us. "I have a gun pointed at your head, Doyle." It was Nicca's voice. But not calm, no, a definite thread of anxiety wove his words together. Rhys's voice had held no fear; Nicca's held enough for both of them. But I didn't have to see Nicca to know the gun was trained nice and steady, the finger already on the trigger. After all, Doyle had trained him.

I felt the tension leave Doyle's body, and he raised his face just enough so that he was no longer speaking into my skin.

123>>91


В тексте попалась красивая цитата? Добавьте её в коллекцию цитат!
Пятьдесят оттенков свободыЭ. Л. Джеймс149,90 руб.
Завещание рождественской уткиДарья Донцова89,90 руб.
Волк с Уолл-стритДжордан Белфорт119,90 руб.
Колесо войныВасилий Сахаров69,90 руб.


copyright © Бесплатная библиотека,    контакты: [email protected]