[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
comforter; his windows opened just enough to let the refreshingly sharp autumn
breeze blow through across him. Except for the days when it stormed, autumn
was his favorite season. He dreamed of Sainy's exquisite death and woke hungry
for another lycan, musing that they must be addictive. Flicking back the burnt
orange comforter, Jondries sat up and let the sheets and coverlets slide from
his lean nudity.
Page 33
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
A book lay upon the nightstand beside his bed:
The
Twenty-Six Positions of Surrender by Statyranis. The book was considered to be
the ultimate manual for training nibari.
His nibari had known only the first five positions when he purchased them.
Jondries had taught them the next five, which completed the primary positions.
His eyes glanced across the gold lettering on the black bound book, and he
considered for a moment whether to start them on the mid-
level positions today. If he had time, he would work with
Diddler that afternoon.
Jondries slipped out of bed and stretched, an unexpected yawn on his lips. His
fangs descended from their sheaths and he ran his tongue across them. The back
of his throat itched.
Crossing the floor to his dressing table, Jondries regarded himself in the
mirror and sighed at his bony hips. His chest
If Truth Dies [Lycan Blood Vol III]
by Janrae Frank
73
seemed decent enough, but the hips would have suited a scarecrow.
No wonder the whores complain when I fuck them.
Bottles of assorted sizes and colors filled the dresser top.
Jondries hovered over them as he decided which scent to wear that day. His
hand went to a sapphire bottle with a tall stopper. He splashed the tangy
fragrance called Lake Mist liberally across his chest and neck, patting some
into his armpits.
Satisfied, Jondries took a silver bell from the dressing table and rang it
sharply twice.
The door opened and Jasmine entered.
"First position, Jasmine."
She slipped out of her robe and knelt between Jondries'
legs, her wrists crossed behind her back, her head tilted to the side until it
nearly touched her shoulder, exposing her long biteable neck.
Jondries' fangs came down. "Very good, pet."
She shuddered with a faint whimper as his fangs broke the skin on her neck,
and then steadied as he began to suck.
Jondries fondled her womanly bits, imagining himself as
Diddler, feeling her egg connect with his sperm. He pulled his fangs from her
neck and licked the wound closed so that it would not scar.
I'd give up everything if I could be fecund again. I wanted a son, and I got a
daughter. And now nothing at all after six years of trying.
He patted her head with a sigh.
Why this accursed infertility? I hate it.
If Truth Dies [Lycan Blood Vol III]
by Janrae Frank
74
The door burst open and a tall human in drawstring trousers and shirt of crude
wool rushed in. "Master Jondries!"
Jondries turned, glaring at the mon who had dared to interrupt at such a
moment. "What is it?"
"Amos Raggat's hostler has ridden out toward Langtree."
If it's not one thing, it's a dozen.
"Tell Andreas to take you and two others after the hostler. Find out where
he's going.
When you know that, kill him and the people he has gone to see."
* * * *
Half a day south of Hell's Widow, the flatlands of
Page 34
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Waejontor gave way to rocky hills thick with birches and rowan as it descended
into the glens of Clan MacLachlan, the smallest of the lycan clans. Their six
villages and dozens of isolated holdings on the west side of the Eirlys River
bordered
Clan Red Wolf. They were proud folk, stalwart and true; ruled by Laird Duncan
MacLachlan. The MacLachlans were kin to the MacFie, Duncan having married
Jordi's grandfather's sister.
An insular folk, Jordi MacFie was one of the few wolves from MacLachlan to
live beyond their enclave. He knew he was slow, but slow did not mean stupid,
and Jordi had left
MacLachlan to prove to himself and his overprotective family that he could do
well on his own.
He rode his old Bessy at a calculated pace, making good time down Oxmoor Road.
Bessy was a stocky, fifteen-year-old blue roan with heavy hindquarters, built
more for cutting a cow out of a herd than racing, although she did well in
short
If Truth Dies [Lycan Blood Vol III]
by Janrae Frank
75
bursts. Jordi sat easy in his sturdy lycan saddle with a horn and many straps
for carrying equipment. Since Jordi had never been good with a bow, nothing
rested beneath the bow flap. He carried the long lycan fighting knives
strapped to his thighs for an easy draw as his only weapon. He had never been
much of a fighter and his thoughts strayed to Siusan
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]