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The warning set his blood afire, forced his feet to move after her. She would order him, a being crafted from the mind of God, as if he should fear her? He would crush her to pulp under his hands. When he sprinted through the light, into the shadows, she was gone. Ten Ayla waited in her hiding place for as long as she dared. Her wound made her head spin, made everything too bright and sharp. But she could not chance him returning to find her, injured and alone. He wanted to kill her. He had a right to wish her dead, she reasoned. If someone had stolen the Fae from her blood what little there was of it she would hate them until her last breath. But he would not be able to kill her, not in the state he was in. No mortal could kill her, a trained Assassin of the Court of Mabb. Hardly a creature existed that could match an Assassin s blade. This Darkling would try, and he Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html would fail. Let him. Let him try, slay him, and hold the geis.It seemed a sensible enough solution. She d already broken her vow twice. Twice, in as many nights. After five years of utter faithfulness, of nary a temptation. For this creature. And why? Because of pity? The word sent a crawl of disgust up her back. Pity. There was no reason to pity these creatures, these evil, twisted things that lived little better than insects in their filthy holes. When this one died, there would be one less. That was all. Why, then, did the thought tear a hole in her? Perhaps she was losing her nerve. Perhaps becoming Garret s mate would give her a reason to leave the Guild without answering the questions that were sure to shame her. No. There is one solution to this, and you have let it escape!She lurched from the niche in the broken tunnel wall and pulled her sword. He couldn t have gone far. His great wings held him back, and his mortal body would tire under the strain of dragging them. It would be nothing but a simple run to catch him, but a moment s work to slay him. A dagger of pain ripped through her wounded arm. She closed her eyes and used the inward sight to examine it. In her chest the trunk of her life tree glowed vibrant green, but its branches that reached toward her slashed flesh were an autumnal orange, fading to red where sparks of her life force touched the torn edges of the wound and exploded like harmless bubbles. She would not be able to heal this herself. It would not be breaking the geis to go to the healer before killing the Angel. And it would not endanger her so greatly, either. She strapped the sword to her back and turned, giving only one last look to the way the Darkling had fled. There was a healer on the Strip who came recommended from the Healer s Guild in the Lightworld. At least, as high a recommendation as could be afforded to a Human, and one would ply their trade to any creature, Lightworlder or Darkling alike. It was not difficult to escape the Darkworld, if you knew the way, and Ayla knew that way. All of the Assassins did. The Lightworld kept their borders closed and guarded to all but a few. Even the Trolls, those disgusting rock biters in the poorest slums of the Lightworld, respected this convention. Or perhaps they didn t have the brains to protest it. The Strip was full of drugs and liquor and stimulants, the sort of prurient currency that their sloven kind dealt in, so it seemed unlikely they would comply quietly with being kept from it, unless they didn t know better. The Darkworld, however, seemed wholly unconcerned with the scum roiling over its borders. They allowed Humans, by the hair of Bronwyn! It was a handy thing, for an Assassin who wished to hunt their prey in the lawless confines of the Darkworld, but it made survival there harsh for its denizens. The Strip, though, held another kind of dangerous lawlessness altogether. Ayla scanned the crowd, keeping her maimed arm close to her body. She pulled her thin vest off and wrapped it tight around her arm. It wouldn t stop the bleeding, but it would perhaps deter the interest of any Vampires she might pass. It wouldn t deter the interest of the other monsters who leered at her. She used her uninjured arm to shield her nakedness as she made her way through the teeming crowd. Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html The jostling street traffic seemed endless and impossible. Though the sword was heavy at her back, she pushed off her feet and rose into the air. It, too, was filled with a parade of creatures hurrying up and down the busy Strip, but it wasn t as choked as the traffic on the ground. In the distance, the comforting glow of a Lightworld healer s symbol pulsed neon. It wasn t right that someone not of the Lightworld should use it, but perhaps it was fortunate. Ayla s thoughts were increasingly muddy; she might not have recognized it any other way. Blood slithered from beneath the wet leather wrapping the wound, and the tree of her life force grew dimmer at the trunk as the gentle orange crept closer. Her vision flared and darkened with her heartbeat by the time she landed on the rickety scaffolding outside the healer s door. She did not knock, but pushed her way inside, startling a small group of robotic Humans who sat at the feet of an elderly Human on a raised dais. I need a healer, she rasped in the Human tongue, the words like jagged rocks to her mouth. Then the dark veil fell over her eyes. She was asleep before she felt the bite of the floor. She d left a trail. Bloody footprints that grew fainter, then renewed after a puddle interrupted the dry, dusty ground. When those footprints died, Malachi did not change his course. He knew he would find her. The certainty burned in him, driving him deeper into the tunnels. It occurred to him that he was lost and would probably never find his way back to the Human s workshop, or to the Strip. It didn t matter. The desire to kill pushed any potential panic from his mind, pulled a veil of well-being over his eyes as he stalked farther down the twisting tunnel. Ahead, an echoing, sibilant whisper warned that he approached water. Fear gripped him in the darkness. If he did not see some ledge, if the tunnel floor suddenly dipped and spilled him in& He re membered the bite of dirty water in his lungs and the impossible weight of his soaked wings as they [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |
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