[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
."Don't even try.You'll only hurt yourself more.I'll get you to adoctor—"His eyes widened, and he gurgled in a frantic attempt to convey something to her—it was a futileattempt, but the fear in him penetrated even past her shielding."Wrong idea, huh? Okay, okay, I understand.I won't take you anywhere." She chewed at herthumbnail in frustration as he relaxed, closed his eyes again, and lapsed back into unconsciousness.She was frustrated and frightened.Helplessness churned down in her stomach.She didn't knowwhat to do for him, and she didn't know what had done that to him.The sun of course—but how had hebeen caught out by day? Those burns—they were second-, maybe third-degree burns, not within the scopeof her rough first-aid training.And the other injuries were just as daunting; the slashes looked as thoughthey needed stitches, and she couldn't tell if the bruises were indicative of internal damage.Someone,something, had attacked and beaten him, mauled him, then left him out in the sun to die.Who? Mr.Trouble? But André had been strong enough to take the man down before.She had been strong enough todaunt him.If it was Mr.Trouble, and he had gotten backing—who could it have been? The Oriental she'dseen him with in the club?She sat back on her heels, chilled, and shivering with more than cold, twisting a strand of hair inboth hands.What do they do for burns in hospitals? Gods, think, Tregarde.Burns— the skin is sodamaged already you have to prevent more injury.You've got to cushion them.Aren't they using waterbeds now? What do I have that I could use? Maybe that air mattress.I've got to get him out of the kitchen,anyway.If nothing else, I can use the air mattress to move him.I sure's hell can't carry him.She dove into her bedroom and dug the thing out of the back of the closet and sat down on thefloor beside him with it spread out in a scarlet splash on the yellow linoleum.She blew into the valve toinflate it until she was dizzy.It always seemed to take forever to fill, but this time was worse than all theothers combined.It was plastic, not canvas.At least he isn't going to stick to it, she thought, surveying it and himdubiously.Provided he survives the next few moments.She steeled her nerves, and rolled him onto the mattress, her own flesh wincing at what she wasdoing to him.He whimpered a little, but did not wake again, even when she dragged the whole mess intothe living room.She was tired and sweating by the time she got him into the warmth and darkness of the livingroom.She sagged down next to him, and stared at his pain-ravaged face.Now what?"He was still unconscious, and it seemed to her that he was weakening.His breathing wasshallower; the whimpers and moans of pain he made were fainter, though his face was set in a grimacethat told her he wasn't lapsing into relaxation, but into further agony.Dammit!She pounded her fist against the wooden floor in frustration, striking again and again at theunyielding surface until she managed to scrape her knuckle."Crap!"She stuffed the injured finger into her mouth reflexively; sucked at it and tasted blood—And froze.Blood.What if they drained him of resources to where he can't heal himself?If I stop long enough to think about this— I'll panic.She got to her feet, and ran out into the enormous empty room beside her living room, headedstraight for the tiny altar on the eastern wall of the Living Room.Living alone as she did, she no longer had to hide her ritual implements as she had when she wasin college.Arranged carefully on the plain wooden table were a cup, a dish of salt, an incense burner, asmall oil lamp, and her athame.Made by her own hands—and used more than once in mundane andarcane self-defense, it was a black-hilted, perfectly balanced throwing knife.Good thing I always keep my athame sharp.The ritual knife was honed to a razor edge and shemaintained it in surgical cleanliness.It should be safe enough—no need to worry about blood poisoningthe way she would if she used the knife she'd left stuck in the wall.Think about blood poisoning, and not about what you're going to do—She shivered anyway as she fought back the early symptoms of another panic attack.I've got thissituation under control.I think.Mostly.She picked up the blade and returned to the living room.He was still there, and there was no doubt in her mind as to the gravity of his condition.He wasfading by the second.She knelt at the young man's side and made a careful nick in her wrist.Now, before I chicken out.She leaned over, her hair falling across her arm and his chest, and held the bleeding cut to his lips.There was no warning; one minute she was fine—The next, she was graying out; her eyes unfocused, and she was overwhelmed by a wave ofpleasurable weakness that washed over her and made her sag limply over him—Then the weakness became all pleasure.She closed her eyes and shuddered uncontrollably, caughtin overwhelmingly sexual bliss that was like nothing she had ever experienced before, and which had noroom in it for rational thought.It ended as suddenly as it had begun.One moment she was all animalistic pleasure, the next,herself.She opened her eyes, and blinked.André was conscious, holding her wrist in both hands, keeping pressure on the wound she hadmade there.It had stopped bleeding, and the edges were sealing together.He already looked better.His burns were red and painful to look at, but they weren't blistered,broken open, or seeping fluid.The wounds were closed; and his bruises were fading even as she watched.There was intelligence in his warm, brown eyes—and shame or guilt, or both.He released her wrist and looked away, past her shoulder, unable to meet her eyes."I beg yourpardon," he whispered softly."I never intended—that."She snatched her hand back, and her cheeks burned; she felt embarrassed and confused.Like I'dbeen caught writing a porn novel, she thought.I don't understand—She was acutely conscious that shewas wearing nothing more than the thin cotton T-shirt; she, who hadn't been body-conscious since beforecollege."What—happened?" she asked, getting the words out with some difficulty.She didn't want toknow—and yet she did
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Tematy
IndexLaRouche, Lyndon Children of Satan, Strauss Wolfowitz Rumsfeld Cheney (2004)
Children of God Mary Doria Russell
Children of Dune Frank Herbert(1)
young children learning
Yasmine Galenorn Siostry Księżyca 05 Night Huntress
Candice Proctor Night In Eden
[ebook] [PL] Lackey Mercedes Dixon Larry Trylogia wojen magow 1 Czarny Gryf
Lackey Mercedes Cykl Heroldowie z Valdemaru (17) Magiczne Burze (2) Burza
Andrea A. Contemporary sources for the fourth crusade
Rak nie jest chorobÄ… AndreasMoritz