"Elrod, P N - I, Strahd 2 - War Against Azalin e-txt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elrod P N)

correctly understood through his dialect, his intent was to add me to their
night's provender. Dog meat, it would seem, was a favorite delicacy to them, and
he got the leader's wholehearted approval for his quest.
Now that was something decidedly different: me ending up as someone's supper.
What a pity to disappoint them.
He whistled in a friendly way, and I encouraged him with yips, small barks, and
whines, luring him from his friends until the croft was concealed from sight by
a small rise in the land. In this way I hoped any sound would not be carried
back to them.
Not that I intended to make much of it.
He grew impatient with my canine game and his friendly calls were acquiring an
edge in their tone. I was impatient, as well, for he was not the only one who
hungered, but I had to be cautious. The arrow was, after all, a wooden
shaftЧsuitable substitute for a stake. As much as I desired death at times, my
preference was to meet it on my own terms and not at the hands of some
dishonorable thief.
When he started down the rise I caused myself to change once more, this time
taking the form of a low-lying ground mist. A common enough thing, but the
weather conditions were wrong for it. I was counting on him being too occupied
with finding the dog to notice right away.
It worked. The fool walked right though my amorphous form. As soon as he had
passed, I rose up from the ground, assuming my natural shape again.
I was on him before he could turn, seizing him from behind, lifting his feet
clear of the earth. One arm snaked around his chest; my other hand clamped his
jaw shut like a vice and pulled his head to one side, exposing his neck. The
nectar within was gloriously sweet and warm as I discovered when my teeth tore
through his skin, opening the vein beneath. His struggles did not last very
long, for I was famished.
It was the best feeding I'd enjoyed in many a month, and I felt much refreshed.
There is nothing quite like the hot, red power of living blood for me. The
closest comparison might be during my days of command in battle, when the fever
of the fight was upon me. How my own blood would sing in response to the sheer
joy of killing, but that was as nothing to what seized me now when I let myself
lose control and truly feed.
Ecstasy for me, and death for him.
I had to take care not to indulge my appetite too often. If I allowed myself, I
would sup this way every night, and the temptation to do so was ever there, but
it was by necessity a pleasure in which I only rarely partook. Giving in to that
temptation too regularly would be disastrous; Barovia's population was not all
that large. I would feed well for a few years, but not for hundreds. Better to
always endure a measure of self-restraint than live to regret its lack.
Sated for the moment, my next move now would be to find a way of taking as many
of his friends alive as possible. Not from any motives of mercyЧmake no mistake,
they were all dead from the moment they invaded my land with their thieving
ways. I despise thieves. I wanted them alive to serve me later. With so many of
them they might last for years in my dungeons, sparing me for a time from
constantly having to leave the castle to hunt afar for food.
I drew my victim's sword from its highly decorated scabbard and checked the
sharpness of the edge. Like a razor. Well and good. It spared me from putting
too much effort into it when I brought the blade down fast and severed his head.