"Janrae Frank - Dark Brothers of the Light 01 - Blood Rites" - читать интересную книгу автора (Frank Janrae)

disembodied cock and no matter how terrified he became his erection
would not fail. He was no longer a mon, but a toy, a plaything,
something she would destroy when she tired of it. It was that way with
all of her blood-slaves.
His loins came to attention even as fear shivered through the rest of
him and his stomach soured. Anksha had him perfectly conditioned to
her will. A table and chairs stood to one side, boasting a bottle of fine
wine and three glasses. The broad bed, with its slightly rumpled red
and green covers, lay under the window as if daring someone to see
what the occupants were doing from the street.
Anksha smiled approvingly as Mephistis disrobed without being
asked and stretched out in the middle of the bed to await her pleasure.
She poured herself a glass of wine, tasted it, and, deciding the vintage
was acceptable, drank it down. Then she rummaged through his
dresser and found a silk sash to stuff in his mouth. No need to terrify
the others with his screams since she planned to take them all in a few
days.
The Beast climbed onto the bed and straddled him, shifting him
around inside her until she hit the nub of pleasure just right. She had
heard the Sharani built toys that worked as well and did not get tired.
She would ask Hoon to buy her one. She had also heard that some
Sharani had a power over the male body with which they could force
the toy to stay up until they had ridden it to their satisfaction. Anksha
wished there were some way to steal that power, it would make life
much more pleasant.
He started to weep as soon as he came. Anksha shoved a corner of
the sash into his mouth. "Oh troublesome prince, if I had not caught
you killing a mon in my name, wishing she were me, I would not be
nearly as rough with you now."
She flexed her claws and let her large, tearing fangs slide from their
sheathes.
****
Isranon and his friends, the lycans Nevin and Olin, walked through
the quiet streets of Charas, returning late from seeing a comedy
performed. He loved the comedies and had begun learning how to
laugh freely at last. Nineteen years old, the young sa'necari had spent
most of the first fourteen years of his life running and hiding from his
own kind, and the past five struggling to survive among them as the
prince's mon.
They had started out laughing and exchanging pleasantries, but the
nearer they came to the mansion, the quieter Isranon became.
"What are you thinking about?" Nevin asked, the light of the street
lamps casting an orange glow along an ugly scar traversing Nevin's
face from his forehead, across a broken nose to his upper lip that was
half-split from a wound that had failed to heal properly. A second
long scar crossed his right cheek from the outer corner of his eye to
the edge of his jaw. Only runed-silver and kenda'ryl could do that to a
lycan. It gave his words a sibilant quality.
"That I hope Mephistis' rites are over. The vibrations always leak
out. The cellars aren't shielded enough." The terror, suffering, and