"Janrae Frank - Journey of Sacred King 1 - My Sister's Keeper" - читать интересную книгу автора (Frank Janrae)

She paused in her rant as if startled, then relaxed against him. "Yes, I am. And no
one is ever going to hurt me again."

Mephistis turned her in his arms, kissing her forehead and working his way down to
the cleft between her breasts, murmuring between kisses, "Soon there will not be
anyone left who can hurt you. Just as I promised."

A strangled sob forced its way past a sudden catch in Margren's throat, "You're the
only one who's ever kept their promises to me... the only one."

"There will be others тАУ others who recognize your worth." Mephistis gently pressed
Margren backward onto the bed. "Together... we will bring this land to heel... punish
those who have caused you so much pain... so much sorrow and loneliness."

As his body began to move in rhythm atop hers, Margren released herself to
pleasure and ceased to think about her sister for the first time in days.

****

On a rocky beach, curled into a fetal ball around a bottle of whiskey, a drunk woke
screaming in a desolation of the soul more deep than death. He had found himself
this small corner, little more than a wedge of large stones last night when he realized
the drink was close to overcoming him, rather than trying to make it home. Josh
often did that. Eventually someone would come looking for him. They always did
since Aejys took him in. The Vorgeni called him Josh the Sot, or more often simply
The Sot and left it at that. No one else invoked as much contempt in the town as
Josh.

Sand crusted his grey-brown hair and untidy beard. The bridge of his nose,
crooked from a childhood break, was squarish and his chin was blunt like pushed-in
clay. He reeked of whiskey and vomit, yet he pulled the cork and got another drag
down, causing his stomach to heave again. Josh slapped at the cobwebs of images
still lodged in his half sleeping mind. Demons on thin legs pranced through his
thoughts and tore him with knives that left no blood in their wake. He twisted and
howled again.

A voice echoed in his mind, "Once there were three brothers, Brandrahoon, Isranon
called Dawnhand, and Waejonan the Accursed."

Josh screamed and howled, clutching his bottle, gulping at it. He raised his eyes and
stared out at the waters, thinking how easy it would be to simply walk out far enough
into the tide to let the undertow catch him, to let the terror end, to let it all be over.
He straightened and started toward the water, feeling the fear draining out of him as
he listened to the waves. Josh kept swigging from the bottle as he walked into the
water. Suddenly, seemingly from out of nowhere, a group of children rushed around
him and he hesitated.

"Grandfather is looking for you," shouted a little girl, her black hair in two braids
and sand coating her buckskins.