"Simon R. Green - Deathstalker - 1 - Deathstalker" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Simon R)

They'd always been surprisingly distant and distinct, considering how alike they
looked. They were both tall and rangy, with dark hair and darker eyes, moving
always with the quiet grace of breeding and long martial training. These days, in
his mid-twenties, Owen had lost some of the athlete's leanness; good living and
satisfied appetites had softened the lines of his muscles and padded his stomach.
Not excessively so, by any means, but his old weapons master would have thrown
up his hands in despair at how out of condition his pupil had become. It was a
thought that never failed to please Owen. The two of them had never got on. He

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still worked out most day's, when he could spare the time, if only so he could keep
up with his mistress.

The bedroom door swung open, and Owen's mood changed in a moment as his
mistress came bouncing in, bright and bonny and tanned golden from perfect head
to pointed toe. Cathy DeVries was in her early thirties, with a tight compact body
of wondrous delights. Average height, but far from average in every other way.
Long legs, full body, long blond hair falling around a heart-shaped face with
marvelous high cheekbones. Cathy was inordinately proud of her bone structure.
Prettiness fades, she was fond of saying, but a good bone structure lasts forever.
She had the widest smile Owen had ever seen and dark blue eyes to die for. She'd
been his mistress for seven years now, ever since she'd been presented to him as a
surprise party favor at the Winter Ball on Golgotha. She'd been physically adapted
at the House of Joy: a double-jointed contortionist, trained in all the erotic
knowledge of the ages, and full of surprises. Multiple orgasms guaranteed or your
money back.

Buying up her contract was the best investment he'd ever made.

Cathy was wearing his battered old dressing gown again, belted at the waist for a
change. Usually she just let it hang open, partly for freedom of movement and
partly because she knew how much he liked to look at her. This time the gown
was belted tight, and the thought disturbed him for some reason. It wasn't as
though she had anything to hide after seven years of enthusiastic exploration. She
was probably just teasing him again. She knew how to get him going. He noted
with approval that she was carrying a tall frosted glass of white wine. She always
could judge his mood to a nicety. On the other hand, the sight of her was more
refreshing than any drink could ever be. He took the drink from her and put it
firmly to one side on the bedside table. First things first. He reached for Cathy,
and she stepped back, just out of reach. He frowned, puzzled, and she looked at
him dispassionately.

"Bad move, Owen. You really should have drunk the wine. You would have just
drifted off to sleep and never woken up. So much simpler and more pleasant for
both of us. Now we have to do it the hard way."

She reached inside the dressing gown and brought out a disrupter. Owen blinked