"Laurell K. Hamilton - Anita Blake 06 - Killing Dance" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Laurell K)

He raised his hand, one thin line of blood still trailing down. "This is no
accident."
"Come into the light, my friend," Dumare said. "You must let them see, or
they will not understand."
"I do not want to be seen."
"You are very close to using up all my good will," Jean-Claude said.
"Mine, too," I added. I was hoping I could either shoot Sabin or put the
gun down soon. Even a two-handed shooting stance is not meant to be maintained
indefinitely. Your hands start to waver just a bit.
Sabin glided towards the desk. The black cloak spilled around his feet like
a pool of darkness. All vampires were graceful, but this was ridiculous. I
realized he wasn't walking at all. He was levitating inside that dark cloak.
His power flowed over my skin like icy water. My hands were suddenly steady
once more. Nothing like having several hundred years worth of vampire coming
at you to sharpen your nerves.
Sabin stopped on the far side of the desk. He was expending power just to
move, just to be here, as if like a shark, if he stopped moving he'd die.
Jean-Claude glided around me. His power danced over my body, raising the
hair at the back of my neck, making my skin tight. He stopped almost within
reach of the other vampire. "What has happened to you, Sabin?"
Sabin stood on the edge of the light. The lamp should have cast some light
into the hood of his cloak, but it didn't. The inside of the hood was as
smooth and black and empty as a cave. His voice came out of that nothingness.
It made me jump.
"Love, Jean-Claude, love happened to me. My beloved grew a conscience. She
said it was wrong to feed upon people. We were once people, after all. For
love of her, I tried to drink cold blood. I tried animal blood. But it was not
enough to sustain me."
I stared into that darkness. I kept pointing the gun, but I was beginning
to feel silly. Sabin didn't seem at all afraid of it, which was unnerving.
Maybe he didn't care. That was also unnerving. "She talked you into going
vegetarian. Great," I said. "You seem powerful enough."
He laughed, and with the laughter, the shadows in his hood faded slowly,
like a curtain lifting. He threw it back in one quick flourish.
I didn't scream, but I gasped and took a step back. I couldn't help myself.
When I realized I'd done it, I stopped and made myself take back that step,
meet his eyes. No flinching.
His hair was thick and straight and golden, falling like a shining curtain
to his shoulders. But his skin . . . his skin had rotted away on half his
face. It was like late-stage leprosy, but worse. The flesh was puss-filled,
gangrenous, and should have stunk to high heaven. The other half of his face
was still beautiful. The kind of face that medieval painters had borrowed for
cherubim, a golden perfection. One crystalline blue eye rolled in its rotting
socket as if in danger of spilling out onto his cheek. The other eye was
secure and watched my face.
"You can put up the gun, ma petite. It was an accident, after all,"
Jean-Claude said.
I lowered the Browning, but didn't put it up. It took more effort than was
pretty to say calmly, "This happened because you stopped feeding off of
humans?"