"Laurell K. Hamilton - Anita Blake 10 - Narcissus Chains" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Laurell K)

finally tell me to go to hell, that he'd had enough of my indecision. It had
never occurred to me that Jean-Claude might not wait. If I was so unsure how I
felt about him, why was my stomach squeezed tight with a growing sense of
loss? The feeling had nothing to do with the wereleopards and their problems.
It had everything to do with me and the fact that I suddenly felt lost. But it
turned out he was at Danse Macabre, and he took my call. I had a moment for my
stomach to unclench and my breath to ease out, then he was on the phone, and I
was struggling to keep my metaphysical shields in place.
I hated metaphysics. Preternatural biology is still biology, metaphysics is
magic, and I'm still not comfortable with it. For six months when I wasn't
working, I was meditating, studying with a very wise psychic named Marianne,
learning ritual magic, so I could control my God-given abilities. And so I
could block the marks that bound me to Richard and Jean-Claude. An aura is
like your personal protection, your personal energy. When it's healthy it
keeps you safe like skin, but you get a hole in it, and infection can get
inside. My aura had two holes in it, one for each of the men. I suspected that
their auras had holes in them, too. Which put us all at risk. I'd blocked up
my holes. Then only a few weeks ago, I'd come up against a nasty creature, a
would-be god, a new category, even for me. It had been powerful enough to
strip all my careful work away, leaving me raw and open again. Only the
intervention of a local witch had saved me from being eaten from the aura
down. I didn't have six more months of celibacy, meditation, and patience in
me. The holes were there, and the only way to fill them was with Jean-Claude
and Richard. That's what Marianne said, and I trusted her in a way that I
trusted few others.
Jean-Claude's voice hit me over the phone like a velvet slap. My breath
caught in my throat, and I could do nothing but feel the flow of his voice,
the presence of him, like something alive, flowing over my skin. His voice has
always been one of Jean-Claude's best things, but this was ridiculous. This
was over the phone. How could I possibly see him in person and maintain my
shields, let alone my composure?
"I know you are there, ma petite. Did you call merely to hear the sound of
my voice?"
That was closer to the truth than was comfortable. "No, no." I still
couldn't gather my thoughts. I was like an athlete who had let her training
go. I just couldn't lift the same amount of weight, and there was weight to
wading through Jean-Claude's power.
When I still didn't say anything, he spoke again. "Ma petite, to what do I
owe this honor? Why have you deigned to call me?" His voice was bland, but
there was a hint of something in it. Reproach perhaps.
I guess I had it coming. I rallied the troops and tried to sound like an
intelligent human being, not always one of my best things. "It's been six
months ... "
"I am aware of that, ma petite."
He was being condescending. I hated that. It made me a little angry. The
anger helped clear my head a little. "If you'll stop interrupting, I'll tell
you why I called."
"My heart is all aflutter with anticipation."
I wanted to hang up. He was being an asshole, and part of me thought I
might deserve the treatment, which made me even angrier. I'm always angriest