"Simon Hawke - Wizard 4 - The Wizard of Rue Morgue" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hawke Simon)

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feeling the power in his muscular arms and chest. He ran his hands over the rock hard
abdominal muscles beneath his sweater. He had been magically given back his youth.
"I must be dreaming! How is this possible?" he said with awe.
"For us, anything is possible," the black-robed sorcerer said.
"No, it cannot be," said Jacques. "Not even sorcery can do this!"
"Oh, but it can, Jacques," said the woman, coming close to him and lightly
touching his cheek. "Can you deny the evidence of your senses?"
She gently stroked his cheek and ran her hand around behind his neck, pulling his
face close to her. She kissed him lightly on the lips. He felt her tongue slip into his
mouth and suddenly he was kissing her hungrily, feeling the supple body underneath
her robe as she pressed against him. He hadn't touched a woman in years. He felt a
desperate longing building up within him, but she broke away from him, laughing. He
looked up at her two companions and blushed with embarrassment.
"There will be time enough for that," she said, touching his cheek again. "That
was but a hint of the pleasures you will be able to enjoy again. Merely a taste to whet
your appetite. But you will have appetites for other things, as well."
Pascal was dazed and overwhelmed by what had happened to him. He couldn't
think straight. Conflicting emotions raged within him, fear, confusion, joy and an
overpowering desire for the incredible creature that stood before him.
"I. . . I don't understand," he said.
"You will," she said with a cunning smile. "You have lived for years in darkness
and it has sheltered you. Now you will truly learn its power."
She put her lips to his once more and he clutched her to him, eagerly opening his
mouth to receive her tongue. Instead, she exhaled into him. Her hot, burning breath
hissed down his throat like a jet of steam, spreading through his entire body. He tried to
break away, but she held him tightly, breathing her fire into him. She let him go
suddenly and he staggered back, clutching at his chest and staring at her wildly.
And then the change began.




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 Chapter
ONE

Max Siegal hurled his paintbrush across the dingy, unkempt garret that was his
studio on the Left Bank, near the old church of St.-Germain-des-Pres.
"God damn it, you moved again!" he shouted at his model, in French that was
only slightly tinged with an American accent.
Joelle sighed and pouted at him, making a sad little girl face. "But Max, I'm
tired!" she said plaintively. "I've been holding this pose for hours! Can't we rest now?
I'm cold! Look at me! I have goose pimples all over!" She smiled and tossed her long,
ash blond hair. "Why don't you bring some of that cognac over here to warm me up?"
She was completely nude and reclining on a sofa covered in black velvet. It was
not, by any means, an uncomfortable position and the pose that Max had carefully
arranged her in, while deliberately intended to be erotic, was not very difficult to hold.
It was simply that Joelle was young and not very patient. The thrill of being asked to
pose for the celebrated artist had worn a bit thin and Joelle was fidgeting impatiently.