"Karen Koehler - Slayer 02 - Dragon Blood" - читать интересную книгу автора (Koehler Karen)

In a truly admirable choreography of battle, Nunchaku caught him in mid-air, numbing his knee in
passing with his weapon so he missed the fire escape completely and landed with a grunt on hands and
knees at the back of the alley, his sword spinning off into the dark. Another shot of shuriken. Alek took
the brunt of it before rolling out of the way. The rest sank like steel darts into the brownstone wall. His
face burned and his blood pounded. He tried to rise but his numbed leg wouldnтАЩt give him the leverage he
needed.

тАЬHeтАЩs down!тАЭ said the leader. He went to replace Ponytail where the boy had been holding the girl
against the bricks. тАЬTake his head!тАЭ

Nunchaku and Ponytail were on him in moments. Nunchaku wound his chain around AlekтАЩs neck while
Ponytail drew a black shirasaya embossed with golden butterflies. The rod clicked apart to reveal a well
cared for antique blade that looked sharp enough to split a hair--or a slayer. Alek didnтАЩt wait to discover
if that was true, so he put out his hand and felt the katana skreek across the broken concrete and into his
palm. He gripped it securely and jammed the handle into NunchakuтАЩs mouth. Nunchaku grunted bloodily
and the chain of the nunchaku lost its tension a moment before PonytailтАЩs blade would have found a home
in his throat. Alek flattened himself against the concrete and felt the swish of the blade overhead, then
dived at PonytailтАЩs middle, knocking him into the wall.

Beloved--behind you!

Kock!NunchakuтАЩs weapon landed hard on AlekтАЩs forearm, numbing his arm up and down.

Nunchaku grinned his blood-slimed, broken-mouthed grin.

That was enough from this one. Alek turned with a feral snarl, sending Nunchaku back a step with a
single look. The boyтАЩs indecision was all he needed. Reaching out, he grabbed the weapon by the chain
and forcefully yanked both boy and weapon into the wall behind him to join his companion in a pile.

Now all that was left was the leader. Alek climbed to his feet. He suddenly felt tired and very cranky.
Slayers, punks...all he wanted were a warm bed, a mug of cappuccino with cream and an old book. This
was not his definition of a good Friday night. He touched his face, felt the blood there from the shurikens
that had found their mark.

He licked his fingers before he was even aware of what he was doing. And the taste of the blood--dark
and bittersweet and hot as cinnamon on his tongue--made the thing within him, that thing that he feared
more than any slayer, uncurl and stretch and put its claws into his belly. Pain. A low groan--more of an
animal whine than anything human--caught in his throat like a knife. He dropped down on the cement
with nearly spasmodic speed, fingers snagged in the bloody cracks, seeking. He licked at the blood on
the floor of the alley, sponging it up like a cat. And something in his eyes must have gotten to the leader,
because all at one the hood released his hold on the girl and turned to face Alek with his guard
completely up.

The leader had no weapons. He was a street fighter, then. An animal.

An animalтАж
 Like me, Alek thought when he realized just what he was doing, how degrading and whorish it all was.
He sat back on his heels. Jesus. What the fuck was wrong with him? Where the hell was his training? His
discipline? He thought about what he must look like, crouched here amidst the blood, his posture like that
of wolves and other large predators, guarding...what? The girl? The fucking blood that had spilt during