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

He thought about going back to her and shoving some money into her hand but he was distracted by an
all-too-familiar feeling insinuating itself between his shoulders and down his back, a feeling like someone
was vibrating a wire down his spine. тАЬFuck,тАЭ he whispered and let out his breath in a long, useless sigh.
The girl, assuming the oath was directed toward her, looked his way. Yet nothing could be further from
the truth.

Alek turned to study the museum. All day he had been brushing the edges of this infuriating feeling. And
now he saw the source of it: there in the parking lot stood a tall figure draped in black. It was leaning
against a Jaguar, watching him. A smile ticked one corner of the manтАЩs mouth when AlekтАЩs eyes alighted
on him. With his face otherwise completely impassive, he turned and shreeked his fingernails across the
hood of the Jag as he started walking around the lot towards Central Park West, where the fir trees were
the thickest and where many of the swamp maples had not yet lost their foliage. There in that dark place,
uninhabited except by rats, drunks and the children of the night, was where he wanted it.

So much for my quite night out, Alek thought and turned back to the cab.

It was already gone.

So much the better, he supposed, since there was business to attend to.

4


He followed the slayer into the thicket of the park. Here the trees would muffle the sounds they made as
well as hide them from prying eyes. And anything that spilled over would be murdered by the raucous
traffic forever passing on the avenue opposite the park.

Funny how the slayer would choose to take the path that led down to the childrenтАЩs carousel. Alek
followed, his ears, eyes and every other one of his six senses pricked and turned out over the whole park
like radar. There were no other creatures like him in the immediate vicinity. None that he could feel,
anyway. Only this one. And there were no other humans, either. If there were, he would smell them.

Not a setup then. Just an old fashioned vendetta.

Alek stopped when they reached the carousel. He drew his sword.

The man turned around and stuffed his hands casually into the pockets of his full-length motorcycle coat.
He was larger than Alek, which was saying a lot. He stood at least a head taller and had the
broad-shouldered, well-muscled body of a comic book character. He trained. His skin was near ebony
in color and shone like wet silk. His shoulder-length hair was done up in earthenware beads, a look
recently popular with many African-American slayers. He had the cold, effective look of a born killer.
His eyes were completely focused. Completely dead. So young...and yet so ready to die for his Coven.

Again a pang of sadness sank through AlekтАЩs heart, this time for other reasons. тАЬItтАЩs such a nice rainy
night. You donтАЩt really want to die here tonight,тАЭ Alek whispered as he slipped the Double Serpent
Katana up under his arm. He affected a light, almost casual, stance, when in fact he was terrified, as
always. As always, he stuck the fear down an endless black hole along with all the other things he
preferred not to deal with. Fear got you nowhere. Fear got you dead.

тАЬYouтАЩre the Slayer?тАЭ the slayer said.