"Karen Koehler - Slayer 03 - Immortal" - читать интересную книгу автора (Koehler Karen)

3

Few things were as immortal as revenge. Words came and went. People died, buildings burned. Maybe
love survived some of the daily apocalypse of life, but revenge was certain to pull itself out of the rubble
time and again.

Alek Knight thought about that as Dante swung at his head with his rapier. He ducked and met the fall of
the sword with the Double Serpent Katana. The two blades clashed, shearing their edges in a spectacular
shower of blue sparks that briefly alighted the abandoned warehouse on the docks. The place had once
been an import hostel, a place where goods were housed for the bigger New York corporations. Later it
had been turned into a machine shop. Even now, the husks of the burned out machines that once
dominated the space lurked in corners like steel and iron carcasses, half seen reminders of dreams that
had gone up in smoke and fire.

Alek fell against one of those machines as he skirted another fall of DanteтАЩs blade. The sword, a
magnificent piece of Madrid steel, hacked into the machine mount behind him and held a moment. Alek
used that moment to kick Dante in the stomach, sending the slayer crashing to the floor some twenty feet
away. Unharmed, Dante climbed to his feet and gave Alek a sweeping bow, rapier and all, as if he were
on a stage in London rather than here in this filthy bowel of a building dueling to his death.

Alek held his ground and waited, the katana resting lightly against the outside of his thigh.

Dante smiled, his eyes never leaving Alek for a moment. He was small and fragile-looking, like a young
boy. Although vampires stopped aging at the age of 33, he looked closer to 23. His exact age was
unknown. Even his clothing gave away no hint since the cut of them was current and in vogue with most
of the Underground crowd: a chain-mail jerkin, leather pants, tall boots, a spiked submission collar, and a
long leather greatcoat armored with stainless steel plates the size of teacup saucers. His hair was cut in a
long ragged blonde David Bowie-inspired mane that framed eyes that were either grey or green,
depending on his mood. Right now they were green like a sky before a violent storm breaks. тАЬBravo, old
son!тАЭ Dante said. тАЬI had heard stories, but I never imagined the little whelp from all those years ago
would

become this stout warrior of today. Such a shame the Coven lost you, Slayer.тАЭ

Alek smiled a smile that was not. тАЬYou might sayI lostit .тАЭ

тАЬNearly destroyed it, in fact,тАЭ Dante said. His voice was rich and came from deep inside his chest, like
the voices some of the best actors emanated. It was a voice that his body didnтАЩt seem capable of
producing somehow.

тАЬYou flatter me,тАЭ Alek said and raised the sword so it rested against the underside of his sword arm,
ready for DanteтАЩs next attack.

He wished things had not turned out this way. He had gone hunting this Saturday night, but it was not
supposed to be for slayers. No, he had wanted information on a series of unsolved crimes that had been
plaguing the piers the last few nights. Working girls butchered like cattle. Brutal. Inhuman. Naturally the
first thing he thought of was Jean PaulтАЩs hive of vampires. Not Jean Paul himself--the Parisian was too
smart for that--but his thralls were another matter completely. And if one of them wanted to hunt in his
territory then it was important that they prepare to be hunted in return.