"C. L. Moore - Shambleau" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moore C. L)

There had been that in her words-in her unspoken words, that menaced.
She stood up beneath his gaze demurely, wide green eyes with their pulsing pupils meeting his
without a falter. But her mouth was scarlet and her teeth were sharp. . . .

"What food do you eat?" he demanded. And then, after a pause, very softly, "Blood?"

.She stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending; then something like amusement curled her lips
and she said scornfully, "You think me-vampire, eh? No-I am Sham-bleau!"




Unmistakably there were scorn and amusement in her voice at the suggestion, but as unmistakably
she knew what he meant-accepted it as a logical suspicion-vampires! Fairy-tales-but fairy-tales
this unhuman, outland creature was most familiar with. Smith was not a credulous man, nor a
superstitious one, but he had seen too many strange things himself to doubt that the wildest
legend might have a basis of fact And there was something namelessly strange about her. . .

He puzzled over it for a while between deep bites of the canal-apple. And though he wanted to
question her about a great many things, he did not, for he knew how futile it would be.

He said nothing more until the meat was finished and an-other canal-apple had followed the first,
and he had cleared away the meal by the simple expedient of tossing the empty can out of the
window. Then he lay back in the chair and surveyed her from half-closed eyes, colorless in a face
tanned like saddle-leather. And again he was conscious of the brown, soft curves of her, velvety-
subtle arcs and planes of smooth flesh under the tatters of scarlet leather. Vampire she might
be, unhuman she certainly was, but desirable be-yond words as she sat submissive beneath his low
regard, her red-turbaned head bent, her clawed fingers lying in her lap. They sat very still for


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a while, and the silence throbbed between them.

She was so like a woman-an Earth woman-sweet and submissive and demure, and softer than soft fur,
if he could forget the three-fingered claws and the pulsing eyes-and that deeper strangeness
beyond words. ... (Had he dreamed that red lock of hair that moved? Had it been segir that woke
the wild revulsion he knew when he held her in his arms?. Why had the mob so thirsted for her?)
He sat and stared, and despite the mystery of her and the half-suspicions that thronged his mind-
for she was so beautifully soft and cur-ved under those revealing tatters-he slowly realized that
his pulses were mounting,, became aware of a kindling with-in ... brown girl-creature with
downcast eyes ... and then the lids lifted and the green flatness of a cat's gaze met his and last
night's revulsion woke swiftly again, like a warning bell that clanged as their eyes met-animal,
after all, too sleek and soft for humanity, and that inner strangeness. . .




Smith shrugged and sat up. His failings were legion, but the weakness of the flesh was not among