"Guy N. Smith - Sabat 2 - The Blood Merchants" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Guy N)

then petering out because the inhabitants of those derelict houses on either
side were long dead and didn't need to see any more. She crossed the junction
into the opposite street, her heels clattering on the broken paving stones,
stumbled once and twisted her ankle but she ignored the pain. He was coming
after her, a black wraith flitting in her wake. You only heard him because he
wanted you to ... because he was sure of his prey.

Shanda couldn't go any further. Her breath was like scalding water in her
lungs, her injured ankle making her drag her foot, threatening to throw her to
the ground at any second. Standing there waiting, suddenly wanting to get it
over and done with, to let him have his way and then perhaps he would let her
go.

Suddenly she saw him, a smirking white face that appeared to hover in the air,
bodyless; a floating, grinning skull. She tried to tell herself that it was
because he was dressed all in black and you couldn't see the rest of his body.
But she didn't believe it. He was some sort of evil entity, a spook like the
ones she'd scorned in the late night horror movies, but this time she wasn't
laughing. She wanted to scream but no sound came from her stricken throat.

Those eyes, oh Jesus God, those eyes! Bloodshot orbs in deep sockets, boring
into you so that he even got inside your mind and knew what you were thinking.
I don't hate you, really I don't. . . and if you just want lo do that with me
then that's fine by me. I don't mind, really I don't! Crying now.

He laughed, and this time she heard him; a sound that was hollow and mocking,
seeming to hang in the air. She shuddered, closed her eyes briefly but some
strange force jerked them back open and she saw that now he was closer, barely
a foot away from her. She could smell his stale breath, and was somehow unable
to withdraw her gaze from those searching eyes.

'Honey, you gotta beautiful body.'

She found herself nodding dumbly. Echoes of Mick, her last boyfriend's words,
but these had a sinister undercurrent. Then he was coming at her, seeming to
be airborne in slow motion, cold hands reaching out, pawing at her. She shrank
away, cringed, thought she was screaming but she could not be sure because he
had her by the throat in a suffocating, choking grip. She was falling, so
slowly, landing so gently, only aware of his weight on top of her but all she
could see was a shimmering white face through a blurred haze. She smelled his
breath, wanted to vomit, but she couldn't because her throat was squashed. Oh
God, do what you want and get it over, but don't kill me! Please don't kill
me!

Trying not to anger him, spreading her legs wide, doing everything to show
willing; but he didn't appear to notice. The kiss was vile, an open mouth that
stank of sewage and worse, a tongue that thrust like a cold slimy reptile.

Then the pain, her whole body shuddering, her limbs flaying in agony. It was
as though a huge needle had been injected into her neck, going deeper and