"Freda Warrington - A Taste of Blood Wine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Warrington Freda)

of the trenches, with sweat and smoke. But the hot pulse of blood

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A Taste


laced the foulness, drawing the vampire on until the skin broke and
the incandescent fluid burst onto his tongue.
Crystal sweetness. A ruby light that outdazzled the battle flares, the
two-edged ecstasy of feeding; the compulsion so strong that it
almost sickened. Wrong to take pleasure in this death, impossible
not toтАж The vampire closed his eyes in bliss as he drank, but at the
back of his throat the bitterness remained.
Only once the boy cried out, more with shock than pain. Then he
sank swiftly into unconsciousness. His heart beat slower and slower
but it rolled on tenaciously like the endless rumble of guns, each
throb softer and heavier than the last, clinging to lifeтАж until at last,
there was stillness. One moment of utter silence and peace.
As the vampire let the boy go, the reality of the battlefield came
down around him like a booming tarpaulin. He felt warm, on fire,
but the young soldier's skin was icy and his head hung slackly to
one side. Free of pain now, at least.
The vampire raised his head. He wanted to distance himself from
the lifeless victim, but something made him pause; an unmistakable
tightening of the ether. No human would have sensed it, but to him
it was as sharp and clear as the hiss of an unseen shell to a soldier.
The air crystallised for a second into the image of a stained glass
angel, stark black and white. Then, stepping out of the hidden
dimension, this apparition became flesh and blood; a tall wide-
shouldered man with dark hair and waxen skin, a statue carved on
too large a scale. The face was too angular and deep-etched to be
called handsome, and it radiated a harsh power of personality; the
solid conviction of a leader who knows he is never wrong. There

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A Taste


was a mole on his left cheek, a black singularity against the
whiteness.
The vampire recognised him with dismay.
The being looked down at the vampire, his eyebrows contracting
into a severe dark line. "I find you in the strangest places, Karl," he
said disapprovingly. His voice was deep and resonant. A priest's
voice.
The vampire sat back on his heels. The intrusion both wearied and
alarmed him, but he didn't reveal his feelings. He replied coldly, "I
didn't ask you to look for me, Kristian. I don't want you here."
"You don't want me?" There was a keen, sweet menace in the
intruder's voice. "You can't deny me, any more than you can deny