S. A. Martin by Night Shadows

Author:Night Shadows [Shadows, Night]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-02-18T20:12:36+00:00

After Fianna left, Gaderian cursed himself for his illness, and for being caught by a bandrega in the first place. Pain wracked his stomach, a torment he’d tried to hide in Fianna’s presence but feared he hadn’t succeeded. He hated his weakness, this incapacitation. Despite his optimistic words to her, he lamented when—or if—he would get better.

He breathed deeply, catching her lilac scent that still lingered in the air. He recalled her sultry voice, her slender fingers and delicate hands, her skin so soft and warm, like cattail puffs on a hot summer day. He remembered the time from so long ago—eons!—when they had kissed and held each other so close in the meadow. In spite of his debilitating illness, a yearning stole over his body, a desire to make love to her, to make her his own. He closed his eyes, his imagination running free, and pictured all the ways they could make love, how to prove to her all that she meant to him. Passion gripped him, hard and strong, replacing the pain that tortured him.

He had to get well soon, had to discover the bandregas’ secret! He would find that out, damn it! Thank the Goddess Moreen would help search, too, promising she would cover as many cities and villages as possible, whatever was needed to discover the bandregas’ secret. And when he—or she—did find out what gave the bandregas their powers, he would supplant Orrick, that feckless good-for-nothing, as leader of the undead. He must not permit his people to remain in danger. Already he’d heard of two of the undead, captured and imprisoned in the magistrate’s dungeon. In time, they would go on trial, but how had they allowed themselves to get caught? Perhaps they had been captured in a moment of weakness, suffering from hunger, as he had been snared. More to the point, how would they prove their innocence once their trial came up?

Gaderian clenched his hands at his sides. He had to get well soon, for his sake and Fianna’s.

Stilo. The name taunted his brain and drove him to madness. What was there about Stilo that set him apart from the other vampires? Why did his very essence arouse puzzlement, coupled with fury? Ah! It came to him then, like a sword stroke. He remembered Stilo’s fingers—talons! He recalled taking a drunken Stilo home so many years ago, back to the man’s apartment, when Stilo had been weak, his defenses down. The vision resounded in his head now, beating against his brain like thunderclaps—the sight of those talons. The image had disappeared so quickly, that Gaderian had thought at the time, he must have imagined it.

Now he knew. Stilo was part bandrega.

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