Thief of light by Denise Rossetti

Author:Denise Rossetti [Denise Rossetti]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Roman
ISBN: 9780425231302
Published: 2009-11-03T02:30:15+00:00

24

Erik lunged, grabbing his shoulder. “Dai!”

Dai’s eyes rolled back in his head. Foam flecked his lips, stained a virulent, iridescent purple.

“Fook!” whispered Florien. “Fookin’ prettydeath!”

The swordsman staggered, then crashed headlong to the filthy floor, body arched in agony. His bubbling screams carried clearly over the rumble of conversation.

Frozen, Prue sat staring. Erik exploded past her. He wrenched Dai’s jaw open. “The milk! Quick!”

Florien slapped the mug into his hand and Erik poured the contents down the swordsman’s gullet, planting a knee on his chest to keep him still. Dai flopped like a landed fish.

The ensuing ten minutes were hideous. Milk. Then water, pints of it, then milk again.

His eyes huge, dark pits in his ashen face, Florien inched closer until his small, trembling body touched Prue’s. She put an arm around his narrow shoulders and snugged him into her side, glad of the human comfort, the grounding reality of his light, quick breaths. Despite the heat in the tavern, she was clammy and cold, her skin prickling with shock.

Eventually, the noise died away to pained whimpers, as if Dai were trying to scream through a throat full of broken glass.

“That’s enough, man.” Rhiomard laid a hand on Erik’s shoulder. “I’ve sent one of the lads for a healer.” He looked down at the twitching body of the swordsman, his face grim. “You saved his life, though I doubt he’ll thank you for it.”

Erik wiped his forehead with his sleeve. His shirt was splattered with an unholy mix of blood and milk and the purple remnants of the poison. Even over the stale beer and sweat in the taproom, Prue could smell the evil of it, an acrid, metallic odor with a cloying undertone. Swallowing hard, she suppressed the urge to gag.

Slowly, Erik got to his feet. “Prettydeath?” he said. “But how—?” A startling sapphire blue in his pale face, his eyes met Prue’s.

She wet her lips. “You,” she whispered. “Sweet Sister, it was meant for you!”

The moment stretched endlessly, everything around her slowing to a crawl, as if mired in mud. That could be Erik lying there on the floor of the Sailor’s Lay, his beautiful eyes glassy with pain, the magnificent voice silenced. Gone from her forever.

Sister have mercy, she wasn’t ready for that, she’d never be ready.

Her heart beat, on and on, a relentless lump of muscle, keeping her alive, while her soul shriveled and died at the thought of a world without Erik. Prue couldn’t seem to move, to think past it, her brain heavy and slow with the stunning impact.

No more of the charming smiles that weakened her knees, no more of the infuriating way he could make her laugh despite herself, no more of the abandon only Erik the Golden could coax from her. No more of that strange sense of safe harbor she felt in his arms. He’d blown into her placid, uneventful life like a whirlwind, his presence intensifying every sensation—colors were brighter, flowers sweeter, wine more intoxicating on her tongue. Yet with all of that, she found him so easy to be with, such good company.

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