Лорел Гамильтон - A Kiss Of Shadows

It was almost impossible not to smile at him. If I was about to be torn limb from limb, I might as well go smiling as frowning. I let go of his arms. "Get off of me, Rhys."

He kissed me lightly on the forehead and stood.

I was left lying on the floor all by myself. I rolled onto one side, gazing upward. The men had all gotten to their feet. They stood above me, but only Rhys was looking at me. The others were looking up at the thorns.

The thorns swayed gently above us as if they were dancing to some music that we could not hear.

"They don't seem to be doing anything," I said.

"Try standing." Doyle held his hand down to me.

I looked at that perfectly black hand with its pale almost milky-white nails. I looked from the hand to Rhys. "You'll throw yourself on top of me at the first hint of danger?"

"Quick as a little bunny," he said.

I caught Galen giving Rhys a look. It was not a friendly look. "I heard that about you," Galen said. "That you were quick."

"If you want on bottom next time, help yourself," Rhys said. "I'm more of an on-top man myself." His teasing had a bite to it, and he didn't look happy either.

"Children," Doyle said, a soft warning in his voice.

I sighed. "The proclamation hasn't even been formally announced and the bickering has already begun. And Rhys and Galen are two of the more reasonable ones."

Doyle made a small bow, putting his hand just inches above me. "Let us take our problems one at a time, Princess. To do it any other way is to be overwhelmed."

I stared into his dark eyes and slid my hand into his. His grip was firm and unbelievably strong as he lifted me to my feet almost faster than I could stand. It left me off center and wobbling, forced to catch his hand tight to keep from falling. His other hand came out to catch my arm. For a moment it was very close to an embrace. I glanced up at him. There was no hint on his face that he'd done it deliberately.

The thorns gave a furious hiss above our heads. I was suddenly looking upward, hands on Doyle's arms, but not for support—I was frightened.

"Perhaps you should give us the knives you carry before we go farther?" he said.

I glanced at him. "How much farther are we going?"

"The roses desire a drink of your blood. They must touch you at the wrist or elsewhere, but usually the wrist," he said.

I did not like the sound of that. "I don't remember offering to donate blood again."

"The knives first, Meredith, please," he asked.

I looked up at the quivering thorns. One thin strand seemed lower than the rest now. I let go of Doyle and reached a hand inside my bodice for the knife within the bra. I brought it out, flicking it open. Frost looked surprised and not happy about it. Rhys looked surprised but pleased.

"I did not know that you could hide such a weapon under such a small piece of clothing," Frost said.

"Maybe we won't have to do nearly as much protecting as I thought," Rhys said.

Galen knew me well enough to know I always went armed at court.

I handed the knife to Doyle and raised my skirt. By the time the skirt was to my knees I could feel the men's attention like a weight on my skin. I looked up at them. Frost looked away as if embarrassed. But the others either looked at my leg, or my face. I know they'd seen more skin than this on longer legs. "If you keep watching me this closely, you're going to make me self-conscious."

"My apologies," Doyle said.

"Why the sudden attention, gentlemen? You've seen the court ladies in much less than this." I kept lifting the skirt until I bared the garter. They watched each movement the way that cats watch birds in a cage.

"But the court ladies are off limits to us. You are not," Doyle said.

Ah. I lifted the knife, hilt and all, from around the garter. I let the skirt fall back into place and watched their eyes following the movement of the cloth. I enjoy being noticed by men, but this level of scrutiny was almost unnerving. If I survived the night, I'd have a talk with them about it. But as Doyle said, one problem at a time or you are overwhelmed. "Who gets this knife?"

Three pale hands reached out for it. I looked at Doyle. He was, after all, captain of the Guard. He nodded, as if he approved of my looking to him for the choice rather than making it myself. I knew who I liked the best of the three, but I wasn't sure who was the best with a blade.

"Give it to Frost," Doyle said.

I handed the knife to him handle first. He took it with a small bow. I noticed for the first time that there were faint blood stains on his pretty shirt. He'd been pressed against Galen's back wounds. He'd need to soak the shirt or the bloodstains would set.

"I realize that Frost is worth a stare or two tonight, Meredith, but you are stalling," Doyle said.

I nodded. "I suppose I am." I looked up at the dangling thorns. My stomach was tight, my hands cold. I was afraid.

"Hold your wrist out to the vine that is the lowest. We will protect you to the last breath in our bodies. You know that."

I nodded. "I know that." I did know that. I even believed it, but still… I watched the thorns and my gaze slid upward into the dimness. Vines as wide as my leg twisted and turned upon themselves like a knot of sea serpents. Some of the thorns were as big as my hand, catching the light in a dull black gleam.

I brought my gaze back down to the thin tiny thorns on the vines directly over my head. They were small, but there were a lot of them, like a bristling armor of tiny pins.

I took a deep breath and blew it out. I started raising my hand slowly upward, hand balled into a tight fist. My hand was barely even with my forehead when the vine poured downward like a snake down a hole. The brown thing wrapped around my wrist, and the thorns set in my skin like hooks in a fish's mouth. The pain was sharp and immediate, coming a second before the first trickle of blood slid onto my wrist. The blood tickled down my skin like tiny fingers caressing the skin. A fine crimson rain began to glide down my wrist, thick and slow.

Galen hovered by me, hands fluttering around me as if he wanted to touch me but was afraid to. "Isn't that enough?" he asked.

"Apparently not," Doyle said.

I looked where his gaze was fixed and found a second thin tendril hanging above my head. It stopped as the first one had stopped—waiting. Waiting for my invitation to come closer.

I looked at Doyle. "You must be joking."

"It has been long since it fed, Meredith."

"You've endured more pain than a few thorns," Rhys said.

"You even enjoyed it," Galen said.

"The context was different," I said.

"The context is everything," he said, softly. There was something in his voice, but I didn't have time to decipher it.

"I would give my wrist in your place, but I am not heir," Doyle said.

"Neither yet am I."

The vine moved lower, tickling against my hair like a lover trying to caress his way to the promised land. I offered my other arm, fist closed. The vine wrapped around my wrist with an eager speed. The thorns sank into my flesh. The vine pulled tight. It brought a gasp from my throat. Rhys was right. I'd endured greater pain, but every pain is singular, a unique torture. The vines pulled themselves taut, raising my hands tight above my head. There were so many thorns that it felt like some small animal was trying to bite through my wrists.

Blood ran down my arms in a fine, continuous rain. I'd been able to feel each individual line of blood at first, but my skin grew dead to so much sensation. The pain in my wrists drew all my attention. The vines raised me up on tiptoe, until their grip was all that kept me from falling. The sharp biting pain began to fade into a burning. It wasn't poison. It was just my body reacting to the damage.