[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
before entering him swiftly, possessively.
Owen strained beneath him, that magnificent body driving
into him time and again. Soaring to heights he never
dreamed existed, his body one with Andras's, he rose to meet
him. Desire overrode everything else, obliterated his every
thought as his soul-starved senses cried out his hunger.
Standing at the edge of a great crevice, Owen stepped into
the open air and spiraled down, down, down. His release
came hard and fierce. Silver flashes of lightning coursed
through the sky and shattered him. Calling out Owen's name
with one final thrust, Andras wrung the last strains of
passions from his drenched body.
For a timeless moment, Owen looked into Andras's soul.
He knew then that as the last breath left his body, he'd
whisper his name. No matter what happened in the future, if
he disappeared from this life, if a thousand years passed, the
last words to fall from his lips would be Andras.
[Back to Table of Contents]
198
The Sin Eater's Prince
by Keta Diablo
Epilogue
At the evening meal that night, Uncle Maxen was his usual
jovial self, reciting the latest quatrains he'd collected during
his recent trip to London.
Owen and Carys laughed until their bellies ached before
Carys cajoled the elderly man into talking about her favorite
subject.
"Tell us again about the knockers, Uncle Maxen," she said,
wide-eyed.
"Oh, they're the most devilish creatures you'll ever
encounter. Two feet tall and grizzled, they live in the mines
beneath the ground. Dressed like the miners themselves,
they spend their days making mischief they steal their tools
and their food when they're not looking."
"The elders say they knock on the walls to get them to
collapse."
"I don't believe 'tis true. The knockers are harmless
practical jokers who toil endlessly but never finish a task."
Soon the discussion turned to the history of Sycharth
Castle and the ancestor who first owned the infamous sword.
Carys retrieved a sheaf of paper from the sideboard and
with great fanfare read aloud from a document written by
Owain Glyn Dwr's Court poet, Iolo Gocha. "The landscape
includes a rabbit warren, deer park, meadows and hayfields,
a mill on a smooth-flowing stream and a fish pond abounding
in pike and splendid whiting."
199
The Sin Eater's Prince
by Keta Diablo
It seemed only natural after the stimulating discussion
they'd take a walk at sunset to look over the earthwork
remains of Sycharth's old motte and bailey, its contours now
disguised by a cluster of trees and overgrown vegetation.
While Andras, Maxen, and Carys continued their
conversation about the history of the noble house, Owen
stood at the crown of the motte and fought the lightheaded
feeling that had suddenly found him. Fine beads of sweat
broke out on his forehead and his mouth went dry.
Although aware the others surrounded him, he lapsed into
trancelike state, the indomitable feeling of another time and
place overwhelming him. Morose visions of annihilation,
destruction, and death crept into the dark recesses of his
mind. Horses screamed and gravely wounded men littered a
smoke-filled battlefield.
An unbreakable bond between him and the land beneath
his feet stretched across centuries, the force of energy so
potent it stole his breath. Breaching years, forging boundaries
and time, it called to him. A distant voice from a violent past
broke the barrier, the voice so pure, so utterly intelligible, he
looked to his side expecting to see the person standing there.
Andras's voice pushed through the tunnel of history.
"Owen, are you well?"
He looked at the ground at his feet and felt his brow
furrow when a visualization of a sword surfaced not just any
sword. The Prince's sword.
"Owen." Andras's voice grew louder as he walked toward
him. "Have you taken ill?"
200
The Sin Eater's Prince
by Keta Diablo
He shook his head. "Nay, not ill." Recovering his wits, he
forced a hesitant smile. "Pardon me. I must see to something
back at the manor."
He couldn't remain on the motte. The longer he stood
there, the more lethal the dark forces became, twisting and
writhing around him like pit vipers from the gates of Hades.
He saw Andras then, cloaked in black, his long hair fanned
out in the wind, the sword in his hand braced against a
tormented sky. Dark demons swarmed above him, their
ghoulish faces masked in death.
Owen struggled to breathe and barely made it to his
bedchamber before he lost his evening meal in the porcelain
bowl on his bureau. He clutched his stomach, crawled to the
bed, and dragged his body up, collapsing onto the feather-tick
mattress.
Curling up into a ball, he willed the malevolent foreboding [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl wyciskamy.pev.pl
before entering him swiftly, possessively.
Owen strained beneath him, that magnificent body driving
into him time and again. Soaring to heights he never
dreamed existed, his body one with Andras's, he rose to meet
him. Desire overrode everything else, obliterated his every
thought as his soul-starved senses cried out his hunger.
Standing at the edge of a great crevice, Owen stepped into
the open air and spiraled down, down, down. His release
came hard and fierce. Silver flashes of lightning coursed
through the sky and shattered him. Calling out Owen's name
with one final thrust, Andras wrung the last strains of
passions from his drenched body.
For a timeless moment, Owen looked into Andras's soul.
He knew then that as the last breath left his body, he'd
whisper his name. No matter what happened in the future, if
he disappeared from this life, if a thousand years passed, the
last words to fall from his lips would be Andras.
[Back to Table of Contents]
198
The Sin Eater's Prince
by Keta Diablo
Epilogue
At the evening meal that night, Uncle Maxen was his usual
jovial self, reciting the latest quatrains he'd collected during
his recent trip to London.
Owen and Carys laughed until their bellies ached before
Carys cajoled the elderly man into talking about her favorite
subject.
"Tell us again about the knockers, Uncle Maxen," she said,
wide-eyed.
"Oh, they're the most devilish creatures you'll ever
encounter. Two feet tall and grizzled, they live in the mines
beneath the ground. Dressed like the miners themselves,
they spend their days making mischief they steal their tools
and their food when they're not looking."
"The elders say they knock on the walls to get them to
collapse."
"I don't believe 'tis true. The knockers are harmless
practical jokers who toil endlessly but never finish a task."
Soon the discussion turned to the history of Sycharth
Castle and the ancestor who first owned the infamous sword.
Carys retrieved a sheaf of paper from the sideboard and
with great fanfare read aloud from a document written by
Owain Glyn Dwr's Court poet, Iolo Gocha. "The landscape
includes a rabbit warren, deer park, meadows and hayfields,
a mill on a smooth-flowing stream and a fish pond abounding
in pike and splendid whiting."
199
The Sin Eater's Prince
by Keta Diablo
It seemed only natural after the stimulating discussion
they'd take a walk at sunset to look over the earthwork
remains of Sycharth's old motte and bailey, its contours now
disguised by a cluster of trees and overgrown vegetation.
While Andras, Maxen, and Carys continued their
conversation about the history of the noble house, Owen
stood at the crown of the motte and fought the lightheaded
feeling that had suddenly found him. Fine beads of sweat
broke out on his forehead and his mouth went dry.
Although aware the others surrounded him, he lapsed into
trancelike state, the indomitable feeling of another time and
place overwhelming him. Morose visions of annihilation,
destruction, and death crept into the dark recesses of his
mind. Horses screamed and gravely wounded men littered a
smoke-filled battlefield.
An unbreakable bond between him and the land beneath
his feet stretched across centuries, the force of energy so
potent it stole his breath. Breaching years, forging boundaries
and time, it called to him. A distant voice from a violent past
broke the barrier, the voice so pure, so utterly intelligible, he
looked to his side expecting to see the person standing there.
Andras's voice pushed through the tunnel of history.
"Owen, are you well?"
He looked at the ground at his feet and felt his brow
furrow when a visualization of a sword surfaced not just any
sword. The Prince's sword.
"Owen." Andras's voice grew louder as he walked toward
him. "Have you taken ill?"
200
The Sin Eater's Prince
by Keta Diablo
He shook his head. "Nay, not ill." Recovering his wits, he
forced a hesitant smile. "Pardon me. I must see to something
back at the manor."
He couldn't remain on the motte. The longer he stood
there, the more lethal the dark forces became, twisting and
writhing around him like pit vipers from the gates of Hades.
He saw Andras then, cloaked in black, his long hair fanned
out in the wind, the sword in his hand braced against a
tormented sky. Dark demons swarmed above him, their
ghoulish faces masked in death.
Owen struggled to breathe and barely made it to his
bedchamber before he lost his evening meal in the porcelain
bowl on his bureau. He clutched his stomach, crawled to the
bed, and dragged his body up, collapsing onto the feather-tick
mattress.
Curling up into a ball, he willed the malevolent foreboding [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]