In The Shadow Of The Beast Read Online Free PDF Page B

Sigourd’s anger flared in an instant
and he jerked at the pendant with such force that when it finally
tore free it sliced into the flesh of his palm, between the thumb
and forefinger, causing him to snatch back his hand as the pain
shot through the injured limb. The pendant clattered to the stone
floor, a shrill ringing accompanying the little impact.
    Sigourd pressed his palm to his mouth,
supped at the wound there to stop the flow of blood. It was then
that he caught sight of his reflection in an ornate mirror hanging
from the wall on the other side of his bedchamber.
    He almost didn’t recognize the man he saw
there, breathing hard, a look of anger in the eyes so intense that
it gave Sigourd pause to see it in himself.
    It was as if the ferocity had bubbled up out
of hidden recesses in his soul that he had never known to exist,
like living in a place one’s entire life and stumbling into a room
you’d only just discovered had been there all along.
    Unnerved by this aberration of character,
Sigourd concentrated on calming himself using the breathing rituals
in which Cal had instructed him, for use before competition in the
many royal tournaments that were a regular feature in the life of
any noble son of Corrinth Vardis.
    He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through
his nose to fill his lungs slowly and deliberately, releasing the
tensions that filled him as he exhaled, he pictured those tensions
leaving his body like vapor rising off a still lake, fading quickly
to harmless whisps before him.
    Then it came, a rapping at the heavy oak
door of the bedchamber.
    ‘ Be gone,’ Sigourd barked
at whomever it might be on the other side. But again it came, the
knocking louder and more insistent this time.
    His irritation returning, Sigourd pulled off
his boot, ‘Be gone I said. Are you deaf!?’
    He raised his hand, about to throw the heavy
studded boot at the door in hopes of scaring off this interruption,
when he was distracted by another sound. The sweet chirruping of a
small bird. Looking to the window behind him, through which the
last rays of the afternoon sun were falling, he could just make out
a little blue nightingale perched upon the window ledge.
    The bird hopped from one foot to the next,
chirruped again. The sound was only slightly distorted by the thin
glass separating him from this pleasant little creature.
    As understanding took hold, a slow smile
began to break on Sigourd’s face and he lowered the boot in his
hand before dropping it to the floor with a thud.
    Crossing the room in a few quick, long
strides, Sigourd reached for the oak door to swing it wide before
him.
    Standing there, framed in the warm light of
the setting sun was the raven haired serving girl. From afar she
had been beautiful, from so close a distance she was breathtaking,
and it was all Sigourd could do to maintain his composure.
    When she spoke, her voice seemed to purr
from a mouth with lips the color of ripe cherries and a voice as
sweet as honey, ‘My lord left the throne room in quite the hurry. I
thought I would inquire as to his well-being.’
    She looked up at Sigourd with eyes that were
such a pale shade of hazel they seemed almost to flash gold in the
light, and the young lord of the realm of Corrinth Vardis found
himself being drawn into those golden eyes quite willingly. For a
moment, Sigourd stood in the doorway non-plussed, but then that
broad smile began to creep over his face once more.
    ‘ You brought refreshments I
hope?’ he said, and with a playful twinkle in her eye the serving
girl produced a full drinking skin from behind her back, holding it
up so that he could see that she did indeed come prepared to ease
his choler.
    His smile broadening, Sigourd took the
serving girl in his arms, pulling her in close to kiss her hungrily
upon the lips, to which she eagerly responded, her own hand going
up and around to delicately caress the back of his head.
    Their kissing was passionate, burning full
of youthful desire and