[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
toothy sonofabitch made a single, legal error.
The Count gazed into Renee Cuyler's eyes in a manner intended to convey more than mortal longing.
To Jessie, who was getting a crick in his back, Slavek looked more as if he had suddenly gotten stomach
cramps.
The woman hooked her fingers in the lapels of her already daring blouse and opened it wider, giving the
Count a better approach to her jugular and incidentally revealing two full, round, brown-nippled breasts.
"You look ravishing," the Count said.
"Then ravish me," Mrs. Cuyler breathed.
What tripe! Jessie thought. At this crucial moment he couldn't even risk a whisper.
"Of course," the Count said apologetically, "there are certain formalities we must perform, certain& "
"I understand," the woman said.
His voice losing none of its slick, warm charm, the Count said, "I am obligated, by the Kolchak-Bliss
Decision of the United Nations Supreme Court for International Law, to inform you both of your rights and
of your alternatives."
"I understand."
The Count licked his lips. In a sensually guttural voice, clearly too excited to take much more time with the
legal formalities, he said, "At this time, you need not submit to the consummation of our pending
relationship, and you may either leave or request the services of a licensed advisor on spiritual matters."
"I understand," she said. She pulled her blouse open even wider, giving the Count a good view of the
normal pleasures that awaited him once the greater joy of the bite had passed.
"Do you wish to leave?" he asked.
"No."
"Do you wish the services of a spiritual counselor?"
"No, darling," she said.
For a moment, the Count seemed to have forgotten what came next in the litany engendered by the
Kolchak-Bliss Decision, but then he went on, speaking quickly and softly so as not to break the mood: "Do
you understand the nature of the proposal I've made?"
"Yes."
"Do you understand that I wish to initiate you into the world of the undead?" the Count asked.
"I do."
file:///C|/My Shared Folder/E-books/Dean Koontz/25 Writing Popular Fiction.html (102 of 108) [7/7/2004 2:15:17 PM]
Koontz,Dean_-_Writing_Popolur_Fiction(1.0)
"Do you understand that your new life of damnation is eternal?"
"Yes, darling, yes," she said. "I want you to to bite me. Now!"
"Be patient, dearest," Slavek said. "Now, do you realize that there is no return from the life of the undead?"
"I understand, for Christ's sake!" Mrs. Cuyler moaned.
"Don't use that name!" the Count roared.
In the closet, Jessie Blake shook his head, saddened by this spectacle. Maybe he wouldn't even have to
interfere, if things kept going like this. Another five minutes of questions-and-answers would bleed away
most of the romantic element the Count had spent the
Writing Popular Fiction
early evening hours in building up. U.N. law certainly had made things tough for the likes of Slavek.
"I'm sorry," Renee Cuyler told her would-be lover/ master.
The Count composed himself and, still with his fingertips resting on the pulse at her neck, he said, "You
understand that my culture encourages a certain male chauvinism which you must accept as intimate terms
of our blood contract?"
"Yes," she said.
"And you still wish to continue?"
"Of course!"
Jessie shook his head again. Mr. Cuyler was going to have his hands full restraining this wife of his, even if
Blake did pull her out of the fire this time. Obviously, she had a vampire fixation, a need to be dominated
and used in a physical as well as a sexual sense.
The Count hesitated an the brink of beginning the second and shorter section of the Kolchak-Bliss litany,
the part dealing with the woman's alternatives, and having hesitated he was lost. He tilted Renee's pretty
head, sweeping back her long, dark hair. Baring his fangs in an unholy grin, he went, rather gracelessly, for
her jugular.
Delighted that his estimation of Slavek had proven sound, Jessie twisted the doorknob and threw open the
closet door, stepping into the drawing room with more than a little flair.
Count Slavek jerked at the noise, whirled away from the woman and, hissing through his pointed teeth like
a broken steam valve, back-stepped with his arms out to his sides and his cape drawn up like giant wings
ready for flight.
Jessie brandished his credentials and said, "Jessie Blake, private investigator. I'm working for Mr. Roger
Cuyler and have been assigned to protect his wife from the influence of certain supernatural persons who
have designs upon both her body and soul."
"Designs?" Slavek asked, incredulous.
Jessie turned to the woman. "If you'd be so kind as to close your blouse, Mrs. Cuyler, we can get out of this
dump and "
"Designs?" Count Slavek insisted, moving forward. "This woman is no innocent victim! She's about the
hottest little number I've seen in "
"Are you contesting my intervention?" Jessie asked.
file:///C|/My Shared Folder/E-books/Dean Koontz/25 Writing Popular Fiction.html (103 of 108) [7/7/2004 2:15:17 PM]
Koontz,Dean_-_Writing_Popolur_Fiction(1.0)
He was six feet tall and weighed a hundred and eighty-five pounds, all of it bone and muscle. And though
he couldn't harm a supernatural person without resorting to the accepted charms and spells, silver bullets,
and wooden stakes, he could sure as hell generate a stalemate out of which no one could gain anything. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl rafalstec.xlx.pl
toothy sonofabitch made a single, legal error.
The Count gazed into Renee Cuyler's eyes in a manner intended to convey more than mortal longing.
To Jessie, who was getting a crick in his back, Slavek looked more as if he had suddenly gotten stomach
cramps.
The woman hooked her fingers in the lapels of her already daring blouse and opened it wider, giving the
Count a better approach to her jugular and incidentally revealing two full, round, brown-nippled breasts.
"You look ravishing," the Count said.
"Then ravish me," Mrs. Cuyler breathed.
What tripe! Jessie thought. At this crucial moment he couldn't even risk a whisper.
"Of course," the Count said apologetically, "there are certain formalities we must perform, certain& "
"I understand," the woman said.
His voice losing none of its slick, warm charm, the Count said, "I am obligated, by the Kolchak-Bliss
Decision of the United Nations Supreme Court for International Law, to inform you both of your rights and
of your alternatives."
"I understand."
The Count licked his lips. In a sensually guttural voice, clearly too excited to take much more time with the
legal formalities, he said, "At this time, you need not submit to the consummation of our pending
relationship, and you may either leave or request the services of a licensed advisor on spiritual matters."
"I understand," she said. She pulled her blouse open even wider, giving the Count a good view of the
normal pleasures that awaited him once the greater joy of the bite had passed.
"Do you wish to leave?" he asked.
"No."
"Do you wish the services of a spiritual counselor?"
"No, darling," she said.
For a moment, the Count seemed to have forgotten what came next in the litany engendered by the
Kolchak-Bliss Decision, but then he went on, speaking quickly and softly so as not to break the mood: "Do
you understand the nature of the proposal I've made?"
"Yes."
"Do you understand that I wish to initiate you into the world of the undead?" the Count asked.
"I do."
file:///C|/My Shared Folder/E-books/Dean Koontz/25 Writing Popular Fiction.html (102 of 108) [7/7/2004 2:15:17 PM]
Koontz,Dean_-_Writing_Popolur_Fiction(1.0)
"Do you understand that your new life of damnation is eternal?"
"Yes, darling, yes," she said. "I want you to to bite me. Now!"
"Be patient, dearest," Slavek said. "Now, do you realize that there is no return from the life of the undead?"
"I understand, for Christ's sake!" Mrs. Cuyler moaned.
"Don't use that name!" the Count roared.
In the closet, Jessie Blake shook his head, saddened by this spectacle. Maybe he wouldn't even have to
interfere, if things kept going like this. Another five minutes of questions-and-answers would bleed away
most of the romantic element the Count had spent the
Writing Popular Fiction
early evening hours in building up. U.N. law certainly had made things tough for the likes of Slavek.
"I'm sorry," Renee Cuyler told her would-be lover/ master.
The Count composed himself and, still with his fingertips resting on the pulse at her neck, he said, "You
understand that my culture encourages a certain male chauvinism which you must accept as intimate terms
of our blood contract?"
"Yes," she said.
"And you still wish to continue?"
"Of course!"
Jessie shook his head again. Mr. Cuyler was going to have his hands full restraining this wife of his, even if
Blake did pull her out of the fire this time. Obviously, she had a vampire fixation, a need to be dominated
and used in a physical as well as a sexual sense.
The Count hesitated an the brink of beginning the second and shorter section of the Kolchak-Bliss litany,
the part dealing with the woman's alternatives, and having hesitated he was lost. He tilted Renee's pretty
head, sweeping back her long, dark hair. Baring his fangs in an unholy grin, he went, rather gracelessly, for
her jugular.
Delighted that his estimation of Slavek had proven sound, Jessie twisted the doorknob and threw open the
closet door, stepping into the drawing room with more than a little flair.
Count Slavek jerked at the noise, whirled away from the woman and, hissing through his pointed teeth like
a broken steam valve, back-stepped with his arms out to his sides and his cape drawn up like giant wings
ready for flight.
Jessie brandished his credentials and said, "Jessie Blake, private investigator. I'm working for Mr. Roger
Cuyler and have been assigned to protect his wife from the influence of certain supernatural persons who
have designs upon both her body and soul."
"Designs?" Slavek asked, incredulous.
Jessie turned to the woman. "If you'd be so kind as to close your blouse, Mrs. Cuyler, we can get out of this
dump and "
"Designs?" Count Slavek insisted, moving forward. "This woman is no innocent victim! She's about the
hottest little number I've seen in "
"Are you contesting my intervention?" Jessie asked.
file:///C|/My Shared Folder/E-books/Dean Koontz/25 Writing Popular Fiction.html (103 of 108) [7/7/2004 2:15:17 PM]
Koontz,Dean_-_Writing_Popolur_Fiction(1.0)
He was six feet tall and weighed a hundred and eighty-five pounds, all of it bone and muscle. And though
he couldn't harm a supernatural person without resorting to the accepted charms and spells, silver bullets,
and wooden stakes, he could sure as hell generate a stalemate out of which no one could gain anything. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]