Night Play, by Sherrilyn Kenyon
Bride McTierney has had it with men. They're cheating, self-centered, and never love her for who sheis. But though she prides herself on being independent, deep down she still yearns for a knight inshining armor.
She just never expected her knight in shining armor to have a shiny coat of fur.
Deadly and tortured, Vane Kattalakis isn't what he seems. Most women lament that their boyfriends aredogs. In Bride's case, hers is a wolf. A Were-Hunter wolf. Wanted dead by his enemies, Vane isn'tlooking for a mate. But the Fates have marked Bride as his. Now he has three weeks to either convince Bride that the supernatural is real or he will spend the rest of his life neutered... something no self-respecting wolf can accept.
But how does a wolf convince a human to trust him with her life when his enemies are out to end his? In the world of the Were-Hunters, it really is dog-eat-dog. And only one alpha male can win.
The room is a bit more crowded than usual, despite the absence of Sordan and other Valued Members, who are no doubt spending their evening being debauched elsewhere instead of partaking in the good, wholesome activity that is reading romance novels. The huddle of drinks has moved onto the floor, making way for a profusion of snacks and nibbles brought by Lhadhi Mhirhiam, the Yorrkhshiremhan and the Ahrtisté, the latter two being enthusiastic new initiates into the Club. Bowls of mostly-eaten stew, a white plastic bag of prawn crackers and various remains of dinner still clutter the room. Lounging is commencing.
The Following are added to our number:
The Yorrkhshiremhan, who is loquacious as the rest of his kin.
The Ahrtisté, who is quietly scribbling away.
Pihllywihggin, who is from the land of the green shamrocks (as opposed to the purple shamrocks over on the moon.)
The Outsider, who comes from far, far away.
The Chronicler also apologises to Lhadhi Mhirhiam for mispelling her name.
There was much talk over which book the Loinfire Club should read. The Chronicler and Cathed appear to have spent the solstice holiday searching for books to present to the Club. Choices included Christina Feehan’s "Night Melody", Nina Bangs’ "Original Sin", Jenna McKnight’s "A Greek God at the Ladies Club" and the increasingly commented upon "Virgin Slave, Barbarian King."
But it was "Night Play" that the Club finally decided upon after two whole rounds of voting (let it never be said that we are not a democratic society).
And so we begin:
The Pillywiggin reads out the list of things the Loinfire Club drinks for. It is discussed whether new categories should be added now or later. The exact definition of a "medical complication" is debated as drinks are poured.
The Lady Miriam objects to the lack of "h"s in her name, a most grievous sin for which the Chronicler apologises profusely. (See above)
Another tangent is sought in the list of many things that the Outsider is unable to purchase in America. American chocolate is summarily panned. Faces are made at the prospect of living off Hershey’s. Various persons recommend that the Outsider should never eat any chocolate from Thornton's.
The Chronicler: "Thornton's is worth the pain, even if you have to live with the knowledge you'll never get to eat it again."
The Yorkshireman: "Is it? Is it really? It’s like the whole having loved and lost being better than having never loved at all..."
Lady Miriam: "Yes, but time dulls the pain."
The Outsider clears her throat and bids everyone refocus on the novel at hand. She is reading tonight.
The Outsider: "Is everybody ready for the Terrible?"
The Club is evidently not as they are all soon distracted.
Lady Miriam offers advice on how to survive reading the chore of actually reading the book: "Best not to pay attention to what you’re actually saying. Just drink when everyone else is screaming."
The Ousider: "'Genocide'..."
The room bursts into confusion and laughter
The Outsider: "Gennisi."
There is mild confusion over the term and what it means. We soon settle for it being a more pretentious version of 'Genesis.'
The Outsider: "Come with me, modern traveller..."
To look with caution into the darkest alleys. Not in fear of human predators, but in fear of something else. Something dark. Dangerous. Something even deadlier than our human counterparts.
The Anthropologist: "Oh! I know, Eskimos!"
Lady Miriam: "They're called Inuits now."
Indeed, there was a time once, long ago, when humans were humans and animals were animals.
The Anthropologist: "Back when men were men, women were women..."
Cathed: "When single-celled organisms were single-celled organisms..."
They say the birth of the Were-Hunters, like most great evils, started out with only the best of intentions.
Cathed: "I like how it implies that they're not men when they’re hunters since the 'were' means 'man' in Germanic languages. Man-hunter, eh?"
Azrael: "So every full moon they morph into plaid-wearing, gun-toting, pipe-smoking hunter... and it's 'Oh no! There’s a plaid shirt growing out of my chest!'"
She was born to the cursed Apollite race and was destined to die in the heart of her youth at age twenty-seven. [...]And so he set about experimenting with his magic to prolong the lives of his wife's people. Capturing them, he magically spliced their essence with various animals who were known for their strength: bears, panthers, leopards, hawks, lions, tigers, jackals, wolves, and even dragons.
The Anthropologist: "All of which have a lifespan shorter than twenty seven."
The Yorkshireman: "But half-man half-giant tortoise just doesn’t have quite the same ring to it."
Azrael: "There is the half-man half-orca romance."
The Anthropologist: "They could be half-human half-bristlecone pine. That would be a lot longer lived than half-human half-panther."
Lady Miriam: "They could spend most of their lifetimes sitting in a glade trying hard not to look like a book."
Blending them with a dragon and a wolf, the strongest of the animals he had experimented with, he imbued them with more strength and magic than any of the others.
Cathed: "Why not just dragon since that's clearly where the strength and magic is coming from? I'm not seeing wolves being extra-strong."
Pillywiggin: "Wikipedia says no."
With their magical abilities and animal strength, they now lived ten to twelve times longer than any human.
Lady Miriam: "But far less than a quarter of the bristlecone pine lifespan."
Azrael: "Wait, how did he work that out? Surely you can't tell until start they dying..."
"There will never be peace among your children," Clotho, the Fate who spins the threads of life,
Cathed: "Sounds like a really cheap children’s tv series desperate for a puppet... 'hello, children! Meet Clotho! And Bottle-o!'"
The Anthropologist: "Sounds like a marvel supervillian back when everyone was on crack and no one had any good ideas... back when they made X-Men and Astaroids with arms and legs."
The Chronicler can almost forgive the author as it is after all, the name of an actual fate in actual Greek mythology. Almost.
The Katagaria were born as animals and lived as animals, yet once they reached puberty, when the magical powers were unlocked by their hormones, they would be able to become human at least externally.
The Yorkshireman: "When they hit puberty they lose hair?! That can't be right."
Azrael: "You were a really cool dragon before, but then suddenly... Your burnerating days are over!"
The Anthropologist: "It would really suck if you’re being chased a lot of villagers when suddenly puberty hits you..."
Cathed: "And suddenly you’re a spotty teenager."
Instead, the goddesses sent Discordia to plant mistrust between them.
The Outsider breaks off reading and beats the book against a hard surface shouting, "Bad, bad names!"
Lady Miriam suggests the category of "Didn’t bother look it up on Wikipedia!" for drinking.
It is an endless war. And as with all wars, there has never been a true victor. There have only been casualties who still suffer from the prejudice and unfounded hatred.
The Anthropologist: "But it’s not unfounded! They actually are animals."
0 comments:
Post a Comment