love_story: переводы

→“You don’t look like the type to know so much about roses,”
Krysta said frankly, and then gave a self-conscious laugh. “I’m sorry. I’ve met all sorts at the Creekville Rose Shows.”

→The young woman—Krysta—couldn’t help smiling. Damon felt
the information flow effortlessly from her mind to his. She was just twenty-two, not married, still living at home. She had precisely the kind of aura he was looking for, and only a sleeping father in the house.

→The young woman with the pruning shears looked up as Damon turned the corner and approached her house, deliberately hurrying and then slowing his stride. His very footsteps made it clear that he was delighted to take in the floral extravaganza in front of the charming Victorian house. For a moment the girl looked startled, almost afraid. That was normal. Damon was wearing black boots, black jeans, a black T-shirt, and black leather jacket, in addition to his Ray-Bans. But then he smiled and at the same moment began the first delicate infiltration of la bella donna’s mind.

→One thing was clear even before that. She liked roses.

→But his mind kept drifting. Mutt and his stake…Damon still didn’t see why Elena wanted to take a fugitive from justice along with them. Elena… Damon tried to conjure up the same irritated feelings for her as he had for Mutt, but just couldn’t manage it.

→Damon ignored it. He’d seen it too many times. What he was looking for was una donna splendida.

→Damon was irritated. As he flew higher on his wide, black crow’s wings, the landscape beneath him unfolded like a magnificent carpet, the breaking day making the grasslands and rolling hills glow like emerald.

→Elena blinked, forcing herself to deal with her new situation. She hadn’t seen Stefan for nearly long enough. But her memories of their short, sweet time together were wrapped in jonquils and lavender and nothing could ever take them away from her.

→“Oh, Matt,” Elena said. For a moment it seemed impossible that she was going to be able to keep from crying. But then she remembered Stefan’s smile.

→“It’s been over two hours since you went to sleep,” he said as she opened the door. “But I figured you needed it. Are you all right?”

→For all her reluctance she landed perfectly on the solid body that until now had been the only one she’d known. She landed on it and melded into it and then she was sitting up and the sounds were the sounds of Matt rapping at the window.

→And then something even worse happened. She was torn out of Stefan’s arms bodily, and she was rushing backward, back through objects, back faster and faster until with a jar she landed in her body.

→It began again—a monstrous booming that terrified Elena. She clutched uselessly at Stefan, who was looking at her with concern. He didn’t hear the clanging that was defeaning her, she realized.

→And then abruptly the world—the entire universe—shuddered at the sound of a gigantic slamming sound. It jerked at Elena. It didn’t belong in here with love and trust and the sweetness of sharing every part of her self with Stefan.