isidora: переводы

→"It was Ciaran MacEwan," I explained more loudly. "I just... suddenly had a vision of Ciaran. And then I fainted."

→"What happened?" Bree asked also, her dark eyes worried.

→"Thanks," I said gratefully. I took it and sipped, and felt a bit stronger.

→The rest of the coven was gathered around, looking at me in concern.Then Bree knelt close to me, holding out a glass of water.

→But I knew his anger wasn’t directed at me. I struggled to sit up, feeling my elbow aching where I must have hit it.

→But I knew his anger wasn’t directed at me. I struggled to sit up, feeling my elbow aching where I must have hit it.

→Above me, his green eyes narrowed. "What happened?" he asked, almost fiercely.

→Just like that, it all came back with a sickening rush.

→"I was hoping you could tell me," said Hunter. He gently lifted my head and rested it on his crossed legs. "You just stopped dead in the middle of our power chant and turned as white as a sheet of paper. You said, ‘What do you want?’ and stared at nothing. Then you keeled over."

→"Stay still." Hunter’s reassuring voice made me quit trying to sit up. My eyes opened, then shut again-everything looked too bright.

→His image faded quickly. Blinking, I felt like a wall I had been leaning against had suddenly been taken away. There was a split second of seeing the members of Kithic staring at me in concern; then everything went fuzzy, and I felt myself fall.

→"Of course, I was unhappy that you chose to betray me to the council jackals," Ciaran said dryly. "My own daughter. My favored one. But I do forgive you. And it’s gone now-they have no idea where I am." He gave a mischievous chuckle, making him appear younger than his early forties. "But I’m coming to see you, daughter. I have some questions for you."

→Oh, Goddess, I thought in panic.

→"I’ve... dismantled the watch sigil," Ciaran went on, and my knees almost buckled. "It was beautifully done, Morgan. So subtle, so elegant, yet so powerful." He shook his head admiringly. "Your powers..."

→The last time I had seen Ciaran, we had shape-shifted together. At the council’s request, I had traced a watch sigil onto him so that council members could track Ciaran’s movements and eventually take him into custody. It had been a betrayal of him, but the risk had outweighed the danger of the deeds he would commit if left free. My birth father was one of the most evil witches in existence. He had murdered scores of people, including my birth mother, Maeve Riordan, as well as the lover she had known from childhood. I had chosen to chosen good over evil.

→"I know you put the watch sigil on me," he said softly, and fear clenched my stomach. "But I forgive you."

→"What do you want?" I whispered. All I could see was him; my circle, the room, my friends had faded out of sight, replaced by this glowing image of my father, the man who had burned my mother to death more than sixteen years ago.

→"Morgan," he said again, his Scottish accent coming through. His brownish hazel eyes, exactly like mine, examined me.

→I stared at him, my eyes widening with fear and shock. In a moment I realized that he was an image in front of me, not the real person. But a complete, realistic image, shimmering gently, as if with heat.

→"Morgan." With zero warning my birth father, Ciaran MacEwan, was standing in front of me. My hands ripped away from Matt’s and Sharon’s, and my feet stumbled on the blue carpet.