NightWind
1st Book: HellWind Trilogy
by Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Hard Shell Word Factory
This story copyright 2003 by Charlotte Boyett-Compo. All other rights are reserved. Thank you for honoring the copyright.
Cover Art by: Mary Z. Wolf
Published by: Hard Shell Word Factory.
PO Box 161
Amherst Junction, WI 54407
[email protected]
www.hardshell.com
Electronic book created by Seattle Book Company.
eBook ISBN: 0759936285
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatever to anyone bearing the same name or names. These characters are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Prologue
He heard her calling to him, one of thousands who asked each night. One of the legion of hopeless, burdened women whose souls were blighted, withering on the vines of life. Her name meant nothing to him; names never did. It was her pitiful sobbing, her breaking heart, her utter loneliness that caught, and held, his attention. He listened closely, his mind reaching out across time and space and millennia. To him, her entreaties were like cool, sweet water to a thirsty man; they tempted his thirst for further knowledge of the human race and filled his bored mind with a multitude of possibilities.
The dark ember in his eyes flared.
Her sobbing had ceased; her desolation, her emptiness called out to him, begged him, beckoned him, needed him. The ache in her heart was a sentient life form thrusting up through the heavens, speeding toward his lair. It cried out in mournful whimpers of surrender to him, granting him entry, promising him all, and its sound struck a chord deep in his being.
He turned his gaze Earthward, searching amongst all the womanly cries for help, the sobs of need, the whimpers of female defeat and frustration and failure. His keen vision traveled swiftly from land to land, from coast to coast, mountain to mountain, river to dale. He strained to catch her voice once more, one tiny, fluttering essence of her grief. In the strident confusion of tongue and sound and noise, he probed; he explored the nether regions of human misery that called out to him, searching for the one voice, the one cry that had garnered his attention. In the resonance drifting up to him, at last he heard her and his intellect homed in on her pain.
He smiled.
He had found her.
And she would be his.
Chapter One
Lauren Fowler’s forty-fourth birthday came and went with the onset of the Summer Solstice. There had been no party, no birthday cards nor wishes, no presents wrapped in gaily colored paper to mark the day of her birth, no bouquet of flowers. No one phoned. No one even noticed. No one cared.
Not the people she worked with who always ignored her.
Not the customers who never acknowledged her presence.
Not the people on the street who overlooked her.
Not her neighbors who barely noticed her existence.
Not her mother who had always neglected her.
Lauren Fowler had no friends, only acquaintances. She had no one with whom she could talk, to whom she could confide her deepest fears and regrets. There had never been anyone in her life who would listen to her troubles, and they had been many in her life. No one ever listened when Lauren Fowler spoke. No one ever took the time to hear what she said. Her voice was drowned out by all the other voices; her words lost in the vast sea of human flotsam that washed around her. Lauren Fowler was as alone in her world as though she were the only inhabitant.
“Where can I find John Sandford’s new book?”
Lauren looked up at the elderly woman who was standing in the aisle. She smiled as she stood up from her cramped position on the floor, but the old woman did not return the gesture.
“I believe it’s out of stock at the moment, but if you would like to give me your name, I can call you when...” She stopped as the old woman, mouth pursed in annoyance, eyes rolling, turned and walked away from the counter. Lauren’s smile faded and a hard thump of hurt twisted in her heart. She watched until the old lady had pushed through the front door and was gone.
“Those self-help books will not shelve themselves, Miss Fowler!”
Lauren jumped, turning around to face her manager, Mrs. Yelverton. “One of our customers was asking about—”
“I am not paying you to chit-chat with the customers, Miss Fowler. I pay you to work.” Louvenia Yelverton frowned and her dark red lips twisted in irritation. Her sharp scrutiny raked Lauren. “There are quite a few names on my waiting list of prospective employees. If you are not willing to do the job, you can certainly be replaced.”
Lauren’s eyes widened in fear. “I do want the job, Mrs. Yelverton. I apologize if it seemed otherwise.”
“Well then,” the manager nodded curtly. “We’ll see how much you wish to maintain your employment with us. I expect you to have those books shelved and cataloged in short order. Is that too much to ask for the ridiculously high pay you are earning, Miss Fowler?”
“No, Mrs. Yelverton,” Lauren mumbled, her face scarlet. “I’ll have the section finished before quitting time.”
Louvenia sniffed. “If not, you will stay until it’s done.” she pointed a thin, bony finger at her employee. “And I will not pay one penny of overtime if you do!”
“I understand, Mrs. Yelverton,” Lauren answered. She ducked her head, her shoulder-length hair cascading over the sides of her face to hide her embarrassment from the older woman.
“And do something with your appearance!” Louvenia snapped. “It is unseemly for a woman your age to wear her hair in that manner.” The manager reached up to pat her own sleek chignon. “One can never recapture one’s youth, Miss Fowler.”
“Yes, Mrs. Yelverton.” Lauren’s hands twisted together at her waist. “I’ll pin it up tomorrow.”
“Are you waiting for an engraved invitation to get back to work?”
Lauren shook her head and sank to her knees before the older woman could ridicule her again. She blindly reached for a book, tears making her vision water, blurring the title. She swallowed hard to keep the sob from escaping, felt the other shop girls smirking at her, hear their muted giggles. Her face flamed as her trembling hands pushed the book onto the shelf.
“If you ask me,” she heard Inez Montes say, “Yelverton ought to fire her. There’s not a day that goes by that she isn’t in trouble with the old lady.”
“Yelverton feels sorry for her,” Beth Janacek laughed. “Who else in town would hire Maxine Fowler’s old maid daughter?”
“No one in their right mind, that’s for sure!” Karla Cooper said in a droll
tone and the laughter rang out until Louvenia’s harsh shush came from the back of the store.
Lauren wished the floor would open up beneath her; a wide, deep, endless chasm yawn before her into which she could fall, and keep falling, disappearing forever. She knew they watched her: laughing, mocking, hating. She could no longer hear their words, but nevertheless she knew the hushed whispers coming from the other women were about her. A piercing pain throbbed in her soul and her tears slowly crept down her cheeks as she took another book from the box beside her and placed it on the shelf.
“Excuse me,” came a soft voice from above her.
Lauren flinched, startled, for she hadn’t heard the customer’s approach. She looked up and blinked.
“Perhaps you can help me,” he said, his gaze kind, his lips stretching into a lazy smile. “I’m looking for a book on medieval madrigals by Soames. Do you know if you carry it?”
She stared at him, her eyes widening, her lips parting in surprise. She couldn’t seem to find her voice and when his left eyebrow lifted in amusement, his smiling mouth twitched, she felt her face flame again.
“I’m sorry,” she said, coming so hastily to her feet her heel caught in her skirt and she lurched forward. A tremor of pure shock ran through her as he reached out and took her arm to keep her from falling.
“Easy there.” He laughed as he steadied her.
Lauren looked up into his smiling face and felt a quiver go through her belly. The man was looking at her, not through her, and there was a gentle kindness in the way his gaze swept over her face.
“May I help you?” Inez Montes sultry Spanish accent was like a pail of cold water in Lauren’s face and she turned, seeing the shop girl eyeing the customer with undisguised invitation.
Lauren saw the flash of annoyance that flared dangerously in the man’s dark eyes. He had been looking directly at her, but at the other woman’s interruption, he slowly turned his attention to Inez. His hand on Lauren’s arm tightened. “I am being helped, thank you.” Lauren noticed the warmth had fled his deep, slightly accented voice.
“Miss Fowler is only a stock clerk,” Inez informed him, the sultriness deepening in her voice to gain his attention that had shifted back to Lauren. “I am one of the saleswomen. I know every book in the store. What may I help you find?” She sidled closer, her avid interest roaming the tall length of him.
The man ignored Inez Montes. “Stock clerk?” he asked Lauren, his voice a silky caress. “Then you are familiar with every book on every shelf in this establishment, are you not?”
Lauren could only nod. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Inez glowering at her. She wished the man would let go of her arm, but his thumb was rubbing a slow little circle on the tender flesh on the inside of her elbow. It was a sensation that was both stimulating and threatening at the same time and it caused a feeling with which Lauren was not familiar. She sensed he was gaining as much pleasure from the gesture as she was.
“Is something wrong here?” Louvenia Yelverton asked as she joined them. Her sharp blue gaze passed over Lauren, dismissing her, and went to the customer. “Has this girl caused you a problem, sir?”
“No problem at all,” he answered. He smiled at Lauren. “As a matter of fact, she was about to help me make some purchases, weren’t you, mam’selle?” His voice was like a gentle touch as he scanned her face.
“Mrs. Montes is—” The man swung his concentration to the older woman, giving her the full impact of his gaze, turning his head so he faced her fully, and the manager’s words came to an abrupt stop as she stared at him, her indrawn breath a quick sigh.
“I am already being helped,” he said in a soft, quiet voice that brooked no further discussion and then he smiled, his gaze steady on the manager. “You have no objections to that, do you, Madame?”
To Lauren, his smile was intoxicating. His even, white teeth gleamed in the dark tan of has lean face and his glowing brown eyes seemed to undress the older woman as he looked at her, appraising her, flirting with her. For the first time in all the years Lauren had known Louvenia Yelverton, the usual look of disdain and arrogance did not twist the face of the older woman. Instead, a look of wistful girlishness infused the lined face.
“Of course not, sir,” she heard Louvenia Yelverton whisper in a throaty tone. “Miss Fowler will be most happy to help you, I am sure.”
“Thank you,” he said and his gaze slid to Lauren. “I believe you were about to show me the historical section, Miss Fowler?”
Lauren’s knees weakened at his smoldering gaze, at the gentle squeeze he gave her arm before he released it, his slim fingers running down the length of her arm before he did, and she had to look away from the heat in his devastating gaze. She found herself staring at Inez Montes instead and saw hate and envy glaring back at her. Even before Inez flounced away, her pert nose in the air, her skirts swishing behind her like the flamenco dancer she pretended to be, Lauren caught the unmistakable glint of revenge in the woman’s Latin face.
“Pay no mind to her,” he said, watching Inez flit away. “She’s jealous.”
“Of me?” Lauren gasped, so surprised by his words that she forgot herself. She looked away, ashamed of her outburst.
“Most certainly of you,” he answered smoothly. “She wants what you have, Miss Fowler.” His dark eyes lost their sheen, became less warm. “She craves something she will never experience.”
Lauren looked at him. “What on Earth could I have that Inez would even want?” Once more her words shocked her as he looked down at her.
His dark look held her spellbound. That lazy, gentle smile returned to his lips and his soft voice lowered, whispering his words to her like a lover’s sigh.
“Something even you do not yet know you possess.” He looked away from her then, breaking the spell he had cast over her. He scanned the store, frowning when he saw the other shop girls staring at him. “I don’t care for this place,” he said in a low, throbbing voice. He looked back at Lauren. “You could do better.”
The force of his gaze shook her to the very foundations of her being and she found herself helplessly staring at him, unable to look away, caught and held by the sheer strength of his personality. Her gaze moved over his face as she evaluated the utter male beauty of him.
There was unmistakable power and authority in the chiseled planes of his face. His nose was bold with a hint of arrogance to it. His jaw line was round, but not so pronounced as to make his face seem hard and unapproachable. The soft fullness of his lower lip was sensual in its unsmiling state, sultry when he smiled and his teeth were very white, just a touch crooked. Beneath the slash of his thick eyebrows, his dark eyes, a warm, mesmerizing shade of soft brown, were direct and gentle. There was a small scar just under his chin and she wondered how he came by it. A mole on his right cheek caught and held her attention, making her want to touch it with her fingertips. In all, his face was so devastatingly handsome it made her ache to look at him.
From his face, her attention moved to the gleaming deep brown of his long hair that was tied back. She found herself wanting to reach out and touch the healthy sleekness of it, to remove the silver band that held it to let it fall down around his shoulders, to run her fingers through the thick wavy locks. She had to mentally shake herself to keep her hand from moving up to do just that.
Her gaze moved reluctantly from his face, paused as the glint of a small silver hoop in his left ear brought her gaze to it. Something moved in her lower belly and she took in his broad shoulders, powerful chest beneath the flowing white of his full-sleeved shirt. Before her vision could take her down the full length of him, down the black trousers, she forced herself to look away.
“Is something wrong, Miss Fowler?”
A tremble went through her and she shook her head, not daring to look at him. What must he think of her bold perusal of him? Embarrassment flamed in her cheeks, tears misting at her presumption. She shook her head, feeling humiliated to the very depths of her soul.
>
“The historical section is over here,” she heard herself saying in a voice that was not hers. She didn’t look at him as she walked away from him. “Did you say Soames?”
“Yes.” He sighed, following her. “Lord Bertram Soames.”
Inez Montes glared at her as she passed the woman; heard a hiss of contempt from the Latin woman’s pursed lips. The force of the other woman’s anger followed Lauren to the historical section.
“If Miss Fowler isn’t up to the task of helping you, I would be most happy to get you anything you need,” she heard Inez coo. “All you need do is ask, Mister...?”
Lauren looked back, saw him stop, his unfathomable gaze aimed at Inez. She thought she saw a flicker of dislike cross his face before he smiled at the Spanish woman.
“Cree,” he answered in an annoyed voice. “Syntian Cree.”
Inez obviously did not notice the bored, knowing way she was being regarded as she stepped closer to him. Her gaze moved down him then locked on his handsome face. “And what do your friends call you?”
His lips twitched. “Mr. Cree.”
The flirtatious smile on Inez’s face wavered.
He turned and smiled warmly at Lauren. “But there are those whom I allow to call me Syn.”
“Syn as in wicked?” Inez teased, her face glowing as he returned his attention to her. She unconsciously licked her upper lip as she watched him.
“Syn as in deadly.” His smile turned cold.
Lauren felt the heat of him as he came to stand beside her. “If we have any of Lord Soames’ books in stock, they would be on this shelf,” she said as she put her hand on the wood. She snatched her hand back when she saw it was shaking and started to turn away.
“Would you help me look?” he asked, his voice low and rife with subtle command.
She would not look at him. “Yes, of course.” She scanned the titles before her.
He was standing close to her, so close she smelled the tangy aroma of his cologne, so close she heard the gentle exhalation and intake of his breath. She watched as his hand reached out, looked down at the fine matting of hair on his wrist as the French cuff pulled back, admired the dark tint of his tan, the elegant tapering of his slim fingers, the manicure of his nails as he plucked a book from the shelf.
NightWind 1st Book: HellWind Trilogy Page 1