NightWind 1st Book: HellWind Trilogy

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  His nostrils quivered and he tensed, gazing down at her sleeping face as he perceived the change occurring in her body. He studied her face, took on the rapid eye movement beneath her lids and knew she was dreaming. Another waft of strong aroma flitted under his nose and he held his breath, realizing what was happening to her.

  Lauren moaned, lost in the coolness of her dream.

  There was a waterfall, a small pond, lush green growth all around. The water in the pond sparkled with dappled sunlight, filtering down through the spreading branches to dance upon the surface. The waterfall was musical, its tumbling waves gentle and soothing as it cascaded down from a red stone cliff. Everything about the place spoke of peace and contentment.

  And then he was there, standing under the canopy of a live oak tree, his hand on a low, twisted branch. He was smiling at her, his handsome face split between the happiness to see her and the desire that turned his gaze to molten heat. Slowly she stood up from where she sat, her own face lit with tenderness.

  “I have come for you, milady,” he told her.

  She came to him, soft as a blessing, and he enfolded her within his strong embrace, fastening her tightly to him.

  “I have waited so long for you,” she whispered against the column of his throat.

  He lowered his head and his mouth claimed hers in a fevered kiss that drew from her the passion he sought. She heard his low growl of pleasure as she opened her mouth beneath his and he thrust his tongue into the sweetness. His kiss was deep then brutally invading as he cupped the back of her head with one hand while he pressed her body intimately to his own with the other. When at last he tore his lips away, he blistered the flesh of her throat and shoulders with kisses that made her knees weak and sent a white-hot stab of longing through her belly.

  He took her right hand from his neck and moved it down his chest to the hard, demanding swell between his thighs. “I have come from a vast distance to pleasure you, milady,” he whispered against her throat. “Will you have me, now?”

  She molded her fingers around the tumescence of his shaft. “Make me your woman then,” she answered.

  She pressed herself against him and he groaned. Her body was responding to the dream in which she was locked. He sensed her passion building for her body was giving off the unmistakable odor of impending release. She was shivering, wrapped up in the arms of her dream, about to experience for the first time in her life the climatic moment of that release. He didn’t know how much longer he could lay there, holding her, smelling her musky scent, absorbing the heat of her body, and not fling himself upon her to satisfy the straining power in his loins. His nearness to her was torture.

  Lauren whimpered and writhed against him, her hand going down to the juncture of his thighs.

  He slid his hand down her back, over her hip, and insinuated it between them, moving aside her questing fingers. He touched the core of heat radiating from her body, and eased his fingers to the elastic at the leg opening of her panties, sliding his trembling hand under the cotton fabric until he touched the crisp curls at the apex of her thighs.

  “Do not touch her,” he heard Angeline’s voice as clearly as though she lay beside him, her restraining words hissing in his ear like a deadly viper.

  His hand stilled and his face became a mask of seething frustration.

  “You know better,” his mistress warned him.

  Lauren wiggled against him and the tips of his fingers encountered the wetness flowing from her womanhood.

  “Angeline, please!” he begged, watching Lauren’s face as the passion built. He held his breath, understanding the release was only a second away from Lauren. He hurt wanting to thrust his fingers inside the dampness, to feel the quivering that would signal the woman’s first climax.

  “No!” Angeline forbade him.

  Lauren drew in her breath and shuddered, reaching the summit of desire and hovering for just a moment at the top before tumbling downward into the valley of satiation.

  He groaned, sensing his lady’s release, not a part of it, forbidden by time and chance to have been the one to initiate her into the pleasure of lovemaking.

  “Damn you, Angeline,” he spat, removing himself from Lauren’s sleeping body, and getting out of the bed to glare into the darkness of the room. “Why?” His words were vicious, spat from a mouth twisted with loathing and bitterness.

  “Because it was wrong,” came the answer. “She did not give you permission to take her.”

  “I just wanted to...”

  “To do what is not allowed. Go. Get away from her. Let her finish her sleep in peace!”

  His anger was like a rampaging river, drowning everything beneath it as he stalked from the room, his face set into hard lines of unforgiving hate. Flinging himself down on the sofa, he curled up into a fetal position, hugging his misery to himself, and stared in defeat at the flashes of light pulsing outside.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bright sunlight flooded her bedroom the next morning and Lauren woke feeling refreshed and at peace with herself for the first time ever. There was a smile on her face as she threw back the covers, looking around for Onyx only to find him missing from the bed. She shrugged, knowing he was about somewhere, and padded into the bathroom.

  Looking into the mirror over the vanity, she liked what she saw. Her face was bright, her eyes dewy, her smile content. She brushed her teeth and her hair and swung her robe about her, belting it as she came down the hall and peeked into the living room.

  “You hungry?” she asked the cat curled up on the sofa.

  Onyx jumped down from the sofa and trotted over to her, rubbed against her legs, begging to be picked up.

  “You’re spoiled already, aren’t you?” Lauren asked as she bent down to lift him into her arms. Stroking his sleek body, she carried him, purring and limp, into the kitchen and set him down by the stove. Squatting down beside him, she opened the cupboard and swept her hand over the array of cans. “What’ll it be, Milord Onyx?”

  The cat sniffed at the cans and then nudged one with its velvety nose.

  “Veal bits,” Lauren said as she picked up the can and read the label. “Good choice, Your Grace. Will you be having white milk or chocolate with that, milord?”

  “Meow?” Chocolate milk? “Meow!” You’re kidding!

  “I agree. White it is.”

  She opened the can and spooned the Kal Kan into a little blue bowl and placed it on the floor in front of Onyx then she took another bowl from the cabinet and filled it with milk. When she bent over to place the milk on the floor, she was surprised that the cat hadn’t started eating, she frowned. “What’s the matter with your food?”

  Onyx flicked his tail then bumped against the cupboard.

  Lauren’s face cleared. “Oh, I forgot.”

  The cat waited patiently until a handful of dried food had been added to his breakfast and mixed with the veal before dipping his head to the bowl.

  “Syn was right,” Lauren admitted.

  “Meow.” Naturally.

  While she made coffee and a couple of English muffins with mayhaw jelly for herself, she watched Onyx consume his meal. She grinned when he was finished and he sat down to engage in his morning bath.

  “Did I keep you awake last night?” she asked, wondering why he hadn’t slept all night on her bed. When the feline stopped in its absolutions and peered up at her with a calm stare, she laughed. “I guess I did, huh?”

  Onyx went back to his bathing and Lauren got up from her table to pour the coffee that had finished dripping into the pot. Carrying her steaming cup to the back door, Lauren opened the panel and peered through the screen at the sparkling moisture clinging to the shrubs and bushes in her backyard.

  “That was some storm last night, wasn’t it, Miss Agnes?” she called out to the little old lady who was watching her from her own screened back porch.

  Agnes Black did not acknowledge the friendly question, but continued to water the plants hanging from the po
rch’s ceiling.

  Lauren sighed, a part of the brightness of her day stained by the old woman’s rudeness. She jumped, feeling the furry invasion of Onyx’s body against her leg.

  “You ready to go out and about, fella?” she asked and unhooked the screen door.

  The cat padded softly down the steps and onto the wet grass then disappeared between the azalea bushes between her property and the Black’s.

  “You be careful!” Lauren called out. She blushed when she realized Agnes Black must have thought she had been speaking to her for the old lady hurried into her house and shut the door.

  There was a knock at her front door and Lauren looked back through the kitchen, puzzling at the dark form on the other side of the glass. She put down her coffee cup on the table as she passed and pulled her robe closer around her. Her face mirrored her confusion when she recognized Ben Hurlbert, the new acting Sheriff, through the lace sheers. Opening the door, she smiled hesitantly at him.

  “Good morning, Benny,” she said, having known the man all her life; they had graduated high school together.

  “‘Morning, Lauren.” he said, doffing his hat. “How you doing?”

  “All right,” she answered, wondering at the uneasy look on his face. “Has something happened?”

  Ben Hurlbert shook his head as he twisted the rim of his uniform hat around and around in his hands. “No, ma’am, not that I know of.” He looked behind him, flinched when he saw the Atherton’s staring at him from their front yard. He glanced to his left and seemed to shrink when he saw Henrietta Malone glaring at him from her porch. He lowered his voice, apparently embarrassed. “I’m sorry to have had to come over here, Lauren, but your phone wasn’t working.” He blushed. “All the phones are down because of the storm, but the phone company says they’ll be back on by nine.”

  Lauren unlatched the screen door and came out onto the porch as Ben stepped back. “May I offer you some coffee?”

  The acting Sheriff shook his head. “I’ve had plenty; thank you.” He ducked his head. “I was just wondering if you’d know where I could find Mr. Cree.” He lifted his head and seemed to flinch with embarrassment. “Ah, Mr. Syntian Cree. I understand you, ah, went out with him last evening.”

  Lauren’s heart skipped a beat. “Has something happened to him?”

  “Oh, no, ma’am,” Ben hurried to say. “Ah, not that we know of, anyway. I just went out to his house yesterday afternoon to speak to him and he wasn’t there. Francine Chalmers said she saw you up to K-Mart yesterday and that he was with you. I came by your house about ten last night and there weren’t no lights on. I didn’t want to bother you ‘cause I thought you might have already gone to bed.” His face turned bright red. “I didn’t see Mr. Cree’s car here so I knew he wasn’t with you.”

  “Is he in some kind of trouble, Benny?” Lauren fidgeted with the neck closing of her robe.

  “I don’t think so,” Ben answered. “We ran a check on him and nothing’s come up yet.” He shifted from one foot to another like a schoolboy before his principal. “He came down to the office on Monday, but I just have some more questions I need to ask him about Beth Janacek.”

  Fear ran down Lauren’s spine. “You don’t think he had something to do with her murder, do you?”

  “No!” Ben was quick to reply. “He was at Mr. Turnbridge’s as best we can figure when Beth was killed, but I’d still like to question him a bit more.” He lowered his head. “About his relationship with her.”

  “Have you tried reaching him this morning?” Lauren asked, wishing she could tell Ben there had been no relationship between Syn and Beth Janacek, but she didn’t know if there had been or not.

  Ben nodded. “I went out to the Herndon place first thing, but he wasn’t there. His car was gone and I thought, well, you know.” He looked away from her. “That he might have come over here to see you.”

  Lauren smiled, wondering how many people in town knew she was keeping company with Syntian Cree. “I haven’t seen him today, Benny, but I’m supposed to have lunch with him. If you’d like, I’ll tell him you’d like to speak to him.”

  Ben sighed with relief. “That would be real nice of you, Lauren,” he said. He walked to the front screen door and opened it, jammed his hat back on his head of thick chestnut hair and touched the brim. “You sure do look pretty this morning.”

  Lauren’s eyes widened. “Why, thank you, Benny.”

  The acting Sheriff blushed and nodded. “You have a good day, now, you hear?”

  “You, too,” Lauren answered, too stunned by the compliment to even bid the man goodbye. She saw him tip his hat to Mrs. Malone and the Athertons then climb into his car and drive away. She was surprised even more when he looked back and waved at her. She lifted a hand and stood there, with it raised, until he was out of sight.

  Henrietta Malone shuffled back into her house and the Athertons continued on their early morning stroll, glancing only once at Lauren before putting their heads together as though discussing something of vital importance.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Lauren saw the curtain at the Blacks’ front parlor swing back into place and knew the elderly sisters had been investigating, as usual.

  “I couldn’t carry on a wild affair and keep it quiet in this town,” Lauren mumbled to herself, shocked at her own words. She hurried inside to get dressed for work.

  At a quarter to nine, Lauren stepped off the front stoop of her house and headed down the walkway to the sidewalk. Just as she turned to her right to head for the corner, she saw Syntian standing on the Blacks’ front steps, looking up through the screen door, smiling as he talked to whichever of the Black sisters had answered the door. Lauren stopped, staring at him, wishing he’d look her way. She started to call out to him, but he stepped off the top step and the screen door swung outward and he entered the porch.

  “What are you doing, now?” Lauren whispered. She heard the second screen door of the Black sisters’ porch squeal open and shut and knew he had been allowed into the old women’s front parlor.

  “Gonna be late if you don’t hurry, Lauren!”

  Lauren’s head snapped around and she noticed one of the Colton boys who lived down the street pedaling past her on his bike. He waved at her and she hesitantly waved back. Never once had either of those two teenage boys ever spoken to her, let alone waved.

  “What’s going on?” she asked herself. First, Benny Hurlbert had actually complimented her; now, Trip Colton had spoken to her and waved!

  She glanced once more at the Black sisters’ house then shook her head.

  Agnes Black smiled as she held the silver teapot over the gentleman’s cup. “Do you take cream and sugar, Mr. Cree?”

  “Perhaps he prefers lemon,” Anna Black corrected her sister.

  “Nothing should be allowed to spoil the blend of the leaves,” Syntian answered. He smiled at the sisters. “Why ruin perfection?”

  Agnes Black’s wrinkled face glowed; Anna Black nodded in appreciation of the gentleman’s good taste. “Naturally, we prefer it unadulterated ourselves,” Anna admitted. She sipped delicately at the Earl Grey.

  “Where is your home, Mr. Cree?” Agnes inquired. She wiped at her upper lip where the strong tea had clung.

  “I am a native Bostonian,” he informed them and watched as the two sisters exchanged knowing glances. He lifted his cup and took a small sip, smiled his approval and saw Agnes beam with pleasure. “Of course, I was educated abroad.”

  “One can tell,” Anna told him. “Good breeding and a fine education always show.”

  “From which institute did you matriculate?” asked Agnes.

  Syntian’s lips twitched. “I received my Master’s Degree in music from the Sorbonne,” he said, giving the university its French pronunciation.

  Anna’s face lit with excitement. “The Sorbonne?” breathed, casting a slow, thrilled glance to her sister “Why, our mother studied there, as well!”

  “Did she?” Syntian asked politel
y. “What a coincidence.”

  Agnes hurriedly put her cup down and walked to the Steinway flanking the east wall of their parlor. “Do you play, Mr. Cree?”

  Anna clucked in disapproval. “Sister, really! Mr. Cree is our guest. Allow him to finish his tea.”

  Placing his Limoges teacup on the Queen Anne console beside him, Syntian stood up and joined Agnes at the piano. He lovingly touched the deep shine on the baby grand’s lid. “A magnificent work of art,” he said, running his hand over the wood. He turned his full gaze on Agnes. “May I?”

  Agnes stared into his umber eyes and fell through layer upon layer of fantasy. “Yes,” she breathed, reaching out to open the piano’s lid. “By all means, please!”

  “I don’t know where Agnes’ manners have gone, Mr. Cree,” Anna began as she hurried over to join them at the Steinway. “She sometimes gets carried away.” She stopped as that devastating gaze fell upon her.

  “Call me Synti,” he said, staring down into the old woman’s creased face.

  “Synti,” Anna whispered, her gaze running rampant over the strong features before her.

  Syntian sat down at the piano and ran his fingers over the keys. “Beautiful tone and resonance,” he said.

  “We have sheet music from every classical composer,” Agnes told him.

  “No need,” he said, playing random chords. He looked up and fused his gaze with Anna’s. “What would you like to hear, Miss Anna?”

  “Bee...Bee...” Anna cleared her throat, trying again. “Beethoven?”

  Syntian smiled, his smoldering look locking with her confused one. “The Moonlight Sonata?”

  Agnes drew in a quick breath. “That’s our very favorite!” she gasped.

  He turned that lethal attention on Agnes. “Ladies of discriminating taste,” he complimented and arched his fingers over the keyboard and began the movement.