NightWind 1st Book: HellWind Trilogy

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  “Ask me what?” Lauren questioned suspiciously.

  “To marry him!” Agnes announced.

  “What else?” Anna tittered.

  Syntian winced as Lauren gawked at him. He shrugged helplessly, avoiding Lauren’s look. “I haven’t had the chance.”

  “Shame on you, Lauren!” Agnes clucked. “You give this boy a chance to ask you.”

  “Yes, give the boy a chance to ask,” Anna echoed.

  The younger woman felt as though she had committed some unpardonable social faux pas. She opened her mouth to speak, but Syntian’s words cut through her bewilderment and pitched her headlong into total shock.

  “Will you, Lauren?” he asked and when she turned her head to stare at him, his face was filled with hope.

  “Oh, for pity’s sake, Syntian Cree!” Anna exclaimed. “That’s no proper way to ask for a lady’s hand in marriage!”

  “Certainly not!” Agnes agreed. She leveled her ladle at him. “You were brought up better than that, young man!”

  Syntian nodded. “You are right; I was.” He pushed back his chair and stood.

  Lauren’s mouth sagged open as Syntian went to his knee before her and reached out to take her hand in his, bringing it to his lips in a chaste kiss before settling her fingers against his chest.

  “Miss Lauren,” he said in a grave voice as he stared into her eyes. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my bride?”

  If the world had crashed down around her, Lauren could not have been more surprised. Here it was: eight o’clock in the morning; kitchen filled with people, two of whom had never even spoken to her before that day and who were now making supper for her; a man at her feet, asking her to marry him; coffee brewing on the counter; sunlight filtering in through the blinds to light on Syntian’s face as though caressing it.

  “Will you, Lauren?”

  “Answer him, girl!’’ Anna commanded. “Don’t keep the boy on his knees waiting!”

  “You’re torturing him, Lauren,” Agnes stated. “Can’t you see that?”

  Syntian’s grip on Lauren’s hand increased and his face filled with an emotion that could only have been a fear of rejection. “Lauren?” he asked, his voice shaky.

  Lauren looked from his face to Anna’s to Agnes’ and then back to Syntian’s expectant gaze. “I don’t...” she started to say, her voice breaking. She tried again after clearing her throat. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say yes!” Agnes told her.

  “Of course, she’s going to say yes. Aren’t you, dear?”

  His fingers around her hand were hot. “Say it, Lauren,” he encouraged. “Say you will marry me.”

  “I ...” Lauren swallowed, looking away from him. She searched the floor, as though trying to find an answer. She shook her head. “This is so sudden.”

  “Please?” he whispered, his voice filled with all the emotion a woman could ask for.

  Slowly she lifted her head and looked at him. “Syntian, we haven’t known—”

  The word never drew sound, but it was on his lips: “Please?”

  “You’ll break his heart if you say no,” Agnes told her.

  “Can’t you see what your silence is doing to the boy, Lauren?” Anna queried.

  Syntian reached up to lay the palm of his hand on Lauren’s cheek, caressing her. “Say it, Lauren. Please, say it. I love you with all my heart and I want to spend the rest of our lives together making you happy.”

  “Oh for pity sakes, gal!” Anna declared. “Give the boy your answer!”

  Lauren bit her lip, looking from Syntian to the old women and back again, then sighed. “All right,” she whispered. “Yes.”

  Syntian drew in his breath. “Yes?” he asked, not daring to speak louder than a whisper for fear he had heard her wrong.

  Lauren smiled, her love showing in her eyes. “Yes,” she answered. “I would be honored to be your wife.”

  “Well thank goodness!” Agnes sighed.

  “Where’s the ring, Synti?” Anna prodded.

  “Ring?” Lauren asked.

  He let go of her hand long enough to rummage in his pocket. When he brought his hand up, he held a beautiful two-carat emerald-cut solitaire. He took her hand and slipped the ring on the ring finger of her left hand. He looked up at her. “Like it?”

  Lauren stared at the white-hot sparkle of the diamond in the sunlight. She nodded, overwhelmed and overcome with emotion.

  Anna and Agnes beamed as they watched the handsome young man stand and draw his fiancée into his arms. Their aged faces cracked with contentment as they watched him seal the bargain with a polite, virtuous kiss on the young woman’s quivering lips.

  “Syntian Cree!” Agnes said with exasperation. “Can’t you do any better than that?”

  “Kiss the gal like you mean it, boy!” Anna demanded.

  Lauren stared up into his heated gaze and felt herself plummeting through time and space. When he pulled her against him, nestling her in the warmth and security of his arms, she laid her head on his chest, listening to the steady, comforting beat of his heart through the silk of his shirt, Lauren felt emotions she had never expected to feel.

  “I love you, Lauren,” he said softly against her temple and his arms tightened around her. “With all my heart, I love you.”

  “Will you kiss her like you mean that, then?” Anna snapped.

  Lauren felt his finger under her chin, lifting her face. She looked up, her belly clenching with unadulterated lust when she saw the look in his dark eyes. When he lowered his mouth to hers once more, slid his hand along her jaw, through her hair to brace her head for his kiss, she thought her knees would buckle beneath her. As his tongue slipped possessively past her lips, she felt the thrust of it all the way to her womb and sagged against him, thankful for the strong arm that pressed her intimately to his body. “That’s more like it,” she vaguely heard Anna proclaim.

  When his lips released hers, he stepped back a little then planted a sweet, chaste kiss on her forehead, then her nose, one last soft touch to her lips, then smiled. “Tell me you love me,” he whispered.

  “Yes,” Lauren breathed. “I do.” She answered his smile. “I do love you.”

  “And we’ll be celebrating your engagement tomorrow night at Le Paradis!” Agnes sighed.

  A quiver of excitement trilled down Lauren’s spine and she pushed away from Syntian, looking up at him for confirmation of the old woman’s words.

  “You didn’t stand a chance,” Syntian told her. “We had it planned down to the smallest detail.” He cupped her cheek. “Remember what I once told you? I always get what I set out to acquire, Lauren Fowler.”

  After Syntian had gone and she was left alone to sip her coffee while the two old ladies bustled about the kitchen, Lauren could not believe what had happened to her that morning. Even on her short walk to work—having declined his offer to drive her for she needed time to think—she had trouble crediting what had occurred in her little kitchen. Her mind was swirling with questions, with confusion, with absolute shock as she fumbled open the shop door. Standing there, key in the lock, she stared through the glass into the interior of the dark store and felt a wave of total elation flood through her body.

  “I hear congratulations are in order.”

  Lauren jumped, startled by the voice and turned, her hand still on the key to stare at Angeline Hellstrom. The older woman was standing beside her limo. There was an odd look on Mrs. Hellstrom’s face.

  “He couldn’t wait to call me and tell me,” Angeline mumbled, stepping up onto the curb. She nodded at her driver and the black man skirted the car and opened the door, tipping his hat to the two women as he climbed inside the expensive automobile.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Lauren answered, embarrassed when she remembered the connection between this woman and the man she had agreed to marry.

  “Don’t worry,” Angeline told her as she eased Lauren aside and finished unlocking the door. “I’m happy for th
e both of you.” She pushed the door open and motioned Lauren inside.

  Lauren felt a tremor of unease go down her backbone as she entered the store. Had she seen the look of pure spite on the older woman’s face, she would have known why.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I’m not Catholic,” Syntian told her as he drove her home from the engagement party the next night.

  “Would you consider converting?” she asked, nibbling at her lower lip. His right hand was threaded with hers and she felt his grip tightened.

  “You have to belong to a religion to convert to another, Sweeting.”

  Lauren looked out her window, not distressed by his words, but a little worried about them. “You don’t go to church at all?”

  “No,” he answered.

  She was afraid to tell him she wanted to be married in her church.

  “I’ve contacted a friend of mine,” Syntian said, glancing at her averted profile. “He’s a notary public.”

  A portion of her happiness evaporated. Lauren looked at him. “A notary public?”

  Syntian shrugged away the gasp in her voice. “In the state of Florida, a notary public can marry people.”

  Another vapor of happiness slipped away. “Why not a justice of the peace?” Lauren asked. She saw his lips purse into a frown. “We could go to the courthouse.”

  He turned to look at her. “Is that what you want? To stand in the courthouse and be married?”

  “No, I want to stand in a church,” she said, somewhat annoyed at his tone, “Besides, isn’t standing in the courthouse the same as standing in someone’s living room or office and getting married?”

  Syntian thought about that for a moment. “I have a friend who is a sea captain. Paegan has a schooner moored in Panama City. I can arrange for him to marry us, then have his crew take us on a cruise down to the Bahamas and Puerto Rico.” He caressed her hand. “How do you like that idea?”

  “A ship?” Lauren had never done anything so wonderful. A sea cruise sounded nice.

  “The Revenant.” He glanced at her and was relieved to see her expression was not closed to the idea.

  Lauren let out a long sigh, giving in. “If that’s what you want.”

  He didn’t say anything, then pulled his hand away from hers to down shift the Porsche. He turned into a brightly lit parking lot and cut the engine. Facing her, he put his hand on her shoulder.

  “Would it make you feel better if I had a Catholic priest there to bless the marriage?”

  Lauren smiled. “Yes.”

  Syntian squeezed her shoulder. “Then, Father Robbie it is!”

  “Why don’t we invite my priest?” she asked, searching his face.

  Syntian tensed. He looked away from her. “I’ve already invited Robbie to the wedding. He and I were in college together and—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Lauren said, not wanting to spoil things for him. She put her hand on his knee. “Just so long as he blesses our marriage, it doesn’t make any difference.”

  On the drive back into Milton, Syntian breathed a sigh of relief that Lauren had been so agreeable. It would have been more difficult to arrange matters should he have been forced to ask her parish priest to the wedding. His thoughts went to Robert MacCorkingdale, the defrocked priest who would be blessing his and Lauren’s union, and he smiled.

  Things were working out just the way he had planned.

  Angeline watched him stalking about her bedroom. His unleashed fury was mounting and she knew the effort it was costing him to keep that violence in check. She looked down at the powerful fists clutched at his side and smiled.

  Syntian saw that smile and growled, a deep roar of warning pushing from his throat. His umber eyes glowed with hatred and his lips pulled back over gleaming white teeth.

  “You might as well sit down,” Angeline scolded him. “You’re not going anywhere tonight, Syntian.”

  He lashed out, sweeping his arm across Angeline’s vanity, knocking her cosmetics to the floor where they shattered and spilled on the carpet. The pungent smell of Opium filled the air. His narrowed gaze turned on the woman as though daring her to chastise him for the destruction.

  Angeline shrugged and leaned back on her chaise. “Nothing that can’t be replaced,” she informed him.

  “You she-bitch!” he spat, spinning away from her condescending gaze to glare out the window at the rolling waves of the Gulf of Mexico.

  “I would be careful what names you called me, Syntian,” she warned him in a neutral voice. “I could stop the wedding, you know.”

  He jerked, coming around to face her as though he could tear out her throat. His words were thrust from between gnashing teeth clenched with primal rage. “Do not dare try.”

  “Not that I will,” Angeline told him, amused at the lethal intent in his handsome face. “As long as you behave and do as you are told.”

  Syntian knew a wild moment of absolute mindlessness as he stared at her laughing face. His vision filled with a scarlet haze of violence and his nostrils quivered as though he were a wild beast on the prowl for fresh kill. Beneath the tight grip of his hands, his palms were slimy with sweat just as there was a thick line of it over his upper lip.

  “If you don’t sit down,” she told him, “I will have you caged like the animal you are behaving.” Her eyes narrowed. “Is that what you want on the night before your wedding, Syntian?”

  “Don’t fuck with me, Angeline!” he spat at her, taking a step toward the chaise.

  “Don’t speak to me like that, Syntian. You know I don’t like it.”

  “Tough shit,” he hissed, turning away from her steady gaze, feeling his helplessness closing around him like the sharp teeth of a steel trap.

  “She will come to her wedding day as pure as the day you forced yourself into her life,” Angeline reminded him.

  He tried to shut out the woman’s words, but they penetrated his mind. He heard her berating him, chastising him, as she had nearly every day over the month-long period he and Lauren had been engaged. He had anticipated her anger, had prepared himself for it, but when she had merely smiled at him, wishing him happiness in his marriage when he had rebelliously told her of Lauren’s acceptance of his proposal, he should have known she was being too accommodating by far.

  “Oh, I’ll let you marry her, Syntian,” Angeline had agreed, confusing him and alerting him to a danger far beyond her words. “I’ll even attend the wedding.”

  He had stared at her, his instinct telling him there was something lurking behind her calm words. “In exchange for what?” Angeline had smiled. “I don’t know, yet.”

  When she had summoned him on the eve of his marriage, Syntian had been furious. He had ignored the call, making it necessary for Angeline to send Delbert after him. He had fought Delbert, but it had availed him nothing. Del was good at what he had been created to do.

  “You could have saved yourself the pain,” Angeline had said as she had stood over him, shaking her head at the blood that dripped down his face.

  “Go to hell!” he’d snarled at her, swiping at the blood on his cheek.

  Angeline swung her legs from the chaise and stood up, unlaced the ribbon at the throat of her peignoir. “Come here,” she told him, not surprised when she saw his back stiffen and refuse to turn around to face her. “Don’t make me call you again, Syntian.”

  He spun around and fixed her with a malevolent glower that should have struck her dead. “I will not have you pawing me, Angeline! Not tonight!”

  “You, my dear sweet demon,” she told him, “have no say in the matter.” She let the peignoir drop to the floor. Her naked breasts gleamed as she reached up to lift them and separate their fullness. She caressed the heaviness with her slim fingers. “Would you rather I called you on your wedding night?”

  He knew she was as likely to do that as not. He also knew he would be dragged to Angeline—kicking and screaming in front of Lauren—if that was what Angeline decided she wanted. His shoulders
sagged in defeat.

  “That’s a good boy,” she said, crooking her finger at him. “Come, Syntian.”

  His entire being shivered with distaste as she made him kneel at her feet. He had to force himself to put his arms around her, to draw her supple body to his cheek as he laid his head against her belly.

  “You know what I want you to do,” she said in a sigh of anticipation. Her fingers threaded through his long dark hair.

  He forced himself away from the terrible place in which he was being kept; invoking every demon he knew that she would not keep him here past the early morning when he should be leaving for the docks in Panama City.

  “Syntian,” she purred at him.

  He lifted his head and looked bleakly at her, wondering what new tortures she had in store for him for her voice had been too sweet.

  Angeline smoothed the lush hair back from his forehead. “I will drive Lauren to P.C. tomorrow.”

  He groaned. “Angeline—”

  “I will drive her,” she stated, brooking no further discussion. “Consider it my wedding present to you.”

  He searched her face, looking for the treachery he knew was there, but all he saw was amusement. He flinched as she laughed at his helplessness.

  “Love me, Syntian,” she warned him. “And love me well else you’ll spend the rest of Lauren’s life right where you are at this moment.”

  Angeline dabbed at the corner of her eye as Syntian turned to Lauren and took her into his arms to place the stamp of possession on the young woman’s lips. The wind ruffled her sleek hair and a few stray wisps escaped the confines of her chignon. She pushed them back with her hand and smiled as Robbie’s gaze met her own.

  “They make a handsome couple, don’t they?” Robbie chuckled. His pale blue gaze widened with spite. “I don’t know why he’d want her instead of you, though.”

  “Oh, I still have him, Robbie,” Angeline assured him. Her eyes went to the happy couple. “Now, more than ever.”

  Robbie lifted a glass of champagne from a tray Delbert held before him. He turned and raised the glass high. “Ladies and gentlemen!” he said, gaining everyone’s attention. “May I propose a toast to our newly wedded friends?”