BlackWind

by Boyett-Compo

  Deirdre snorted. “Stop trying to embarrass me.”

  Bronwyn opened the door for her mother. “Then tell me about Dr. Hesar and the loafers.”

  Deirdre ducked her head. “You know we have been friends for many, many years.” She glanced at her daughter. At Bronwyn's nod, she took a deep breath. “He's asked me to marry him.”

  “Good. You're too young and vital to live alone the rest of your life.” She patted her leg. “Come on, Stuffie.”

  Brownie trotted out the door in front of them.

  “Is that your grandmother's old locket?” Deirdre asked, casting a look at her daughter.

  Bronwyn touched the locket that had somehow worked its way from beneath her blouse. She tucked the gold chain back where it belonged. “Yes, Ma'am.”

  “It needs cleaning.”

  “I suppose it does, but I never take it off.” Bronwyn arched a brow at her mother. “And stop trying to change the subject. What about Dr. Hesar?”

  “Your father wouldn't have approved,” Deirdre said quietly as she stepped into the hall.

  “Yes, well, Daddy was jealous of Dr. Hesar, as I remember.” She closed Sage's door. “May I ask what happened to his wife? Rosemary, wasn't it?”

  “They've been divorced for four years. Neal took your father's job after—” She cut herself off. “Rosie didn't like Iowa. She gave him an ultimatum—her or the job. Since they hadn't been getting along for quite some time and didn't even share a bedroom, he chose the job and she got his parent's house at Doubletree in Albany.”

  “Wow,” Bronwyn said with a whistle. “That was some house. Is he gonna build you something like that? If so, I got dibs on an east-facing bedroom.”

  Deirdre stopped walking and looked at her daughter. “Do you have any objections to the marriage, Bronnie? Any at all?”

  “None whatsoever.” Bronwyn embraced her mother. “I'm thrilled for you. I wish you two all the happiness in the world.”

  The two women commenced walking.

  “East-facing, huh?” Deirdre asked.

  “It was a joke, Mom. I'm too old and too set in my ways to live with my mother ever again.”

  “Well, you'll have to bunk with me tonight at least. How much furniture are you having brought in?”

  Bronwyn shrugged. “I have about fifteen boxes of junk, an old overstuffed chair, and a futon. That's the extent of my household goods. Everything came from Goodwill, and most of it, including my dishes, went back to Goodwill when I left Pensacola. I figured I'd start fresh out here.”

  “Oh, good!” Deirdre exclaimed. “We're going to have a ball shopping!”

  Bronwyn grinned. “I thought that would make you happy.”

  “We'll get up early and zip over to Des Moines. There's an absolutely delightful furniture store out near Valley West mall.”

  Brownie padded down the long corridor and turned a corner, disappearing from view.

  “Wrong way, Goldfarb!” Bronwyn called. “Here's the elevator.” When Brownie didn't come trotting back, Bronwyn sighed and called her again.

  “I'll hold the elevator,” Deirdre said, pushing the button.

  Bronwyn jogged to the end of the corridor, whistling for her dog. “Brownie, come on!” As she rounded the corner, she saw Brownie far down the hall, sitting in the middle of the corridor, staring up at a tall man unlocking one of the doors.

  “Brownie!” Bronwyn called. “Come here, sweetie!”

  The dog turned to look at her mistress, then swung her head back toward the man. She let out one of her excited barks, the kind she used when she wanted to play.

  Exasperated, Bronwyn clucked her tongue, patting her leg as she walked. “Brownie, come here!” she said, her voice tight.

  The man never once looked in Bronwyn's direction. He opened the door and went inside, closing the portal behind him with a snap.

  Brownie whined and trotted to the door behind which the man had disappeared. She lifted her paw and scratched at the metal.

  “No!” Bronwyn hurried forward and picked up Brownie. She tapped the dog's nose with her index finger. “Bad dog!”

  Brownie huffed and wiggled in Bronwyn's arms.

  “No, you aren't getting down. Not until we're in the elevator.”

  Deirdre was standing at the cage, her hand against the panels. “She doesn't mind very well, does she?”

  “Normally, she does. I think she made a new friend and didn't want to say goodbye.”

  Deirdre frowned. “Who?”

  “Tall man, goatee, long black hair, dressed entirely in black.” Bronwyn saw a strange look pass over her mother's face. “Do you know who I mean?”

  “Yes, I do.” Deirdre smiled, but the smile did not quite reach her eyes. “Let's get you into a hot bath while I call up for some room service. What would you like?”

  * * * *

  He reached into the pocket of his black leather jacket and pulled out Bronwyn McGregor's driver's license. He stared at it for a long time before easing the thumb of his right hand over the lower portion of the photograph, stroking the plastic as he had stroked the little dog's muzzle a few minutes before. He brought the card to his face and inhaled the scent of its owner that still clung to the plastic, closing his eyes to the intoxicating scent.

  The phone rang, but he ignored it. Instead, he walked through the darkness of his office and sat at his desk. He stared at the license as the phone continued to ring, but when the answering machine clicked on, he leaned back in his chair and turned to stare at the offending appliance.

  “If you must, leave a message,” he heard himself snarl.

  “I know you're there,” his caller said. “Please pick up.”

  With a sigh of annoyance, he leaned forward and jerked up the handset. “What?”

  “Did you have a good ride?”

  He did not reply as he flexed the license between his thumb and middle fingers.

  “Have you seen her?” the caller asked.

  “What do you think?”

  “Is there going to be a problem?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I don't want there to be.”

  “Then there won't be,” he declared and hung up.

  Slumping back in his chair, he swiveled his head to one side and brought the license closer to his face. He stared into the smiling eyes of Bronwyn McGregor for a long time, then pulled open a desk drawer and flicked the license inside.

  CHAPTER 27

  The next day, the sun was shining as though the rain had never visited the Plains State. Everything looked fresh and new, and a slight scent of newly-mown grass wafted on the air.

  “I've spent more of your money today than I spent in eight years of college,” Bronwyn complained, shifting the weight of the shopping bags.

  “But it was fun, wasn't it?” her mother queried.

  “I'll let you know how much fun it was when I pay you back.”

  “W. I. will reimburse me, dear. You won't have to.”

  The loud roar of an engine startled them. They turned to see the same motorcycle Bronwyn had encountered the day before, now racing down the access road in front of the condos.

  “Who is that man, Mama? He almost ran me off the road yesterday. He came barreling around the corner and almost hit me head-on.”

  “I bet I know exactly where you were. That road can be very dangerous in the wintertime.”

  “He could have been hurt if we'd collided. Don't you have a helmet law out here?”

  Deirdre shook her head. “Iowa doesn't require one and I doubt he'd wear one even if they did. Sometimes I believe he thinks he's indestructible. He's in charge of the S. S.”

  Bronwyn turned to her mother and arched a brow. “The S. S.?”

  “Security Services. You'll recognize his men by their black uniforms.” She patted her left shoulder. “They have a red triangle on the sleeve here.”

  “I met a couple of them at the gates yesterday,” Bronwyn said with a shiver. “Strange men, both of them. Is he a
s weird as they are?”

  Her mother smiled. “They can be a bit intimidating, but you have nothing to worry about. Brownie seemed to take right away to the captain. Despite his stern appearance, he loves animals. I believe the only time I've actually seen him smile was when he was talking to an animal and didn't realize he was being observed.”

  “He was the man in the corridor yesterday?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, Brownie's always been a good judge of character, and if she approves of him, I guess he must be all right.”

  “I've heard Dr. Wynth remark he would trust his life to the captain. He is a well-thought of young man.”

  “But a hellion on wheels,” Bronwyn snorted.

  Deirdre laughed, then put her arm around Bronwyn's shoulder. “Let's get your new home decorated. I can't wait to start!”

  Bronwyn sighed, for she knew it would be a long day of moving furniture and moving it again until her mother had the flow of traffic in the rooms as it should be.

  * * * *

  The lights went out in Bronwyn McGregor's new condo at a little past 1:00 A.M. on the third morning of her arrival at Baybridge. Her mother had left just before midnight, going down in the elevator with the two men from Wynth Industries’ housekeeping staff, who had helped to arrange the furniture purchased in Des Moines the day before.

  At 2:00 A.M., Bronwyn McGregor was finally sound asleep, tired from a long day of unpacking and arranging her new furnishings.

  He had no trouble getting past the alarm system and gaining entrance to her condo. Though the room was dark, he walked unerringly past the unfamiliar furniture arrangement and straight to her bedroom. Slowly, quietly, expertly, he opened the door and slipped inside.

  The dog lifted its head from the foot of the bed where she was stretched out. Soft brown eyes flicked from the opened door to the far corner of the room and back again. A low groan came from her silky throat.

  He paid no attention to the other entity in the room as he walked to the bed and stared down at the sleeping woman. Absently, he scratched the dog's chin, feeling her wet tongue dragging over his wrist. He stood for a moment or two, watching Bronwyn's rhythmic inhalation and exhalation. He made no move to touch her. He closed his eyes and breathed in her scent, reveling in the light gardenia perfume that clung to her flesh.

  “Go away.”

  He opened his eyes and turned to stare at the being that had spoken. It was sitting in a rocking chair at the far end of the room.

  Two sets of scarlet red eyes clashed, sparking a crimson glow in the darkened room. The stares held until Bronwyn sighed and turned over, the sheets covering her rustling in the quiet.

  “I will tell my master you came to call,” the aged Nightwind declared, though his lips never moved. He set the rocker into motion. “He will not be pleased.”

  The visitor did not reply. His vermeil gaze shifted back to Bronwyn then down to the dog. He ruffled its ears, then stepped back. As quietly as he had entered the room, he left.

  * * * *

  Cedric breathed a sigh of relief that there had been no confrontation. To his way of thinking, he was too old and too tired for that sort of thing. He listened for the soft click of the door closing behind Bronwyn's night visitor, and when he heard it, he relaxed. With a slight shiver, he returned to his feline state, curling up on the plush mounds of the rocker's seat cushion, and went back to sleep.

  * * * *

  “I found a note on my door, asking me to take you to a vet and have blood drawn,” Bronwyn commented to Cedric as she poured herself a glass of orange juice. “I'm not sure how I'm going to handle that.”

  The ancient Nightwind shrugged. “I can shapeshift so you can draw the blood when I'm in my feline form. Even a hematologist won't be able to tell the difference.”

  Bronwyn joined him at the dining table. “That's a relief. And if you leave the apartment, please do your cloaking thing so no one will see, Cedric. I don't want to have to explain why I have a seventy-year-old gentleman living with me.”

  “You flatter me, Bronwyn. I'm considerably much older than that.” He grinned. “By a couple of thousand years, actually.”

  Bronwyn looked at him and sighed. “You don't look a day over nine hundred.”

  Cedric chuckled. “You silver-tongued demoness, you.”

  “Do you know where Danyon is?” she asked, her smile slipping to become a slight frown.

  “Why don't you ask him yourself?”

  Bronwyn jumped, spinning around to face the one who had spoken. She narrowed her eyes at the man who had so silently materialized. “I wish you wouldn't do that. I've asked you before not to pop in uninvited.”

  Danyon Hart folded his arms over his chest. He cast Cedric a stern look and the older Nightwind got up from the table and walked out as quietly as his master had entered.

  “You had an uninvited guest last evening,” he said, pulling out a chair. He sat facing her.

  “I have an uninvited guest this morning!” she said with exasperation.

  Danyon sighed. “Why must you insist on insulting me, Bronwyn? Have I not done everything you demanded? Have I not left you alone to fend for yourself these past nine years, milady?”

  “With Cedric's watchful eye on me at all times.”

  “As your protector. And as a helpful companion who changed a flat tire in Arkansas, if memory serves.” He lifted a thick, black brow. “On a barren stretch of road, in the middle of the night, in the driving rain—”

  “Just what every female traveler needs—a retired Nightwind to follow her around and make things right.”

  Danyon smiled. “You like him and you know it. He's an ancient being and he's lonely. He enjoys your company. So where is the harm?”

  Bronwyn grunted an answer. She stuffed a piece of crisp bacon into her mouth and vigorously chewed.

  Danyon leaned back in the chair. “The visitor?”

  “I assume this person posed no threat, else Cedric would have raised one helluva fuss,” Bronwyn muttered. When Danyon did not reply, she glanced at him. There was a stern look on his handsome face. “All right. Tell me about it. You're going to anyway.”

  “He entered your home without permission. He stood over your bed, watching you sleep. He went so far as to pat Brownie, his hand only inches from your leg.”

  Bronwyn stared at him. “Who did?”

  “The man on the motorcycle,” Danyon growled, his face hard.

  “How did he get in?” she asked, her gaze going to the front door.

  “His kind can get past security as well as Cedric and I can. He opened the door and walked in.”

  “And Cedric didn't throw him out?”

  “Cedric is old,” Danyon said on a long breath. “He wants nothing more than to sit beside you in that dented old chair and rock himself to sleep. He would not have welcomed a fight, and I imagine your visitor did not want a fight with him, either.”

  “Well, I'm glad there wasn't a fight. I was tired, and to be awakened by fighting Nightwinds—”

  “Hurl another insult at me, will you? I did not say he was a Nightwind,” Danyon snarled.

  “You didn't say he wasn't,” Bronwyn threw back. “What exactly is his kind?”

  Danyon shook his head. “I can not even bear to call him by his race, for it offends me to the depths of what soul I have left!”

  Bronwyn blanched. “A race worse than the Nightwinds?”

  “Some would say so.”

  “Is he dangerous?” she asked, a shudder rippling through her body.

  “He will not harm you, Beloved. I will see to that.”

  “How? The man you're talking about is in charge of security. He must be a powerful—”

  “You are not to worry about him. Your visitor poses no threat to you.”

  “You're sure?”

  Danyon lightly touched her arm. “Aye, Beloved. Very sure. He would never hurt you.”

  Bronwyn moved her arm from his reach. “Is that all?”

/>   The Nightwind sighed audibly. “Though you may never sign a pact between us—”

  “It would be a cold day in hell before I would, Danny.” She looked at her wristwatch. “I'm going to be late if I don't get out of here now. I have an appointment with Dr. Wynth at nine-thirty.” She reached for her purse, dismissing Danyon with the gesture.

  A muscle jumped in the Nightwind's lean jaw. “Though you may never sign the pact between us,” he continued, “I have pledged myself to you as your champion, and I will not allow that thing that invaded your privacy last evening to come between us.”

  “Are you going to fight over me?” she asked, one brow quirked.

  He pursed his lips. “Eventually, the fight will come between he and I. He knows this as well as I.”

  “And you'll win,” Bronwyn declared, fear tugging at her throat.

  Danyon looked away. “I have every intention of doing so.”

  * * * *

  The Chief Security Officer of Wynth Industries Security Services stood at the window of his third-floor condo at the Baybridge complex and watched Bronwyn McGregor hurrying across the Quad toward the Administration building.

  His eyes missed nothing as Bronwyn made her way to the granite steps; the two men coming toward her from the left, hurrying, as was she, to escape the imminent downpour that threatened to erupt from the lowering gray sky; the woman who exited the research building with her arms full of file folders; the lone jogger who, for the last half hour, had made the circuit of the Quad's inner walkway.

  Studying each of the four people within striking range of Bronwyn, he dismissed them as being no threat to her. The unease he had been feeling since waking that morning was centered on her, but there did not appear to be danger lurking about.

  He drew in a long breath. The stench of Nightwind filled his nostrils.

  Until the evening before, he had not inhaled that particular rancid aroma for more than a thousand years. He had never thought he would on this world.

  He sniffed the air again. His nose twitched. He sneezed violently, hating the aroma that now clung to his nasal membranes.

  So that was the source of his nervousness, he thought with disgust. There was another Nightwind lurking about, and this one's scent was much stronger, more intense than the old one who shadowed Bronwyn. This one was relatively young and, he grimaced, more dangerous.