The Nightwind’s Woman
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Part of the WindWorld series.
The archdemon Kerreyder Abbadon will fight to have Kenzie Delaney. All he needs to do is take her from the Nightwind incubus Randon Kayle. Nightwinds are not the sharing kind, but when it comes to Blood-mates—and that is what Kenzie is to Kerreyder—the ancient concept takes precedence over the mere life-mate designation that is the Nightwind’s claim to Kenzie. In order to have the female at all, the incubi will have no choice but to share her, else lose her completely.
When two demons fight for the love of a mortal woman, all hell will break loose, and when the Seal is broken, unimaginable evil will pour forth. It will take both demons to stop it before mankind is annihilated.
A Romantica® paranormal erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
The Nightwind’s Woman
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Forward
If the creatures mentioned here in the novel interest you and you would like to learn more, please visit my website at www.windlegends.org. On the Menu, scroll down to Research for Writers, click, then scroll down to Creatures, Spirits and Monsters. While the list is by no means complete, there are a few “oddities” that you might find fascinating to read about.
One word of caution: when you surf over to my website, be prepared to spend a little….well, actually a LOT of…time. There are many things to see there!
Happy Reading!
Charlee
Dedication
To my Tommy.
“I’ll love you until the rivers run still and the four winds we know blow away.”
From “A Daisy A Day” by Jud Strunk.
Chapter One
McKenzi Delaney sat stiffly on the uncomfortable vinyl seat and wished she were anywhere other than where she was at that moment. The room to which she had been taken was overly warm and bare of anything she could use to pass the time that was dragging on indefinitely. Once more she looked to the desk across the small, claustrophobic room and wished the receptionist would return. The two tables flanking the low-slung, hard-as-cement divan beneath her aching rump were bare and there wasn’t a scrap of paper or a fleck of lint on the immaculate surface of the desk. There was absolutely nothing with which Kenzi could alleviate the boredom and nervousness plaguing her.
Drawing in a long, hard breath, she exhaled slowly and loudly, looking about the nondescript room yet again as she reached up to idly stroke the small white scar that ran across her forehead. The walls were governmental green and the carpets a tobacco-brown shade of commercial cut pile—an unsettling combination of colors in her book. Above her, the ceiling was covered in off-white acoustical tile panels with a single two-foot by four-foot fluorescent light fixture with a plastic grate set in a diamond pattern. One tube beneath the grate was dimmer than the other and made sputtering sounds from time to time. The room screamed the 1960s.
She fidgeted, trying to find a soft spot on the divan—definitely a refugee from the mid-sixties. It had wooden arms and legs and the cushions and seat back were done in a Halloween-bright shade of orange and crinkled when she shifted her weight. The desk chair had no cushion and matched the dark wood of the desk, which had no drawers.
Before she’d been ushered to the room by a security guard, she’d had her pocketbook confiscated and along with it one of the paperback novels she was rarely without. Even her watch had been taken by the receptionist when she’d left, making it impossible for Kenzi to know how long she’d been cooling her heels in the disquieting room.
“This is ridiculous,” she said and shot to her feet, marching over yet again to the solitary door, wrapping her hand around the knob, knowing full well the portal was locked from the other side. She tried it again to no avail. The door remained locked.
Grinding her teeth, she was tempted to slap her palm angrily against the panel, to call out just in case they had forgotten about her. Her fingers curled into a fist that she slammed instead against her thigh before whipping around to return to the divan. Staring down at the hard vinyl cushions, shoulders sagging, she turned away to pace. She thought anything was preferable to wearing out her ass on the rigid seat.
She was on the tenth trek across the room when the door opened and the receptionist—without a word—appeared and crooked a beckoning finger.
“About damn time,” Kenzi said under her breath.
She followed the nondescript woman down the long hallway, glancing at the closed doors she’d passed on her way to what Kenzi had labeled the Green Room. Unnerved by the woman’s silence and the squeak of the receptionist’s serviceable heels on the tan floor tiles, Kenzi curled her tongue over her parched lips. Her throat felt as dry as a cotton ball. The warm room seemed to have leached all moisture from her mouth. The least they could have done, she thought, was offered her a glass of water while she waited, a magazine to occupy her time.
The receptionist stopped at one of the unmarked doors, swung open the portal and stepped back, indicating with a sweep of her hand that Kenzi was to precede her.
Kenzi entered the room, biting her lip when she took in a room bare of everything except two uncomfortable-looking black vinyl chairs.
“Please take a seat, Dr. Delaney. The Supervisor will be with you shortly,” the receptionist said, pulling the door toward her.
Irritation settled on Kenzi like a heavy wool coat and she shook her head. “No.”
The receptionist blinked. “I beg your pardon.”
Kenzi lifted her chin. “I said no. I am not going to spend another hour sitting like a bump on a log without even a pamphlet to read! I am thirsty and—”
“Get Dr. Delaney a glass of ice water, Pearl.” The command came from a deep male voice that brought the receptionist’s head around.
“Of course, sir,” she said and stepped back to allow the speaker to move past her.
The man who entered the room was so tall he had to duck his head to keep from hitting the top of the door frame. His shoulders were so wide they nearly brushed the jambs. He had the largest hands she’d ever seen and when he extended his hand to her in greeting, his grip was like iron.
“I know we kept you waiting far longer than I’m sure you find acceptable, Doctor, but I had another interview before yours,” he said in that rumbling voice. “I believe I can assure you the wait will have been worth it.” He indicated he wanted her to take a seat.
Kenzi sat, feeling dwarfed by his towering presence and the deep-set gray eyes that bored into her like beacons. She cupped her hands around the arms of the chair.
“I don’t even know why I’m here,” she said.
“We brought you here to offer you a job,” he responded, folding his large frame into the chair. He gracefully crossed one leg over the other, threaded his fingers together to rest them on his upraised knee.
“I’m not looking for a job,” Kenzi stated. “I am employed at Mercy West.”
He smiled to reveal very white, straight teeth that were no doubt his dentist’s dream. “Just hear me out. I can assure you what I have to offer will not only intrigue you, you will jump at the chance to become a part of our team.”
“Here?” she asked, letting the word drop like an ice shard. She looked around the nondescript room then arched a brow.
“Oh, no,” he said with a slight shake of his head. “Not here.” His smile widened. “At a facility quite a ways from here actually.”
Kenzi released a long, annoyed breath. “Mister…” She arched an eyebrow for he had not introduced himself.
“You may call me Supervisor,” he provided.
Her irritation growing in leaps and bounds, Kenzi gave him a wintry smile. “I have no desire to
relocate.”
“You are familiar with the Baybridge Institute near Newton?” he interrupted, his gaze steady upon her.
Kenzi’s forehead creased. “Of course.”
“What of the Exchange?” he queried. “It, too, is near Newton.”
Anger replaced the irritation. “I know of it,” she replied.
“You applied to both facilities,” he said.
“Yes,” she snapped. “And was summarily turned down by each.”
“They are prestigious institutions,” he told her. “Both were designed by the same architect, Jason Siebold.”
Confusion entered Kenzi’s green eyes and her hands tightened on the arms of the chair.
“What has that got to do with anything?”
“The facility at which I am offering you employment also was designed by Mr. Siebold,” he said. “It is a marvel of black marble and chrome.” He tilted his head to one side. “Have you seen either the Exchange or Baybridge, Dr. Delaney?”
“Only in pictures,” she replied.
“One might wonder what a supermax prison for the criminally insane and a secret government facility from which special black ops are run would have in common,” the Supervisor said.
“Black ops?” she questioned, surprised by his words. “Is that what goes on there? I thought it was a medical re—”
“You would be utterly shocked at what takes place at the Exchange, Doctor,” her host answered. “Even I am often astounded by what my counterpart at the Exchange—who incidentally is my brother—reports to the Consortium.”
“Consortium,” she repeated.
He nodded. “All three facilities are under the auspice of the First Response Consortium. Our organization reports directly to the President.”
“The President?” she echoed then blinked. “The President?”
“Yes. Our commander-in-chief.” He smiled. “POTUS as he is known among those who protect him.”
He had her full attention now.
“What kind of facility are you talking about?” she asked. “The one to which you are offering me employment?”
“One that fits in quite nicely with the mission statements of both Baybridge and the Exchange,” he answered. He lifted his linked fingers to his face and rested his chin upon them. “All three deal with monsters of one kind or another.”
Kenzi thought she knew what he meant. “The criminally insane and those who commit atrocities in the name of their government and leaders,” she suggested.
He lifted one shoulder. “It depends on your definition of monster, I suppose. What would yours be?”
She thought about it for a moment. “To me a monster is a person who is wickedly cruel and inhuman, who performs heinous crimes against his fellow human beings.”
“And who exactly would qualify under that definition?” he inquired.
“Joseph Mengele,” she said readily, raising a thumb. She continued with the other four fingers. “Miyuki Ishikawa, Andrei Chikatilo, Jeffrey Dahmer, Timothy McVey. Each was a mass murderer and two were the very definition of human monster.”
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “Yes they were.” His smile hardened. “But what of inhuman monsters, Dr. Delaney?”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
His smile faded. “What of vampires and werewolves and dragons?”
Kenzi’s frown deepened. She put a hand to her head. “I don’t know where you’re going with this, sir, but I’m tired, thirsty and I’ve got a bitching headache.”
“Pearl!” her host yelled and the door opened immediately, the receptionist hurrying in with the tall glass of ice water she’d been ordered to fetch.
Glancing up at the woman, Kenzi had to bite her tongue to keep from saying something she knew she’d regret later. She took the glass without thanking Pearl, sure the unsmiling woman had been told not to enter unless summoned. Over the rim of the glass, she shot a nasty glare to the man who was watching her without expression.
Not speaking, the receptionist turned and exited the room, firmly closing the door behind her.
“What of Reapers and Nightwinds and Shadowlords?”
After taking a long drink of the water, Kenzi lowered the glass, her gaze steady on the man across from her.
“You’ve not heard of such creatures?” he queried.
“No,” she said, a muscle flexing in her cheek.
“Few people have,” he told her. “But those of us at Tearmann deal with them on a daily basis. I, myself, am a Shadowlord—a Ridge Lord to be precise. Until recently, I believed myself to be at the top of the food chain.” He frowned. “Unfortunately that is not the case. There is another Superlord above me called a Gravelord. We are all part of the Black Ascendency but this new hybrid has powers that rival my own.” He shrugged. “Might even exceed mine.”
Kenzi opened her mouth then closed it, exhaling loudly. She lowered her chin, shook her head, pursing her lips. When she looked up, her face was stony, her eyes flint-hard. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, whoever the hell you are, but I don’t find it amusing in the least.” She looked around her, flinging out a hand to encompass the room. “I don’t find any of this amusing and I don’t appreciate being poked fun at!” When he would have spoken, she held up her hand, forestalling him, sitting forward.
“When the Director of Medical Services—a man I highly respect—called me into his office this morning, I thought perhaps it was to give me an atta-girl or even a reprimand—although for the life of me I couldn’t figure out what I might have done wrong. When he told me there was a car waiting downstairs to take me to my interview, I was understandably surprised. I had no idea what he was talking about and he certainly wasn’t forthcoming with answers when I questioned him.”
“He had no answers to give you,” her host said quietly. “He did only what he was ordered to do.”
“Is he one of you?”
“No, he knows nothing about us nor will he.”
“You don’t think I’ll tell him?” she countered.
He gave her an amused look then unfolded his long legs and sat forward as well, his probing gray stare unwavering. “Dr. Delaney, if you turn down our offer, all memory of this meeting will be erased completely from your subconscious. There will be nothing for you to divulge.”
His words made the hairs ripple along her arms and it was all Kenzi could do not to break the eye contact between them. As it was, she sat back in the chair, silently regarding him. At last, she swallowed far more calmly than she would have thought possible. With a composure she didn’t feel, she leaned over to put the glass of water on the floor beside her chair. She cleared her throat as she straightened.
“Why me?” she asked in as steady a voice as she could muster. “I don’t even believe in psychics, much less vampires.”
His smile returned. “Yet you are a devout horror novel reader and your collection of horror and dark fantasy movies would rival that of Blockbuster. You have quite an impressive library of vintage horror flicks—of which I am an aficionado as well. Tell me.” He leaned back. “Which is your personal favorite?”
“How do you know…?” She too, leaned back. “You’ve been in my apartment.”
One dark-brown brow shifted upward. “Did you think we would offer you a job such as this without fully vetting you, Doctor? This is a position with a very high security clearance level. A security clearance level above the pay grade of even POTUS himself.”
For a long moment neither spoke then Kenzi folded her hands in her lap. “Let’s just say—for the sake of argument—that I’m buying into this weird scenario of yours. Let’s say I’m willing to listen to your spiel. Give me one good reason why I should leave a high-paying job at a respected medical facility to go to a place I’ve never heard of.”
“One reason,” he mused. “How about one hundred and fifty thousand tax-free dollars a year as salary from now until you are in your late sixties? That would be roughly four point eight million
tax-free buckaroos if my math is correct.”
Kenzi’s lips parted. “Excuse me?”
As she had done with the serial murderers, he held up his fingers, index finger first. “A rent-free luxury apartment complete with its own lap pool, sauna and workout room.”
Her eyes widened.
His middle, ring and little fingers came up in quick succession as he spoke. “All meals prepared by a professional chef—again, free of charge to members of the team. A month-long, all-expenses-paid vacation once a year to wherever you wish to travel. Medical, dental all free of charge to our employees. “He unfolded his thumb from where it had rested against his palm. “And last—but certainly not least—an opportunity to meet, study and interact with creatures you have, until now, only dreamed existed.” He laced his fingers together again. “Are those enough reasons or do you need more?”
“I’m a physician!” she said. “Hell, I didn’t even graduate in the middle of my class much less at the top! Why me?”
“You were chosen because you have extensive knowledge of creatures that shouldn’t exist but actually do,” he replied. Before she could protest, he spread his hands to forestall her objections. “McKenzi, you are who we want. We did an exhaustive, in-depth search for just the right person for this job and you were who we chose. You had to pass muster with five top-ranking members of the Consortium before you were ever brought here.”
“But—”
“Do you want the job or not?” he snapped.
“You haven’t told me anything about it!” she protested. “How the hell would I know whether I want it or not?”
“Those things I mentioned weren’t incentive enough?” he countered. “You don’t find the pay alone enticing?”
“Actually, no,” she said, shaking her head. “Those are really good perks but they sure aren’t enough to make me chuck my life and move to…” Her eyebrows shot up. “To where? Where is the Beermann Institute?”
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