The Nightwind's Woman

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

The demon shrugged. “She’s taking the grand tour even as I speak.” His eyes glowed a phosphorescent orange. “Can I have a taste of her before you ruin her?”

  Ignoring the baginis jerking against his hold, trying to twist free, the Nightwind glared at the water demon. “Go near her and I will crush you to paste,” he warned the sexual demon.

  The cocoto grinned then made kissing motions with his thin lips. He batted his long lashes at the other demon.

  “Fuck you,” the Nightwind snarled. He continued down the hall, a muscle grinding in his cheek as the cocoto laughed.

  “Better watch your woman, Nightwind,” the baginis said slyly. “Dhiren has a way with human females.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” he ordered, “or I’ll knock the fangs out of that nasty mouth of yours.”

  She threw back her head and howled.

  No one—and nothing—else spoke to them as he dragged her back to her cell on the next to the lowest level of the institute. Those they passed hurried away, not wanting to have the anger they saw flashing in the Nightwind’s wicked amber eyes bestowed upon them.

  Slamming the baginis’ cell door shut then lowering into place all the bars and engaging each of the five locks, he closed the peephole as well, vowing to find whoever let the succubus out of her cell and tear off his ears. There was no doubt in his mind that it was a male who set her free.

  His head aching brutally, he put a shaking hand to his temple.

  “Why didn’t I sense her?” he asked aloud.

  He concentrated but could not detect her presence no matter how hard he tried. He frowned, scrubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers. It wasn’t just the headache from hell that was throbbing inside his skull. That was a distraction—albeit a very painful one—but one that should not be preventing him from perceiving his lady.

  Pissed, his shoulders tight and fists clenched, he took the elevator up to the top level, irritated even more that it seemed to take forever. To further annoy him, the first face he encountered when the titanium doors shushed open was one that set his nerves on edge.

  “Well, if it isn’t Lord Breakwind,” the bastard said as he blocked the Nightwind’s exit. “I thought I smelled something nasty coming up the elevator shaft. Should have known it was you.”

  “Eat shit and die, Reaper,” the Nightwind hissed, shoving his enemy out of the way. He bulldozed past the warrior—hoping the shape shifter would jump him so he could beat the prick into the concrete floor.

  “If you’re looking for that pretty little human,” the Reaper said, “she took one look at me and decided she’d rather have me than you.”

  He glanced back to see the Reaper standing with his arms crossed, a hateful grin on his chiseled face. He lifted his hand and stabbed a finger at the warrior.

  “Testes, testes, testes,” the Reaper said with a slow shake of his head. “Not very big ones, true, but at least you’ve got a pair. Who knew?”

  Digging his talons into the palms of his hand, the Nightwind pivoted around and stomped off. The last time he and the Prime Reaper went at it, they’d both wound up in containment cells, howling at the injustice of being caged and riddled with the acute pain being without Sustenance could bring. He really didn’t want a repeat performance and he doubted the Reaper did, either.

  “Give her a little nip on the neck for me, will ya?” he heard the bastard call out. “That’s if she accepts you!”

  “Asswipe,” he labeled the warrior.

  “Fuckhead!” came the immediate reply thundering through his aching brain.

  Going into reception, he leveled his angry glower on the woman behind the desk. “Where is she?”

  The woman blinked behind her designer frames. “Who, milord?”

  “My woman!” At her blank stare, he had to tamp down the urge to do the overweight female bodily harm.

  “Which one of the new potential hires is yours?” she asked.

  “Her name is Delaney. Mother’s maiden name Thompson!” the Nightwind yelled.

  “Oh, she’s with the Supervisor,” she replied, pushing back from the desk as though he might attempt to reach across to grab her by her neck.

  He had to force himself not to do just that, to modulate his voice instead of bellowing at her. “I know that, Audrey,” he said in as civilized a tone as he could muster. “Where are they now?”

  “Level two, I believe,” Audrey Holt said and her chair rolled another foot from the desk. She resembled a rabbit perched to run from a predator.

  He started to turn then stopped. “You said two new hires? Who is the other?”

  “Lord Sorn’s Extension,” she replied. “Ellery Vance.”

  “The Reaper’s being given a partner?” he repeated, stunned at the news.

  The woman lowered her voice. “She’s a witch.”

  He flinched. That wasn’t good. “Thank you,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “You’re welcome, milord,” she said as he stomped out of her office.

  Cursing under his breath, he strode back to the elevator and stabbed the button repeatedly, taking some degree of pleasure in the vicious action. When the cage opened, he was disappointed there was no one there upon whom to vent his rage. Instead, he took it out on the button that read Level Two, pushing it just as many times. The doors closed on a demon with glowing red eyes and a facial expression that would have given the stoutest man a heart attack.

  “I’ve waited a lifetime for her,” he muttered. “Why didn’t I know she was here?” Sorn knew it before him. He wondered if Sorn knew his own life-mate had been brought to Tearmann.

  Not that he cared. He hated the Hell-Hound Reaper Darkyn Sorn as much as Sorn hated him.

  The cage stopped on Level Two and he hissed when the door didn’t open as quickly as he thought it should. Shoulders hunched, he strode out and whipped his head from side to side, searching for his target. With no one in sight, he released a low, deadly growl and pivoted to the left, hands clenched into fists.

  Chapter Three

  “Very nice,” Kenzi said as she viewed the cafeteria where each individual table was spread with a pristine white tablecloth and bore a copper pot of freshly cut peach-colored spider mums. She ran her hand along the tall back of one of the chairs that had a plump floral seat cushion in bright colors.

  “You can call down to the desk and have your meals made to order,” the Supervisor said. “If you want to eat here, it will be waiting when you arrive or it will be brought to your office or apartment.” He indicated the long steam tables. “Or you can do the buffet. Each day is a different international cuisine. We have Chinese, Mexican, Italian, Thai, Greek, French and—my personal favorite—American Mix. That could be anything from Southern soul food to good, hearty Midwestern fare.”

  “It smells heavenly in here,” she observed.

  “Supper is usually a one-culture deal and I believe that is General Tso’s chicken wafting through the air.”

  “I am addicted to hot and sour soup,” she said with a sigh. “That’s comfort food to me.”

  The Supervisor grinned. “Then you’ll love our chef May Woo’s version. It will clear your sinuses in the blink of an eye!” He put a hand to her back. “Let’s go take a look at the spa.”

  Kenzi’s head was spinning already. He’d shown her the offices—the brain as he called it—on the first level and then taken her to the shops, gymnasium, cocktail bar and cafeteria on Level Two. There was even a skating rink and an indoor mini-golf course. She knew there were spas, barber and beauty shops as well as several other specialty stores on that level.

  “Housing for general staff is on Level Three. Your apartment is with senior staff on Level Four.”

  “What about your operatives?” she inquired as they walked out of the cafeteria.

  “They are senior staff.” He told her Level Five was the medical facility and she was anxious to get there. “Levels Six and Seven with Level Eight having the containment, holding and incarceration cells.”
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  “There are eight levels then.”

  “Actually,” he said as they reached a door that had a gold plaque indicating it was the spa, “there are ten levels with the lower levels used for storage and maintenance respectfully. We don’t count the lower levels as being part of the facility proper though.”

  “A huge underground complex,” she said.

  “Imagine the Pentagon times two,” he replied.

  She whistled, stunned at such news.

  They entered the spa area on Level Two and Kenzi was taken with the calming scent of lavender floating on the air, the subdued lighting and pale-blue decorating scheme. She smiled at a woman sitting behind an ornate Louis XIV desk and shook hands with her when the Supervisor introduced them.

  “We have everything an upscale spa would have,” the woman said. “Would you like to see one of our private rooms?”

  “We don’t have the time now, Lani,” the Supervisor said. “Just wanted to give her a look-see.” He opened the door leading to the corridor.

  “It was nice meeting you, Dr. Delaney,” Lani said with a warm smile.

  “Everyone is so nice here,” Kenzi said as she and the Supervisor headed for the elevator.

  “I won’t tolerate workers who aren’t,” he replied. “It’s bad enough some of our operatives have foul tempers so…” He stiffened then swiveled his head. “Speak of the devil.”

  Kenzi turned to look where he was gazing and felt her heart thud heavily against her rib cage. Her lips parted. She lifted her hand to splay the fingers over her chest.

  The man coming toward them was dressed entirely in black with a gold buckle on his belt lending the only color to his attire. He moved without making a sound—his boot heels silent on the terrazzo flooring. As he came closer, she could see the dark amber of his eyes and they were boring into her like live coals.

  It wasn’t his height or the broad width of his shoulders, the narrowness of his waist or the muscles bunching in his thighs as he walked that seized her attention. It was a face that was movie-star perfect with high cheekbones, long dark lashes framing those golden eyes, a strong, masculine nose and chin with a deep cleft and full, sensuous lips that held her spellbound. As he reached them, she could see dimples bracketing his cheeks when he pursed his lips.

  “Why didn’t you tell me she would be here today?” he asked in a thick brogue that made Kenzi’s womb clench. He flicked an annoyed glance at the other man before fusing his gaze with Kenzi’s.

  “I figured you’d know,” the Supervisor snapped. “Dr. Delaney, this is one of our Alpha agents, Randon Kayle.”

  She extended her hand—not in the least surprised that his engulfed hers as he took it.

  “Welcome to Tearmann, Kenzi,” he said then lifted her hand to his lips, turning the wrist to place a light kiss on the pulse point. “I have been waiting for you.”

  “Did you take care of the situation?” the Supervisor asked.

  “Aye,” Kayle said without looking at him. “She’s back in her cell.”

  “Who let her out?”

  “I haven’t had time to find out but I will,” was the offhand reply.

  Kenzi was more than aware Kayle still had her hand firmly in his—her fingertips tingling—and she tugged gently, smiling shyly when he seemed reluctant to release his grip. Her flesh felt overly warm as he did.

  “Has she seen her quarters yet?” Kayle asked. His gaze was roaming over her face as though he were searching—or memorizing—it.

  “No, Kayle. In case you don’t know where you are, we are on Level Two,” the Supervisor said drily.

  “Then I’ll take it from here,” Kayle said. “You can go.”

  Kenzi saw the Supervisor’s left eyebrow shoot up. “Oh, I can, can I?” he asked in a voice that sounded suspiciously like a warning to her.

  Kayle ignored the tone and the look aimed his way. Kenzi had the feeling that was not an unusual occurrence. She was a bit surprised when the Supervisor let it ride.

  “When you’re finished, bring her to my office,” he ordered before walking away.

  “Will you get into trouble for that?” she asked Kayle.

  “I was born in trouble,” the Nightwind quipped. “Let’s take the stairs. There’s something you should see.”

  He led her to the stairwell door and opened it for her. She could feel the heat of his body behind her and a sensuous, very masculine scent tickling her nose.

  “Each stairwell has a weapons case,” he said, “to go along with the fire extinguishers.” He pointed to a glass-enclosed container hanging on the wall beside the door. The container held four off-looking guns. “Those are heavy duty tranqs. Each gun holds forty hits of pairilis. You were given the drug?”

  “All I remember is the sting of the needle and nothing else,” she said.

  “The Class Two version works fast on humans. On nonhumans it takes a few seconds but is just as potent. The doses in these guns are Class Four. They would stop a rampaging elephant in mid-run in less than a second. They will stop one of the non-humans found here in two.” He grinned—the deep dimples showing. “That’s why they’re called two-step darts.”

  “So you just break the case with…” She was looking for something with which to break the case.

  “The glass is indestructible. The only way the case can be opened is with a keycard. You swipe your keycard down the slot on the side.” He showed her the slot. “Each keycard is designed with a heat-sensitive grid inside it—a network of tiny microfilaments. The grid only works with the unique heat signature of the card owner. You could swipe my card down it all day and the case would stay locked. Run yours down it with your own hand and it’ll pop open.”

  “Which keeps stolen cards from being used,” she said, marveling at the invention.

  “Precisely.”

  “Alien technology?”

  “Alien technology,” he agreed. “We’ve lots of that around here.”

  “What are the chances of me needing to use the tranq?” she asked.

  “Very low but I wanted you to be aware the protection is there if you feel you need it.”

  “Good to know,” she said as she started down the stairs at his side.

  They were silent until they reached the door leading to Level Three. She looked up at him.

  “Why do I feel as though we’ve met before?” she asked. “Have we?”

  “We’ve never been introduced before today,” he answered. “You’ve never seen me in person although I’ve followed you on several occasions.”

  “During the vetting?” she queried.

  “Maybe,” he lied.

  They entered the Level Three corridor but he made no move to venture down it. Instead, he went to the elevator and pushed the down button.

  “These are general staff quarters,” he said. “Nothing to see, really. They each have what is basically an efficiency apartment. There are a few husband-and-wife teams and a couple of husband-and-husband teams. In the case of two people sharing, the apartments are a bit larger.”

  The elevator door opened and he ushered her inside.

  “How many people work at Tearmann?” she inquired.

  “Including the operatives, around six hundred.”

  She blinked. “That’s a lot of salary.”

  “Aye, it is.”

  Kenzi was all too aware of him towering above her five-feet-six-inch frame. When she looked up, she found him staring intently at her.

  “Where are you from?” she asked. The accent sounded as though it came from the highlands of Scotland but she very much doubted that was his home.

  “Reannag,” he answered then smiled as the elevator settled. “In a galaxy far, far away.”

  “Is that where all Nightwinds are created?”

  He shook his head. “No. My kind come from all over the Megaverse though we all have three things in common that made us what we are.” The doors opened and he indicated she was to precede him.

  Level Four’s hall
way was carpeted in a plush celadon green and the walls were papered in a soft-beige floral with copper lighting above each paneled door.

  “Lovely,” she said, sniffing the air. “It smells like jasmine.”

  “The air freshener system rotates through several different floral scents on the hour—honeysuckle, jasmine, banana vine among them.

  “I like it.”

  “It’s meant to calm and soothe.”

  He led her to a door marked with a small copper panel that had her name etched in the metal.

  “A little presumptuous, don’t you think?” she queried.

  “You’re going to accept the contract,” he said with supreme confidence. “Place your hand against the panel.”

  Kenzi’s eyebrows shot up but she did as he asked and the door opened. She sent him a surprised look.

  “Your palm was scanned while you were on the way here,” he told her. “The scan was programmed into the system and I would imagine by now, your keycard is being prepared.”

  “Moving too fast, Agent Kayle,” she said as she motioned him into the apartment ahead of her.

  “Just Kayle,” he said then shrugged. “Or Rand. I’ll answer to either.”

  Kenzi entered behind him and stopped dead in her tracks as she took in the great room of the apartment. Her eyes widened.

  “Holy guacamole!” she whispered.

  The room was huge with a wide span of windows at one end overlooking a pristine blue lake upon which rain was softly falling. Running parallel to the windows was a lap pool with gently undulating water slapping against the sides of the dark-blue tile coping.

  She turned to stare at Kayle.

  “It’s a computer program,” he said and walked to a table to pick up what looked like the remote control for a television. “You have several options.” He pressed in a number and the scene beyond the windows turned to an autumn forest with leaves falling silently among the tall crimson and flame maples. He pressed another number and the scene changed to a snow-capped mountain range upon which snow fell. Pressing yet another button, there was the sound of the snow tinkling against the windows. “There are buttons for softly booming thunder, wind howling in the eaves, the sounds of birds in the forests, and the patter of rain falling on stone. None of the sounds are on a loop but are random so the brain cannot anticipate a pattern.”