The Nightwind's Woman

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  All that had happened because she’d lain with a handsome, virile man?

  No.

  All that had happened because she had become the consort of an archdemon.

  A momentary shaft of fear went through her. Religious guilt and trepidation. The echo of her fire-and-brimstone upbringing before she converted to Catholicism. The threat of being cast into the Bottomless Pit with sinners who had embraced Satan…

  “Knock it off!” she snapped and turned from the mirror, doubling her fists and digging her fingernails into her palms.

  She was not a sinner.

  Well, technically she supposed she was since she’d had sex outside of marriage. She also swiped a few things from the cosmetic counters when she was a teenager. She cheated on more than a few tests in high school but had not in college or med school. She’d told more than her share of lies and had once accused someone of something she’d done.

  But she’d not fooled around with married men. She had never—not even once!—taken the name of the Lord in vain. She’d never killed. She wasn’t artistic enough to make a graven image and most certainly had never worshipped any other gods.

  She’d always respected her parents, gone to church on Sundays.

  Yeppers, she’d broken a few of the laws of the Decalogue but not the really bad ones. She wouldn’t go to hell for that.

  Would she?

  “Of course not,” she said as she marched over to the shower, opened the glass door and reached in to turn on the water.

  Stepping under the very warm water, she wet her hair. Did it seem longer, curlier, too? While she was lathering it, she realized it did and that made her smile.

  “A woman’s crowning glory,” she said, repeating her grandmother’s words.

  She took a long, leisurely shower and when she was finished, basked in the soft, thick comfort of a body towel as she dried herself off. The towel had come warm and enticing from the bar upon which it hung and the soft cotton smelled of lavender.

  After she’d French braided her long hair then wrapped it casually around the crown of her head, she dressed in a simple white blouse and dark-tan pair of slacks, slipped her feet…

  “Whoa!” she said, wriggling toes that had an absolutely perfect pedicure with bright-red polish gleaming upon them. She almost hated putting on her flats.

  Glancing at her fingernails, she realized there was a smooth manicure decorating them. The red fingernail polish covered her nails faultlessly.

  “Now I can get with this,” she said with a broad grin.

  Anxious to learn all she could about Tearmann—things she hadn’t already been made privy to—she left her suite and went in search of the woman who would be her advisor. From there, she planned to start that in-depth training from the director of personnel.

  She was ready to work.

  Eager to do so!

  Chapter Nine

  Milton, Florida

  “If you were an ugly ass lizard freaky-deaky, where would you hide?” Sorn asked as he and Randon drove down Berryhill Road. The Reaper was driving the airport rental car with Kayle riding shotgun.

  “Fuck if I know,” the Nightwind snapped. “In a burrow somewhere?” He popped open another salty boiled peanut and flipped it into his mouth.

  “Gimme one,” Sorn said, holding out his hand.

  “Get your own,” Randon replied.

  “Prick.”

  “Asswipe,” the incubus sent back.

  They rode in silence for a few minutes then Sorn risked a glance at his passenger. “Did you talk to her before we left?”

  “Who?”

  “Your mate.”

  A hard scowl turned the Nightwind’s face bitterly dark. “What do you think?”

  “He didn’t let you.”

  “The fucker was with her the entire night,” Randon groused. “And I had to leave this morning before she was up.”

  “You shoulda made the effort to see her, bro,” the Panthera Reaper stated.

  The incubus turned his head and peeled back his lips to show his fangs. “I’m not your bro,” his voice garbled and gravelly.

  Sorn popped his. “Big deal. I have a pair too,” he reminded the Nightwind.

  Growling under his breath, Randon turned his attention to the side window. Being in an enclosed space with the Reaper was wearing on his nerves. He couldn’t scent the Saurian because all he could smell was Panthera.

  They were passing the cemetery now and something shimmied down Randon’s spine. The bitch was close. Even if he couldn’t smell her, he knew she was somewhere nearby.

  “I feel it too,” Sorn said. He slowed the car, swiveling his head left to right, right to left.

  “Stop the car and let me out,” Randon said. It was broad daylight and there were other motorists. He didn’t want to simply vanish from the front seat of the car and reappear in the graveyard.

  Sorn pulled to the side of the street. “She’s going to know what you are,” he said.

  “Yeah, but she’ll have done her homework. She’ll know this town belongs to a Nightwind.”

  “Belonged,” Sorn corrected. “As in used to belong to a Nightwind.”

  Randon ignored the barb and pushed open the door. As soon as he stepped onto the curb, he caught her scent.

  “Make the block then come back from the opposite direction,” the incubus ordered Sorn. “I’ll make contact with her and suggest she might like to party with us.”

  The Panthera rolled his green eyes. “Like she won’t find it strange that a Reaper and a Nightwind might want to party together?”

  “We’re male cats and we’ve got two barbed cocks between us,” Randon reminded him. “She’s got two cunts and that means two clits. Trust me. She won’t care about anything else save getting fucked by us.” He slammed the door and headed into the cemetery.

  I can’t fuck that bitch now, Sorn sent to him. I’m mated.

  Who said anything about actually fucking her? I wouldn’t touch her with my dick if you paid me, Randon replied. Just make sure you have the Class Four pistol loaded with pairilis. I want to put this bitch down as soon as I get her in the car.

  In the trunk of the mid-sized sedan was a capture cage made from solid iron crisscrossed with titanium bars. It had taken four strapping men to load the cage into the car but it would hold the Saurian and the iron would make it impossible for her to use any of the infamous siren powers her race employed. Known for their immense strength, the titanium bars would corral her body. Once taken, they would transport her back to the air field outside Milton and put her on board the Tearmann G-4.

  Walking through the headstones, the Nightwind wondered if any of those interred had been dispatched by Syntian Cree. The Master Nightwind was legendary as was the tale of him being sent back to the Abyss by the human female he had loved so desperately. She had been his Chosen yet she had betrayed him with another Nightwind.

  Witches were fucking fickle bitches. You had to watch your back with them—as Syntian Cree had discovered too late.

  That was a chilling thought as he caught sight of the Saurian. Lauren Fowler had sent her incubus back to the slime of the Pit because he had been a stone-cold killer. That she’d been such a powerful witch who had accomplished her vengeance on her own unnerved him. The woman still lived in Milton and he prayed she would not sense his presence on her turf and come looking for him.

  “I thought you were sent back to the Abyss?”

  So engrossed in the morbid thoughts of the other Nightwind, Randon had failed to detect the Saurian materializing directly in front of him until he was almost nose to nose with her. Looking up from the sandy loam beneath his boots into a face only a mother lizard could love, he realized she thought he was Syntian Cree. That could work to his advantage.

  “Do you believe everything you hear, sweetmeat?” he countered.

  Her foul breath washed over him as she leaned in close. “If I’d known you were here, I would have gone elsewhere to vacation,” she stated
.

  “Vacation?” he repeated. “Is that what you’re doing here on Terra?” He glanced around. There were no humans—live ones at least—in the cemetery but it was strange the creature would appear here in the daylight hours. “On a tour of cemeteries are you?”

  “I’m looking for something,” she replied.

  “A good plot for your final resting place?” he inquired. “A rock to slither under?”

  “What do you want, incubus?” she demanded, elongated pupils sparking anger. “I’m no threat to you.”

  He swept his eyes from hers to the toes of her sandals and tried not to flinch at the ugly, twisted toes that curled over the edge of the footwear or the yellowed, crusty toenails that looked as though they could open cans of peas without trouble. Returning his gaze to her butt-ugly face he gave her his best seductive smile.

  “I’ve never actually met one of your kind before today,” he told her honestly. “I’ve heard you have two cunts and I was curious.”

  She put her face so close to his it was all he could do not to gag at the sight of her warty flesh and the horrendous stench of her putrid breath. “What were you curious about, Nightwind?”

  “What it would feel like to fuck one of those cunts while my friend fucks the other. Is it true your kind are the best lays in the Megaverse?”

  Her reptilian eyes lit up. “You have a friend?”

  “A Panthera Reaper,” he told her.

  She flicked out her warty tongue and swiped it over her thick lips. “Another feline? Barbed cocks?”

  He had her. He knew it as surely as her rotten breath carried the odor of crunched flies and beetles and only the gods knew what other repulsive scuttling things that might have been drawn into that maw of a mouth.

  “I could call him,” he said. “He lives nearby.” He forced himself to put his palm on her scaly cheek, run the pad of his thumb over her thick, rough bottom lip. “We could have a little party.” His smiled turned wicked. “Just the three of us.”

  Once more she licked her lips then looked slyly about them. “Where’s your life-mate?” she asked. “Your witch?”

  “Who the fuck knows or cares? She tried to screw me over so it’s only fitting I return the favor. Besides, she’s not woman enough to fill all my—shall we call them— intense needs?”

  “You incubi swing both ways, don’t you?” she asked.

  “We’ve been known to, aye,” he answered, feeling his jaw tighten at the reminder.

  “Do you and your Reaper friend do one another?” Her eyes glowed evilly. “Do you two suck each other off?”

  “Sorn and I have a very touchy relationship,” he replied with a wink.

  “Can I watch you two go at one another?” she asked, eyes widening.

  He slanted his head as though he was going to kiss her. “I think that can be arranged,” he said then pulled back. “Shall I call him?”

  “Aye!” she said. “I can look for the key later.”

  “Key?” he asked but as soon as the question was out of his mouth she stiffened and drew away from him.

  “Never mind about that. Just call your friend. I’m in the mood to party!”

  He lifted his head. Sorn? he sent. How’d you like to join me for a little fun? We have a Saurian aching to be fucked.

  The answer was immediate. Can’t wait.

  Wondering what it was she was so anxious to find—and in a cemetery no less—he offered his arm though it took every ounce of willpower to do so. As soon as she hooked her thin, scaly arm with his and the rustle of those scales dragging over his shirt sleeve hit his ears, he had to force the gorge to stay down his throat.

  They reached the street just as Sorn pulled the sedan to the curb. He had a tight grin on his handsome face as Randon opened the back door of the car, gave him a quick glance then stood back to let the female precede him into the vehicle.

  “That was quick,” Randon said with a hard look.

  “I was just over at the Piggly Wiggly getting some Vienna sausages,” Sorn said then swept his gaze over the Saurian. “What do we have here?” he asked in a husky tone.

  “Well, hello kitty,” she said with a pucker of her thick lips. She reached across the seat to touch his broad shoulder. “I can’t wait to have that barb of yours in my cunt.”

  Randon got a glimpse of Sorn’s wince as the Nightwind slid into the seat beside her.

  “What’s your name, baby girl?” Randon asked, to draw her attention to him.

  “Tuatara,” she said as she ran her hand between his legs and squeezed him.

  “Where we going, Tara?” Sorn asked, looking at them in the rearview mirror.

  “The Reaper is staying with me but it can’t be out to my place,” Randon replied. “The missus might have a cow.” He looked at the Saurian. “How ’bout your place?”

  She shook her head. “Not a good idea. Why not somewhere we can have privacy with no stinking humans close by to ruin it for us?”

  “We could head out in the country, find a lush place away from prying eyes where we can spend the rest of the afternoon screwing the hell out of one another,” Randon suggested. He put his hand on her thigh and squeezed firmly.

  “Aye,” she agreed in a breathless voice. “Somewhere near water. I like fucking in the water.”

  “I’ll see what I can find,” Sorn said. He twisted around in the seat with a merciless grin tautly in place.

  She didn’t notice the gun in his hand until the weapon had discharged and the ampule of pairilis hit her squarely in the chest. Her mouth dropped open but no sound came out. The high-powered anesthetic had already shut down her motor and vocal responses. Her egg-shaped pupils rolled back in her head and she slumped against the Nightwind.

  Randon shoved her away none too gently, reached under the seat for the iron manacles he’d placed there when they’d taken possession of the car and quickly locked them onto her thin wrists.

  “Get us somewhere out of sight so we can put this malodorous turd in the cage,” he said, disgust rife in his voice.

  “With pleasure,” Sorn said through gritted teeth.

  * * * * *

  The Cascade Mountains of British Columbia

  The Prime Reaper turned up his face to the cool rain and closed his eyes. He’d always liked the sensation of rainwater falling into his face. He had a feeling that was the only thing he was going to enjoy on this trip.

  It had been a race between him and the archdemon as soon as the two of them shifted to avian form and took to the air two mornings before. He in hawk form and the archdemon in eagle. The sun was bright over Iowa but as soon as they hit Colorado air space, the clouds began forming and the air got cooler. By the time they reached Seattle, the rain was already drenching the landscape.

  Nothing new in Seattle though. Everything there was permanently mildewed.

  He lowered his head, scrubbed a hand over his whiskered face and looked around the clearing. Beside him the Coquihalla River was rushing past and in the middle of it was a decaying log being taken along for a ride. Perched atop the log was a furry animal of some kind. The beastlet didn’t look worried—just the opposite—so Cree saw no reason to get involved with a wet rescue. He saluted the creature as it passed and he could have sworn it winked at him.

  “Have fun, little buddy,” he laughed, watching the progress of the log.

  “I hope you meant that muskrat and not me,” the archdemon grumbled as he suddenly appeared.

  Cree wasn’t inclined to make small talk with the male so he ignored him.

  “You’re friends with a bugul noz, aren’t you?” Kerreyder asked and it was obvious he was trying to strike up a conversation. “What’s his name?”

  “Ralph,” Cree provided.

  “I knew one once,” the archdemon said with a chuckle. “Worst farter in the forest.”

  “Aye, they’re known for that,” Cree agreed.

  “Ever met An Fear Liath Mor?”

  “The Big Gray Man?” Cree shook his head
. “No but a couple of my men have.”

  “Now that one is a piece of work,” Kerreyder observed. “I like him.”

  “Any news on the adlets?” Cree asked, tired of trying to pretend he cared what the archdemon thought.

  “All work and no play, Aiden,” Kerreyder chastised then let out a long breath. “Aye, I learned there have been a rash of missing loggers and two hikers in the past two weeks. I imagine they made the acquaintance of the adlet brothers.”

  “Where did the hikers disappear?”

  “Around Kamloops. That’s about twenty miles south of us.”

  “And the loggers?”

  “Thirteen miles farther north.”

  “That means the adlet pack can’t be far away. They don’t like to hunt more than fifty miles in any one direction from their dens.”

  “Might be a good idea to take to the air and start looking.”

  “Gray wolves like the open tundra,” Cree said. “The adlets prefer plenty of cover. They’ll have gone to ground as soon as they smelled me. Finding them from the air would be next to impossible.”

  “I’ll bow to your knowledge,” the archdemon said. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to catch them before they munch on any more humans.”

  “As would I,” Cree agreed. “If we take Kamloops as the farthest point they’ve traveled for prey then mark a spot fifty miles from there in all directions, that’ll give us a starting point.”

  “Kamloops could be the center point,” Kerreyder argued.

  “Aye, it could be but we have to start somewhere.”

  “All right.” The archdemon shrugged off the backpack he had strapped to him and rummaged inside for a map. With it in hand, he squatted and unfolded the map on the rocky ground.

  Cree hunkered down beside him. “There,” he said, putting the point of his index finger on the map. “That’s where we should start looking.”

  * * * * *

  A private airfield off Chumuckla Highway in Santa Rosa County, FL

  The Saurian was unconscious in the cage as the same men who had placed it in the sedan now removed it. They looked nauseous as they took in the greenish complexion and deformed features of the prey inside the cage. With a concerted hiss they set down the cage and backed away from it.