The Nightwind's Woman

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Randon felt as though there was a tight clamp buckled around his chest. He was having trouble breathing. He was sweating profusely and that was odd since that was something he hadn’t done in centuries. His palms were clammy as he swiped them down the sides of his jeans.

  “Nervous?” Coulter asked quietly.

  “Scared shitless is more like it,” Sorn commented.

  “I don’t shit,” Randon mumbled. “Or piss for that matter.”

  “You ready?” Kerreyder asked.

  The Nightwind nodded, flicked his tongue over his dry lips and started toward the crypt. The moment he drew near, the eternal flames sputtered then went out.

  “That can’t be good,” Sorn said.

  “He’s not welcome here,” Lauren said. “I’ve never been this close to the crypt but now that I am, I can feel a warding spell has been put in place around it. This may be harder than we anticipated.”

  “Makes sense,” Jaleel said. “Hecate would not have been lax in her duty as the Queen’s handmaid.”

  “Which means Kayle may not be able to lift the key from the panel,” Cree stated.

  “I will,” Randon said.

  “Then get on with it,” Cree ordered. “I don’t like being the center of attention.”

  “Why the heck not? I thought the world revolved around you,” Coulter quipped.

  The Alpha shot the Gravelord a warning grimace that promised retaliation at another time.

  Once more Randon ran his hands down the seams of his jeans and stepped forward. The circle at the top of the key—looking like the old-fashioned lever-lock type—stood away from the rest of the panel. It was in the grip of the nondescript older woman whose likeness was imprinted on the copper panel. Her eyes seemed to be locked on him and her mouth was frozen in a grim, forbidding straight line as though she dared him to try to remove the key from her hand.

  A breeze suddenly kicked up around them and the yew trees shuddered. They all looked up—not surprised to see the sky darkening. Where there had been pristine blue sky, now dark clouds were rolling in and with them had come a distinct scent of sulfur.

  “Nothing in this life is ever easy for us, is it?” Sorn asked on a long sigh. He put his hands on his hips and hung his head.

  “That is the way of the Guardians, Darkyn,” Lauren told him. “You were put on Terra for a purpose. Your entire reason for existence is to protect or have you forgotten that?”

  “He hasn’t,” Cree mumbled.

  “None of us have,” Coulter added. “But just once, it would be nice to do our job in peace.”

  “If it’s peace you want, Shadowlord,” Jaleel said, “you’re in the wrong career field, my man.”

  “Ain’t it the truth,” Coulter replied.

  Wiping his right hand one last time on his jeans, Randon reached for the key. Cree stepped close behind him, ready to break the wax seal on the tabernacle the moment the key came free of the panel. He glanced at the Nightwind as Kayle paused with his outstretched hand nearly touching the copper relief.

  “Do it,” Cree said softly. He looked at Kerreyder. “Get the wax ready.”

  Randon took a deep breath and slipped two fingers into the key’s circle. Almost instantly he felt a sharp burning pain spread deep in the finger joints and shoot up his arm. He snatched away his hand and shook it.

  “Another warding spell,” Lauren said. “You have to endure the pain, incubus.”

  “Do it as quickly as you can,” Kerreyder advised as he removed the tin of wax from his pocket, opened it then held it in the palm of his hand to heat.

  Looking down at his fingers, Randon saw streaks of black where his flesh had been crisped. He looked to the archdemon. “Mayhap I am not the one destined to remove it.”

  “You are,” Lauren said. “Stop being a pussy and get on with it. Just…”

  Randon flicked his eyes to Cree then made a grab for the key. The pain was even worse as his flesh made contact with the circle but he gritted his teeth and pulled. He heard the wax seal snap and the creak of wood as the tabernacle was opened. The key came away from the panel, he spun around and dropped it—his flesh sizzling—onto the damp piece of altar cloth that had been soaked in holy water. As soon as the key was in place, Cree snapped shut the tabernacle. Kerreyder was at his side immediately and poured the melted wax over the lock that Cree had thumbed shut. The wax became a perfect circle sealing the lock.

  Breathing hard, Randon stepped back as he cradled his injured hand to his chest. The stench of burning flesh was rife in the air. “Fuck that hurt,” he said with a groan.

  “Suck it up, demon,” Jaleel said with a snort.

  Lightning forked above them and they lifted their heads to see black clouds mingling with the sodden gray. The sky was leaching of color as though a rheostat were being quickly turned down. Ominous thunder shook the ground and the wind became so strong they staggered against it.

  “Something’s coming,” Lauren said.

  Cree clutched the tabernacle as close to his chest as Randon was clutching his hand. Both Coulter and Kerreyder stepped close to flank him, their hands covering his and the Alpha Reaper handed the tabernacle into the keeping of the demi-god archdemon. As soon as Kerreyder took possession of the box, an angry hiss echoed over the firmament.

  In the darkness, those gathered could see the sheen of hundreds of eyes staring at them from the roiling clouds. Some eyes were red but most were a burning yellow.

  “Raphian,” Kerreyder stated as the sound of millions of bees underscored the constant booming rocking the ground beneath their feet. To the west of them the sky was pitch black with red veins of lightning stitching through the stygian clouds.

  “That would be my guess,” Coulter granted.

  “The Destroyer of Men’s Souls?” Sorn asked.

  “Guess He was invited to the party,” Cree quipped.

  “Not the only attendant at the festivities,” Lauren said. “Unless I miss my guess, that’s His brother coming from the East.”

  In the eastern part of the sky there was a pale-golden light that speared up from the horizon in undulating rays. Within the light was an indistinct figure in a long white robe.

  “Their presence makes this something else entirely,” Kerreyder declared.

  “You are battling for all living matter in the Megaverse,” Lauren reminded them. “Naturally They would appear to guard Their own interests.”

  “Give me the box, Kerreyder.”

  She appeared as suddenly as the violent storm that was now engulfing them. Standing unmoved—her long black gown untouched by the raging wind—Naamah held out her hands. Her fingernails were scarlet red to match the shiny lipstick that clung to her lips.

  “Ain’t gonna happen,” Kerreyder said.

  “Oh, I believe it will,” the succubus replied with a smile. “Else neither you nor the Nightwind will ever see your mate again.”

  Kerreyder narrowed his eyes.

  Randon’s forehead crinkled as he cradled his injured hand.

  “You can have her back—without that which is growing inside her—or you can keep the key and I will take her to Tine where the cambion will continue to thrive,” Naamah said. “Your choice.”

  “What’s growing inside her?” Randon repeated. He whipped his head toward Kerreyder. “What is she talking about? Did you get her with child?”

  “What’s a cambion?” Sorn asked Cree.

  “A demon-human hybrid,” Cree said. He looked at Kerreyder. “Is it yours?”

  Kerreyder was too stunned to speak. All he could do was shake his head. His heart was thundering so hard in his chest he could hear it over the cacophony of the storm.

  “Whose?” Randon demanded, eyes wild.

  “Does it matter?” Naamah asked with a shrug. “A mazikeen who took great delight in sowing his seed within her.”

  “Merciful Alel,” Lauren whispered. She looked to Jaleel who shook his head in sympathy.

  “I can make the seedling disappear,” Naamah said.
“Or—as I said—it can remain to be hatched on Tine.”

  “You know fucking well we’re not going to give you the key,” Cree stated.

  “The Reaper speaks true, succubus,” a voice boomed from the East. “The key is destined for holy hands.”

  “Not sssso,” hissed another loud voice—this time from the West. “The key issss Mine!”

  “Go, Kerreyder,” Coulter said. “Take the key and go. Now!”

  “I can’t,” Kerreyder said. “She has my woman.”

  “You don’t know that,” Cree said.

  “Aye, I do,” Kerreyder disagreed. He was staring into the triumphant eyes of the succubus. He looked down at the tabernacle.

  “The moment you attempt to hand the key over to her, I will be forced to destroy you, my son,” the voice of Jee Yn Ayr, the Father-God, spoke from out of the eastern sky.

  “Your own son?” Naamah asked with a laugh. “I doubt that.”

  “Don’t,” Kerreyder said. “My life is nothing compared to everything that lives within the Megaverse.”

  “I will mourn his loss but he knows where his responsibility lies,” Jee Yn Ayr stated.

  “Take the tabernacle, Your Worship,” Cree said to the deity. “Get it away from him so he isn’t tempted to give it to her.”

  “I cannot touch it, Lord Cree,” the Father-God said. “It is forbidden that I touch anything that is borne from your Terran religions.”

  “Aye, but there is no such prohibition on me. I can touch it,” Naamah said. “Hand it over, Kerrey.”

  “Give it to me,” Coulter said. “I can take it to the Holy Land.”

  “Do not, Kerreyder,” Naamah warned. “Else she will be lost to you forever.”

  Kerreyder raised his eyes and looked into the deeply worried gaze of the Nightwind. The incubus had tears streaming down his face and the archdemon knew it was not from the pain he must be suffering as he pressed his hand to his chest.

  “She would not want the Megaverse to perish,” Randon said. “You know that. You can’t let the succubae get their hands on the key.”

  “Deny me what I want and your bitch will spend eternity plumped with the seed of every mazikeen under my control!” Naamah shouted. “Is that what you want? Do you dare risk testing me? Think you I am jesting, Kerreyder?”

  The archdemon looked away from Randon. “What is it you really want, Naamah?” he asked, his shoulders slumping.

  He knew. He’d known the moment she hadn’t attempted to snatch the tabernacle from his hands. It was within her powers to do so. All she need do is take a few steps, send the Nightwind, the Reaper and the Gravelord flying. That was why Raphian was there—to augment her power. Not to gain the key but rather something she wanted even more.

  Naamah’s slow smile was all the confirmation he needed.

  “Give me the tabernacle,” Coulter said again. He too had intuited the real purpose behind Naamah’s vengeful grin.

  As had Lauren.

  “If you go with her, you’ll never leave Tine,” she told him. “She will imprison you there.”

  “Oh, he may leave to do his work for Yn Drogh Spyrryd,” Naamah said. “I don’t want the Evil of Evils on my ass for taking the Warden of Prysson from him. He’ll just need to return each night before sundown to…” She laughed. “Take care of the duties I will set for him.”

  Kerreyder winced for he knew what duties those would be.

  “Give me the tabernacle and once it is safely in the hands of the religious, I will return. Then he can vow to do whatever it is you desire for him to do,” Coulter told the archdemon.

  “No,” Naamah said. “He must come to me before—”

  “So you can take the tabernacle as well as him? I think not, you conniving bitch!” the Father-God thundered. “Give me reason to turn you to ash. Not even My brother can stop Me from rendering you so!”

  Naamah’s pretty face turned pale.

  “Hand the box to the Gravelord, Kerreyder,” Jee Yn Ayr said, ignoring the serpentine hiss of Raphian. “When the key is in the Holy Land and Lord Coulter returns—”

  “You’ll let McKenzi go?” Kerreyder asked, his attention riveted on Naamah.

  “I have said as much,” she snapped.

  “Let us hear you swear it!” the Father-God demanded. “You will say it before Me!”

  “If he turns himself over to me, I will free the girl,” Naamah grumbled. “I so vow.”

  “And rid her belly of the evil residing therein!” Jee Yn Ayr pressed.

  The succubus voiced a raspberry and waved a dismissive hand. “I swear I will abort the thing growing within her.”

  Randon hung his head and only Sorn heard the sob that came from his throat.

  “Do it now,” the god decreed.

  “How do I know You will not—”

  “Unlike you, I do not lie. Abort the cambion, send the mazikeen back to wherever he resides and wipe clean the mind of my son’s Blood-mate. Erase any memory of what was done to her by the mazikeen. When it is done, we may proceed.”

  Naamah rolled her eyes, waved a hand then smirked at Kerreyder. “There. It is done. Now you come with me!”

  Kerreyder held the tabernacle out to Coulter. “Be careful,” he said, casting a look to Raphian. He staggered against the wind, which was still pummeling them.

  “You too,” Coulter said. “I am sorry this has happened but know your lady will have the protection of every man here.”

  “Reaper and Nightwind alike,” Cree pledged.

  “And every witch,” Lauren put in.

  Kerreyder nodded and released his hold on the tabernacle. As he stared into Coulter’s face, the Gravelord vanished. There was a wild shriek—a bone-chilling hiss from the Destroyer of Men’s Souls—then the wind ceased as Raphian withdrew his long viper’s neck and was sucked back up into the heavens. The lightning ended. The sky overhead began to lighten. The smell of sulfur drifted away.

  “Come, Kerreyder,” Naamah ordered.

  “He goes nowhere until the Gravelord returns,” Jee Yn Ayr snapped, the rays surrounding Him brightening until no one could look in that direction.

  Naamah did not like it but she kept silent, tapping her foot on the ground with agitation.

  For nearly twenty minutes the seven figures stood before the crypt of Helena Papandrea as sunlight once more glinted against the copper door panel. The Father-God hovered silently in the Eastern sky.

  Kerreyder looked at the heavens and was puzzled why he still felt the presence of the silent watchers who had been privy to what had taken place in the cemetery. Idly, he wondered what they were waiting for but it didn’t really matter. His life was at an end—all chance of happiness gone. When Coulter materialized in front of him, he barely noticed.

  “It is done?” Jee Yn Ayr asked.

  “It is, Your Worship,” Coulter replied. “The tabernacle is safe and in a place no evil can ever touch it.”

  “Good,” the Father-God said. He suddenly formed in their midst and Kerreyder, Randon and the Reapers dropped to their knees in homage. Even Lauren knelt before the god, jerking on the hand of her lover to force Jaleel to the ground as well. Only Naamah remained standing. Jee Yn Ayr leveled His fiery gaze on her. “You do not kneel, woman?”

  She lifted her chin. “You have no authority over me,” she boasted.

  “Have I not?” the god asked, His lips stretching into a slow, malevolent smile.

  “Nay,” she said then took a step back. Even a blind man could have seen she intended to flee but when she tried, when she turned to vanish, she could not. Her eyes wide, she whipped her head around to stare openmouthed at the Father-God. “What have you done?”

  “I did not give you permission to leave my presence,” He said ominously.

  “I don’t need your permission!” she said, trying in vain to lift her feet.

  “Oh, but you do,” He replied, folding His arms over his chest.

  “What do you want?” she asked. Her voice was a mere sq
ueak of sound as she began to realize there was no help coming for her.

  “You laughed at and insulted My Lady-wife,” Jee Yn Ayr replied. “Only I am allowed to insult the Triune.”

  Naamah struggled, her black gown swishing side to side as she tried to break free of the hold He had on her. Her head bobbed up and down as she looked to the ground then back to the Father-God, to the ground then back to Him.

  “My sisters will help me,” she said. “Eisheth will—”

  “Will what?” He asked, cutting her off. “Hold her breath until she turns blue?” He laughed. “She’s done that many a time and it had no effect on Me or on what I eventually did. Do you truly think you would be any different?”

  “Lilith! Agrat!” she shrieked and when neither sister appeared, she choked back a gasp of fear. She tried once more. “Eisheth!”

  “Try calling for Raphian,” the Father-God suggested. “Mayhap he will turn around and come back to aid you although you have nothing to offer him now that the key is out of his reach.”

  Naamah’s face puckered into fury. “Release me!” she ordered.

  “When you make one final vow or two,” Jee Yn Ayr told her.

  Randon was watching the scene before him with pounding heart. Kerreyder stood only a few feet away with a look on his face that was akin to awe as he watched the god who had sired him do battle with Naamah.

  “You are directly responsible for the rape of My son’s Blood-mate,” the Father-God accused. “For that, there must be an accounting.”

  “Kerreyder belongs to me!” Naamah said though it was obvious she was beginning to see the phantom writing on the wall for her voice was not as firm as it had been.

  “He has a mate to whom he is sworn and he will return to that mate as he can,” Jee Yn Ayr told her. “He belongs to the woman to whom you did grievous harm. That I cannot nor will not overlook. You will atone for your sin, Naamah!”

  The Father-God waved His hand and Naamah’s beautiful body begin to change. From the soles of her feet, her flesh began to thicken and enlarge, to become striated with deep lines that slowly crept up her shapely legs.

  “What are you doing?” she screamed, bent over at the waist as she stared in horror at the transformation.