DarkWind: 2nd Book, WindDemon Trilogy

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Dorrie snapped her mouth shut.

  “The granting of Attribution is extremely rare. When a male is given his freedom, he is also given a choice: Stay on Amazeen with his lady as her companion or be returned to his world where most likely than not, his fellow males will shun him.”

  “Why?”

  “Most captive males have been neutered unless they are assigned to a breeding farm. Most males want nothing to do with a half-man.”

  Dorrie gasped. “You castrate them?”

  “It is the only way to curb their aggressive natures,” defended Kahmal.

  Dorrie ignored that ridiculous remark and seized upon the other part of the Major’s explanation. “So how is a free male to be a companion to his lady if he doesn’t have a...”

  “You think with your iggox, don’t you, Terran?” Kahmal scoffed.

  Dorrie might not have understood the Amazeen word, but she understood the intended insult. She narrowed her eyes at the crudeness.

  “By companion I meant-”

  Dorrie snorted. “A lap dog.”

  “In a manner of speaking. The male will lead a comfortable life without the worry of being sold or forced to do hard labor.”

  “For joy, for joy.” Dorrie rolled her eyes.

  “Better than the alternative of being put to the sword.”

  “No wonder the men of this part of the universe hate you bitches.”

  Kahmal cast her an annoyed look but did not reply.

  They reached the mouth of the caves. The gray sky tumbled with the threat of an approaching storm and off in the distance, forks of lightning bored the ground. The wind whipped around them, laden with dampness, and shrieked through the craggy cliffs overhead. They could barely make out the outline of the ship sitting off to their left.

  “He will have made for the northern ice fields,” Kahmal shouted above the storm’s din.

  “How do you know?”

  “There’s water there and he will need it to survive. Reapers are like other beasts. Cree will be able to smell the underground springs.”

  Kahmal started down the steppes, but Dorrie grabbed her arm.

  “He saved your life.”

  Kahmal nodded. “And now that life belongs to him.”

  “So you will repay him for that act of selflessness by helping to take his.” Dorrie’s angry gaze pierced the other woman.

  Kahmal raised her chin. “According to tribal law, I am duty bound to see no harm befalls him.”

  “Really? Does that include the falling of a guillotine’s blade across his handsome neck?”

  The Amazeen stared at her. “You think my Sisters and I so without honor we would ignore tribal tenets and execute him?”

  Dorrie blinked. “What are you saying?” she asked, her grip on Kahmal’s arm tightening.

  “The Tribunal cannot execute him now. That’s why Sejm was so infuriated.”

  “But you said they would not free him!”

  “Nor will they, but neither will they take his life.”

  Dorrie stared into the other woman’s emerald green eyes. “Then what is to become of him?”

  Kahmal eased her arm from the Terran’s grip. “There is a cage that sits in front of the Titaness. The cage where the other Reapers were executed.”

  “Aye,” Dorrie said on a long note, a horrible dread filling her heart. Raine had told her of the horror that happened there. “What of it?”

  “He will spend the rest of his life in that cage.”

  A shaft of intense sorrow welled up in Dorrie Burkhart. “Like an animal on display for the women of Rysalia to come and gawk at? To bedevil?”

  “That cannot be helped,” Kahmal said, straightening her shoulders. “He is an enemy of the Multitude.”

  “That’s a crock of shit and you know it! Without him, your gods-be-damned Resistance would have failed. He is not your enemy. He is your savior.”

  The storm had started in earnest, forcing the women back into the warmth and safety of the cave’s entrance. The pummeling of the heavy rain was loud and the skirl of the wind made conversation impossible. Kahmal tapped Dorrie’s arm and pointed back the way they had come.

  “You can’t let them cage Cree,” shouted Dorrie.

  “What?”

  “I won’t let you hurt him.”

  Kahmal spread her hands. “I can’t hear you!”

  Dorrie stooped down and picked up a rock. She spun around and slammed it against the Major’s temple, stunned when the warrioress dropped to the ground.

  “I’m sorry!” Dorrie released the rock and watched the Amazeen’s chest for a moment, making sure the woman drew breath. Then she turned her back on Akkadia Kahmal and ran out into the thundering storm.

  Part Three

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  On Board the United Space Alliance Medivac Ship, The Orion

  Caitlin turned over and snuggled against the warm body beside her. She slid her hand through the thick curls covering his chest and tugged playfully.

  “Woman, you are insatiable.” Khiershon sighed. “I think it will be necessary for me to transfer to my ship and enter an E.S.U. so I can rest.”

  “Go ahead,” she said, yawning. “I saw the way some of your men were looking at me. I don’t think I’ll have any problems keeping warm, do you?”

  Cree growled deep in his throat and, before Caitlin could move, he covered her body with his, pressing her down. “Try it, Lady, and I’ll warm your backside with the palm of my hand!”

  Caitlin grinned up at him, smug in her capture of the warrior’s attention as well as his heart. She wagged her eyebrows at him.

  “You are also incorrigible!” he complained and rolled off her.

  “I am horny.”

  “Too bad. Suffer the consequences of your actions.” He climbed out of bed.

  “What consequences?” She propped herself up on her elbows and watched him drag on his pants.

  “Arousing my jealousy.”

  “I’m not to look at other men?”

  “Look at them all it pleases you to look,” he replied. “Touch and I’ll take off their heads.” He looked around. “Both of them.”

  She watched him button the fly of his breeches then thrust his arms into the sleeves of his black shirt. “You look really good in black.”

  “Black is the Reaper color. We all look good in black.”

  She clasped her hands around her knees. “How many of you are there?”

  He sat on the edge of her bunk and pulled on his boots. “Not as many as there once was. Only twelve of us are left that I know about. Ten are on Rysalia awaiting execution.”

  “And the other Reaper?”

  “Is safe on Terra. He is my Bloodsire and the Bloodsire of five of those imprisoned in the Titaness.”

  “Oh, yes,” she replied. “Kamerone Cree.”

  “Aye, the Prime Reaper.” He turned to look at her. “The greatest warrior among warriors and I am direct blood of his blood.”

  “What is he like?”

  Khiershon shrugged. “I’ve never met him, but it is widely known he is the deadliest of our kind.”

  Caitlin looked down at her hands. “An assassin.”

  “And one who is an expert at his job.”

  She looked up. “That was what you were being trained for?”

  “A portion of it, aye. I was bred to serve the Empire, but...” He shrugged again. “The Empire is no more so my job is no more.” He thrust the end of his thick leather belt through the loops of his uniform pants. “All that matters is saving the lives of my bloodkin and leaving this sector of the megaverse.”

  A frown settled into place on Caitlin’s face. “And then what?” She thought of the ugliness of his transitioning and multiplied that times ten. What world would be safe with warriors such as these roaming free and unchecked?

  Cree stilled and turned to face her, his gaze frosted with a definite chill. “You think we would wreck havoc wherever we go, lady?”

  Caitlin flinched. She
kept forgetting that her thoughts were easily read by this man. She would have to be careful. “I only know you, Khiershon. I don’t believe you would wreck havoc, but are the rest of your bloodbrothers of the same bent?”

  He thought about that for a moment then folded his arms over his wide chest. “No, most likely not. Some are less disciplined than I, but our Bloodsire can handle them.”

  Caitlin’s eyes widened. “You mean to take them to Earth?”

  He nodded, watching her expression. “Where else would they be safe?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, horrified at the thought of rampaging shapeshifters on her world, “but there has to be other worlds where they would be welcomed.”

  A sardonic smile twisted Khiershon Cree’s mouth. “Reapers are not welcomed on any world, milady. Such is the nature of ‘our bent.’ We are feared and loathed wherever we go.” He cocked his head to one side. “We cannot wait to be asked to settle on a foreign world, Caitlin. We have to do what needs to be done then worry about blending into the life on that world.”

  “And you don’t think with the powers you possess you will try to mold that world to one of your choosing?”

  Cree’s smile widened and became one of genuine pleasure. “Lady, I think you are borrowing trouble where none is likely to occur.” He winked at her. “And giving us far more credit than we are due.”

  She bit her lip and plucked at the coverlet. “Earth has enough problems with its native warriors. We sure as hell don’t need powerful men like you and your bloodbrothers creating more for us.”

  His smile slipped. “And just how would we do that, Caitlin?”

  She shook her head, but did not reply.

  “Caitlin?” he prodded. “How would we create more trouble for your world?”

  She shrugged and looked down. “I don’t know.”

  A muscle jumped in the Reaper’s lean cheek and he stalked to the bed and sat down, snaked out a hand and grasped her chin to lift her face. When she refused to look at him, his grip tightened. “Look at me, Caitlin,” he ordered.

  She tried to break free of his hold, but he would not allow it.

  “Look at me!”

  Slowly, her eyes locked with his and held.

  He stared into her troubled gaze then let go of her chin. “You believe we will breed more warriors like ourselves. You think our arrogance will eventually destroy the human race.”

  “Warring politicians have tried it in the past,” she said. “Hitler in the twentieth century tried to breed a pure race of super men. What would stop you and your bloodbrothers from trying to do the same? And if even you didn’t attempt to rule Earth...if our government discovered your strength and your abilities, you could be used for the same ends, anyway.”

  His handsome face turned hard. “You have seen the tattoo on my chest?” She nodded. “I was less than six summers when that was applied to my flesh. It is the mark of the Reaper caste, but it is also a brand the Empire inflicted on me as well as each of my bloodbrothers marking us as property of Rysalia. We were given no choice as to whether or not we wished to serve the Empire. Rysalia owned us, body and soul, and controlled every facet of our lives, right down to our dreams and what sexual experiences we had. It taught us how to track our victims, how to kill them in the most efficient way. It molded us into the monsters you believe us to be.”

  “I didn’t call you a monster!”

  “No, but in your mind, you see me as such!” When she started to deny it, he shook his head. “No, Lady. I can read your thoughts as easily as I can think my own. I know precisely how you perceive me.”

  She closed her eyes. “It isn’t you I fear. It is what is inside you.” When he was silent for a long while, she opened her eyes and looked at him.

  Khiershon’s face was blank, but his eyes were wounded, filled with hurt. “Do you think that I would allow my parasite to harm you, Caitlin?” he asked in a soft voice.

  “I believe you’d try to keep it from doing so, but I saw you in full transition, Khier. I saw what it did to you. You were...” She shuddered. “You were more beast than man.”

  He stared at her for a moment longer then stood. “You have nothing to fear from me or that which dwells within me,” he vowed, “but if you will not believe that, perhaps it is best I set you free.”

  Caitlin jerked her head up. “W...what do you mean?”

  “Reapers have been compared to Terran wolves. Did you know this? Wolves are called werebeasts on our world. When werebeasts mate, they mate for life. Only one of us has ever mated-against the laws of the Empire I might add-and that was our Bloodsire. I thought I had found my lifemate in you, but perhaps I was wrong. I have told you I would not allow my parasite to harm you. My devotion to you, my caring for you, would keep you safe. But you cannot believe that and there is nothing I can do to convince you otherwise.”

  He took his dagger from the night table and thrust it into the sheath at his thigh. He walked to the door. “I give you your freedom, Caitlin. I will not force you to remain with me.”

  Caitlin’s heart did a funny little flip and tears pricked her eyes. She stared up at him, seeing the hurt on his face, but recognizing the pride, as well. She had insulted him, questioned his ability to protect her, and offended him deeply.

  “Give me time, Khier.”

  “Take all the time you need,” he said, pushing the button to open the door. “I’ll not ask you to make a decision, milady. If-or when-you want me, feel free to come looking.”

  He left, the door shushing to behind him.

  Caitlin stared at the door, willing him to come back, but when the panel remained closed, she lay down and curled into a defensive position on the bunk, her eyes filled with unshed tears.

  Iyan recognized the angry look etched on his friend’s cold face. “Trouble in paradise, Kheirshon?”

  “You will leave me alone, McGregor, if you know what’s good for you.” Cree walked to the molecular duplicator and stared at the contraption. “Chalean brandy!”

  The molecular duplicator whirred then fell silent.

  “Chalean brandy, I said!” Cree shouted, striking the machine with his doubled fist.

  “Try asking it for Terran liquor and you might get something, Kheirshon,” Iyan suggested. He held up his glass. “This is Irish whiskey and the gods-be-damned stuff ain’t half bad.” He took a sip, winced then smacked his lips. “Not bad at all.”

  Cree dug his fingernails into his palms. “Irish whiskey!” he barked and the molecular duplicator obeyed. Snatching the glass from the machine, the Reaper drained the contents in one gulp then demanded another. The contents of the second glass disappeared just as quickly.

  “Uh, oh.” Sinjin Wynth whistled. The Ravenwind’s navigator, now a crewmember of The Orion, pushed up from the table and left.

  “You realize what you’re doing?” Iyan asked in a conversational tone.

  “Leave. Me. Alone.” The Reaper drained the third glass and ordered a fourth.

  “What you are drinking can make you drunk.”

  “I believe that is his intent,” Dakin Hesar remarked. He, too, got up, and left McGregor alone with Cree.

  Iyan leaned back in his chair and sipped his whiskey. He kept his gaze on Cree and after the Reaper’s sixth shot of the strong liquor, McGregor sighed deeply.

  “If my company is boring you, by all means, leave.”

  “No. I think I’ll stay and watch you make a fool of yourself.”

  Cree turned to face his friend. He narrowed his eyes. “A fool of myself?”

  “Aye.”

  “In what way have I made a fool of myself, Captain?”

  Iyan cocked one eyebrow. “You know how I feel about the woman.”

  Hot amber fire glinted in the Reaper’s dark eyes. “The woman?” he echoed, dropping the two words like hot stones.

  McGregor nodded and took another sip of his drink. He locked eyes with the Reaper.

  “You are referring to my mate?”

&nbs
p; Iyan remained silent.

  A sly, evil grin tugged at the corners of Cree’s expressive mouth. “Answer me, McGregor. Are you referring to my mate when you say ‘the woman’?”

  “You have claimed her as your mate?”

  Cree dipped his head in a quick, decisive nod.

  “And has the woman agreed to the arrangement?”

  The Reaper’s gaze faltered, his amber eyes flickering, but he nodded again.

  Iyan grinned. “Ah, she has not. Else you’d not be trying to drown your troubles in inferior Terran liquor and breaking laws you know you should not.”

  “I make my own laws!” snarled the Reaper.

  The whiskey settled in Cree’s belly and burned a hole there. The effects invaded his system and he felt lightheaded. He knew if he didn’t sit down, he was likely to fall down, so he stalked to Iyan’s table, grabbed a chair, straddled it, and sat.

  “Having a distinctly different feeling in your gods-be-damned head, are you, Reaper?” Iyan chuckled.

  “The demons roast you o’er a slow pit, McGregor! I know what I’m about.”

  Iyan’s grin widened. “No, Khier, you do not. What you are is a man starting the kind of trouble I would not have in a million years!” He finished off his drink.

  “You’ve got nothing between your legs to start trouble with!” The instant Cree said it, he regretted it. He pounded the table with his fist and groaned. “Merciful Alel, I didn’t mean to say that!” He stood, wavering at the liquor rushed to his head.

  McGregorclenched his jaw, a muscle working as he stared at Cree. Iyan squared his shoulders. “Will you be needing me for anything else this evening, Commander?”

  “Iyan,” Cree held out his hand, but Iyan stepped back.

  “We’ve both said enough. Good evening, Commander.” He pivoted on his right foot and marched from the room.

  Cree groaned again, shaking his head in frustration at his stupid remark. He put his hands on his hips, lowered his head and cursed between tightly clenched teeth. He drew in a long breath then exhaled. For a long while he stood there, staring helplessly at the floor.

  “You owe him an apology, Khiershon.”

  The Reaper raised his head and saw Caitlin standing in the doorway. “Aye. I do.”