DarkWind: 2nd Book, WindDemon Trilogy

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  In her quarters , Raphaella locked the corrugated steel door and demolished every breakable item she could get her hands on. Pottery was smashed against the stone walls; paper, cloth, and bedding were pulled apart and shredded; and food was strewn about the carpeted floor and ground into the fibers.

  “The gods punish you, Kherishon Cree!” she shrieked as she peeled art from the walls and put her fists through the canvases, snapped the frames in twain. “You will regret casting me aside!”

  Oblivious to the cuts and splinters on her hands and arms, she took her broadsword from its stand and struck out at everything she had not destroyed with her bare hands. Feathers and cloth fibers drifted on the wild currents fanned by her maniacal destruction and the stench of fruit and vegetable pulp saturated the walls.

  “Damn you, Reaper!” She swung the broadsword into the back of an overstuffed chair and split the piece of furniture in half.

  When at last her moment of insane rage passed, she sank her weapon onto the floor and knelt beside it, her head on the wobbling hilt.

  “Why, Khiershon?” she sobbed, her beautiful face screwed into a mask of grief. “Why?”

  From the moment she had first seen the Reaper cadet many years before, she had fallen in love with the handsome Ry-Chalean warrior. Her nightly dreams were filled with his virile young body and her days spent staring at him every chance she got. She had plotted his freedom, thinking he would give his heart to her if she could but gain his release.

  Such had not been the case.

  Though she had been able to set him free of his captors and he had taken her with him when he fled, he had shown her nothing more than brotherly affection and none of the overpowering passion she knew him capable of exhibiting.

  Had she not had the same wicked dreams her sister Amazeens had experienced when still he was captive? Had she not felt the heat of his passionate gaze when he looked at her? And had not the few times he had taken her to his cot not been among the most wondrous of hours for her?

  He had been her first, his sword piercing the flesh of her body with such authority and expertise she had barely felt the pain. If anything, she had to admit, she had rejoiced in the slight sting that had branded her his woman. She had exalted at the feel of his magnificent body and the power of his desire turning her to a quivering mass of surrender. She had given him her body and had allowed him to have her heart and soul as well. He had claimed her, marked her with his seed, and she had reveled in the knowledge that she, alone, had tamed the Reaper Cree.

  Thus, she thought as she knelt there on the floor, her sorrow manifesting itself in scalding tears of self-pity and betrayal, she had thought of herself as Khiershon Cree’s life-mate. But now?

  Now, the dreams of a future with the Reaper on some distant world where both of them would be safe from Rysalian and Amazeen retaliation and punishment were shattered beyond fixing.

  She looked about her. Everything in her quarters could be replaced, repaired, or returned to order. Not so her life. Her life was in shambles and nothing-not even the death of the Terran usurper-could put it to rights ever again. Though the demise of the Terran bitch would bring Raphaella great pleasure, she knew it would change nothing. Khiershon had mated for life and for him there would never be another. Dwelling on that, the Amazeen princess realized another of her dreams had been shattered and her tears flowed hotter still.

  Her romantic notions of her own glorified death on the field of battle, sword in hand as she protected a wounded Cree from his enemies, might yet occur; but the fantasy of him mourning her until he drew his last breath was as dead as the hopes she had of bearing him a son. And with her broken dreams, her vision of a life beside the man she loved more than life itself.

  She let go of the hilt of her broadsword and slid her palms down the two-sided blade. The tempered steel sliced easily through the flesh of her palms, all the way to the bone, but she barely winced. She welcomed the pain for it meant she was still living though she knew her soul was withering and her heart dying in her breast. Her life’s blood slithered down the blade and spread like a scarlet cloak around her and she looked at it, mesmerized as the red stain soaked into the carpet.

  Raphaella sat back on her heels and laid her injured hands in her lap, bloody palms turned upward in supplication to any dark god who might take pity on her. She stared unseeingly across the room at a blank spot where once a painting of Amazeen’s five moons had hung. Dimly, she heard the pounding on her door, but ignored the sound. Not even the blast of the weapon cutting through the tempered steel penetrated her lethargy.

  It was not until he knelt beside her and ripped off his black shirt, tore it into bandages to wrap around her bleeding hands that she lifted her gaze to his.

  “Why?” she asked, her eyes dry now but as red as the sands of Diabolusia.

  He did not answer, but slid his hands under her legs and around her back and lifted her gently. He carried her to the bed, placed her on the damaged mattress and sat down beside her.

  “These will take a long time to heal, Raphie,” he said softly as he checked the bandages. “You need laser stitching.”

  “I need you,” she whispered.

  He shook his head. “You need the thought of needing me.” His amber eyes locked on her pale face. “You knew nothing could ever come of a union between us. I told you that long ago.”

  “If the Terran woman...”

  He placed a finger across her trembling lips. “The gods sent her to me, Raphaella. I was a breath away from death when she found me. I owe my very existence to her and if you love me as you say you do...”

  “I do,” she sobbed, tears brightening her eyes.

  “Then you should be grateful to her for saving my life.”

  She turned away, unable to look at his face.

  “Make your peace with her, Raphaella. She is my mate and as such she should be shown the respect she is due,” he said in a voice that held a warning.

  “Keep her away from me, Khiershon, and there will be no problems between us.”

  Cree grabbed a chair, brought it to where she sat, swung it around, and straddled it. He braced his arms along the tall back. “I need to talk to you about the Titaness.”

  Surprise widened Raphaella’s eyes. “You aren’t going to take me with you, are you?”

  “No,” he answered. “It would be too dangerous for you, Raphaella. Your mother and all the members of the High Council will be there for the Feast. If we are caught, you will be given no quarter as a princess of the royal house. You will die alongside us. An Amazeen who aids a Reaper is burned at the stake. I would not have you suffer that fate, Raphaella.”

  “I would rather die at your side than live without you,” she vowed.

  Cree sighed deeply. “Raphie, listen to me. You helped me to escape Amazeen and for that I will be forever in your debt. We are friends.”

  “We are lovers.”

  “We were lovers for a short while a long time ago. It meant nothing.”

  “It meant nothing to you, but it meant everything to me,” she said, angry at the tear sliding down her cheek. She batted it away.

  “Let it go, Raphaella. Let me go. My honor is pledged to Caitlin Cree and my heart, my body, my very soul, belong to her.”

  Raphaella snorted. “I will say a prayer for your safety, Khiershon.”

  Cree stared into her eyes for a long moment then relaxed. “It was never our destinies to be joined, Raphie,” he said in a not-unkind tone of voice.

  She cocked one shoulder in dismissal of his words, but did not reply.

  “Listen to me, Raphaella,” he insisted. “I have never been anything but truthful with you and I do not intend to be otherwise now. You can not look me in the eye and tell me that I made any kind of promise to you about us having a future together. From the very beginning, I made it clear that if and when I was able to free my bloodkin from Rysalia, I would leave for Terra to find my Bloodsire.”

  “And you said you would take
me with you!”

  Cree drew in a long breath then exhaled slowly. “Aye, I told you that and if you still wish to go to Terra, you may do so. I know how dangerous it would be for you to stay here and I want to see you safe. I am grateful for all you have done for me.”

  “What I have done for you, I have done because I love you, Khiershon! I risked my life, I threw away my legacy to be at your side and this is how you repay me?” She jerked her hand from his grip. “To make me a laughingstock before the entire colony?”

  A muscle worked in Cree’s lean jaw. “Who told these people we were betrothed, Raphaella?” he demanded. His gaze bore into hers. “It was not I who said it. It was not I who hinted of a relationship between the two of us that has never existed.”

  “You did not deny it!” she shouted, her eyes flashing viridian fire.

  Cree’s shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly together, a habit he exhibited when trying to keep from exploding with anger. He took in another long, tired breath then blew the air from his lungs. Opening his eyes, the look he sent her was hard and unyielding.

  “I did not deny it because it suited my purpose to have people think you belonged to me.”

  “Oh, really?” she crooned. “To enhance the Reaper’s reputation as a swordsman, Cree?”

  “To keep your ass safe! By letting them know we were lovers, they would think twice before harming you, Raphaella. You were a Reaper’s mistress.”

  “I was never your mistress!” She picked up a statue of the goddess Alluvia to throw at him.

  Cree ducked the heavy stone statue and nearly tumbled from the chair. He got hastily to his feet and had to step out of the way of another object she flung his way. Before she could reach for anything else, he was on her, capturing her in his powerful arms and pinning her between him and the wall behind her.

  “Stop it!” he growled, tightening his grip when she tried to break free.

  “Get out, betrayer!” She spat in his face.

  Raphaella watched the Reaper’s amber eyes widen with disbelief and sucked in a horrified breath at what she had done. The fury gathering in Cree’s golden orbs set her to trembling and made her knees go weak with dread.

  “I’m sorry!” she whispered, her own eyes wide with terror as she watched her spittle running down his cheek. “Khiershon, I am sorry!”

  He released her and put a hand to the slickness on his face. He looked at the glistening moisture on his fingertips then raised his eyes to hers.

  “I should not have done that,” she said, her lips quivering.

  “No,” he replied. “You should not have.” He stepped back.

  Raphaella put a hand out to him. “Forgive me, Khier. Please!”

  The Reaper wiped the offending wetness on his pant leg. “If you want to accompany us to Terra when the time comes, you will still be welcome to do so, but until that time, stay out of my sight, Raphaella. If you don’t, I won’t be held responsible for what I might do if you cause any trouble for me or my lady.”

  She took a step toward him but he held his hand up to stay her advance. He turned to go.

  “You said you had questions about the Titaness,” she said, latching on to the only thing she thought might keep him from leaving.

  “There are others I can ask.”

  “But I have been there many times. I know the prison like the back of my hand. You will need to know where to go and how to get inside the compound.” She reached for him.

  “No,” he denied, his eyes hard.

  “I love you!” she said, tears gathering.

  He nodded, his gaze softening. “I know you do.”

  Raphaella dropped to her knees before him. “I will do anything you want!” she sobbed. “Anything! Only don’t turn away, Khiershon. Please don’t turn away from me!”

  Khiershon clenched his jaw. “You are making a fool of yourself. Get up!”

  She flung herself at his legs, grabbing one booted foot and wrapping her arms around it. “I am yours, heart and soul,” she wailed. “Body and spirit. You are everything to me! Without you, I do not want to live!”

  His face tight with anger, he bent down, gripped her upper arms and yanked her to her feet. He shook her roughly. “Do you hear what you are saying?” he shouted, shaking her again so violently her teeth clicked together and a thin trail of blood oozed from the corner of her mouth.

  “I love you! I have always loved you.” She tried to throw her arms around him, but he pushed her away.

  “It is over, Raphaella,” he said, slapping his hand against the door control.

  “If you leave me, I will take my life!”

  He stepped out into the corridor and stood there staring at her. “Melodramatic tantrums do not become the royal daughter of the House of Amazeen,” he told her. “And threats only serve to make you look more foolish.”

  Raphaella swiped at the tears cascading down her face and lifted her chin. “I am making no idle threats, Reaper. If that portal closes between you and me, the next time you see my face, it will be still in death.”

  The door started to slide shut and he reached out to keep it from closing; the portal slid back into its housing sleeve. His gaze was locked with hers and when he saw triumph beginning to glint in her emerald green depths, when he saw the victorious smile tugging at her lips, he pulled his hand away.

  “Good-bye, Raphaella.”

  The smile died on the Amazeen princess’ face. The triumphant gleam turned dull.

  She held his gaze, knowing he would never falter from the path he had set for himself. There would be no detours on his road of life and no pleasant excursions to destinations to which he could not take his mate. For the Reaper, his course had been charted and his lone passenger ticketed.

  “Go back to your Terran whore,” she said, her eyes flashing green fire. “I am well rid of you, you heartless beast!”

  The door slid shut, separating the two of them.

  Chapter Thirty

  “Have you seen her at all since that first day?” Iyan asked as he and Cree walked along one of the subterranean corridors.

  “No,” Cree replied. “I hear she keeps to her quarters and intends to remain there until after we’ve gone. I’ve had her women checking on her.”

  “Why?”

  Cree frowned. “Raphaella won’t take her own life, but she may well find a way to take my lady’s.”

  “You have someone watching Caitlin?”

  “You know I do.”

  “You need to keep those two as far away from one another as possible.”

  “So I’ve been reminded.”

  “Your lady said as much?”

  Cree nodded. “In no uncertain terms.” He cast his life-long friend a wondering look. “Did you see her that day on the docking bay?”

  “I saw what Barb says is a Celtic berserker that day, my friend.” Iyan chuckled. “I count myself lucky it wasn’t me she went after with that Diabolusian blade!”

  Cree frowned. “Where the gods-be-damned hell did she get that warthog sticker?”

  Iyan shrugged. “I’ve no idea, but it’s good she did. That blade settled matters well enough between those two.”

  “Nothing has been settled, Iyan. Given the chance, they’ll go after one another again.”

  “Even with the pact made? Not even Raphie would dare break such a promise.”

  “The bitch threatened to take her own life. Do you think she would honor a pact made with Caitlin?”

  “Then you’d best keep your woman under tight watch.”

  “I’ll keep her under me,” Cree grinned.

  Iyan rolled his eyes. “You are disgusting, Reaper.”

  “How goes it with you and Barb?”

  “We are friendly enough.”

  Cree put out a hand to halt his friend. He locked eyes with the Serenian. “You think I don’t know how you feel, Iyan?” he asked, searching the other man’s face. “I know. I knew before we shared blood.”

 
Iyan’s face paled. “I don’t know what you are inferring.”

  “I’ll tell you what I told Raphie. Let it go. Let me go.”

  McGregor’s mouth dropped open, he stared at his friend then snapped his mouth shut with an audible click. He narrowed his eyes. “By the gods you think highly of your attraction to others, don’t you, Reaper?”

  Cree grinned. “Get over it.”

  “You are a conceited buffoon, Khiershon Cree.” He looked down at the Reaper’s restraining hand and shrugged away the restraint. “You have entirely too high an opinion of yourself.”

  “Barb is a nice woman.” Cree started walking. “You could do worse, you know.”

  “You could do worse, you know,” Iyan mimicked as he fell into step beside the Reaper.

  “She would make a fine companion. You need someone to bunk with now that I’m no longer available.”

  Iyan cast his friend a curious glance. “You know gods-be-damned well how it is with me and yet you make light of it.”

  “I am not making light of it, Iyan. I am merely telling you to get over it.” Cree shot his companion a stern look. “And we won’t mention your feelings again.”

  A blush settled over McGregor’s handsome face. “You aren’t angry?”

  “On the contrary, I am complimented that you feel you can not live without me.”

  “What?” Iyan shouted, grabbing Cree’s arm and spinning him around. “What?”

  Cree’s smile was brutal. “Get over it,” he said again and snaked out his arm to wrap Iyan’s neck in a tight hold. He put his lips to his friend’s ear. “Get over me,” he whispered.

  Iyan realized the Reaper was allowing him to save face; he shoved away his friend. “Ry-Chalean dog.”

  “Serenian windworm.”

  The two men glared at one another then burst into laughter at the same time.

  “She’s been good for you,” Iyan reluctantly admitted.

  “As Barb has been good for you.”

  Iyan nodded. “Aye, that she has. We are becoming close.”

  “Keep her at your side, McGregor. The two of you must have been cast from the same clay.”

  Iyan smiled, but did not comment. He said little as they inspected the progress the Serenian engineers were making on the new StarRaider being built in the bowels of the Corinthian mountains. He listened to Cree’s questions, added a comment or two of his own, but spent most of that morning watching Cree’s easy camaraderie with the workers and the way the Reaper’s body language told of his happiness.