0437169001337283106 wind demon 02

by dark wind

  “Five, ten I would imagine. They know it will take more than one of them to capture me.”

  “They wouldn’t try it out in the open like this,” Kahn said, relaxing.

  “Why not?” Cree countered. “I beamed into a church full of people on a Terran high holy day to extract a pair of nuns. Do you think if they could lock on to me they’d hesitate?” He reached inside his shirt and withdrew a small black disc that hung on a gold chain around his neck. “I don’t go anywhere without this.”

  Kahn nodded. He was familiar with the device in Cree’s hand. Designed as a shield to prevent unauthorized transport, the device jammed retrieval beams. It had been standard issue for the Rysalian Fleet and, thankfully, one of the first things Kahn and his men had discarded when they had been captured by the Multitude on Rysalia Prime. Lucky for them they had else they would have met their fate alongside Cree’s Reaper cousins in the auto-de-fé cage.

  Cree shoved the device back inside his shirt. “I never wore one of these gods-be-damned things before I came here,” he complained. “Now, it’s a part of me. Just as it is a part of Bridget and our son!”

  “I don’t wear one, either, but I think I’ll start. There was a cache of them on board the Vortex. I’ll send Tealson to pick them up and make sure everyone starts wearing them as religiously as you do.”

  “They aren’t after you or the others. I’m the one they want.”

  “A little egotistical about that, are we?” Kahn asked dryly. When Cree didn’t take the bait, Kahn shrugged. “Has it occurred to you that they might snatch one of us?”

  “Thinking I’d try to rescue you?” Cree stood up.

  “Aye.”

  Cree turned, bent over and put his hand on Kahn’s shoulder, squeezed the taut muscle there, and smiled. “If that should happen, Admiral Kahn, be assured I wouldn’t lift a hand to come to your defense.”

  Kahn scowled, dipping his shoulder away from the slight pain. “I would imagine the Amazeen know you would not, but I’ll be happier knowing we can’t be jerked up into the wild blue at some slut’s whim.” Cree shoved his hands into his jean pockets. It was a habit he’d developed of late and Kahn wondered if the man knew it was a defensive gesture; a pulling into himself and away from those around him. “You should be careful.”

  “I’ll let the others know to be on the lookout for any suspicious females,” Kahn told him. “Do you want me to post a guard on your family?”

  “I can protect my gods-be-damned family, Kahn!” Cree snapped. “I just wanted you to be aware there’s a threat.”

  “So noted, Lieutenant.”

  “Go to hell.” Cree walked away.

  “Wanna try for plebe, Kamerone?” Kahn yelled after him and chuckled when Cree lifted a hand to salute him in a manner that would not have been approved by the Rysalian Fleet Command.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bridget Dunne looked at the clock on the wall and wished the hands would move faster. She wanted her shift to be over so she could go home. It was always hard to lose a patient and though the man she’d lost today had been prepared for his impending death and even welcomed it, Bridie felt the emptiness more keenly than she ever had before. Her heart ached for Mr. Jenkins and his family and she bowed her head to add still another quick prayer for the repose of the old man’s soul. As she did, she reached up to touch the Celtic cross around her neck, but touched instead the strange black talisman Cree insisted she always wear.

  “Wear it for me,” he had told her when he draped the amulet over her head. “As a symbol of our Joining.”

  She had not questioned his explanation of what she thought of as a rune stone, not even when he produced a smaller version for their son to wear. But she had argued with him about the safety of a baby wearing jewelry of any kind.

  “No harm will come to him for wearing it, Bridget,” Cree had insisted. “The chain is not long enough to get twisted around his neck to choke him. All Rysalian male children wear a similar stone.”

  “What if he got his hand beneath the chain?” she had countered, shaking her head. “No, I don’t want him wearing it.”

  “The talisman stays, Bridget!”

  Despite her concerns for their son, she had given in to Cree’s demands. Sometimes, her Reaper was easier to live with if she gave in to his unfathomable demands and didn’t question his actions.

  Dorrie Burkhart stuck her head into Bridie’s office. “You want a cup of coffee?” Bridget jumped, surprised by the intrusion. She looked up. “It would just keep me awake.”

  “Whatever,” Dorrie mumbled and turned to go.

  “Dorrie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why were you late again this morning?”

  Dorrie narrowed her eyes. “Why do you want to know? You going to report me?” Bridget sighed. “No, Dorrie, I’m not going to report you. It’s just that Dr. Reynolds was looking for you and I didn’t know what to tell him.”

  “Did I ask you to cover for me?” Dorrie snapped.

  Bridget was clenching her pen so hard it was gouging into her flesh. “If you’re having problems getting to work...”

  Dorrie swept her arm toward the Albany Memorial Hospital parking lot. “My damned car wouldn’t start again, okay? I had to get Raine to jumpstart it with a neighbor’s pickup.” Bridie laughed, but there was no humor in her deep green eyes. She shook her head with exasperation.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Not everyone has a Serenian Prince to crank their car.”

  “Some prince,” Dorrie snorted. “He’s the one who ran the battery down in the first place when he left the lights on!”

  “At least he can drive, Dorrie. That’s more than Kam is willing to do.” Dorrie’s cornflower blue eyes widened. “A complaint about the magnificent Prime Reaper? Trouble in paradise already, Bridie?”

  Bridie’s smile slipped. “I’m not complaining about him and, no, there’s no trouble in paradise. Kam and I are very happy.”

  “Yeah?” Dorrie asked, one expertly tweezed blond brow arching in speculation.

  “Yeah.” She felt heat rush to her cheeks. No matter how often she tried to get along with Dorrie, the tougher it seemed to be.

  “Whatever you say.” Dorrie’s tone of voice and the look in her eyes made it clear to Bridget that Dorrie wasn’t buying the answer. “I’m going to the cafeteria. You want something?”

  “No, thank you,” Bridie answered stiffly.

  “Suit yourself.” Dorrie rolled her eyes then left.

  Bridie threw her pen to the desktop. Ever since she’d known Dorrie Burkhart the woman had had an attitude. But Dorrie’s sarcasm had gotten worse over the past five or six months and her tendency to provoke confrontations were getting out of hand. Something had to be done and now was as good a time as any.

  Bridie reached for the phone and punched in an Atlanta number. Once she was through to the main switchboard of the Center for Behavioral Studies, she gave the operator an extension number and began doodling on her desk pad as the operator re-directed the call.

  “Dr. Dean’s office.”

  “Ivonne, it’s Bridie. Is she in?”

  “Hey, lady!” Ivonne Noll greeted her. “Long time, no hear! Whatcha up to?”

  “I’ve got problems with Dorrie.” Bridie sighed.

  “What else is new?” Ivonne asked with a snort. “Doc’s on another line, but she won’t be long. How’s the baby?”

  “Jaelin is just fine.”

  “And that gorgeous daddy of his?”

  “Kam is great, too. How’s your family?”

  “Alexi’s doing okay. He likes his new job.” Ivonne paused. “She’s off the line now. Talk to you later.” Bridie cleared her throat and waited for her mentor to come on the line.

  “What’s she done now?” were the first words out of Beryla Dean’s mouth.

  Bridget chuckled. “How did you guess I was calling about Dorrie?”

  “Because my horoscope for today said to expect a tel
ephone call regarding past troubles with an old acquaintance.”

  “Beryla!” Bridget chastised her, knowing the former Director of the Behavioral Modification Unit on FSK-14 was exaggerating.

  “It is about Burkhart, isn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Bridget said on a long sigh.

  “What’s the tart done now?”

  “It’s her attitude, Beryla. One minute sugar wouldn’t melt in her mouth and the next she’s stabbing me in the back with Dr. Reynolds.” There was a long pause then: “I’m sorry, but I just can’t work with her any longer. I thought things would get better, but they’re getting worse. I’ve also had numerous complaints from patients and staff alike. Dorrie just doesn’t seem to want to fit in. I’ve tried to be understanding and I’ve bent over backwards trying to help her but she doesn’t want my help. Everything I do gets thrown back in my face.”

  There was a long exhalation of breath at the other end of the call. “I’ll ask Aurora if she can use her in the oncology lab in Houston.”

  “I heard Ro-Ro’s up for some kind of prestigious award for her research.” The woman in Atlanta understood the unspoken question. “She has impeccable credentials and deserves all the recognition she can get. You should be happy for her.” It was her way of reminding Bridie that the false papers created for Aurora Burds by the old Hunter unit would withstand any scrutiny.

  “I am,” Bridie admitted, “and please tell her so.”

  “We’ll handle Dorrie. Just give her thirty days notice and then send her to Ro-Ro.” There was a slight pause. “How is he?”

  “He’s getting more withdrawn every day, Beryla. Sometimes he leaves the house without letting me know he’s going and is gone nearly all day. Not that it’s any better when is he’s home. He’s moody and silent. I’ve awakened in the night to find he’s left the house. That bothers me more than anything.”

  “Where does he go?”

  “I have no idea. If I didn’t know him as well as I do, I’d think he has a mistress.” There was a chuckle from the other end of the line. “Not our Cree. He takes his commitment to you quite seriously, my dear.” She paused. “Have you asked him if there’s something troubling him?”

  “Yes, but all I get is one of those looks and a curt ‘nothing’s wrong’.”

  “I remember those looks well.”

  “They’ve gotten just as bad as they were before he and I started living together on FSK-14. Sometimes I feel like he’s slipping away from me, that I’m losing him.”

  “Sweetie, there’s no chance of that,” Beryla said. “That man loves you more than life itself.”

  “But I’m beginning to think that love isn’t enough to hold him, Beryla. He seems restless and bored.”

  “Well, that’s understandable. On Rysalia, he was a man among men. Here on Earth, he’s just a man among many men.” Beryla laughed. “That’s got to be hard on his ego, Bridie!”

  “I suppose so,” Bridie said with a sigh.

  “Is he spending time with the baby?”

  “No.”

  “Not at all?”

  “Sometimes I find him in Jaelin’s room just standing over the crib staring down at his son as though he can’t quite figure out what to do with him. He still refuses to hold the baby and when Jaelin cries, Kamerone leaves the house.”

  “A lot of new fathers don’t know how to act around their infants. Cree’s reaction is no different than many I’ve seen.”

  “It hurt that he wouldn’t hold Jaelin when he was born. I wanted to share that moment with him. I wanted him to be as happy as I was,” Bridget said, unable to keep the ache from her voice.

  “Bridie, he was happy and so proud!” Beryla stated. “He was also relieved that you were all right and the child was healthy. To my way of thinking, he was overwhelmed with it all and didn’t know how to react. Remember, he was never allowed to see the sons he sired on FSK-14. Cree knows nothing about children and I doubt he’d ever seen one before Jaelin was born. It must be awkward for a man like him to be confronted with hands-on fatherhood. He doesn’t know what is expected of him.”

  “I understand that, Beryla. I know the situation has to be a strain for him. But when Jaelin holds his little arms up to Kamerone and his daddy turns away, it tears the heart out of me.”

  “Have you tried talking to him about how all this is making you feel?”

  “I’ve tried, but he just shuts down every time I bring up his reluctance to touch his son. I think he believes if we don’t discuss it, the problem will eventually go away. I know my husband is a Reaper. I know he’s more stubborn than a Missouri mule with a toothache, but I know his heart, too. He’s a good man. He’s a loving man. I just don’t understand why he isn’t connecting with his son? What can I do to make him come around?”

  “I honestly don’t know what to tell you,” Beryla confessed. “How are things between you other than that? Is your, ah, personal life okay?”

  “You mean the sex?” Bridie laughed. “He’s never had a problem on that score. My God, the man would do it forty times a day if I agreed!”

  “Most males would, dear, and Cree is nothing if not all male!” Beryla chuckled. “Would it help if I called him?”

  “I don’t know,” said Bridie. She sighed. “But I’m desperate enough to ask you for help.”

  “Let me discuss this with Lares. He understands the Rysalian male temperament about as well as anyone can. If need be, he can come down and talk to Kam. Sometimes it takes a man to get through to another man. I’ll call you at home tomorrow. Okay?”

  At the mention of the Necromanian Prince, whose love for Beryla was as strong as the muscles in his brawny black arms, Bridie smiled. She swiped at the tears cascading down her cheeks. “Tell him hello for me, will you?”

  “Aye. And try not to worry. We’ll bring the Reaper around one way or another.”

  “From your mouth to Alel’s ear.”

  “There’s always my Terran version of the Be-Mod Nine unit.

  “If Cree doesn’t start behaving like the man I fell in love with, I’ll bring him to your lab myself!” Chapter Fourteen

  “Aren’t youhungry?

  Cree pushed his plate away. “It appears I am not.”

  Bridget sipped her iced tea. “You filled up on junk food again, didn’t you?” A slight smile tugged at the Reaper’s lips. “I discovered an amazing thing called cotton candy. I enjoyed it.”

  “How much did you eat?” she asked with exasperation.

  “Nine bags of it, but that was not much considering I believe there is much air spun into the mix.”

  “My husband the sugar freak.” Bridget looked at the roast beef, the potatoes and gravy, corn on the cob, and lace bread and was annoyed that Cree had only had a bite or two of each. He hadn’t even touched the corn that was his favorite.

  The Reaper reached out, took her hand and squeezed. “I enjoyed the cotton candy, Bridie,” he said with an apologetic tone.

  “I’m sure you did,” she said, easing her hand from under his. She wiped her mouth on her napkin then stood and gathered the dishes.

  “You’re angry with me,” he said, his apologetic tone turning defensive.

  “I’m irritated, yes,” she replied as she stacked his plate atop hers. “No woman likes to spend her day off cooking for a man who neither appreciates it nor wants it.”

  “I was hungry when I was at the car show.”

  “And you couldn’t wait until you got home to eat.” She turned and headed toward the kitchen with the dirty dishes.

  He winced as she kicked open the swinging door and went into the kitchen. The sound of dishes clattering and pots being thrown into the sink gave evidence of how upset his wife truly was.

  Cree drew in a long breath, released it slowly, then let his head drop to his chest as though he had the weight of the world on his broad shoulders. Once more, he thought, he had given in to selfish behavior that he should have known would annoy his wife. But he was so new to th
is sharing life; so unaccustomed to having to take another’s feelings into consideration before a decision. He loved Bridget with all his heart-black as it was-but he could not seem to make her happy.

  With another long, much-put-upon sigh, he got up from the table and followed his wife into the kitchen.

  “The garbage can needs emptying,” Bridget informed him as he entered.

  A pained look came over the Reaper’s face, but he went to the plastic can and opened the lid to withdraw the garbage bag inside. His nose crinkled with distaste as he spun the bag around, crimping the top to close it. He frowned, looking around for the little twist tie Bridget always placed on the counter for him.

  “What are you looking for?” she asked as she began running water in the sink.

  “The thing.”

  “The thing.” Bridget dropped the words like rocks. When he just stood there, looking at her, the garbage bag dangling from his strong hand, she stomped to the drawer beside which he was standing, jerked it open and took out the sheet of twist ties. “Here,” she said, tearing one off and handing it to him.

  “Thank you,” he said in a little boy voice.

  “It is your kitchen, too. You’d think by now you’d know where the ‘things’ are kept!”

  “Not part of my job.”

  “You don’t have a job.” She was immediately sorry for the jibe; the hurt look that passed over Cree’s face cut right to her heart. She watched him shrug then open the garage door to carry out the trash bag.

  Bridget stood at the sink with her hands on the counter, staring blindly out the window. When he came back inside, she turned to him. “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged again as though the matter was of no concern.

  “It’s been a rough day,” she said.

  “Don’t worry about it.” He walked into the dining room.

  Bridget looked at the garbage can and could have screamed. Her teeth clenched, she went to the drawer, pulled out the box of garbage bags and tore off one. She snapped it open and stuffed it into the plastic can with considerable force. As her hand went through the bottom of the bag, making a wide rip in the plastic material, she yanked the bag out of the can and began shredding it with a vengeance, growling with fury.