Wind Wolf

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  As he stared at the violent convulsions gripping the Modartha, it was evident from the expression on O'Rourke's face that he was finding this particular part of the torture unsettling. Though General Brennan's right hand man had personally remitted many prisoners into the greedy hands of Lord Damhán, none had survived the encounter. Once the information was extracted, the prisoners were executed—not a one ungrateful to meet his end after the harrowing experience in the Siléar Céasadh.

  "How long will this last?” O'Rourke queried.

  "It depends on the Commander's personal demons,” the Spider replied. “Whatever fears he has are being multiplied and strengthened. He is looking into his own personal hell at this very moment."

  And that hell for Crevan Byrne was watching his beloved Bailey die. He was locked in a nightmarish place in which his body was suffering inhuman agonies as he was forced to stand by and watch Bailey starve slowly to death. It was a fear of his own mind, his own choosing, and it was a torment he was finding hard to bear.

  "There are two more drugs?” O'Rourke inquired. He was shifting uncomfortably as he watched the Modartha writhe. The man's screams were getting to him.

  "Gealtacht and Nimh,” Lord Damhán answered.

  "And they are worse than this?"

  "Oh, much,” the Spider said, smiling happily. “Gealtacht causes insanity and I am afraid there might not be any coming back from that for our Commander and of course, the Nimh will kill him outright."

  O'Rourke turned a horrified expression to the torturer. “He is not to be killed nor is he to be driven mad! He is valuable to the An Comhlathas. General Brennan gave express orders...."

  Lord Damhán waved a dismissive hand. “He'll not get to those drugs, Major. Believe me, he will give you the...."

  "Bailey!” Van shrieked. “Bailey, don't leave me!"

  "Ask him!” Lord Damhán ordered. “Quickly while he is centered on her!"

  O'Rourke bent over Van, putting his face close to the wild-eyed man. “Give me the code, Van!"

  "Bailey!” The name was a pitiful whimper. “Please don't leave me."

  "Van, I need the code to save her,” O'Rourke said, picking up on something he was no doubt getting from the look on the Modartha's face. “Don't let her die, Van."

  Lord Damhán cocked his head to one side as Crevan Byrne gave the code necessary to shut down the security on the gates at his estate to the Major. He smiled. “Didn't I tell you?” he asked.

  O'Rourke tapped his personal Vid-Com badge and gave the code to the man who answered. As soon as that was taken care of, he turned to the Spider. “Bring him out of it. Now!"

  Inclining his head, the torturer took one last vac-syringe from the tray and pumped its contents through the cannula. Almost instantly, the Modartha stilled, his body going limp, his head falling to one side, eyes staring.

  "What did you do?” O'Rourke bellowed.

  "Do not distress yourself. He's merely unconsciousness, Major. He'll sleep for a good ten hours after this,” Lord Damhán said. “Do you want to leave him here with me or are you going to...."

  "He's going back to Level Five,” O'Rourke interrupted.

  "Too bad,” the Spider said with a pout. “I was hoping I could take him to the Teach Na Ngealt."

  "There's no need for him to go to a mental asylum!” O'Rourke snapped.

  "True, but I would like to have him a bit longer. I am impressed he survived the ninth and tenth injections and if he could tell me what it was he was experiencing...."

  "Get that shit out of his arm,” O'Rourke demanded. He motioned the men who had brought Van from his cell to take positions at the table.

  Lord Damhán reluctantly removed the cannula, sighing as he did so, then stepped back as the guards began to unbuckle the restraints on the Modartha's body. “I must say he lasted much longer than I would have thought. He was a very strong specimen."

  "He was a national hero,” O'Rourke growled. “Brought down by a cunt."

  "We all have our weaknesses, Major,” the Spider observed. “His is the human female."

  Chapter Three

  Bailey was shivering despite the cup of hot tea Major O'Rourke had given her. Even though a troop of men had rushed into the estate, battered down the front door, and taken her into custody, they had not abused her, though they had not been overly gentle with her, either. They had been firm and intimidating.

  "She is the legal mate of the Commander,” the man who was obviously the leader of the troop told another soldier. “She is to be treated accordingly."

  "Please,” she asked one of the men guarding her. “Could you tell me if any of my husband's men were hurt?"

  "No, Milady. They were arrested for trying to block our entry onto the estate but were released about an hour ago when it was decided they were simply carrying out the Commander's orders,” the man told her.

  Bailey breathed a sigh of relief for she'd been worried about the men. Not as worried as she was about her husband, though, for no one would tell her where he was. No one would answer any questions put to them about Van and as time passed her worry grew. When O'Rourke finally came back to her, she dreaded what he would say for the look on his face frightened her.

  "Where is my husband?” she asked, getting slowly to her feet.

  The Major reached out and took her arm. “Come with me,” he said.

  She wrenched her arm from his grasp. “I want to see my husband,” she said and backed away from him. “I want to see Van."

  "No, you don't,” O'Rourke said. “Not where he is."

  Utter terror spread through Bailey and she felt her knees going weak. Had the Major not shot out a hand to prevent it, she would have collapsed. He took her shoulders in his hard hands.

  O'Rourke ground his teeth and braced her, shaking her slightly as he glared down into her face. “And you won't ever see him again unless you cooperate with us,” he said in a brutal tone.

  "Cooperate?” she repeated, trembling so badly her teeth chattered.

  "We have a job for you to do,” he said and let go of one of her arms to jerk her around, urging her along with him as he began to walk vigorously toward the bank of elevators. “Do what we want and you'll get him back."

  "Where is he?” she said. “Please. He's..."

  "He is in the Doinsiún,” he told her. “The gods help him. For a Modartha that is not a good place to be."

  Her face turned pale and she stumbled. “W ... what do you mean?"

  "He put many of those men behind bars, Milady. What do you think I mean?” O'Rourke asked.

  "But you have to protect him!” she said. She pulled at her arm to free herself, refusing to go any farther with him. “You have...."

  "We don't have to do a fucking thing, woman!” O'Rourke barked. He towered over her, his face fierce. “It's up to you to keep Byrne safe."

  "But how?” she asked and tears slid down her cheeks. She was trembling again.

  "We want Kona Doyle,” he stated. “Kona Doyle wants you.” His grip tightened on her arm. “We're going to use you as bait to catch him. It's as simple as that."

  Her eyes flared. In the deepest part of her mind she'd known all along why they had come for her, but she had foolishly hoped Van would find a way to keep her safe from Doyle. Now, she knew better.

  "What do you want me to do?"

  He tugged on her arm to make her walk with him and increased his pace. “I'm taking you to the med lab. They'll insert a tracking chip so we'll know where you are every second then we'll turn you loose. Wherever you go, whatever you do after that, we'll have you under surveillance. Sooner or later, Doyle would come after you."

  "And if he doesn't?"

  "He will,” O'Rourke said, a muscle flexing in his jaw.

  * * * *

  "What the hell did they do to him?” the Warden of the Doinsiún demanded.

  "The Spider,” Captain Colm Donley stated.

  "What was the general thinking?” the Warden asked. “That is sheer madness
."

  "My guess is the general will pay dearly for this day's work,” Donley prophesied. “By having turned Van over to the Spider, Brennan may have shot his wad with some very powerful senators."

  "The Commander looks to be in great pain."

  "He's got enough drugs flowing through his system to put down twenty men,” Donley told him. “It's a wonder he's even breathing."

  Warden McCauley was uneasy with the Modartha in one of his isolation cells. It was three days from the New Moon and his prisoner would shift into a very powerful and deadly werewolf, the most lethal of his kind. He wasn't sure the walls of the cell would hold an enraged Modartha.

  "I was told the meds will keep him down for at least a week. Look at him,” Donley said, no doubt sensing the Warden's fears. “Does he look like he'll be a danger to your people any time soon?"

  The Warden shook his head for the man strapped down to the titanium bunk was alternating between bone-shattering chills and a raging fever. Sweat glistened off his bare chest and even on the tops of his feet. It didn't appear as though the Modartha was aware of anything save the ungodly pain that was obviously wracking his writhing body and, now and again, the hallucinations that would manifest themselves in a wild, unearthly scream of protest.

  "Poor bugger,” the Warden said. “He doesn't deserve this."

  "No, he doesn't,” Donley agreed, “and there are those in the Slándáil Phoiblí who are not happy with General Brennan and his fascist clique."

  "How long is his sentence to be?"

  Donley looked around and raked a sneering look down the Warden. “What sentence? There wasn't even a trial. They can keep him here indefinitely."

  "Not good,” the Warden said. “This is definitely not good."

  "We need him,” Donley said. “There is no other like Crevan Byrne."

  "I am not sure I can protect him,” the Warden said, his eyes grave. “There are those who would like to see the Modartha dead."

  "Do what you can,” Donley said. “Things are in motion to facilitate his release."

  * * * *

  Kona Doyle accepted the glass of brandy from his companion and saluted. “It has been a long while since I have tasted good Sionnach cognac."

  "Enjoy it while you can. There won't be any where you are going."

  "Any word on the Modartha?” Doyle inquired as he took a sip of the fiery brew and closed his eyes with appreciation.

  "He has been transferred to the Doinsiún, completely incapacitated for now."

  "And Bailey?"

  "She will be released once the tracking chip has been inserted."

  Doyle smiled nastily. “A chip that we will remove immediately once she is in our hands."

  "Of course,” his companion said with amused agreement.

  "When do you think your people will be able to fetch her to me?"

  A slender hand lifted the snifter of cognac to the light, swirling the amber liquid so the colors sparkled. “I would say within the next hour. Before the end of the day, you will have left Faolchú and be well on your way to Madra."

  "Is the assassin in place at the Doinsiún?” Doyle inquired, his brow furrowed. “I don't want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder waiting for Byrne to show up."

  "He is being handled, Kona,” his companion said.

  "The thought of him daring to put his filthy hands to my woman.... “Doyle's lips thinned. “I want that bastard dead!"

  A slow, merciless smile stretched his companion's thin lips. “I promise you, Kona, by the time we are finished with the Modartha, he will think twice before daring to accost another woman as he did Bailey. But dead? No, I want him to live, dear Kona. I want him to live so he can suffer knowing the woman he loves is beyond his reach."

  "What if he comes after us?” Kona asked, his hand trembling on the glass.

  "He won't. I intend to see him so deeply destroyed, it will be hard for him just to draw breath!"

  * * * *

  The Modartha was lost in a world of agony from which he could not seem to find his way out. Pain driven deep into his very soul kept him prisoner with steel talons that ripped at his vulnerable flesh and tore at his vital organs. Waves of heat undulated over his body one moment and then, in the next, he was locked in a deep freeze, so cold he could barely move. One vicious headache after another followed and every bone and muscle in his body hurt. The vertigo was so bad he could not lift his head, and he was glad for the straps keeping him on the bunk.

  He forced his mind away from the pain, and his thoughts touched lightly on his lady then surrounded her. He brought her to him and could almost feel her arms going around him, her sweet lips touching his forehead as he lay his cheek to her breast.

  She was his anchor in this dark, brutal world and, if he listened carefully, he could hear her steady, comforting heartbeat beneath his ear. If he concentrated, he could feel her fingers raking through his hair and smell the sweetness of her gardenia perfume clinging to her silky flesh.

  He imagined her easing him down and putting her soft hands to his body. He could feel her cupping him, stroking him, her fingernails trailing down the steely length of him.

  "My love,” she whispered to him. “My Modartha."

  Her body was reassuring, her scent intoxicating as she stretched out beside him and he drew that precious fragrance deep into his lungs. He ached to put his hands on her, to touch her, to put his flesh in her, but he lay immobile as her knowing fingers smoothed over his body.

  "Van,” she cooed to him and then she slid down his body to take him in her mouth. The moment her warm lips closed over him, he drew in a ragged, excited breath and reveled in the feel of her mouth working its wonders on his shaft.

  He gloried in the sensation of her hands roaming over him as her mouth suckled him, her teeth grazed the throbbing head of his rod. She tweaked his nipples and stroked his belly button, her fingers splaying over his ridged abdomen, trailing sweet fire in their wake.

  She drew upon him and her breath fanning over his nether curls as she licked him from base to head and lapped hungrily at his scrotum.

  "Van,” she said on a long sigh a moment before she slithered up his naked body.

  He could smell the muskiness of her sex as she reached down to guide him into her hot channel. She was silky soft, wet, then tight as a fist as she closed around him. He could feel the throb of her pulse gripping him with each heartbeat.

  "Van."

  He could not move, but he didn't need to, for she was straddling him, riding him, pulling him deep within her sweet cunt. She oozed around him like warm honey and rose up and down upon his shaft. He opened his eyes to see that her head was thrown back as she rode him.

  "Van,” she sighed.

  The first ripples of pleasure were gathering deep in his belly and he strained to feel them.

  "Van?"

  She was fading even as he stared up at her. Her body was breaking apart into a black mist and he tried to call out to her, strained to beg her not to leave him.

  "Van!"

  The voice was coming from miles away and had been spoken so loudly he winced. That brutal voice chased Bailey completely away, and Van whimpered as she vanished.

  "Van, open your eyes and look at me."

  He opened his eyes but he couldn't see anything except a wavering black mist. Straining to focus only made his nausea worse so he closed his eyes again.

  "Don't go back to sleep, Vannie!"

  Sleep? He wondered. Who could sleep? He wished with all his heart he could sleep for maybe then the pain would leave him be. Maybe then Bailey would come back to him.

  "Van, listen to me. It's Liam. I need you to open your eyes and look at me."

  Liam? He repeated to himself though his lips never moved. Wasn't that his older brother's name?

  "Van!"

  "Give him a chance, Liam."

  The distorted voices circling him made the headache twice as bad and he wished he could put his hands over his ears to sh
ut out the noise. Hard hands shook him and sent tremors of ungodly pain rippling through him.

  "Don't do that, Liam! Can't you tell he's hurting?"

  "Shut the fuck up, Paddy. How else are we going to wake his ass?"

  "He is awake. He's just having trouble coming around!"

  "Maybe a dose of tenerse would help?” someone else inquired softly.

  "I don't think it could hurt,” still another voice boomed out of the darkness.

  A stinging pain invaded Van's neck and traveled quickly up through his head, multiplying the brutal agony already pounding there and he whimpered, tears flooding his eyes.

  "Well, that was a gods-be-damned mistake!” Liam Byrne stated. “Now look what you've done."

  "Give it a chance to work, Milord. It has a lot of other meds to counteract."

  Slowly the black mist rolled back to reveal a quartet of very worried faces hovering over him. Two he recognized and two he knew as well as his own. Though a dent in the pain was barely noticeable, the nausea slowly disappeared, and the vertigo lessened to just a faintly off-kilter tilt to his world. The aches in his body subsided, and the volume was turned down on his hearing.

  "Are you with us, Little bro?” Liam inquired and put a big, clumsy paw on Van's face to brush aside a limp strand of hair.

  Van blinked, his throat so dry he couldn't bring any words from it.

  "He needs water.” Shifting his eyes carefully, he realized those words had come from his youngest brother, Patrick, and wondered if his third brother—the second eldest, Declan—was lurking somewhere close by.

  "Dec's not here,” Liam said, catching the stray thought. “Do you want us to send for him?"

  He could barely move his head but he shook it slowly, whimpering a bit as a hand was slid under his neck and his head was lifted, the cool rim of a cup placed to his parched lips. He drank greedily, his aching throat soothed by the sweet water.

  "Not too much, now, Milord,” one of the other men warned. “He'll throw it back up."

  "Get those straps off him,” Liam ordered. “Why the hell have you got him strapped down in the first place?"

  "It was for his own good, Milord. He...."

  "Get them off him!"

  The touch of hands on his wrists and ankles were an agony unto themselves, and it was all Van could do not to whine. Furious heat radiated from the flesh of those touching him, and his entire body shuddered from the contact as the cup was removed and the precious water taken away.