BloodWind

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  Another week to spend with Bridget; to try to understand why hisevery thought was of her; to make some sense of why he couldn't wait to see her each morning; why he needed to see her each night before he turned in to lie sleepless and miserable in his bed; to calm the raging sexual yearning that caused that sleepless, miserable condition.

  Shoving himself out of the chair, he stalked across the living area, kicking aside any offending obstruction in his path. He plowed his hand through his hair and, grabbing a handful, tugged brutally at his scalp in an effort to drag his mind from her.

  "Hell!" he snarled, searching out the digital time display above the Vid-Com screen. 1948 hours. It would be more than an hour before she was due to return. The thought infuriated him beyond endurance. He wanted her here, now! He needed her here, now! Why did he agree to let her go tonight anyway? Something had told him not to do so. Had he sensed this evil was coming?

  "Captain?" the Vid-Com broke in on his static thoughts.

  "Shut the hell up!" he ordered it.

  "I have..."

  "I told you to shut up!" he roared.

  The Vid-Com clicked off with a snappish little blip of sound.

  Cree threw his head back and howled with frustration. If it was the last thing he did, he was going to dismantle that interfering piece of electronics. He sat down and locked his attention on the digital time dial across the room. The longer he watched the numbers change, the more irritated he became. At 2015, he got up and started pacing, throwing savage looks at the numbers that, to him, seemed to be crawling. At 2045, he began to calm down just a little. Only fifteen minutes left before Bridget left Dr. Dean's quarters and another five for her to reach their quarters— he could control himself that long.

  "I will tell her that I will miss her," he heard himself saying. "I need her to know I will miss her."

  He stopped, thought about that then nodded. There was no harm in Bridget knowing he would miss her.

  He looked at the digital readout: 2147. How could only two minutes have passed when it felt like twenty? He began to pace again.

  "I must tell her I will be thinking of her."

  He stopped again, this time abruptly and with a frown. Where had that thought come from? If he told her such a thing, what would she think?

  He sat on the arm of his chair, propped his chin in his hand and mulled over his own question. Coming to no definite answer, he glanced up only to find the digital readout seemed to be stuck at 2047.

  "Move, you gods-be-damned thing!" he yelled at the readout and the number 8 shifted into view. Once more he hopped up and paced.

  "I need to tell her it will be hell while I am away from her."

  That thought could not be construed as anything abnormal. After all, Hell-12 was a penal colony. He was not going to enjoy himself there.

  Another look at the readout said 2053.

  Cree forced himself to calm down. He went to the sofa, sat down, laid his head back, and closed his eyes. He willed his heartbeat to slow, his nerves to smooth out. He used every technique he had mastered over the years to force his body to relax. One technique was to place his palms on his thighs and to rub gently until he became aware of nothing but the friction of flesh against fabric. He concentrated on the motion, unaware that his hands were moving to the insides of his thigh. Without even knowing he was doing it, his right hand shifted over and began a movement of its own.

  "Captain!" the Vid-Com admonished.

  "Leave me alone," he whispered.

  "You must stop doing what you are doing. It is forbidden." The Vid-Com's voice held a strong warning.

  Cree stopped, aware of where his hand had strayed. He lifted his head, looked down at the rigid shaft straining against his trousers and snatched his hand away.

  "I have sent for a surrogate."

  The Reaper shook his head. "You can just send her back!"

  "I am not going to argue with you, Captain. Your actions have made it necessary for sperm release and— "

  Irrational fury blazed across Cree's face and before he knew what he was saying, his words came out with enough force to shatter crystal:

  "The only place my sperm is going to go from now on is inside Bridget Dunne, you meddling hot-wired bitch!"

  Shocked by his own words, Kamerone Cree's eyes flared wide and he slapped a hand over his mouth as though by doing so he could keep anything else of a forbidden nature from coming out.

  "You do not have permission to empty your seed into that particular Terran female at this time, Captain," the Vid-Com said smugly.

  "And even if you did have permission to mate with her, she would be inaccessible to you for the prescribed twenty-four hour period."

  His voice had dropped to a near-whisper. "What are you saying?" he'd asked so quietly his words barely moved the air.

  The Vid-Com's smirk was mocking. "At the present time, twenty-one thirty hours..."

  "Twenty-one thirty?" he demanded, his attention flying to the digital readout.

  "As I was saying," the Vid-Com snapped. "At the present time, the Terran female known as Dunne is preparing to engage in sexual intercourse with another male. Ministry of Public Health regulations clearly state that she may not have sexual intercourse with a different male for twenty-four hours."

  Cree walked to the Vid-Com screen, staring at it with disbelief, slowing shaking his head in denial "The Terran female I mean is having supper with Dr. Dean in the Director's quarters," he said in a quiet, no-argument voice.

  "No, Captain, she is not," the Vid-Com informed him. "Your live-in companion, Dr. Bridget Siobhan Dunne is at this moment with Commander— "

  "Get me Dr. Dean's quarters!" he demanded. "Now!"

  Almost immediately his order was obeyed. Dr. Dean's cheerful face appeared on screen. Behind her were two other women.

  "Good evening, Captain. How may I help you?" asked the Director.

  "Let me speak to her," Cree ordered.

  "Who, Sir?" Dr. Dean asked, her face a study in puzzlement. She turned away, then looked back at him. "Dr. Sejm? Dr. Dayle?"

  "Bridget, damn you!" he bellowed. "It's..." He glared up at the digital readout then returned his hateful glower to the Director. "It is 2140 and she is not home yet!"

  Dr. Dean stepped back from the Vid-Com as though he might reach through it and grab her by the jugular. "Captain," she said, blinking with trepidation. "Dr. Dunne is not here. I haven't seen her all day."

  "All day?" he repeated.

  "No, Sir," the Director replied. "Was she— "

  Hot rage exploded in him like a pulsar cannon's blast. His fist went through the Siliplex on the Vid-Com, cutting him deeply across his knuckles, cutting off the concerned face of the Director. A growl worse than that of a were-tiger in full pounce erupted from behind lips drawn back over gnashing teeth and he stormed from his quarters with only one thought in mind:

  To find Konnor Rhye's quarters!

  BRIDGET LOOKED down at her watch: 2215 hours. She shuddered, wondering how long it would take for Cree to find them.

  "Stop worrying," Konnor advised. He pulled her tighter against him. "By the time he realizes where you are it will be too late. He'll have to report for transport."

  She felt bad about using Konnor. Basically, he was a good man; with a promising career in the Ministry of Acquisitions that she knew tonight would effectively be put to an end. He was a patient man and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he loved her. She hated to hurt him, possibly cost him more than his position at the Ministry; but most importantly of all, she feared making him a sworn enemy of a man as powerful as Kamerone Cree.

  "I am not afraid of him," Konnor had told her when she voiced her worries to him.

  Konnor knew nothing of the Resistance's plans for Cree. He had no idea he was a part, an integral and absolutely vital part, of those plans. There was no way he could know he was being used to turn the Iceman into a green-eyed monster. Bridget liked Rhye. He was a sweet, endearing man whom she knew truly l
oved her. She hated to use him. His was a gentle soul, so unlike the monster that had been created within Kamerone Cree.

  "A monster," she whispered.

  "Don't," Konnor advised. "I can protect you."

  No, you can't. You can't even protect yourself, sweet man that you are. She buried her face against his shoulder and began to cry.

  "Sweeting, please don't cry," Konnor pleaded with her. "We will be together. I promise you that. You belong with me. He might have been able to buy you out from under me, but he can't buy what you'd already given to me." He kissed her forehead. "I love you, Bridie."

  Although she didn't love Konnor Rhye, she did have some tender feelings toward him. He had been the Keeper on board the ship that had brought Bridget to FSK-14. He had shown immediate interest in her and had kept Captain Kullen from attacking her on more than one occasion. She had been only too glad to use him early on in their relationship to keep from being sent to the breeding pens. He had even been useful in getting her the assignment to Be-Mod 9. But as the years had passed, and she had become part of the Resistance, the role Konnor was to play in her life diminished in lieu of snaring a man of Cree's power. Guilt at misusing Konnor Rhye had begun to set in Bridget's mind and she had begun to feel sorry for him. Feeling his lips on her forehead once more, that guilt became harder to bear.

  "You're trembling," he told her, bringing her back from her guilt-ridden memories. He drew her naked body closer to his own. "Should I have the Vid-Com turn up the heat?"

  Bridget burrowed her fingers possessively through the wiry curls that covered Konnor's chest. It wouldn't be long now before Cree found her and she wanted to hold on to this fiercely protective male as long as she could.

  "Just hold me, Koni," she begged. "Please just hold me."

  "Gladly, milady!" Rhye was a handsome man, Bridget thought as she inhaled his warm scent. Although his dark hair was receding and thinning on top, it did not detract from his overall sensuality. His brown eyes were soft and friendly, prone to sparkling with wry humor; and the twin dimples that indented his cheeks gave him a playful, boyish look that belied the steely strength Bridget had often glimpsed. In his middle thirties, he would never stretch beyond the rank of Commander for he was a Keeper, but he had the intelligence and savvy to go well above that meager rank. His frustration at not being able to advance was one of the reasons the Resistance had okayed him for their purpose. The man obviously had issues with the Empire's mandates. Bridget worried that her betrayal of him would destroy the good man he was and make him hate her, as well as every other female.

  FOUR HARD-FACED men strode behind the Reaper as he came like an avalanche down the corridors of Level Three. People moved out of their way; hurriedly entered their quarters and locked the doors behind their passing. The grim look on the black-clad warrior's face; the meaty fists doubled at his side; the determined, deadly, and brutal glint in his dark eyes were all evidence of the man's rage.

  "Which room?" Cree's tight voice was a death knell as he walked, his boot heels drumming sharply on the metal floor.

  "307, Sir," answered Ensign Hascom, the Chief Security Guard. He glanced at number 301— his own quarters— as they passed and was glad it was not him the Iceman was after.

  Only two people out and about in the Level Three corridor at that time of the evening stopped to stare as the quintet of steely-eyed men halted before number 307. The Reaper did not bother to order the men with him to attempt to seek legal entry of the quarters in front of which they had stopped. Instead, he had stepped aside and ordered phasers to blast through the titanium door.

  Konnor Rhye instinctively threw himself over Bridget as the blast rumbled through the living quarters beyond his bedsuite door. The smell of charred titanium and the purposeful thud of stamping feet advancing on the bedsuite were proof enough that Bridie needed his protection. He would gladly give his life to save hers and never stop to think twice about doing so. If there was any way he could keep the Reaper from hurting her, he would try. He was reaching for his phaser, fully intending to cut the bastard down, when hard, unrelenting hands took hold of his arms and dragged him— naked and struggling— up out of the bed and off Bridget.

  "You are under arrest, Commander Rhye," Ensign Hascom told him.

  "For what?" Konnor flung his head around, found Bridget staring at him with terror. "It's going to be all right, Bridie. I promise you. I won't let him— " Konnor yelped as his arms were savagely twisted behind his back.

  "Don't hurt him!" Bridget cried out, coming to her knees on the bed. "Please, I beg you. Don't hurt him!"

  The two Security Guards averted their eyes from the nude woman kneeling on the bed as she grabbed frantically for the sheet that had been pulled from the bed by her lover's removal. Wrestling the Keeper between them, they dragged him back, away from the bed, and held him as the other two guards manacled his hands behind him.

  "This isn't necessary," Konnor insisted. "I'll go willingly with you, Hascom."

  "I would not be you at this moment for all the gold in Ionary, Rhye," Ensign Hascom snapped. "Have you lost your mind, man?"

  A grimace of pain shot over Konnor's face as the manacles snapped into place too tightly around his wrists. The S.G.s forced him to his knees in preparation for manacles to be locked onto his ankles.

  "He is not a criminal," Bridget yelled at them. "For God's sake, don't do that to him!"

  It was her words that brought Cree into the bedsuite. He had hoped beyond all hope that the scream he had heard when they had blasted into Rhye's quarters had not come from his female's throat. When he had heard her cry out, begging the Security Guards not to hurt the treacherous bastard, he had lost that hope. Hearing her defend her lover had sent a red, hazy film of red fury seeping over his vision and when he had entered the room to find her naked in the Keeper's bed, that fury had turned to murderous intent.

  "Cree!" Bridget gasped, reaching out a hand to him. "Please don't let them hurt him! I beg you. He— "

  "What do you want us to do with him, Captain?" Hascom asked, deliberately cutting off the frightened woman's words. He liked Konnor Rhye and did not want to see the man's blood shed there and then.

  "Cree, please?" Bridget whimpered for the Reaper had advanced on Konnor.

  The man they called the Iceman reached out and grabbed a handful of the Keeper's hair. He brutally dragged Rhye's head back until the cords stood out in Konnor's neck. "You will regret this night, Konnor Rhye," he seethed. "I swear to you, you will regret it for as long as I let you live!"

  "I don't give a damn what you do to me," Rhye answered. "But don't you dare hurt her. If you hurt my woman, Cree, so help me— " Konnor's head snapped back as the Reaper backhanded him across the mouth. The return motion of the Reaper's hand sprayed blood as it connected with Konnor's lips.

  "Cree, please!" Bridget shouted. She scrambled off the bed, trailing the end of the sheet behind her. She put out a restraining hand and hooked it on the Reaper's biceps. "He's not to blame..."

  The Reaper rounded on her, his hand drawn back to hit her. His amber eyes flashed with lethal intent as his lips skinned back from his gleaming teeth.

  "No!" Konnor screamed, his own eyes flaring wide with fear for Bridget's safety.

  Bridget flinched, turning her head. She put up her arm to ward off the blow.

  In the moment before she had flinched away from him, Cree had seen the terror in her eyes. He had seen her fear of him. It drove a shaft of bitter ice through his melting heart and his hand came down, clamped painfully around her wrist, instead, then jerked her toward him.

  "You are my woman!" he hissed from between clenched teeth. "My woman! Do you understand that?"

  "Yes, Cree," she answered quickly. "Yes! Yes!"

  "Not his!" the Reaper denied. "You will never be his again! Do you understand that?"

  "Yes," she replied, nodding.

  The Keeper's mouth was torn and bleeding and he had to spit blood before he could speak. "Hurt her and I will k
ill you, your heartless bastard!" He thrashed savagely against his captors, but the guards held him securely, Hascom urgently whispering for him to hold his tongue.

  Cree ignored the threat. His hand tightened on Bridget's arm. "Come!" he ordered in a freezing tone and started to drag her from the room.

  "What are you going to do to him, Cree?" she asked, stumbling along in his wake.

  "Be quiet," he ordered.

  "She will never be yours!" Konnor dared to throw at the Reaper. "As much as you want her, you will never have her! Her heart belongs to me!"

  Cree stopped, turned, and fixed the Keeper with a look that should have dropped the man dead where he knelt. "Be careful," he said in a deadly quiet voice, "that I do not remove your heart with my bare hands for her to keep as a reminder of this night's folly, Rhye."

  "Please don't let them hurt him, Cree," Bridget begged. "I'll do anything you want. I will— "

  "Shut up!" the Reaper shouted at her. He didn't want to know what she was willing to do to save her lover's life.

  Without another word, blocking out the Keeper's venomous curses being heaped down upon his head, Cree turned, jerked Bridget behind him, his fingers clenched around her wrist, and exited Rhye's quarters. He pulled her to the elevator, his hand so tight around her wrist she tried with her free hand to pry it off while attempting to hold onto the sheet in which she had wrapped herself. Stepping on the end of the sheet, she stumbled against him and he had to jerk on her arm to keep her from falling.

  "You are hurting me," she whimpered, feeling the bones in her wrist grating together.

  "Good!" he ground out.

  "Are you going to beat me?" Fear turned her face white as the sheet she struggled to keep it around her nakedness.

  "I have every right to do whatever the hell I want with you, bitch!" he snarled.

  There were two Keepers on the elevator when the doors opened. Cree's own S.G., Lt. Alexi Noll was one of them. Seeing his commanding officer standing in the corridor, he snapped to attention. "SIR!" he barked.

  "Get the hell out of my way, Noll!"