BloodWind

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Bridget started to protest, thinking he meant to put a stop to this dangerous business, but then she realized he was ripping off his uniform, tearing the material when it resisted his efforts.

  "Hurry."

  "You don't think I am?" he growled, rending his trousers.

  She held her arms up to him. "Come here!"

  A snarl of pure animal lust erupted from Kamerone Cree's throat and he bent over her, putting his hands on the front of her blouse. The silk ripped as he dragged it from her body, half lifting her from the bed as he jerked it free. Her skirt followed, the sound of the material being rent making her quiver. Her silken panties and lace bra were no obstacles to him at all and came away with a satisfying zip of sound that made his avid gaze widen with appreciation.

  "Sweet Merciful Alel," he whispered, looking at her nakedness. "You are beautiful."

  "Kam, please!" He fell on her, although he kept most of his weight from crushing her. The possessing knee that wedged between her legs and thrust her thighs apart— its mate driving her legs wider still in preparation of his penetration— made her cry out with mindless arousal.

  "Say it again," he ordered, his shaft paused at the hot center of her.

  "Say what?" she moaned, wiggling her hips, needing the hot steel of him buried inside her.

  "My name," he insisted, not about to give her what she wanted until he got what he needed. "Say my name again!"

  "Kam," she rasped, bringing her legs up to clasp his lean hips.

  "Again!"

  "Kam!" She arched toward him.

  He drove the tip of his penis into her body. "Again!"

  "Kam"

  Cree rammed the shaft of his blade to the hilt inside her and held it there: deep, lodged tightly against her womb.

  "Again," he whispered, straining to keep the seed from spewing forth until he heard her just once more. His arms were trembling as he held himself above her. "Say it again."

  "Kam," she whispered. She met his look. "Kam." She felt the quivers beginning. "My Kam."

  Hot spurts of semen shot from him and flooded into his woman: branding her, claiming her, making her his for as long as they both lived. His mate. His woman. His love. The acute sensation that he had never fully experienced; the complete fulfillment of burying himself in the warm, loving body of a woman whose body and soul needed his as much as he needed hers, drove him into the realms of purely physical pleasure. Not just physical relief. Not just the satisfying of his lust. But the pure, unadulterated release of all the pent-up sexual frustrations he had ever known.

  When it was over and he lay spent against her bosom, his lips gently drawing on one rosy nipple, she stroked the long brown hair from his forehead and planted the softest kiss on his brow.

  "Can we do it again?" he asked.

  "I certainly hope so," she answered and smiled as he lifted his head and looked up her.

  He smiled, too.

  Chapter 16

  "YOU LOOKED pleased with yourself, Captain," she told him the next morning as she woke to find him lying on his side in her bed, his head propped on his fist as he stared down at her.

  Cree grinned. "Exceedingly pleased, milady."

  Bridget stretched, allowing the sheet to pull away from her breasts. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his gaze drop automatically to where she had intended it go and was rewarded by a soft chuckle from her companion.

  "You are shameless, woman."

  She turned her head and smiled. "I know."

  Cree reached out to tug the sheet lower. He studied the perfection of her right breast, leaned forward to study the other one then placed his hand on the mound of her left breast. "This one is larger," he declared. "Why is that?"

  "It's just the way a woman is made," she replied and sighed softly as he stretched his fingers out so that only the center of his palm was in contact with her breast as he ran it delicately over her nipple. When she frowned, he stopped, thinking he was hurting her in some way.

  "What is wrong?" he inquired.

  She took his hand in hers and turned it, looked down at the thick calluses then ran her thumb over the horny protrusions. "I am sorry, Kam."

  "For what?"

  "For what you had to suffer on— "

  Cree shushed her with a finger. "Something good came of my stay on Helios Twelve."

  "Really?"

  "I brought two warriors back with me: a Necromanian and a Serenian. Though both noblemen had been given long sentences, I freed them."

  Bridget blinked. "How did you manage that?"

  His grin became predatory. "You know better than to ask."

  Before she could comment, the Vid-Com clicked on. "Captain, Lord Anthos Korr from the Ministry of Justice is demanding to speak with you."

  Cree sat up in the bed. "Demanding?" he echoed.

  "Also, Dr. Dean, the Director of the Behavioral Modification Unit is requesting a moment of your time, as well," added the Vid-Com.

  Cree felt Bridget stiffen beside him. "What does she want?" he asked Bridget.

  "I have no idea," she replied and also sat up, reaching for her robe.

  "Did she say what she wanted?" Cree asked.

  "A moment of your time," the computer repeated with just a hint of exasperation in its clipped voice.

  "You gods-be-damned— " Cree began, but Bridget calmed him with a gentle touch on his cheek.

  Despite her growing unease, Bridget laughed. "You really need to have a little talk with Helen."

  "Helen?" Cree questioned.

  "The Vid-Com."

  His brows drew together thunderously. "You named that acid-tongued bitch?"

  "I named her after my best friend back home: Helen Louise Portas."

  Cree snorted. "You did not compliment the lady, Bridget!"

  "Captain!" the Vid-Com intruded, seemingly insulted by his remark. "Lord Korr is growing impatient and Dr. Dean is waiting for you answer."

  "Did she ask a question, Helen?" he sneered, putting emphasis on the name his lady had given the interfering AIU.

  "Captain," the Vid-Com sighed, "your attitude does not compute. Should I schedule you for a visit with Admiral Kahn's office?"

  At the mention of the Commanding Officer of the Rysalian Fleet Academy, the OIC for all military assignments, Cree sobered. "I do not believe that will be necessary," he answered, somewhat chastened. "Tell Dr. Dean I will call her back and connect Lord Korr."

  The stern visage of a man in his late eighties flashed immediately onto the Vid-Com screen. "I do not like to be kept waiting, Captain," Lord Korr snapped.

  "My apologies," Cree forced himself to say. "What can I do for you, Your Grace?"

  Anthos Korr appeared to be looking past Cree, into the expanse of Bridget's bedsuite. When Cree realized the old man was trying to get a look at Bridget, he moved to block the view. As he did, Lord Korr scowled. "Did you enjoy yourself last eve, Captain Cree?"

  Cree felt a warning shudder go down his spine. "I received permission to have a live-in companion, Your Grace."

  There was a snort of derision from Korr. "Aye, but I can not find anywhere in our records where it states you were granted permission to mate with this female or any other not sanctioned by the Ministry."

  The Reaper had to grit his teeth. "I believe the permission was implied, Your Grace."

  "Not so! And because you have once again flagrantly disobeyed orders, you are hereby ordered to report to Be-Mod 9 within the hour!"

  "Disobeyed orders?" Cree shouted, forgetting to whom he was speaking. "What gods-be-damned orders? What the hell have I done wrong now?"

  "Do not use that tone with me, boy!" Lord Korr thundered. "You will do as you are told or I will have you dragged into Be-Mod 9 in shackles!" The Vid-Com disconnected.

  Irrational fear shot through Cree and he turned to face Bridget. "What did I do that was so wrong?" he whispered. Before she could tell him he had done nothing to warrant such treatment, the Vid-Com clicked on again.

  "Captain? Dr. Dean insists on
speaking to you, now."

  "Put her on," Bridget commanded. She slipped her hand into Cree's and when Dr. Dean's face appeared on screen, it was Bridget who wanted to know what was happening.

  "They have informed me that we are to do active reinforcement on the Captain this morning," Dr. Dean reported.

  "Merciful Alel, no," Cree breathed. He hung his head, shaking it from side to side in denial.

  "Why are they doing this to him?" Bridget hissed.

  Dr. Dean did not answer. Instead, she turned her attention to Cree. "Captain," she stated, "if you would like, and if she is willing, I can arrange for Bridie to assist with the therapy."

  "I most certainly am not willing!" Bridget snarled. "And there is no reason for him to have to be put through that torment again!"

  "We have no choice, Bridget," Dr. Dean stressed. "This has been ordered by the Tribunal. The instructions come from— "

  "Onar," Cree whispered.

  "Lord Onar," Dr. Dean finished and saw Cree nodding as though he already knew the culprit's name. "It will only be three sessions, Captain. We can accomplish that in one day."

  Cree looked up at this woman whose lover had provided half the equation for his existence and wondered what she thought of him.

  "Bring him in, Bridget," the Director said. "He will need you with him."

  IT WAS THE longest fifteen minutes of Bridget's life as she accompanied Cree to the Be-Mod 9 Unit. She had resisted the urge to take his hand in the elevator although they had been alone. He was calm, now, resigned to what was going to be done to him; but Bridget could sense the unease in him as they got off the elevator and headed for the black double doors at the end of the corridor. He had not so much as glanced her way since leaving his quarters and had said nothing at all, but she wasn't sure he could have made the trip without her.

  "Do you want me in the therapy room with you?" she asked as they reached the doors. Although she would prefer not to watch the man she loved being tortured again, she would accompany him into his own private hell if that were what he wished.

  "Aye," he said, quietly. He still did not look at her, but she saw the hand nearest her jerk as though he had wanted to grasp her own, then realized he should not.

  Those gathered at the reception desk became quiet as the Reaper and Bridget entered Be-Mod 9. Ivonne's tremulous smile of greeting slid away as the imposing man in the black uniform halted before her.

  "We are expected," he said.

  Not `I am expected', thought Bridget, seeing the same understanding washing over those at the desk.

  "Yes, Captain," Ivonne replied. She handed a sheet of paper to Bridget. "You know where to take him."

  Cree shocked them all when he suddenly reached for Bridget's hand. "Come," was all he said, but not one of the women gathered there missed the meaning of his action: Kamerone Cree, the Rysalian Empire's Prime Reaper, needed help to enter the therapy suites this time.

  Dr. Dean came out of her office. "I am sorry about this, Bridget."

  Cree let go of Bridget's hand. "In there?" he asked, indicating the room where he had gone the first time had had been processed into the Unit.

  "Yes."

  He pushed on the keypad and started to enter. When he realized Bridget was not following him, he snaked out a hand and took her arm. "Come with me. They know you are my woman." He shut the door in the Director's face.

  "I didn't know if you wanted me to show any familiarity around..."

  "They know you are my woman!" he stressed again as he began to jerk at the buttons of his uniform blouse, flick the cuffs open. He yanked the opened shirt from his trousers, and then bent over to tug off his boots. "They know I have had sex with you, Bridget," he groused. "I would venture to say everyone on FSK-14 knows by now!"

  A bright infusion of color spread over Bridget's face. She shrugged helplessly, not knowing how to answer. She picked up the uniform shirt he threw savagely to the floor.

  "I would even go so far to say most people know how many times we had sex last eve!" She watched him flick open the buttons of his fly then kick off his trousers. She picked those up as well.

  "Kam..." she began only to have him fix her with a warning glance.

  "I am a Reaper, Bridget," he snapped. "I will be all right. No matter what they do to me, I will be all right!"

  "Of course you will," she agreed. Coming to him, she cupped his cheek. "Remember that I love you."

  He blinked— the only acknowledgment he gave that he understood. "Let's get this over with," he said.

  Dr. Dean was waiting at the end of the hall for them. Beside her was the same team of women who had taken part in his first reinforcement sessions. He swept his gaze among them. "Ladies," he said.

  "We will make this as easy for you as we can, Captain," Tina said.

  Cree nodded, then walked into the therapy suite. He was already stretched out on the table when they entered behind him.

  "I hope it was worth it," came an amused voice from the gallery.

  Everyone looked up to see Justice Onar at the glass.

  "What do you mean?" Dr. Dean asked.

  "He knows," Onar grunted. "Don't you, Cree?" A nasty grin crinkled the old man's face. "Was she worth being punished for, Captain?"

  Dr. Dean glanced at Bridget, wondering if she had guessed, as everyone else had, that this was the reason her lover was being tortured. One look at the horror stamped on Bridie's face told the Director the news had devastated the younger woman.

  "Answer me, Cree!" Onar shouted. "Was she worth it?"

  From the position in which he lay, Cree couldn't see the old man's face, but it didn't matter. He wasn't even looking toward the gallery. "Aye," he bit out. "She was!"

  "Oh, Kam," Bridget sobbed, hurrying to her lover. "I am sorry. I— "

  "Bridget, take your place and let's get this business finished," Dr. Dean insisted.

  "I can't!" Bridget cried. "I won't be a part of hurting him again!"

  "Do what you have to do, woman," Cree snapped at her. "Don't shame me in front of that bastard!"

  "I did this to you."

  "I know who to blame and it isn't you!" Cree barked. "Get your ass where you belong so I can get the hell out of here!"

  "Bridget, take your place," said Dr. Dean.

  They worked over him: attaching leads, clamping down restraints. Bridget moved to the head of the table and placed her hands lovingly on Cree's temples.

  "Do not let me swallow my tongue," he instructed and was relieved when he saw her smile just a little. She nodded and bent over him.

  "Remember what I told you," she whispered in his ear. "I love you, Kamerone Cree." She straightened up and locked her eyes with his. "I love you with all my heart." There was a flicker of his eyelids, nothing more, to indicate he had heard her.

  "Are you ready, Bridget?" the Director asked.

  Bridget nodded, still holding Cree's stare. She placed the rubber wedge between the Reaper's lips.

  The needle was driven into Cree's vein and almost instantly the drug flooded his body. The last thing he heard before the nightmarish hell began all over again was her voice:

  "I am here, Kam. I am here."

  "KAM."

  He was swimming up through a white-hot fog that was sluicing away the very flesh from his body.

  "Kam?"

  There was that godsawful pain in his back again: the dagger slicing in, sending waves of agony through his spine.

  "Kamerone!"

  Running his tongue over his canines, he felt the sharp edges forming, tasted his own blood as they cut through his flesh. Smelled the fresh blood scent and body heat of some animal close to him.

  He growled.

  His hands arched into claws.

  "Kamerone, wake up!"

  Brought abruptly out of his torment, Cree stared fixedly at the wavering image hovering him.

  "Here. Drink."

  His head was lifted and he felt the cool rim of a metal container against his lips, then salty
warmth flowed into his thirsty mouth. He swallowed convulsively, drawing in the liquid; drowning in the taste and feel of it; reveling in the slackening of the pain in his body.

  "More," he rasped.

  "I know, baby."

  Once again the container was brought to his mouth and he drank greedily until the torment was relieved.

  "Are you warm enough?"

  "Too warm," he muttered, mentally trying to fan away the hot fog in which he was lying. He felt hands on him, then blessedly cool water easing over his naked chest.

  "When you're able, we'll go home."

  Home? He shifted his head on the pillow and blinked to rid his vision of the haze. What he saw when he was finally able to focus was the most comforting sight in all the universe to him. "Bridget?" he whispered.

  "I'm here, sweetheart." She sat down in a chair beside his cot, took his hand in hers, and brought it to her lips. She kissed his knuckles.

  "Is it— ?" He found he could not ask.

  "It's over," she told him and nestled his hand against her cheek.

  A long, relieved sigh came from his very core. He tried to smile, but the canines cut into his lower lip and he saw her look away. Mortally ashamed of what he was for the first time in his life, he turned his face from her.

  "Don't," she ordered, reaching over to turn his face toward her again. "It'll just take some getting used to, that's all."

  He had no intention of her `getting used to' seeing him in any part of his Transition. Had his face altered just now? Was that why she had looked away? Or had those wickedly sharp fangs frightened her?

  Either way, he did not intend to let her witness any more changes in him. Already the sharpness was leaving his teeth— along with the hunger and the extreme body temperature. If he was lucky, and he took transfusions as needed, he would not go into Transition again for another cycle and he would make gods-be-damned sure he was nowhere near her when that happened.

  "Just rest, okay?" she asked. She used her free hand to smooth the hair from his eyes. "When you feel up to it, I'll help you dress and we'll go home."

  Home.

  There it was again: that wonderful, sharing word.

  Before Bridget had come into his life, his quarters had been just a place to eat and sleep and exist in between assignments. Now, it was a glorious place where he could rest and find peace.