BloodWind

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  He dozed off with her holding his hand and stroking his hair. When he woke, she was standing at the door, speaking quietly to Dr. Dean.

  "I think it's the rain I miss most," he heard Bridget saying. Her back was to him and she had no idea he was listening.

  "Rain," the Director sighed. "Sweet spring rain on an Oregon hillside."

  "One of my favorite things was to sit on our porch and watch the rain falling on the corn," Bridget said. "I remember the smell of it on the grass; the sound of it hitting the gutters and roof, the air conditioner in my bedroom window. At night, it would plink against the air conditioner and I thought that the most soothing sound."

  "What about snow?" someone beyond his sight asked and he thought the voice might belong to Tina.

  "I miss that, too," Bridget sighed.

  "I don't!" Dr. Dean grumbled. "I hated shoveling snow to get my damned car out of the driveway!"

  "I miss the light." Cree was sure that was Ivonne's voice. "Sunlight on a Miami beach. Lying there, getting a tan on the chaise lounge." She sighed. "I really miss that.

  "The light," Bridget repeated. "I have almost forgotten what it is to see daylight."

  Dr. Dean looked past Bridget's shoulder and saw Cree watching them. She smiled. "How are you feeling, Captain?"

  He shrugged. "Bridget?" he asked, putting out a hand for her to come to him. She came, took his hand and bent over to place a light kiss on his forehead. "I am ready to leave," he told her.

  "Then we'll go home," she replied.

  As she was helping him put on his uniform, he stopped and looked at her. "Isn't there a Vid-Com outside the door there?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  He stepped around her, walked into the hallway and stood before the Vid-Com screen. "Computer?"

  "Yes, Captain Cree?"

  "Where is my 2/IC?"

  "One moment, Sir," the computer. Then, "He is having his evening meal, Sir."

  "Tell him I wish to see him in my quarters ASAP."

  "Yes, Sir."

  "Can't he finish his meal?" Bridget asked.

  Cree glanced at her, frowned, and then shrugged. "After he finishes eating," he corrected.

  "I shall so inform Lt. Lona, Sir," the Vid-Com reported.

  He came back to Bridget, turned away from her so he could thrust his arms through the shirt she was holding for him. He smiled when her arms went around his waist and she pressed herself against his back. "Thank you," Cree heard her say.

  "You are going to be my ruin, woman," he sighed as he removed her hands and began to button his shirt. He stopped when she came around in front of him, pushed his hands away and began buttoning the shirt herself. When she was finished, she waited until he had stuffed the shirt in his trousers before she slipped her arms around him once more and lay her head against his chest. He wrapped his own arms around her and held her loosely.

  "I am glad you were with me today," he said softly. She didn't respond so he put up a hand to hook his index finger under her chin and lift her head. He looked down into her eyes, his thumb rubbing across the point of her chin. "I want with you me for all time."

  Bridget's lips parted but before she could say anything, his head came down and his mouth took hers in a sweet, intoxicating kiss. When his lips released hers, he slowly smiled. "Let's go home, milady."

  She felt him stir against her lower belly. "Aye, milord," she agreed. "I think we'd better!"

  DREWE LONA gaped at him. "But you have never taken leave in your entire career!" he protested. "What will you do?"

  Cree looked at Bridget who was staring at him from the sofa. He winked, a crooked grin on his face, then turned to Lona. "Spend time with my lady," he replied. He turned to Bridget. "Where should we go for the day?"

  Bridget's face lit up. "Can we visit Rysalia Prime?"

  "We can."

  Lona slumped against the chair in which he was seated. "Do you know how hard it will be to get a visa for her to visit Rysalia Prime?"

  "I don't care. Just see to it, Lona," ordered Cree.

  ADMIRAL DRAE Cree handed the computer printout to his mistress then leaned back in his chair. "I had a hell of a time getting him leave after that re-enforcement, but here it is. It was approved less than an hour ago." He frowned. "I let Onar know I was extremely displeased with his actions. I let him know Kamerone and I had discussed him having sex with Dr. Dunne."

  Dr. Dean arched a brow at him.

  "I didn't lie," Drae insisted. "Kamerone and I did discuss it."

  Beryla smiled at her lover then looked down at the leave papers. "I wasn't sure if he would take the bait or not."

  Drae snorted. "Beryla, you know gods-be-damned well the man had no choice but to `take the bait' as you so eloquently phrase it."

  The Director tucked her feet under her on the sofa and sipped her liqueur. "I hate using Bridget like this. She had no idea what we were about when I brought up the subject of home. She didn't know he was listening."

  "She didn't need to know," the Admiral replied. "All she had to do was play her part in getting him to Rysalia Prime."

  Beryla Dean frowned. "You are sure there is no danger?"

  Drae Cree's smile faltered. "We don't believe so, but just to be on the safe side, we will have a transporter locked on her and waiting should the need arise."

  "Good," Dr. Dean breathed. She took another sip of her lemony brew. "Good."

  Chapter 17

  SHE HAD taken away the cold; she had taken away the darkness; she had taken away even the deafening silences so that he now existed in sheer, uplifting joy. He knew true happiness for the very first time in his life and it was a knowing that had set his soul free.

  "Catch me!"

  Cree watched her run across the meadow, scattering multi-hued butterflies in her wake. She looked back, teasing him, and he took off after her, zigzagging his way around clumps of brightly colored wildflowers, knee deep in waving, shimmering grass as he ran. He almost caught her, but she darted away, leaving him clutching thin air.

  "Is that the best you can do, Reaper?" she taunted him, sticking out her tongue.

  A sinister smile etched his tanned face and he stopped, watching her enter a copse of trees; saw her peeking at him from the bole of a grandfather oak, jerking back so he wouldn't see her.

  But he did not need to see her. He could sense her. Smell her. Hear the blood pumping strongly through her veins. His visual perceptions had changed so that he could actually `see' the warmth of her as she stood there. She did not know he held such an unfair advantage over her or that he easily could have caught her the moment before if he had really tried. He was faster than her; more cunning; with animal instincts she could not begin to understand.

  BRIDGET PEEKED out from behind the tree again and the teasing smile slipped from her face. Where had he gone? She was about to slip away when his arm encircled her waist and she was lifted free of the ground.

  "Gotcha!" he whispered in her ear.

  She turned in his arms, then like the wanton he had named her, stood on her tiptoes and plastered her mouth firmly to his, thrusting her tongue past his lips and into the warm recesses of his mouth. Before he knew what she was doing, she wiggled free of his hold and was off running across the meadow again, her skirts flying behind her.

  Cree shook his head, grinned, then went after her, but came up short when he saw her intent. "Don't you do it!" he yelled to her, When she began to pull off her blouse, he started running after her again, increasing his speed. "Bridget, I said no!"

  "I'm hot!"

  He was almost to her when she turned and dove into the fast moving rush of the river.

  "Bridget!" he bellowed. "Get the hell out of there right now!"

  "Come on in!" she called out to him as she backstroked through the water. "It's wonderful."

  The warrior shook his head sharply. "No!" he said firmly. "And you come out of there, now!" He put extra emphasis on the last word.

  "There are no boogers in the water," s
he threw at him. "I checked with the Ministry of the Interior before we left this morning."

  Boogers? Then he realized she must mean dangerous beasts. No, there were no dangerous insects or reptiles in the water; not even rapids or whirlpools or the like. But he wanted her out of the river, nevertheless.

  "Get your ass out of there like I told you, woman!"

  "Join me!" she invited him.

  "I told you no!" he barked. He scanned the waters, frowning.

  "What are you looking for? Piranha?"

  "Get out, I said!" He stepped closer to the stream and held out his hand. "Come on." He sighed with relief as she headed toward him. She reached up as though to take his outstretched hand, then drew back.

  "Come and get me!" she challenged, then turned and dove out into the deeper part of the river, disappearing beneath the moving water.

  "Bridget!" He howled, his voice shrill with pure, unadulterated terror. He started forward, stopped, staring at the moving water and let out an animalistic whimper of fear. He raced along the riverbank, scanning the waters for her and saw nothing. He took another step toward the fast-moving water, and then shrieked in frustration. When Bridget's head popped, he jabbed a finger at the ground beside him and his voice shook the leaves from the surrounding trees.

  "Get your gods-be-damned ass back here right this minute, woman, or I swear before all the gods in the megaverse that I will beat you black and blue when I get my hands on you!"

  Bridget's smile vanished. There was a thunderous look on his handsome face; fire glowing brightly in his angry eyes. He was absolutely enraged and she knew it. And not only that, he was shaking like a dog with a chill.

  "All right," she said, striking out for the bank. When she waded through the shallows and was almost on dry land, she gasped as he snaked out a purposeful hand and yanked her up against him, half carrying her on his hip as he swung her up and well away from the running water.

  "Don't you ever do that again!" he ordered, putting her down, clasping her shoulders in his hard hands and shaking her soundly. "Do you understand me, Bridget Dunne?"

  Bridget's head bobbed back and forth until she managed to wrench away from his brutal hold. "I won't," she said.

  "Promise me, Bridget!" he shouted, reaching for her again, but she moved out of his reach.

  "All right!" she yelled back at him. "I promise!"

  He glared at her for a moment, and then let out a long breath. "Come away from that gods-be-damned water, woman," he commanded, then turned and headed back toward the meadow.

  Sullenly— for the laughing moments had passed— she followed behind him.

  THEY WERE sitting under the sweeping shelter of one of the ancient oaks, Bridget with her back to the tree, Cree with his head in her lap. She had forgiven him for his earlier outburst and was running her fingers through the dark curl of his shoulder length hair.

  "What scared you so badly this morning, Kam?" she asked, glancing up as a distant spear of lightning stitched through the sky to the north of them. She was surprised to see that portion of the sky turning black.

  Cree had been almost asleep, reveling in the feel of her hands in his hair, thinking how he had been able of late to sleep the night through as long as she was lying at his side. He pried his lids open and tilted his head back just a little so he could look up at her. "Don't you know?"

  "No," she drawled. "If I had, I wouldn't have gone swimming."

  He studied her a moment then realized she was serious. Had she known he was going to react as he had, she would not have dove into the river. He relaxed in her lap. "I am Dearg-Duls, Bridget. Do you not know what that means?"

  Bridget's hand stilled in his hair. "The Druids of ancient Ireland believed the Dearg-Duls to be vampires," she said. "But there is no such thing."

  He craned his neck to look up at her again. "Are you sure?"

  She tugged at his thick curls. "Aye, Reaper, I'm sure!"

  "Do you not realize your ancestors and mine must have met at some point? The cultures are too similar for there to be any other explanation."

  "So Dearg-Duls came from Chale?"

  "Aye, I would imagine so," he answered. "But like most folklore, some of their true nature was corrupted in the tales. There is a place not unlike your Stonehenge on Chale Prime."

  Bridget let that pass. "So how are you like the vampires of Earth?"

  "I can not enter running water. None of my kind can."

  "So you can't swim. You aren't the only ones who can't."

  "We can not tolerate the smell of garlic. Reapers shun it like the plague."

  "I don't like curry, myself."

  "When we Transition, we shapeshift."

  "Vampires of Earth did, too," she responded. "Go on. What other vampiric traits do you have, Reaper? I know you don't have an aversion to sunlight otherwise we wouldn't be sitting here." Before he could answer, she held up her hand. "And you can see yourself in mirrors so that let's that out. You eat food; you don't sleep in coffins; you brought me the statue of the Blessed Mother so I know you aren't affected by touching holy objects. You don't go around baying at the moon." She stopped. "Do you?"

  "Not likely," he said dryly.

  "So if you don't do any of the traditional things that make vampires vampires, what do you do?"

  "We drink blood."

  Bridget shivered. "I know," she said quietly. "I fed you some, remember?"

  "I remember," he replied just as quietly.

  They were silent for awhile then he reached up to take her hand and hold it on his chest. "Don't go into the water, again, Bridget. If you had gotten into trouble, there was no way I could have helped you."

  "I'm a good swimmer."

  "Don't do it again," he said firmly.

  "I like to swim."

  "Too bad. When we come here, you won't be coming to swim."

  "Cree— "

  "This place is a little like your Earth, isn't it?"

  She sighed, understanding that the matter of the swimming was settled in his mind. She glanced around them. "Yes, I guess it is."

  "Once," he said, sitting up and stretching, "when I had to go after a Hunter, I transported down to a place in your Iowa. This valley reminds me of that place."

  "Excluding the good Sisters, how many women have you brought back from your visits?" she asked.

  "None."

  Bridget arched a brow at him. "None?"

  He shook his head. "That wasn't part of my job," he replied. He stopped, and then frowned. "I take that back. I brought one back when Kryn Kiel's ship had warp drive failure and he hailed us to help him. The female was an important scientist and they needed to get her to the station ASAP. MacCorkingdale was her name. Sada MacCorkingdale." He thought about that for a moment, and then snorted. "By the gods, but that woman fought me!"

  "Can you blame her?" she asked.

  "Blame her?"

  "I can assure you that being plucked up from the only life you have ever known, by a strange intimidating man, then trekked half-way around the universe to an alien world where you are enslaved— "

  "Enslaved?" he questioned, offended.

  "Yes, Reaper! Enslaved. What do you call the buying and selling of human flesh if not slavery?"

  He stared at her. "You are not enslaved to me, Bridget."

  "You bought me," she accused.

  He had the grace to look sheepish, "True, but— "

  "Can I return home?"

  He shook his head firmly. "No, you cannot."

  "Leave you to live on my own?"

  "You'd better not try!"

  "See other men— "

  She didn't get that hypothetical question out before he twisted sideways and had her beneath him before she could roll away.

  "Try seeing another man, Bridget, my love, and I will make you watch while I tear out his throat and drain every drop of blood from his screaming body!" The memory of seeing her naked in Konnor Rhye's bed still twisted his gut.

  "Get off me, you oa
f!" she hissed, pushing with all her might, but an enraged Kamerone Cree was not an easy obstacle to move.

  "You are mine," he said simply and his mouth came down to drown out her protests. Before long, his kisses became less punishing and more urgent until, once more, Bridget was without clothing.

  "I BELIEVE I've created a monster," she complained as she buttoned her blouse.

  "You started it," he said.

  She glared at him. "How did I start it?"

  "By ogling me the day I came home."

  "I was not ogling you," she snapped, casting her attention to his naked chest for he was scratching the thick pelt of hair over his breastbone.

  "You were ogling me," he stated. "Just as you are ogling me now. Keep your eyes off me, woman. I am taken."

  Bridget grinned. "I know you are." She reached out and touched the Reaper insignia tattooed on his left pectoral. The insignia stood out sharply against the tan of his bare flesh and she found herself drawn to it as she always was. "Did this hurt when they did it?"

  He glanced down at the stylized crimson scythe and shrugged. "Aye, but it was part of the Initiation into the Warrior Caste and was an honor to endure."

  She traced it with her fingertip. "The thought of you suffering for any reason hurts me." She stopped for he had reached up to take her hand. She smiled as he brought her fingertips to his lips and kissed them.

  "Perhaps you were right," he said releasing her hand. He got to his feet.

  "Right about what?" She watched him jump up until he had caught the lowest hanging branch of the oak tree. The powerful muscles of his arms and chest contracted and released as he settled his hands comfortably around the tree's limb. Swinging his legs up and back several times— going higher each time— he did a back flip from the branch, landing lithely on his feet.

  "Show off," she sniffed. "What was I right about?"

  He strolled back to her, dusting away the loose bark from his callused palms. "About there being slavery in the Empire."

  A jagged line of lightning veered across the northern sky and he noticed it, turning to stare in that direction. "How long has the sky been darkening?" he asked.