BloodWind

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "You said there was another survivor," Thorne questioned. "Who is it?"

  "Konnor Rhye."

  They allowed the sonofabitch to live!

  Even in his semi-conscious state, that gods-be-damned evil name had penetrated Cree's mind like a poisonous dart.

  "Could that be why we didn't find her?"

  "They sent him to get her. I have to assume he did."

  There's no doubt in my mind he took her!

  The words had made no sense in his scrambled thoughts, but the powerful psychic mind that was not bothering to block out its signals gave Cree all the information he needed: The Resistance had set Rhye free and he had taken Bridget.

  "Where would he have taken her?"

  "I have no idea."

  Earth, where else?

  Aye, Cree thought. If he were Rhye, that would be where he would run.

  Savage, brutal hunger was driving him insane. He had been in this fiendish place for three days now as the rest of the ship went into Extended Sleep, but he had refused to consider doing what Kahn had obviously intended he do to stay alive. Even now, more beast than human, he would not.

  "Bridget," he sighed with the last sound his human throat could speak. When he tried to say her name again, only an animalistic growl came from his leathery lips. He threw back his head and howled: misery and intense longing making the sound pitiable.

  "He won't hurt her, will he?" Thorne had asked.

  "I hope not."

  He'd better not!

  Cree knew that wherever Rhye had taken her, she would be safe with him. The man loved her, of that much Cree could be sure. The Keeper would give his life for her and, once, almost had. No harm would come to Cree's mate, but the Keeper would lie with her. He would eventually mate with her and it was that thought that brought on another prolonged howl of agony.

  "He'll kill Rhye," Thorne had stated.

  "He's got to survive this trip first," Kahn had replied.

  And there is only one way for him to do that, the gods help him!

  I will find Konnor Rhye, Cree thought with the last electrical impulses in his brain that were still human. I will find him and I will drain him dry!

  But I have to survive first.

  His red-glowing eyes shifted beneath thick brows to the bodies and held.

  Chapter 27

  KONNOR RHYE felt the hand on his throat and slowly opened his eyes. The sight that greeted his arousal from ES brought a shriek of fear from his lips. His hands shot up to pry at the horny flesh grasping his neck and he felt hot urine spreading across the seat of his torn uniform trousers. His larynx was being crushed in the grip of the monster bending over his E.S.U.; oxygen could not get past the tight restriction, turning his face blue. Sharp claws were gouging into his carotid arteries and he felt the warmth of his own blood gushing down his throat, pooling beneath his head. As the monster grinned at Konnor Rhye, opening it's maw to reveal row upon row of sharp, glittering teeth advancing toward his face, Rhye sat bolt upright in his E.S.U., screeching like a wounded animal.

  "A dream," he whispered, shivering violently. "Just a dream."

  There was no need to wonder whom the monster stalking his dream had been. Konnor sat rigid inside his E.S.U., his heart thundering in his chest, sweat dripping down his temples, his body shuddering as though he were in the sub-arctic climes of Serenia.

  "Just a dream."

  A dream or a portent?

  "No," he said firmly. "Just a dream."

  At least he hoped and prayed it had been merely a subconscious thought left circulating in his past.

  One last hard shudder waved through his body and he reached up a shaking hand to wipe at the sweat beading his face. Had he a mirror, he was sure he would see a ghastly pale visage staring back at him with fearful, haunted eyes.

  "He's dead," Rhye muttered to himself, disengaging the side panel of the clear Siliplex E.S.U. so he could swing his legs out. "He's dead."

  The litany was not as comforting as he wished it to be and shuddered again.

  Rhye walked to Bridget's E.S.U. and was surprised to find the cover was still engaged and her sleeping soundly. But soon, the drug he had used to place her in Extended Sleep would leave her system and she would awaken, just as he had. Obviously, they were very close to the Terran star else he would not have been awakened by the ship's monitoring system.

  He stared down at her for a moment, taking in the fragile beauty of her face and frowned. There were dirty streaks down her cheeks and he knew but one cause for that: tears.

  But not tears for him, he reminded himself grimly. The tears had been for Cree.

  "Cree," Rhye spat, his lips pealing back over his teeth.

  Even the name was loathsome to Konnor Rhye; an abomination that had needed to be eradicated. Thank the gods the Resistance had done just that.

  Or had they?

  "Gods-be-damned hell!" Rhye snarled, irritated at himself that the thought of Cree coming after them would not leave him alone.

  An unbidden, niggling worry started in Rhye's brain and would not be ignored: What if Cree had somehow survived? If he had escaped the hanging, the Reaper would come after his woman.

  "His woman," Rhye growled.

  Bridget belonged to him, not to Cree. She had been destined to be his bride; not Cree's concubine.

  A warning chime sounded from the ship's console and Rhye turned, his forehead crinkling with concern. Walking to the console, he was stunned to see a light flashing on the proximity screen.

  "What the hell?" he gasped, sliding into the console seat and engaging the computer, typing in a query concerning the warning: "Ship's class and origin."

  "Rysalian LRC," the computer replied.

  Rhye froze, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. "Rysalian," he whispered, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. He swallowed, then attacked the keyboard with a vengeance: "Where away?"

  "Twenty kilometers off the starboard bow and closing rapidly."

  Konnor Rhye swallowed hard again, sensing bile hovering at the back of his constricted throat. "Ship's name?" he asked aloud.

  There was a slight pause, then: "The Vortex."

  "A Reaper ship!" Rhye breathed. "How can that be?"

  "Do you wish me to hail the Vortex, Sir?"

  "No!" Rhye gasped, alarm rushing through him like Labyrinthine lava. He turned, looking at Bridget's E.S.U.

  Kamerone Cree had survived, Konnor thought with shock. There was no other explanation for the psychic nudge of doom he was feeling. The Reaper had survived and he was coming after Bridget!

  "You will not have her," Rhye vowed. "Not as long as there is life in my body."

  His own life was forfeit, Rhye knew, but protecting Bridget was uppermost in his mind; keeping her from Kamerone Cree at all costs was imperative.

  Even if it meant taking her life to keep her out of the Reaper's clutches.

  A stab of intense pain went through Rhye's chest, but he wouldn't give himself time to think. Pushing up from the console chair, he rushed to Bridget's E.S.U., punching in the code that would engage the external lock.

  "I'm sorry," he said with a hitching sob as his fingers skipped over the command to suck all the oxygen from the unit.

  "Warning!" the computer intoned. "Human life is within the E.S.U.!"

  "Aye," Konnor whispered.

  "Do you still wish to evacuate the oxygen supply?"

  Rhye closed his eyes, his index finger poised above the `enter' key. He drew a quick steadying breath, and then tapped the key. As the whirl of the motor drawing all the oxygen from the unit began, he sank to his knees beside the E.S.U. and pressed his forehead to the Siliplex. He could not watch her die, but he would be at her side when she did. He caressed the cool Siliplex, tears sliding unheeded down his cheeks. She was sleeping soundly; would not feel her life being drawn away; would never know he had ended her life.

  So intent was he on his own misery, he failed to see the soft pulse of light behind him.
>
  Very slowly, Konnor Rhye turned his head and looked up to find himself staring into the hideous face of death.

  He opened his mouth and screamed.

  Epilogue

  BRIDGET'S EYELIDS fluttered open, her pupils adjusting to the harsh light surrounding her. She blinked, trying to rid herself of the dream she knew she must be in for standing above her was the Director, smiling tiredly at her.

  "How do you feel?" Dr. Dean asked softly.

  Confusion showed in Bridget's eyes and the older woman reached out a hand to stroke the younger one's face.

  "You are home, dear," Beryla Dean informed her. "In the home of the Hunter who marked you for Retrieval."

  "What?" Bridget was more confused than ever. She turned her head, taking in the room around her and realized she was neither in Rysalia nor on board Konnor Rhye's ship. She sat up, a bit too fast, and the blood rushed to her head, making her dizzy; she put up a trembling hand. "I don't understand," she whispered.

  "You are safe, Bridie," Dr. Dean assured her. "We all are." She sat down on the bed beside Bridget. "Tina, Ivonne, Dorrie," she named some of the others. "They are here with us."

  Bridget stared at her mentor. "I'm dreaming," she said flatly.

  Beryla Dean chuckled. "No, you're wide awake." She turned and called out. "Lares?"

  When the bedroom door opened, Bridget blinked in shock as the dark man walked in. Given his large stature and attire, he could be none other than a Necromanian.

  "Lady," Lares Taborn intoned in his deep, bass voice. He gave a slight bow of respect. "I would be honored to be considered your friend." He turned his cinnamon eyes to Beryla and his wide face lit up. "As I am your friend's friend."

  The looks exchanged between Beryla and the dark man could neither be ignored nor misinterpreted and Bridget leaned against the oak headboard. "Someone please explain to me how I came to be here," she asked. She held up her hands in an attitude of total helplessness. "How any of us happen to be here!"

  "I don't have time to explain it all to you, dear," Beryla told her, standing. "Lin Charles, the Hunter who lives here, has— "

  "Here, where?" Bridget interrupted.

  "Kell log, Ioway," Lares said with a grin.

  Beryla laughed. "He loves to say the words," she told Bridget.

  "I am from Kell log, Ioway," Lares boomed.

  "No," Beryla corrected, with an admonishing shake of her head. "You live in Kellogg, Iowa, but you are from Colquitt, Georgia."

  Lares frowned. "I do not like that name," he grunted. "It has no poetry to it."

  "Nevertheless, that is where you are from and you will just have to deal with it, Taborn," warned Dr. Dean.

  Lares' upper lips thrust out, but he did not argue. Instead, he stomped to the door and flung it open, removing himself from the room with a regal air.

  Beryla sighed, looking after him. "He is of the Royal House of Necroman, a prince, and he will not go gently into cotton farming."

  "Cotton farming?" Bridget felt as though she had slipped down the rabbit hole and wound up in Wonderland.

  "Hunters provided very detailed identities for the Gatherers who came to abduct our women," Beryla explained. "They are very good at creating backgrounds for the Rysalians, counterfeiting birth certificates, drivers' licenses, even university degrees." She smiled. "Now, they will be providing new identities for not only the Rysalians who accompanied us home, but the Serenian and Necromanian, who— "

  "Serenian?" Bridget questioned, latching on to the word and putting it together with the darkman's nationality. "These were the men Cree brought back from Helios Twelve, weren't they?"

  "Yes," Beryla acknowledged. "The same ones."

  A dark look of intense pain slipped over Bridget's face and she slumped against the headboard. "Why could they not have— " She lowered her head, unable to go on.

  Beryla looked behind her, smiled gently, then reached out to pat Bridget's hand. "Everything is going to be all right, sweetie."

  Without looking up, Bridget shook her head, putting her hands up to cover her face. "No, no, it's not. What year is it here?"

  Beryla had to think. "2062, I believe. Why?" Before she received her answer, she thought she knew the reason Bridget was asking. "Don't worry, Bridie. Just as the Hunter will provide identities for our warrior friends, they will provide new identities for us." She thought of her own abduction in 1973 and realized with a pang, she would never be able to go to her family, be welcomed home by them, and knew that was what was bothering Bridget. She started to reassure her, but stopped when a hand was laid on her shoulder. She looked up into the concerned face before her, nodded at the gentle look in the eyes of the man standing there, then quietly walked away, closing the door to the bedroom behind her.

  Bridget's shoulders began to tremble, indicating she was crying. Even when the bed dipped beside her, she did not respond. But when the arms encircled her, she leaned into the warm body, so immersed in her own grief, she did not realize the rock-solid body and encompassing strong arms did not belong to Dr. Dean.

  "How can I live without him?" she sobbed against a shoulder that went suddenly rigid, then relaxed at her next words. "How can I ever live without Cree?"

  A gentle hand came up to stroke her hair and for the first time she took in the smell of the crisp, cotton fabric beneath her cheek; the fabric smelled vividly of ozone, bringing back memories of fluttering percale sheets left drying on a clothesline. The memory brought a heartfelt moan, then heartbreaking sobs.

  "Shush," came the low, throaty command as the arms tightened protectively around her. "Shush."

  "Kamerone," Bridget cried, her entire being aching.

  "I am here."

  Bridget stilled, her last sob catching in her throat as she jerked her head up, not daring to believe her own ears. When she saw him there before her, his crooked smile and amber eyes welcoming, she thought she would pass out from the sheer joy of seeing him.

  "Cree?" she questioned, her hands pushing them apart so she could reach up to cup his face.

  "Kam," he corrected.

  "How?" she asked, her whole body beginning to throb.

  "That is not important for now," he answered. "What is important is that we are together and will remain together for as long as you will have me." His eyes softened and he bent forward to plant a light kiss on her brow. When he straightened, he locked his gaze with hers. "Will you have me, Beloved?"

  "Yes," Bridget whispered, throwing her arms around his neck. "You'd better believe I will!"

  He eased her back just enough to fasten his lips to hers to seal their bargain. He knew there would be many obstacles to overcome in the years ahead of them. His cycles of transition would make it necessary to stay near one of the medical technicians who would get a job at a blood center in order to provide him with the substance necessary to maintain his life. Dorrie had already volunteered for the assignment, surprising him.

  "I love you," Bridget said, as he released her mouth.

  "I love you," he answered.

  Bridget snuggled against him, wondering when she should tell him about the life he had planted within her that day on Rysalia Prime.

  "There is time," she said and she felt his nod.

  "Aye," he replied. "There is time."

  Afterward

  THERE ARE two things you should know about me:

  (1) I have a great affinity with the Wind as you can tell from the titles of the novels I write and;

  (2) I am a very visual person.

  The sweeping grandeur of a pink lemonade sunset will stop me in my tracks. The sunburst leaves of a red maple in the Fall will take away my breath. And a brown-eyed, handsome man dressed entirely in black will make my heart skip a beat every time.

  It was from one intriguing moment in cinema history that the Reaper Kamerone Cree was born. That experience was a truly visual one that leapt right off the screen, took on a sentience of its own, grabbed me by the throat, and shook me to the tips of my cur
ling toes. Although the farthest thing from my mind at that moment in time in the late seventies was the creation of a novel, what I saw on the screen before me did to me what lemonade sunsets and fiery red-gold leaves had always done: caught and held me with rapt attention.

  The life-changing image I saw emblazoned on the movie screen in the little town of Rantoul, Illinois that evening as I sat watching with my young sons, was the introduction of the Darth Vader character in Star Wars. Here was intense evil, striding arrogantly, purposefully, and with menace toward the camera. The music swelled, the cape fluttered out behind him, and the tattoo of his booted heels on the space station floor was riveting. Flanking this black-clad apparition was a cadre of Stormtroopers, his personal guard, and in that one, awe-inspiring moment, Kamerone Cree came into being.

  In my mind, the scene where the Reaper confronts Bridget and her lover is so powerful, so full of imagery, it takes away my breath and makes me squirm in my seat. Here is the true essence of the anti-hero of BloodWind: a being intent on having what he wants, when he wants it, never realizing that it will ultimately destroy him.

  I hope you enjoyed Cree as much as I enjoyed bringing him to life. I also hope you will want to spend time with him again in DarkWind and be introduced to his Reaper son, Khiershon.

  May the Wind be always at your back,

  Charlee

  Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  CHARLOTTE `CHARLEE' Boyett-Compo is the author of over 30 award-winning speculative fiction novels. Married for 36 years to her high school sweetheart, Tom, she is the mother of two grown sons and the grandmother of two. She is owned and operated by six demanding felines for whom she must have a day job in order to buy catnip and cat litter. Her hobbies include reading, writing, and staying as far away from arithmetic as space will allow.