Wind Demon Triology: Book II: Evil Wind

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  He drifted for awhile—listening in to conversations that both amused and shocked him—and then let his psychic awareness wander to that blue-green planet toward which he was speeding. Pushing aside all worries, he settled his mind's eye upon the lovely green eyes of his lady and could almost feel the softness of her flesh beneath his fingers.

  "I am coming home to you, my Bridget,” he whispered in his mind.

  Then the memory had come of their first time after the birth of their son when he had taken her into his arms and held her, loved her as he had so ached to do. That memory washed over him in waves of longing and he allowed himself to experience it again.

  * * * *

  "What are you eating now?” Bridget sighed as she'd discovered him sitting in the middle of their bed—naked as the day he'd been born, cross-legged, happily munching on a large bowl of lush, red fruit.

  "Try this!” he grinned, shoving the newest treat he'd discovered toward her lips. “This is so cool!"

  "Kamerone...” she said with exasperation.

  He thrust the chocolate-covered strawberry dipped in whipped cream into her mouth. His eyebrows lifted. “Well?"

  Bridget's eyes narrowed as she glared at him. She munched the fruit, one eyebrow cocked. “Did you melt my box of Godiva chocolates?"

  He waved away her question. “Isn't that good?"

  She stared at him with irritation. “You melted my gods-be-damned Godiva chocolates, Kamerone!"

  He swirled another red, ripe strawberry through the cup of melted chocolate in his hand then dredged it through the tub of Cool-Whip. “Here, try another one."

  "No!” she snapped and snatched the melted chocolate from his hand. She looked down at it with dismay. “You melted my Godiva chocolates!"

  There had been something in her tone that set off an alarm in his being. He frowned. “They taste just the same melted as they do unmelted, Bridget,” he defended then brightened. “And they are so good on the fruit and..."

  Tears gathered in Bridget's eyes. “You melted my chocolates!"

  He stood there as she flung herself facedown on the bed and began to bawl like a spoiled infant. For the longest time he simply stared at her—the tanned flesh of her long legs peeking out from the hem of her skirt—unable to understand what he'd done that had brought on such a reaction.

  "I'm offering to share them with you, Bridie,” he said like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

  Her head came up like that of a turtle from its shell and she pivoted it around so she could glare at him. “You melted my chocolate, you Ry-Chalean twit!” she flung at him. “My chocolate and you sit there offering to share it?"

  That had him frowning in earnest until he realized it wasn't so much the fact he'd melted the chocolate as it had been he had pilfered chocolate without asking. He put aside the little bowl of chocolate and the strawberries and stretched out on his belly beside her.

  "Wanna beat me up?” he asked. When she didn't answer, he nudged her with his shoulder. “Wanna beat me to a squishy black pulp all oozy and stuff?"

  "Yes,” she mumbled into the coverlet.

  "I'll let you,” he said. He laid his forehead on her shoulder. “I won't even make a sound while you pummel me."

  "I want you to howl, Reaper,” she snapped at him. “I want you to bellow like a castrated bull."

  "O ... kay,” he replied, drawing the word out. “I'll howl as though the hounds of the Abyss are after my ass.” He nudged her again. “Will that make up for me stealing your precious chocolate?"

  "No,” she grumbled.

  "I'll let you stake me on a fire ant bed,” he said. “How's that?"

  "Not enough,” she sniffed.

  "Then what if I let you stick pins under my fingernails?"

  She gave him a fierce look. “What if I withhold all junk food from you for two ... no, make that three ... weeks, Reaper? Then maybe I'll be inclined to forgive you."

  "Three weeks?” he had gasped, horrified at such a suggestion. “Bridie, that's not punishment. That's torture!"

  "Live with it, Reaper,” she'd growled.

  "Milady, please,” he said softly. “I can not live without my salsa and chips."

  "You'll have to."

  "Please,” he whispered, nuzzling her with his chin. “Pretty please with.... “He'd started to say chocolate on top but thought better of it. “Whipped cream on top."

  "No,” she stated.

  It had started as just a gentle touch of his hand to her waist that had turned into a raging inferno that spewed molten lava skyward as she flipped over and then threw her arms around his shoulders. Their lips had met, their limbs had intertwined, and then he was ripping at her clothing and her at his. He could not touch her bare skin quickly enough. She could not seem to get enough of his hands on her body.

  Sweet little pebbles greeted his tongue when he had removed her blouse and bra. He tongued those rigid little peaks until his lady was squirming beneath him, the sole of one foot smoothing up and down his bare calf. He licked her, lathed her, swirled his tongue over and around the areola and suckled her until she began to pant. His fingers found her moist folds and toyed with her—grazing, flicking, plucking, soothing.

  "Bad Reaper,” she chastised him and then clamped her legs around his hips, pulling him to her until she was impaled on the stiff heat of his erection.

  Pure, unadorned lust drove them until he was pumping brutally inside her. The months of abstinence had turned him into a living, breathing sex machine that was so well-oiled by the time he took her he glided in and out of her channel like a piston. His tongue was firmly in her mouth. Her breasts were flattened against his chest, their lower bodies slapping against one another.

  Bridie's arms were around his shoulders. Her legs were around his waist. He rode her hard and she took from him, milked him until their release came as one long, piercing howl from him and one sweet, thrilling trill from her. Sated, he collapsed atop her and lay there dragging harsh breaths into his lungs.

  They lay spent, trying to get their unruly hearts and blood pressures under control. His fingers were entwined with hers, his lower body pressed between her thighs.

  "Two weeks,” she amended.

  "What?” he managed to ask on a hefty yawn.

  "Two weeks without junk food."

  "One."

  "One and a half."

  "One,” he disagreed. He knew he could survive a week without salsa and chips and Pepsi but it would be tough to do without the cotton candy, chocolate covered cherries, and Pop Tarts.

  "One and a half,” she stated firmly. “Take it or leave it."

  He sighed. It was a small price to pay to appease her though it would be sheer hell without his mustard-flavored pretzels.

  "One and a half,” he agreed with a wince.

  "Maybe next time you'll leave my gods-be-damned Godiva chocolates alone!"

  He grinned.

  Perhaps he wouldn't.

  * * * *

  As he lay in the E.S.U. and his psychic mind relived that day, he realized it had been much longer than a week and a half that he had gone without the precious junk food to which he had addicted himself on Terra. If he had calculated the time correctly, it had been over six years and closer to seven by Terran time that he had had his last taste of salsa. The thought made his mouth mentally water.

  Seven years, he thought, and another six before he would see his lady again. Their child—the infant he had left behind—would be a teenager before they were together again. That hurt him deeply but there was nothing he could do about the lost time.

  "She sent me after you,” Tylan had told him, unaware of whether or not the Reaper had heard or understood. “Your lady sent me after you."

  There had been no hint within the mind of Tylan Kahn that anything other than friendship still existed between the ex-Admiral and Bridget. There was no other man in her life save Jaelin—their son—and Cree knew now there never would be.

  "I'm comi
ng home, Bridie,” he thought. “Wait for me, my lady. Please wait for me."

  It was the fear of age and illness attacking her that worried him the most. Accidents, wars that might break out any moment to plunge Terra into a portion of the Abyss were things that could take her away from him once and for all before he could make the journey home. He had to believe the goddess would not be so cruel as to snatch her from him after all he'd endured.

  "Thank you for helping me,” he sent out into the cosmos, hoping Alluvial would hear. “Thank you for saving my bloodkin and helping us escape."

  "It wasn't I who helped you, Reaper," the goddess was quick to say. “I swore I would not and I did not. The help came from another Who dared to interfere!"

  As he lay there contemplating that cruel remark, he could not help but wonder Who the other had been and why He or She had lent support.

  "Because you are one of Mine,” came the answer in a voice he had never heard before though the brogue was pure Chalean.

  "Who are You, milady?” he asked. “Let me know Your name so I may thank You every day of my life."

  "Morrigunia,” was the reply and then utter silence. "Your queen, my Reaper."

  "Morrigunia,” he repeated. He felt Her palm softly, coolly on his brow then all memory gently fled and he slipped quietly into a much-needed rest.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Akkadia Kahmal had not counted on the men she had gone home to Amazeen to retrieve to give her any trouble. The breeders had fought as though their lives depended on it and it wasn't until she and her six Amazeen crewwomen had subdued them that Kahmal fought out why.

  "We thought you were trying to take us away from our mistress!” the leader had thrown at her, his hands now tied securely behind his back. He was a Serenian with long blond hair and pale blue eyes that were filled with defiance.

  Bruised, battered, scraped, and scratched, Kahmal and her women were not happy as they stood over the fourteen men with Dóigras pointed threateningly.

  "I am your mistress, fool!” Kahmal shouted at the leader. She was of a mind to plant the star-shaped end of her Dóigra to his bare shoulder to forcibly remind him.

  "We didn't know,” the leader said. He slumped in his bonds. “You have always been good to us. We had no desire to be mistreated by those thinking to steal us."

  Kahmal had thrown her hands into the air and stalked off, ordering Renata to see the men into the Alluvia's containment cell until she could deal with them in a better frame of mind. Running the back of her hand across the cut under her chin, she stared down at the blood smeared on his flesh and cursed.

  "That bastard actually punched me!” she told Augenia.

  "I can't say it was completely loyalty that made him do it,” ‘Genia said, “but at least he knows now it wasn't such a wise thing to have done."

  "I should have left them to the whims of my Sisters,” Kahmal snapped. She looked to Cedilla. “I think I need stitches."

  Ceatie got up from his place beside Sern and padded over to the Major. He rubbed his stiff fur against her boot and mewed.

  "I am all right, Old One,” Kahmal said and patted the beast's head. “I'm just not in a good mood."

  "We'll be at the Vex in fifteen minutes,” Melankhoia Chanz reported. “You can turn those men over to Khiershon Cree and let him deal with them."

  "I ought to turn that Serenian inside out,” Kahmal hissed. “To dare striking an Amazeen.... “She shuddered. “He's either very brave or damned stupid!"

  "I'd opt for brave,” Cedilla said as she came over with a med kit. “You broke his arm, by the way."

  "Good!” Kahmal said.

  "Which is now shackled behind his back,” ‘Dilla reminded her. “And yet he said not a word."

  Kahmal grunted. “He'd best not,” she said then thought better of her answer. “I suppose you should set his gods-be-damned arm, then."

  "I'll see to it when I close this wound,” ‘Dilla told her.

  "While we were attempting to manhandle those brutes onto the ship, we had a vid-com message from the Ailith,” Augenia said. “They are attempting to contact the Multitude ship heading this way."

  Kahmal frowned. “Why?” She barely flinched when ‘Dilla took two quick stitches in her chin.

  "They are worried it will try to close the wormhole before we can reach it and go through,” Augenia said. “We were told to shake a tail feather, whatever that means."

  "It means to hurry,” Melankhoia stated.

  "Where is the Multitude ship now?” Kahmal asked, shaking her head at the offer of a bandage for her chin.

  "About forty clicks behind us and to our larboard,” Cirolia replied.

  "And it didn't answer the Ailith's hail,” Augenia reported.

  "Well, that doesn't bode well for us,” Renata said. Her hands flew over the keyboard of her weapon's array. “Just in case."

  "Hail the Ailith,” Kahmal said. “Let them know we're about fifteen minutes out. Have they landed on the Vex yet?"

  "They are in the process now,” Augenia said. “The Vex is having one helluva dust storm at the moment and that delayed them finding a landing place. They had to land to the far west of the main plateau, beyond the ring of bluffs."

  "In No Man's Land,” Kahmal declared.

  "At least no one will see our ship when we land there and if that storm is as bad as I'm hearing, the Alluvia will be covered with sand in no time,” Augenia said.

  "I think you'd best wait until we're on the Ailith before you try setting the Serenian's arm,” Kahmal said.

  "Let's hope those stupid men don't give us any trouble in transferring them into the Ailith,” Cirolia said.

  "Might be best to have some Terran men meet with us and speak to them,” ‘Dilla suggested. “That should keep them in line."

  "I agree,” Kahmal said.

  * * * *

  By the time the Alluvia touched down thirty feet from the Ailith, the dust storm on Montyne Vex was at full force, the winds whipping around the two ships at a gusty eighty miles per hour, howling like a banshee. The noise was deafening as the doors of both craft opened, staggering the crewmen and women who were struggling to reach the other ship.

  From his place at the vid-com console, Dakin Hesar was watching the Terran men being herded out of the Alluvia and over to the Ailith. He could not hear what was being shouted—and doubted those speaking could hear, either—but through the swirling dust, he could make out that the men from the Alluvia were stunned to find other Terran men among those ushering them to the larger ship.

  "Is there anything left on the Alluvia we need to transport over?” Dakin asked Augenia.

  "No. All that was done on Serenia,” came the reply.

  "Then hustle, ladies,” Dakin said. “That Rysalian Prime ship is breathing down our necks!"

  With the fourteen breeders on board the Ailith and the Amazeen prepared for takeoff, the StarRaider's engine revved loudly—kicking up even more red dust on the plateau of Montyne Vex—then the huge vessel began to lift into the air. The backwash of its mighty engines sent copious amounts of dirt over the Alluvia so that by the time the ‘Raider began to bank away from the Vex, the Amazeen ship was little more than a lump under the red dust.

  As the Ailith circled over the main plateau in order to gain speed to make its run toward the wormhole, the dust storm began to decrease in intensity.

  "Hey! Is that a man down there?” Marti Holloway asked her co-engineer Nyndham Dax.

  "Where?” Dax asked, squinting at their screen.

  "I thought I saw someone on the western side of the plateau,” Marti said leaning closer to her screen, but decided she hadn't see anything for the rim of the plateau was in view and uninhabited.

  "Dust swirl,” Dax told her.

  "Must have been,” Marti agreed.

  * * * *

  Sajin Cree stood buffeted by the dry hot wind bearing down on him as he backed into the cave to keep the sand from suffocating him. The force of the gale-like
winds tossed his thick black hair wildly and pushed against him like an invisible hand. It was all he could do not to stagger against its wrath. He thought he had heard the engines of landing ships but the loneliness was playing tricks on him again. There was nothing and no one there. He was alone.

  Squinting against the shifting sands swirling up to him from the plain below, he surveyed his domain with a sharp eye, probing the fluctuations in the ether around him, until he was sure he was still alone on his empty world. Not even the furry critters that climbed among the rocky crags or burrowed into the hot sand could be seen scurrying about. After one last sweep of his amber gaze across the vast expanse below, he turned and went back into the cave.

  The barren, windswept planetoid of Montyne Vex had been his home for nearly fifteen months. He had been hiding in the caves there for so long he could not remember how the space station on which he had been born looked.

  Sajin reached up to touch the laser-imprinted tattoo on his left pectoral. He rubbed absently at the puckered scar beneath his torn jumpsuit bodice.

  He was edgy, but he thought he knew why. He was nearing the time for Transition. Perhaps that was why all the animals had fled. Not that hiding posed much of a problem for him. With his inbred abilities and instincts, he had no trouble finding the creatures’ lairs. If truth were told, the thrill of the hunt was the only pleasure he had on Montyne Vex.

  Idly, he wondered what would happen when he had exhausted his supply of the Sustenance on this barren world.

  "You will die,” his parasite whispered to him.

  "But you won't,” Sajin snorted.

  "No, nothing can kill me save the fire."

  His attention shifted over the leaping flames and he shrugged. “And me, too, for that matter."

  Sajin went back into the cave and sat before the sputtering fire, staring into the flames. The smell of wood bothered him, but he didn't know why. It was certainly more pleasant than the smell of his flesh when the tattoo had been applied. Once more he rubbed at the scar—a habit of which he was unaware—and sighed deeply. Tomorrow, he'd have to venture down from the plateau and gather more wood for the fire. Such mundane work annoyed him, but he knew it was necessary for him to survive.