BlackWind: Viraiden and Bronwyn (31 page)

Ski’Ah frowned. “Some other time, then?”

He nodded, taking another step back. His olfactory senses were being bombarded by the stench that seemed to roll off the Blackwind when she was irritated.

“You will call me when it is time?” she inquired.

“Aye. Within the next day or two you should be on your way to Amazeen with Cree in chains at your feet.”

* * * * *

Cree explained to Bronwyn what had happened at Fuilgaoth on the day the queen revenant worm had brought both Sean and him back from the dead. He refrained from touching her, wiping at the tears falling down her pale cheeks, taking her trembling body into his arms to comfort her. He held her gaze captive as he told her how he had felt upon awakening from his centuries-long imprisonment and revealed how odd it was to be sharing a portion of his soul, his memories, his feelings with a stranger. He 182

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allowed her to see into his deepest emotions and opened his heart to her before turning over the rest of the explanation to that part of him he both loathed and pitied.

“I was horrified to find myself in the body of Viraidan Cree,” the Sean part of him explained. “This man looked nothing like me, talked nothing like me. He was older, more powerful. I felt a terror I could not explain the first time I looked into a mirror and I was shocked when I opened my mouth and a thick brogue came out!”

“I had a hard time dealing with Sean Cullen’s love for you,” the Viraidan part of him stressed. “Love was something I had never experienced. I didn’t know how to love.

What I’d had with Chandra was not truly a mating as you and I have come to know it.

It was simply a making do. I had no idea what true mating could be so I fought him every step of the way because he wanted to go to Florida to keep watch over you. I just didn’t understand his fascination with a female. We compromised and made one trip there. One look at you and I knew I wanted to be with you, too. I would have moved heaven and hell to have you as my mate, but the both of us knew that would be dangerous.”

For more than an hour, the two beings inside the Reaper’s body revealed to Bronwyn their innermost thoughts, desires, hopes and fears. When the last defense was shed and the last secret told, they grew silent, each in his own way, dreading the response he would garner.

Bronwyn felt lightheaded, her pounding heart loud in her ears. Her palms were slick with perspiration while her mouth was dry as desert sand. A part of her wanted to throw back her head and scream mindlessly to the heavens. Another part wanted to run, to put as much distance as humanly possible between her and the two entities staring at her through the eyes of the Reaper. Still another side of her wanted to throw her arms around the two men she loved with her entire being and tell them everything would be all right, that everything would work itself out.

“Do you hate me, now?” Cree whispered, his heart in his eyes. “Do you hate us both?” Sean asked.

“I don’t hate either of you, but I need time to deal with this, to adjust. This is too much to get my head around in so short a time.”

“I understand.” The Reaper moved away from her and went to stand by his horse.

He stroked the animal’s withers. “Take all the time you need, milady.”

Bronwyn walked to the little mare, wondering how she was going to mount the animal. She was numb, her legs weak, her arms without strength.

“Here,” Cree said, coming to her.

He lifted her into his strong arms and swung her up on the mare’s back, then gathered the reins and handed them to her. He stood looking up at her for a moment then moved back, giving her room to put the horse in motion.

Returning his steady gaze, Bronwyn could see the effect their conversation had had on him. His shoulders were rigid as though he expected a blow, was preparing himself 183

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for her rejection. Though his face was carefully blank, there was keen misery in his amber gaze. The tautness of his clenched jaw could not hide the slight tremor in his lips.

Her heart went out to him, but she was not ready to blithely accept the explanation he had given. An errant part of her was angry beyond words, hurt—perhaps beyond healing—and unable to respond to the sadness darkening his golden eyes.

“Forgive us,” he said.

Bronwyn bent toward him, placing her palm on his cheek. He reached up to cover her hand as she caressed him.

“Time, Aidan. I just need time.”

He brought her hand to his lips, placed a gentle kiss in her palm then released her.

Before the tears gathering in her eyes could fall, she lightly kicked her mount into action. Never turning to look at the man she left standing at the water’s edge, she let the tears flow.

* * * * *

From the canopy of trees beside the stables, Ski’Ah watched the one who had captured Viraidan Cree’s heart remove the borrowed horse’s reins and lead it back into the paddock. Her eyes narrowed when she saw the Terran stop, cover her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking beneath her sobs.

“What did he do to you, Sister?” she mumbled. “Did he hurt you as he did my ancestor?”

Wondering if she should confront the Terran, challenge her for the ownership of the Reaper, Ski’Ah lost her chance when she heard a vehicle coming down the roadway.

Cursing, she moved back further in the trees but continued to watch her rival who was hastily swiping at her tears.

* * * * *

Bronwyn glanced at the Jeep heading her way, but dismissed it. She walked to her car and had her hand on the door handle when a blast from the Jeep’s horn made her pause.

“Oh, hell,” she sighed, recognizing Koenen Brell through the Jeep’s windshield.

Brell got out of his vehicle and came to her. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said, smiling.

“I’m not working today,” she said, opening her car door.

“You might have to whether you want to or not.”

“Why?”

“One of your patients died this morning.”

“Who?” Bronwyn asked, her concern immediate.

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“Aston Pounder. The one who tortured and murdered those kids in Tennessee.”

“I know what he did,” Bronwyn snapped. “How did he die?”

“Aneurysm. Scrambled his brain like a whisk.” Brell cocked his head. “Has it hit you yet that every time you interview one of those perverted bastards, they end up either dying or in a vegetative state?”

Bronwyn gritted her teeth. “What are you inferring, Dr. Brell?”

“He’s always there with you, isn’t he?” When Bronwyn didn’t reply, he stepped closer. “Cree’s always there.”

“So what? He’s there to protect me.”

“Now that’s the key word, isn’t it? Protect?” He smiled nastily. “And neither Faulkner, Vance or Pounder will ever pose a threat to you again.”

A sliver of suspicion pricked at Bronwyn’s belly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Faulkner had a massive coronary,” Brell said, tapping his bottom lip with his right index finger. “He looked as though he’d seen something that literally scared him to death. I wonder what that could have been?”

“I don’t have time for this—”

“Vance has been catatonic since the day you interviewed him. What could have caused that? Perhaps he also saw something that scared him senseless?”

Annoyed at the smug look on Brell’s handsome face, she slid into her car and tried to slam the door, but he grabbed the edge.

“Just yesterday, Pounder was telling his nurse that he wanted to do to you what he had done to those children. He went into great detail. Can you guess what happened next? The nurse told Cree this morning and now Pounder’s lying on a slab in my morgue.”

“Are you accusing Captain Cree of causing Pounder’s aneurysm? That is absurd!”

Brell chuckled. “I wouldn’t put anything lethal past our Captain Cree.”

“You’d say anything to get back at him for taking me home that night,” she sneered, jerking the door out of his grasp. She slapped down the lock.

“Think about it, Dr. McGregor,” he shouted over the roar of her car engine. “Cree is protecting you, all right. He’s eliminating those who would harm you, given the chance.

I bid you think about what I’ve said.”

Bronwyn threw the car into reverse and backed away. She was trembling as she spun the wheel and raced from the stable.

Brell looked about, sniffed the air, frowned and turned his gaze toward the forest.

He stared at the shadowy figure of the woman lurking there then dismissed her from his mind. He shed the loathsome appearance of a dead man and resumed his natural state. Walking back to the Jeep, it was Danyon Hart who swung himself into the driver’s seat.

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“Think about it a while, Bronwyn,” he whispered, sending out the command.

“Think about it then go looking for Brell to confront him.”

* * * * *

Ski’Ah left the concealment of the trees as the Nightwind drove away. Puzzled by his disguise, she watched until his vehicle was out of sight then turned her attention to the area of the forest where she knew Cree was.

The black dog was with the Reaper, so Ski‘Ah made no attempt to intercept Cree.

Instead, she tapped the Vid-Com link on the bracelet she wore and, within a matter of seconds, was transported to her runabout.

There were plans to be set into play.

* * * * *

Cree stared at the sunlight reflecting on the waters of Rock Creek Lake. He was sitting on the ground, his legs drawn up and his arms resting on his knees. Ralph was stretched out beside him, his massive black head cradled on his outstretched paws. The dog was keeping watch on the forest behind them, his dark eyes never straying from the trees. Nearby, the horse nickered softly then lowered its head to nibble at the grass.

“I know she was here,” Cree said, his sense of smell irritated by the stench of the Blackwind. “He was, too.”

Ralph looked up at his master. “Humphf?”

“The gods-be-damned Nightwind. I smelled the bastard.”

“Humphf.” Ralph lowered his head.

“He came looking for my Bronwyn. One of these days, he and I are going to have a talk about her.”

Ralph whined.

“I will kill that son of a bitch, Ralph. As surely as I draw breath, I will slay the Nightwind.”

Ralph shivered.

The Reaper had killed earlier that morning. Twice. And as he always had since he could remember, he had gone out to be alone, to celebrate the
bású
, the execution of his enemy, with the
mhaolaigh an stoirm fiáin
, the alleviation of the savage storm within him.

The exercise, the strenuous ritual of the complex martial arts routine, cleared his mind and soothed the revenant worm that had controlled him body and mind during the
bású
.

Aston Pounder—the sick pervert who had murdered twelve children—had been a given the moment he wound up on Bronwyn’s list to be interviewed. There had never been a question in Cree’s mind about ridding the world of such useless filth. The moment Pounder had voiced his desire to harm Bronwyn, his minutes on Earth were 186

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numbered. Showing the twisted murderer what real evil looked like had brought on the exploding vessel in Pounder’s warped brain. Although satisfactory for the Reaper, Pounder’s death had not satisfied the queen. Her desire had led to Cree’s second kill of the morning.

“They will never find Nyles Brady,” Cree said. “He will become the first inmate of Baybridge to successfully escape.”

Ralph sniffed disdainfully, as if the smell of the animal torturer was still on Cree’s flesh and that his breath bore the scent of Brady’s blood.

Cree laid down, his hands to either side of his head and stared into the bright blue sky. He barely felt the coolness that had crept down from Canada and that would likely bring out sweaters and coats for the staff of Baybridge by evening. He shifted, trying to get comfortable, for the queen was moving beneath his flesh, feeding Her young. He closed his eyes in an attempt to block out the pain Her ramblings caused. It was something he had lived with all his life, but the older he got, the more painful Her stirrings had become.

“I know why,” he said.

Ralph cocked an eyebrow. “Humphf?”

“There are more offspring. I’m a virtual hive of slithering, wiggling revenants.”

The dog shuddered violently and sat up to lift a paw to scratch at his belly. He grunted as he scratched, one paw waving in the air. He got to his feet and shook himself, his ears flapping loudly.

“Well, it bothers me more than it bothers you, my friend.” Cree chuckled, watching the animal’s reaction.

“Humphf!”

“Aye, it is disgusting. But without Her, I would cease to be.”

Ralph laid down, closer to the overly warm body that had become the greatest love of his life. Brownie ran a close second to the Reaper, but she did not hold the key to Ralph’s heart. Only Cree possessed that.

Pressing his side close to Cree’s, Ordin Gver sighed contentedly. The Bugul Noz was happy as long as the Reaper was near.

* * * * *

Brian waved at Bronwyn when she entered the complex, but the young woman apparently did not see him. He knew she had lost a patient earlier that morning, and when he realized she was taking the service elevator to the morgue, he knew she would be preoccupied a while.

Turning on his Reaper senses, he located Cree a few miles away and sighed. There was no one to have coffee with and he was bored. He was also hungover. Rubbing at 187

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his eyes, he sighed. It had been a long time since he’d drank himself into oblivion and now realized why—he felt worse than the specimens in his lab jars looked.

“Dr. O’Shea?”

Brian turned as one of the receptionists from the main desk walked up to him. He smiled. “Aye, pretty one?”

Blushing, the woman extended to him a piece of paper she removed from an overflowing clipboard. “A message from junior Dr. Hesar, sir. I’ve been paging you all morning.”