PRINCE OF THE WIND (29 page)

"Please, no!" a woman pleaded.

A low snarl of rage peeled the Reaper’s lips from his teeth. With steely purpose, he began to climb the stairs.

* * *

Goldie McHatton was straining at the ropes that bound her bleeding wrists as the beast burst into the room. She stared with disbelief as the beast attacked the two men who had forced her into their car and brought her to this terrible place. Blood splashed on the peeling wallpaper and ran in rivulets on the dirty scuffed tile. Her mind ceased to function as the beast—snarling and snapping like a demon from the pits of hell—cut off the men’s screams by ripping out their throats.

With horrified eyes, she observed those who would have surely murdered her being devoured by something not of her world. As the beast lowered its head to lap at the blood on the floor, Goldie’s eyes rolled up in her head and she passed out.

* * *

He woke the next morning with a foul taste in his mouth. Grimacing, he sat up, thrusting his blood-caked hands through his hair, and gasped as he saw the woman across the room.

She was staring at him, her eyes older than time, her expression one of defeat. She was sitting with her back to the door, her knees drawn up in the slim protection of her torn dress. Peeking out from the dirty hem, her bare feet looked childlike.

"I couldn’t leave you," she said, her voice a whisper. "Someone could have found you."

He had gnawed away her ropes while he was in full Transition, thinking she would flee when she woke. He’d gone down the hall, inspecting the abandoned building for other inhabitants, and upon finding none, chose a room and nosed the door shut behind him. He had curled up on an rug to sleep off the full belly.

"That was a foolish thing to do," he accused.

"I owe you my life. I had to do what I could to protect you while you slept."

Riain sighed. "I could have harmed you, Lady."

"If you were going to harm me, you would not have set me free."

He stood, dusting the filth from his breeches. He grimaced, for the fabric was cutting into his privates. "I’ve got to find another pair of breeches."

She smiled. "I have some jeans of my brother’s that should fit you."

"I don’t need a woman right now. I need breeches."

Her brows came together for a moment, then she laughed. It was a merry sound that transformed her tired face. "No, jeans are a type of breeches."

"Oh." He fished in the pocket of his too-tight clothing and pulled out one of the stolen purses. "I will pay for whatever I take of your brother’s."

"That’s not necessary. He died last year. I just haven’t had the heart to give his things to Goodwill."

He glanced up at her. "I am sorry, Lady."

She shrugged. "All things die."

"Not all."

She cocked her head. "No…maybe not all."

"Good Will won’t mind if I take some of his breeches?"

The woman grinned. "No, he won’t."

He walked to her, hesitated for a second, then extended his hand. He half-expected her to shy away, to refuse his touch, but she did not. She placed her small hand in his and allowed him to help her up.

"I live about five blocks from here," she said, shaking her skirt. "I was walking home from the grocery store when those—" She averted her face.

"They have paid for their sins."

She nodded.

"Their sins were many, for the stench was worse than most."

"And there are more like them in this world."

He opened the door. "No harm will befall you whilst you are with me."

She looked into his eyes. "And I will protect your secret with my dying breath."

He smiled. "What is your name, Sweeting?"

"Goldie."

"Then hurry and get me out of these breeches, Goldie. A part of me is aching to be relieved!"

* * *

Goldie giggled, wondering if he knew how his request sounded. He was definitely not of her world and she feared he never would be.

The thought brought a lump of regret to her throat.

She served him a platter of roast beef, four pieces of corn on the cob, a bowl of purple hulled peas, five sliced tomatoes, and a half gallon of "Eye Scream," which he at first refused, until she explained it was made from cream and vanilla with pecans blended in.

"Why do they call it Eye Scream, then?" he demanded as he poked at the dessert with his spoon.

She sighed. "I guess if you eat enough of it, you can get a pain here." She touched her right eyebrow.

He hadn’t and decided "Eye Scream" was a delicacy he could no longer live without.

"You’ve got a good appetite, don’t you?" she asked, watching him wash down his supper with three cans of cherry cola.

Riain stuffed a handful of corn chips in his mouth. "I’m a growing boy."

"Well, if you keep eating like that, those jeans won’t fit you, either!"

He leaned back in the chair and patted his full belly. He looked around and noticed her collection of what he thought were books lining several shelves. "You read a lot, don’t you?"

Goldie shook her head. "Those are videos. I work for a cable station."

He frowned. "I don’t understand."

She got up, ran her finger around the contents of one shelf, then pulled out a box. She walked to a big black box, slipped a smaller black box from the one she’d pulled from the shelf, and thrust it inside the larger box.

"This is a television," she said. "Did you know that?"

"Tell a vision of what?"

"You’ll see," she replied enigmatically.

She walked to the table beside her settee, lifted still another small black box and pointed it at the larger one. "Watch."

There was a burst of light, a burst of sound, and Riain dove sideways from his chair. As Goldie laughed, he stuck his head up from the back of the settee and glared at her.

"What did you do, wench?"

"Look," she said, pointing at the larger box.

Riain was completely astounded as he cautiously stood and stared at the moving images.

"How did you get those little people inside there?" he asked, marveling.

"Those are just images," she said and tried to explain television to him.

He listened, shaking his head in disbelief that such things were possible. When at last she had convinced him it was not magic and that she was no sorceress who could thrust unsuspecting folk into a world such as he was viewing, he relaxed and began to enjoy the story.

Until the hero was bitten by a Reaper.

"A werewolf," she corrected. "That’s what we call such beasts."

"Werewolf."

He sat mesmerized as the story unfolded. At one point, he sat straight up, at attention.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, sounding unnerved.

"Can I see this again when it is finished?"

"Is there something you want to see again?"

"The part where the vampire woman bit the Rea…the werewolf," he said, his teeth clenched.

"Okay." She pointed the small black box at the large one and the images ran backward.

He made her show him the scene over and over again until he sat back in the chair, his eyes steady on the image on which he had asked her to stop.

Goldie looked at the screen.

"Run," he said in a low voice.

She turned to him, fear evident on her suddenly pale face.

"He told her to run," he said. "He told her to get away from me."

Goldie clenched the skirt of her dress into her fists. "What do you m…mean?"

"Raphian," he said, stonily. "He warned her to get away from me while I was Transitioning. He knew she was in danger and he warned her."

"I don’t understand. Who are you talking about?"

"Suzanna," he spat. "If the demon warned her, that means she is not as invincible as I thought. It might be possible for me to kill her."

"Is she your enemy?" Goldie asked.

"She is an evil far worse than that which I eliminated to save you, Lady." He stood, his eyes glued to the screen. "And she has sworn to see me in hell."

"She is here?"

"Aye," he said, walking to the television and touching the image of a vampire being torn asunder by a werewolf. An evil grin pulled his lips upward. "This werewolf devoured the female."

"Well, it’s just make believe. There are no such things as…oh, but you are…"

"Dearg Dul made me what I am, but that one is no more. I do not think she changed Suzanna, but even if she did, this vision tells me I can defeat her even if she is among the undead."

"Ah, the vision," she repeated, knowing he meant the story on the television. She frowned. "Dearg duls? You mean the Irish vampire legend?"

He nodded. "Irish in your world. Chalean in mine." He looked at her. "You know of this legend?"

"Very little. I read about dearg duls on an Internet webpage when I was researching vampires for a special program we were doing at Halloween."

"Internet…?"

She waved a dismissive hand. "It was hard enough to explain television to you."

"They can die, though?" he questioned.

"Well, according to legend, vampires can be killed only if you cut off their heads, subject them to daylight, or burn them, then scatter their ashes. Before you can do any of that, it seems, a hefty stake through the heart will incapacitate them."

He chuckled. "It would incapacitate you, too, Lady."

She smiled. "Yeah, I guess it would."

"My revenant worm can be destroyed only by fire," he said. "Such must be true of all creatures like me." He walked to the sofa and sat down. "Even if Suzanna has not crossed over into the world of the undead, she can be stopped. This I did not realize until now."

"You fear her, don’t you?"

"Not as much as I did an hour ago."

* * *

Suzanna glared at the women who passed her on the crowded street. When one of them snickered, Suzanna hissed at her, curling her fingers into claws and motioning as though she were an angry weretiger.

"Crazy old fool," the woman snorted. "Where the dickens do they come from?"

"One of the multitude of homeless overrunning Fulton County lately," her companion quipped.

"I am Lady Suzanna de Viennes!" Suzanna shouted. "I am of the nobility!"

The women broke into laughter as they entered one of the upscale stores. Their parting looks at Suzanna were half disgust and half ridicule. Suzanna felt their censure to the depths of her being.

"I
am
of a noble family," she sobbed, running a dirty hand under her nose.

Around her, passersby went out of their way to avoid her. Many put a hand to their facem shielding themselves from her smell.

"
Make yourself presentable
!" a voice whispered slyly in her.

She looked down at her soiled gown, bare feet, and realized in her haste to follow Riain, she had come into this world at an extreme disadvantage. For a long moment, she stood on a corner, observing the well-dressed matrons. Her gaze shifted to a shop with feminine clothing in the window, then leapt to a beautiful young woman whose progress was being keenly observed by the males scattered about.

Suzanna’s eyes narrowed. She memorized the young one’s features and body shape, then—with head lowered—walked into one of the alleyways, hid behind what appeared to be a garbage receptacle, and began the Charm of Making. When she emerged from the alley a few minutes later, she was a beautiful young girl, whose movements were watched with avid appreciation by the passing males.

"
Much better, Daughter
," Raphian sighed in her ear.

Suzanna smiled. As she did, a handsome young man winked at her as he walked past. She stopped, turned to see him eyeing her with pleasure, and returned his wink.

He, too, stopped walked and came back to her. "Hey, sweetie. Where you going?"

Suzanna looked into his dark blue eyes and licked her lips, watching his attention drop to her mouth. "Wherever you are, Milord."

"Milord?" he echoed, then grinned. "You work over at the Renaissance Inn, don’t you?"

She boldly took his arm. "I might. My name is Suzanna. Sir…?"

"Kurt. Kurt Broders."

"Then where shall we go, Sir Kurt?" she inquired, batting her long blond lashes.

"Your place?" he encouraged as he captured her fingers on his arm.

"Alas," she said with a pout, "I am new to your fair city and have yet to find lodgings. Perhaps your keep?"

"My ke…?" He laughed. "My castle, huh? Well, I think we can arrange a little tête-à-tête, ain’t that what they call it?"

Suzanna had no idea what he was talking about, but she needed a place to stay while she looked for the recalcitrant Reaper. She tightened her grip on his arm. "Lead me where you will, Sir Kurt. I will gladly do as you ask."

"Yeah?" he asked, his smile slipping. "Say, you ain’t a hooker, are you?"

She shook her head as a faint whisper echoed through her mind, giving her the correct answer. "Just a newcomer to your fair city."

"This ain’t gonna cost me nothin’, is it?" he demanded, his eyes fierce.

"Certainly not!" Suzanna laughed, pushing her shapely body against his.

* * *

Kurt Broders hesitated, his sixth sense warning him to walk away from this tempting morsel clinging to his arm. But in the end, his overactive libido won out. With a cocky, superior look on his face, he escorted the lovely woman to a taxi.

When the police were called to Kurt’s apartment four days later at the insistence of his sister in Mobile when he failed to return her phone calls, all of Broders were a few tuffs of dark auburn hair. The rest of him had disappeared.

* * *

"Bainbridge," Goldie repeated. "Not Baybridge."

Riain relaxed. When his new friend had invited him to travel with her to the town where her family resided, he thought she said Baybridge. To him, that word held evil connotations, for it was there, in Serenia, that Suzanna de Viennes had once been imprisoned in the infamous insane asylum.

"I would like to see more of your territory," he admitted. "I will go with you."

"It’s much quieter down there," she told him as she began packing an overnight bag for their weekend trip. "The pace is a lot less hectic."