Wind Demon Triology: Book II: Evil Wind (18 page)

There was something bulky in the woman's arms as she advanced on the cage. She was looking about her—her terror keen enough to send vibrations through the air.

Although she was trying to be as quiet as possible, she could not control the rapid beat of her heart and Cree could hear it as clearly as he could her tremulous breathing. He saw her squat down by the cage and push what she carried through the bars.

Their eyes met as the moon sailed out from behind a bank of clouds. He realized what it was that she had brought him and he sat up slowly. The woman was perched on the ground like a little sparrow and she was trembling from head to toe, poised to run if he made a sudden move.

"Thank you,” he said quietly.

Her mouth twitched into a hesitant smile but when he made no move to come toward her, the smile stayed. “You are welcome, Captain Cree,” she whispered.

"May I know your name?” he asked.

She looked about, seeming to expect guards to rush at her. “Diana,” she said. “I was a friend of Bridie's."

"And you still are, Diana,” he said. “She will bless you for aiding her husband."

"She is well?"

"She was when last I saw her,” he said. “We have a son."

A long sigh came from Diana. “I am happy for her, Captain.” She lifted a hand in farewell, got to her feet and disappeared into the night.

Cree stood up and went to retrieve the pillow and blanket the woman had given him. His body ached from lying on the hard concrete and he had a brutal headache he suspected was because he hadn't had all that much to eat the day before. The food that had been begrudgingly provided for him had been minimal and almost tasteless, shoved into the cage by a woman who had actually hissed at him. He smiled thinking of Deon cursing the woman and calling her a coward.

Taking the pillow and blanket back to the center of the cage, he lay down on his back, grateful for the softness and the clean smell of the pillow case. Although the night was chill, he was perfectly comfortable since Reaper body temperatures were higher than that of humans. The blanket he folded and shoved under his rump to cushion him from the hardness of the floor.

He stared up at the juncture where the bars of the cage met at the top, welded together to form an arched ceiling. There was no covering to protect him should the vagaries of the Rysalia Prime weather decide to turn stormy—as it often did at that time of year—and no shade to keep out the blazing sun that had plagued him the day before. But through the overhead bars, he could see the stars and therefore did not feel as claustrophobic as he would have if his confinement had been enclosed. Nevertheless, he felt his imprisonment to the depths of his soul, hating the fact that he was restrained, locked up, unable to move about freely. To a Reaper, it was a torment that was barely endured.

Though his incarceration was troubling, it was not the cause of the agony that was ripping his heart to shreds, keeping him from sleep. His thoughts as he stared up at the stars were on Bridget and he felt the tears gathering in his eyes. Angrily blinking them away, he clenched his teeth. It would not do for him to give in to his misery. There was nothing he could do about it at that moment.

The memory of her face that last day in the hospital cafeteria was burned into his mind's eye. She had been sobbing—her fear a sentient life form. She had held out a hand to him, telling him she was sorry, calling him her beloved, telling him she loved him, a moment before he'd been snatched away from her.

Tylan Kahn had been laying a few feet away, unconscious, and his condition unknown. If Kahn was able, he would be looking after Bridget now, taking care of her and Jaelin. Cree knew it would be years of Terran time before he might see either again—if he ever did. By now, his and Bridget's son Jaelin would be talking, walking.

Thinking of his son brought intense hurt to Cree's soul. On Terra, he had been unable to touch his child, even though he ached to do so, for fear the beast within him would hurt the boy.

"I miss you, milady,” he whispered to the stars. “I miss our son. I hope you both are well."

He was remembering the last time he made love to her, the last time they had been true husband and wife. It had begun with a silly argument over a garbage bag.

"Gimme the bag!"

"No,” he said on a long breath. “But I'll give you something else."

She had stilled, looking up into his hot eyes to watch the desire forming there. Her own eyes widened. “Oh, no, you won't!” Before she could move, he had her against him, his arms enfolding her. She squirmed, trying to break free, but his hold tightened.

"Be still,” he whispered, his lips against her ear.

"Bastard,” she said, but her heart wasn't in the insult for the hardness of him was pressed intimately against her belly.

"Bitch,” he whispered in return and ran his tongue inside her ear.

She shivered, melting against him. “Is this all you know how to do?"

"No,” he replied. “I know how to do this, too.” He moved one hand between her legs.

"Oh hell.... “She sighed. The heat of his palm was at the juncture of her thighs and pressing against her own heat.

"How about tearing into something other than a garbage bag, Dr. Dunne?"

"Like?” she asked as she slowly lifted her gaze to his.

He grinned and lifted her onto the counter. He pushed her skirt up her thighs then wedged between her legs. “Oh, I don't know,” he muttered. He hooked his fingers in her panties and ripped them away. “Like a bag of cotton candy maybe?"

She shrieked with exasperation then wrapped her long legs around his waist to anchor him to her. “You are a hateful man, Captain Cree!"

"I am a horny man, Doctor Dunne."

"A condition you seem to perpetuate of late."

He shrugged. “Perhaps I can have Troi engineer a fembot to—"

"The hell you will!” She reached out to take his face in her hands. She pulled his head toward her then slanted her mouth hungrily across his. As she drove her tongue between his teeth, she had heard his answering growl of passion and felt him fumbling with the zipper of his jeans.

"Wicked woman,” he said against her mouth as he freed himself.

"Your wicked woman."

"Aye,” he agreed as he drove into her. “Cree's very wicked woman."

A single tear slid unbidden down the Reaper's face, but he didn't notice. His attention was fixed on the black heavens and the twinkling stars that were so far, far away.

Cirolla Sern sensed Cree's misery and wished there was something she could do to ease his desolation. She'd been reading his thoughts all evening and had known the exact moment the woman had provided a small measure of comfort to him. She had used her unique talents to shield the woman from hostile eyes that might have prevented her from seeing to Cree's needs. Likewise she had protected Diana from guards who might have stopped her and thrown her into prison for what she'd done to aid the Reaper.

Turning over in her bunk onboard the
Alluvia
, she sent her mind wanderings out in search of other women who had talents like her own, but she encountered none. If there were such women on Rysalia Prime, they were carefully shielding themselves from her probing or—more than likely—the potential invasion of the Reaper's sublims.

"Go to sleep, lady. Stop worrying about me."

The whisper invaded Sern's mind like a slide of velvet and she smiled.

"You go to sleep, Reaper,"
she sent back to him and heard a soft chuckle in return.

"How can I sleep when you're broadcasting louder than a klaxon, wench?"

"Goodnight, Cree."

He did not reply and Sern pulled the covers over her shoulders and settled down, closing her eyes and her mind to the man who had inadvertently captured her heart.

In her lonesome bed, LeJong Kym was also thinking of Kamerone Cree. She had forgotten just how handsome the Reaper was and as she lay there, she pictured the dark thickness of his hair, the sparkle of his sinful amber eyes and she sighed. He still had the ability to give her such wicked, wicked ideas. How she loved the man, she thought—so much so her soul ached for want of him. No man had ever held interest for her and no man ever would save Kamerone Cree. Beside him, no other male could hold a candle to her way of thinking.

"Ah, Bridget,” the Chrystallusian scientist breathed. “You are such a lucky woman to have his love, to have known the pleasure of that magnificent body."

A part of LeJong wanted to keep Cree there forever simply to have him near, but the great love she bore the man would not allow her to hurt him such a way. He needed to be with his mate and Kym would make sure that came to pass. Despite the insanity that ruled Cyle Acet and her misguided followers, Kym would see to it that the Prime Reaper gained his freedom to return to Terra.

But before that could happen, she must see him. Come morning, she would send guards to bring him to her office for there were things she needed to tell him, things he needed to know. Cree's future life with Bridget depended on him learning what Kym had discovered.

"Where the hell did you get that pillow?"

Cree slowly opened his eyes and looked at the irate woman on the other side of the bars. He could see her practically quivering with outrage as she stood there holding his vac-syringe of Triso and beaker of Sustenance.

"Get up and bring that pillow to me right now!” the woman shouted, her eyes blazing with fury.

Kahmal had just exited the
Alluvia
and was on her way to the Titaness to check on Cree's bloodkin. She had schooled herself not to look toward the cage but at the angry shout, she turned her head and frowned.

"Do you hear me, beast?” the guard yelled. “You'll not get this shit until you hand over that pillow and blanket!"

A muscle flexed in the Prime Reaper's jaw and he sat up, crooked one knee, and rested his wrist upon it. He didn't like being yelled at by a woman and especially not by one who looked as though her face had been constructed in a cement mixer. His amber eyes narrowed viciously as he stared at the guard.

"Get the hell up, Cree!” the guard screamed again, stomping her foot like a spoiled child.

Sern and Deon were right behind Kahmal and the three were standing in front of their ship, taking in the scene that had already garnered the attention of every woman on the plaza. A crowd was gathering, pointing, waiting to see what would happen. Aegean, Tyrian, and Chanz were in their ship viewing the ruckus on the
Alluvia's
vid-com screen.

"Doesn't she have sense enough to know not to talk to him in that way?” Chanz asked. “Look at his face."

Aegean shuddered. “I wouldn't want him looking at me like that."

"Aye, if looks could kill...” Chanz agreed.

"'Kadia better intercede or the bitch is liable to pour out the Sustenance and take the Triso back into Fleet Command with her,” Tyrian said.

"I'm not going to say it again, Iceman. Give me that pillow and blanket or else!"

Kahmal groaned. She knew Cree despised the nickname and no one dared say it to his face, much less scream it at him. She started toward the guard, the Prime Reaper's words bringing her up short.

"You want it, slut?” Cree queried. His eyes were shooting crimson sparks and the fingernails of the hand on his knee had extended to thick curved talons that were idly drumming against leg. He smiled nastily to reveal sharp rows of wicked fangs as his voice lowered to a savage growl. “Then come and get it."

Women backed away from the cage even though they were nowhere near the bars. Faces turned white as parchment. Eyes grew wide. None had ever seen a Reaper in Transition and few wanted to.

"Is he Transitioning?” Deon gasped.

"By the goddess I hope not,” Sern said and tried to slip under his radar to read his mind. When he snapped his head toward her and impaled her with those deadly eyes, she withdrew quickly, feeling the brunt of his anger wash over her like scalding water.

The guard had gone as still as death. She stood there with the Triso and Sustenance locked in her hands, unable to move as the man in the cage got slowly to his feet like the predator he was. She stared at him as he crouched there—legs spread, claws flexed, fangs showing—and felt her water cascading down her pant leg. The hot stench of her urine made her moan.

"What are you waiting for?” the Reaper taunted. “You wanted this stuff. I dare you to come in here to retrieve it."

Shaking her head, the guard forced herself to take a step back. She nearly screamed when the Amazeen Major appeared at her side and snatched the Triso and Sustenance from her grip.

"He'll not forget you. He has your scent in his nostrils,” Kahmal told the guard. “I suggest you never get close enough to him for him to grab you, sergeant, else he'll tear you apart. You'd better warn the other guards to leave him the hell alone! Now get out of here while you still can."

Not needing a second command, the guard fled, running as fast as she could back into Fleet Command.

Those who had stopped to observe what was happening made no move to leave. They knew the cage would hold the Reaper and they were curious to see what he would do next. His scarlet-glowing eyes had shifted to Major Kahmal and held.

Kahmal swallowed. She was staring into the eyes of a being that at that moment was more beast than man and she could sense the fury that was pumping through him. He had yet to draw in his claws, retract his fangs, and the carmine gleam in his glower unnerved her.

"Behave, Kamerone,” she whispered, knowing he would be able to hear her with his acute hearing.

He cocked his head slightly and growled low in his throat.

"Please,” she amended.

Slowly the talons shrank, disappearing into the tips of his fingers and the fangs withdrew. The heated red glare was the last thing to vanish but in its place was a frigid look that told Kahmal Cree was in no mood to be told what to do. She tensed as he came toward her, his face hard.

"The pillow stays,” he said when he reached the bars. His voice was deadly quiet and all the more lethal for it.