BlackWind (67 page)

“Answer me!” she ordered.

Danyon shook his head. “You asked that no one or nothing harm him on Amazeen. He never reached Amazeen, Milady.”

“A clever twisting of my words, was it not?”

Bronwyn sensed that Danyon didn't know how she had become aware of her witchling destiny, nor how she had embraced it. Only an adept, such as she had become, could have placed the pentagram in the precise way it needed to be drawn. Only someone who knew what she was about could have helped her assemble the things that lay on the floor.

“I am the last of the McGregor female line,” she said, her chin raised. “No further female issue shall be brought forth from my womb.”

The incubus flinched, as if knowing he had been beaten at his own game. “I am sorry I deceived you,” Danyon said, moisture creeping down his cheeks.

“Not as sorry as you will be!”

Cree looked from the blood-red pentagram at his feet to the doorway where Danyon hovered. He saw fear on the incubus’ face and began to realize a serious change in circumstances was taking place. He moved closer to Bronwyn, somehow knowing his—and her—salvation lay in her actions.

“What excuse do you give for trying to cheat me, demon?” she asked.

“My love blinded me to the rightful paths I knew I should trod!” Danyon confessed. “You would not accept me, though I did everything I could to entice you. You chose another. That I could not allow. You are a McGregor, and as a McGregor, you belong to me. I will have you at all cost.”

“And a great price you shall pay for what you have done.”

“Forgive me, Beloved.” Danyon fell to his knees in an obvious attempt to placate her. “I am yours to command.” He lowered his head, his right hand covering his heart.

“I know you are!”

Cree heard the triumph in her voice. He tore his eyes from the demon to look at her and was stunned to see true evil lighting her beautiful face.

Danyon likely saw it as well as he locked eyes with her. “Lady, no,” he pleaded, putting out a hand.

“You will hie yourself back to your lair, demon,” Bronwyn commanded.

“Beloved, no!”

“And there you will stay until you are called forth once more by a female born of the McGregor line!”

Tears cascaded down his waxen cheeks. “But you are the last!”

Bronwyn's smile was as evil and cold as a demon's heart. “Aye,” she whispered, her green gaze flooded with fire. “That I am.”

“There will never be another call for me!”

“No, there won't.” Bronwyn raised her arm and commanded he leave.

“Please! I will not go!”

Cree chuckled. “Will the Nightwind miss his wittle lady? I'm so soweey.”

“Go to hell, Reaper!” Danyon bellowed.

“You first,” Cree insisted with a wide grin.

“Raphian, come!” Bronwyn ordered.

Cree caught the stench of sulfur only a second before the Destroyer of Men's Souls shot through the bedroom wall and grabbed the demon in Its maw. With a crunching sound, the Supreme Evil Entity fled, dragging a screeching Danyon Hart by the throat back through the gaping hole that had exploded with His appearance, sucking in on itself to close as though it had never been.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Cree whispered, falling back on the Sean Cullen part of him that had witnessed the scene with horrified eyes.

“They had no part in it at all, at all,” Bronwyn sighed.

“Is he gone?” Cree asked with a hard shudder.

“Aye—and will never return.”

He looked at the pentagram. “Is it safe to leave this evil thing now?”

“Not yet. I have a few wrongs to right before I'm done.”

“And I'm looking forward to meeting you, too, Lauren,” Bronwyn said.

Cree were lying with Bronwyn in her bed, in what had once been her guestroom.

“We'll see you on Saturday?” Bronwyn inquired. “Bye ‘til then.”

The Reaper took the receiver from her and hung it up.

“Turn off the light, please,” she said.

He did as she bid, then sighed as she settled against his chest, her head in the crook of his arm. He held her to him, breathing in the scent of lavender that clung to her long hair. They entwined their toes, tickling one another.

“Lauren is anxious to meet you,” she said, twirling her finger around a lock of his chair hair.

“Umm,” he said, his contentment making him unusually sleepy. Since “The Night of the Pentagram,” as he had labeled that fateful event, he had been able to sleep almost as naturally as any healthy human male. He knew it was having his mate at his side from dusk to dawn that eased his fears and brought him peace, making it possible for him to rest.

“She reminded me that I should put furniture in the old bedroom so no one will be tempted to lift the rug and discover what I have underneath.”

He looked at her. “Are you going to leave that gods-be-damned thing in there?”

“For now.” She caressed his chest. “I think I'll turn it into a sitting room, with just a wicker love seat and chairs. Something easy to move, if need be.”

He sighed, laid his head on the pillow, and closed his eyes. “If need be.”

“We could use it, you know.”

He frowned. “How?”

“We could send those who transgress against the laws of God and man to the Abyss. There would be no need for a trial or for sentencing or for incarceration in a place like Baybridge. No need to use the death penalty. They would simply disappear into the unknown.”

Cree opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling. He found her suggestion held merit. “Not kill those offenders, but send them where they will never harm anyone again?”

“Precisely. No harm and no foul and no additional taxes to drain the people's pockets.”

“No harm and no foul,” Cree echoed and tore his thoughts from Danyon.

“Of course, there would be a need for a bounty hunter, if you will, to go after the evil ones.”

Cree pondered the matter a moment more, then decided he felt comfortable with it. “I suppose I'll be sent to fetch these miscreants.”

“As soon as we find out about them. There'd be no chance for them to do their evil a second time.”

“I like the sound of that, Bronnie, though there are only so many hours in a day for a Reaper to be hunting, you know.”

Bronwyn ran her foot up his leg. “Are you getting old on me, Reaper?”

“I am already older than Methuselah ever dreamed of being.”

“But not as old as me,” another voice said.

Cree sat up in the bed to glare at the aged Nightwind. “Did I tell you
not
to trespass in here again? Get the hell out of this bedroom!”

Cedric yawned as he shifted his ancient body in the rocking chair. “You say a lot of things, beast, to which I have no intention of paying heed.”

“Cedric,” Bronwyn warned. “Take your chair into the living room and don't sneak back in here again. You know how Aidan feels.”

“Think you I care, Beloved?” Cedric inquired, his lower lip thrust forward in a pout. “I am honor-bound to protect you. That one is—”

“My husband, Cedric,” Bronwyn reminded the demon. “He can protect me, and will.”

“So, get gone, you foul—” Cree snarled, but Bronwyn shushed him with a poke to the ribs.

“Please do as I ask, Ceddie,” she bid the demon.

“Oh, all right.” The Nightwind grumbled as he unfolded his stiff limbs. He cast Cree a nasty look, then picked up the rocking chair and left, banging the chair against the door as he went.

“I'll not have that—”

“Yes, dearling,” Bronwyn said, putting her fingers over his lips.

“I
am
your husband. Legal and—”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“I am all the protection you need!”

“Indeed, you are.”

“And get off my leg!” Cree barked, kicking at the other animal pressing against him.

The big black dog snorted and sprang off the covers, shapeshifting in mid-air to land in his humanoid form at the side of the bed. Ordin Gver drew in a huge lungful of air, farted loudly, and walked sedately from the room.

“By the gods, I'm going to have him neutered!” Cree bellowed, fanning the air. The gas from the Bugul Noz's body was a hundred times worse than his body odor.

“Brownie wouldn't appreciate it,” Bronwyn stated, as if immune to the stench.

“But I promise it would give me the greatest of pleasures!”

“No,” Bronwyn replied, wrapping her hand around the soft flesh at the juncture of his thighs. “I promise I'm going to give
you
the greatest of pleasures, my love.”

She spent the rest of the night making good on her promise.

Charlotte Boyett-Compo is the author of more than two dozen novels, the first ten of which are the
WindLegends Saga.
For nearly three full years, Charlee has remained—first with Dark Star Publications, and now with Amber Quill Press—the company's most popular and best-selling author. She is a member of the Romance Writers of America, the HTML Writer's Guild, and Beta Sigma Phi Sorority. Married thirty-two years to her high school sweetheart, Tom, she is the mother of two grown sons, Pete and Mike, and the proud grandmother of Preston Alexander and Victoria Ashlee. A native of Sarasota, Florida, she grew up in Colquitt and Albany, Georgia, and now lives in the Midwest.

Most any fan of electronic books—or fans of dark fantasy and suspense—has at least heard her name mentioned, if not purchased at least one of her many offerings. This prolific author has not only managed to gain multiple nominations and awards for her work, but better still, has built a fan base whose members border on the “fanatical.”

Currently, Charlee is at work on at least several books in her various series and trilogies.