TailWind (4 page)

Some time during those long hours of glooming, her hand moved to his chest and she caressed him, her fingers moving over the hairs at the V of his shirt. It was a silent need she was putting forth and he understood it. He had the means to wipe away the brutality of what had been done to her, to make her whole and she was pleading voicelessly to him to help her.

"Are you sure?” he asked.

Her answer was a tiny sound—"Aye."

He'd had his first woman at an early age and had discovered a world of heady delights with her that had given him the only pleasure he'd ever known up until that night. Under a glorious full moon he had taken her with a wild soaring lust that had left them both satiated and sore. Since that time, he'd used sex to do many things—to calm his nerves, deplete his body when he was on an adrenalin high, for revenge, for reasons only he would ever know. He'd fucked more than his share of bitches but never had he undertaken to make love to one.

Amazed to see his hand shaking as he laid his palm on Rozenn's breast, the sound of her indrawn breath made him feel manlier than he ever had before. He felt other emotions as well and none of them were selfish.

"Be gentle with me,” she begged, her fingers plying the hollow at the base of his throat.

"Always,” he whispered.

Gently, tenderly, he caressed her, his thumb barely stroking her nipple through the coarse fabric of her ugly gown. She was trembling beneath his touch and when he slid his hand down her side and to the skirt of her gown—inching it slowly upward—he heard the slightest of moans escape her throat.

He was hard, thick, aching with a need of his own. He could not see her—even his lupine sight could not pierce the strange darkness—but he knew her eyes were on him. Knowing they would be trusting eyes, nervous eyes, eyes filled with the fear of being hurt again, he went slowly, drawing the hem of her skirt up slowly. When the gown had been brought up to the juncture of her legs, he laid his palm on her thigh—softly, gently—and let her accustom herself to its weight, its feel, the heat of his flesh. After a moment or two, she relaxed beneath his touch and he slid his palm to the apex of her thighs, cupping her, surprised there was no undergarment to shield her from his touch.

Rozenn sucked in a breath the moment he laid his hand upon her. She was damp and aching between her legs and the touch of his flesh on hers sent shivers up her spine.

"You are wet, wench,” he said and gently stroked her, his hand moving up and down over her heated core. With each descent downward, his middle finger grazed the opening of her sheath and dipped just a little ways inside.

"Oh, my,” she whispered. Her breath was coming in shallow little hitches and he could feel the pulse beating fiercely between her legs.

He moved so he could take her mouth with his. Her lips were closed and he nibbled on the lower one until she opened her mouth and he could slip his tongue inside. Her groan increased the desire that was building in his loins.

The kiss was long and filled with passion. He swirled his tongue inside her mouth, over her lips, and planted soft little pecks along her chin and down her neck. He swept his tongue over that precious hollow at her throat. As much as he wanted to rip the gown from her, to feel her naked flesh against his, he did not want to alarm her, to cause her any further fright.

With infinite care, he eased his middle finger into her, going deeper and deeper in minute degrees until he was seated as far in as he could go. He turned his palm up and sought along the roof of her vaginal wall for that spongy spot he'd once heard was every woman's greatest source of delight.

"Oh!” Rozenn said for he'd apparently found that mysterious spot on the first try. Her hips arched up and she bore down on his hand, burying her face against his throat as though embarrassed.

"Relax, wench,” he said in a soft voice. “Just relax."

In and out he moved his finger, feeling her quivering beneath him. Slowly, surely, with the greatest of care he stroked her. His thumb grazed over her clit and she writhed on the couch. Her arm was draped over his hip and she dug her nails into his back. When she realized she'd done it, she started to move her hand.

"Claw me if you need to,” he said in a low, gravelly voice. “Claw me, scratch me. Do whatever pleases you."

She put her hand on him again but her touch was easier. She did not dig her nails into him though her fingers tensed on his flesh.

Blaez smiled and moved further down the couch until he could put his mouth over her breast and suckle her through the fabric.

"Wolfie!” she cried out and her hand left his hip again. She buried her fingers in his hair and held him to her.

He worried her nipple through the material and soon had the fabric wet. Withdrawing his finger he inserted one more with it, easing in and out of her again but at a faster speed. She was groaning and pressing her breast harder to his mouth so he added a third finger to his arsenal and went deep inside her, twisting his fingers gently from side to side as he moved in and out of her.

"Aye!” she said and brought her hips up from the couch.

He increased his speed, plucking at her nipple with his teeth, going deep inside her, twisting, withdrawing almost all the way out then pressing hard into her, holding it there for a second or two until she groaned again.

Hot fluid gushed over his fingers and she bore down hard, making a trilling sound as her vaginal walls contracted, quivered, gripped him tightly. Her climax was shattering and when she collapsed beneath him, he withdrew his fingers and enclosed her in a tight embrace.

"I'll never let anything hurt you again,” he said. “If any man dares to lay a hand on you, I'll bite it off."

She giggled, snuggling closer to him. “That's nice to know, wolfie."

Sleep reached up to gently lower them into its comforting arms.

She was gone again and he knew a savage fury unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He practically tore the locked hatchway door from its housing as he jumped down from the ship, yelling her name, his eyes wide, his fangs hooked like those of a serpent as he threw back his head and howled.

In a split second he was no longer human. His face was thickly shadowed with coarse dark fur, his eyes gleamed a piercing, pitiless blood red. His canines had elongated and glistened with saliva, his claws were unsheathed, having shot out from the tips of his fingers to arch inward toward his palms. A thick mat of fur had sprouted to cover his arms and legs and torso but he stood upright, unbent. This was no hunched-over, clothes-splitting monster of myth but a man whose body bristled with the outward sign of his latent savagery and whose countenance bore the imprint of his animal nature.

"Blaez."

It was the smallest of sounds and when he whipped his head around, he saw her just at the edge of the boundary where light and dark blended, about twelve feet away—obviously the darkness had advanced within the last two days. She was standing in a high-domed gilded cage, her hands wrapped around the bars, and her dress was in tatters around her, her feet bare. With a growl of pure venom, he started toward her but she yelled at him, thrusting a staying hand from the bars to halt him.

"Don't take another step! Look down!” she ordered.

The ground around his booted feet was heaving like the turbulent waves of the ocean. Where the plates of the stones lifted, fiery heat shot up, the deep crimson glow hissing like a coiled serpent. Stones sank then bubbled up, emitting a vile odor that made him lightheaded then rolled like magna in a moat around her cage.

Blaez tore his gaze from the stones and sought hers. Her face was bruised, her lip torn, her knuckles scraped and bleeding. He whimpered for the first time in his life. The solid ground beneath him shifted toward her, her cage shifted toward him but there were still a good nine feet, then eight, then seven between them. The bubbling, hissing moat would not allow him to get to her.

"Who did this?” he asked, experiencing an emotion that was threatening to tear him apart. He was so enraged he couldn't re-take his humanoid form and stood there in his werewolf state, shamed that she was seeing him as he truly was.

She stretched her hand toward him for the cage and land had shifted again. Tears were in her eyes. She wanted—she
needed
—to touch him. He extended his hand toward her, balancing precariously on the stable ground but wanting to touch her just as desperately. He shifted his shape in a heartbeat, his humanoid other half reaching out to her. He strained forward until the tips of their fingers met and hooked together—his palm down, hers up.

"I need you,” she said. “Please help me.” Fresh tears spilled down her bruised cheeks.

"Rozenn.” He said her name so softly, so achingly. “Your tears are breaking my heart."

And with that the cage and the land on which he was standing began to separate again, pulling them apart.

"No!” he howled, struggling to maintain contact with her without falling into the roiling lava but he lost his grip and as soon as he did, the cage was sucked back into the darkness, Rozenn's scream reverberating all around him. “No!"

His own scream of denial echoed a dozen times. The heat of the buckling stones seared the toes of his boots and he moved back instinctively.

"Give me back my woman!"
he thundered.

The light vanished completely as though a switch had been thrown. Not even the slivers of light around the edges of the stones could be seen. Thick, cloying, oppressive air wrapped around him and he took a step back, his foot touching something spongy, something that gave. He stilled, testing the ground to his left. It, too, gave. To the right—the toe of his boot pressed into nothingness.

He dared not move for fear he'd fall into some bottomless miasma between him and his ship. Frustrated, sick at heart, he hunkered down like a wounded animal and for the very first time in his life, he began to cry.

"Rozenn,” he groaned, wrapping his arms around himself.

Having spent a lifetime scoffing at the follies of men who allowed women to rule their hearts and souls, he now knew how easily such a thing could happen. He had not been seeking a mate, had never wanted one. He'd always been a lone wolf, an alpha male who took his pleasures when he wanted. Love-'em-and-leave-'em had been his motto but love had meant ‘fuck’ to him before now.

Hot tears scalded his cheeks but he made no move to brush them away. He didn't even realize he was making a keening sound low that seemed to come from his very soul. Unable to keep his mate safe, he believed he had failed his job miserably and not only his ego had been damaged but his pride had as well.

"I didn't know werewolves were capable of crying."

Blaez heard the male's voice and slowly lifted his head, his upper lip curling back, his fangs extending. A low growl started deep in his gullet as his hot amber eyes locked on a man sitting on a throne-like chair, a triangular wedge of light spearing down to illuminate him.

It was surreal as he stared at the man. Where had he come from? Where was this place?
What
was it? But the most important question came out of him with force.

"Where is she?” he asked in his most lethal tone.

The man was sitting there dressed in a long red hooded robe, the cowl of the robe framing hair as white as snow. With elbows braced on the arms of the throne, the long fingers of his hands—upon which a sharp chin rested—pressed together, long legs casually crossed, the man gazed back at the werewolf with piercing blue eyes set in a rather arresting face that held no expression at all.

"Where is Rozenn?” Blaez demanded.

"I do believe you have found something you desire in which neither your fists nor you deadly temper will be of any help,” the man said. “Doesn't feel good, does it?"

"You hurt my woman and..."

"And what, werewolf?” the man asked. “What can you do?” A vague smile tugged at the man's thin lips. “You know as well as I that you are helpless here."

"What do you want?” Blaez asked, coming to his feet. He swiped an arm over his face to rid himself of the tell-tale tears.

"I am the Evaluator,” the man replied. “You were brought here for me to judge."

"Brought here by who?"

"I believe the correct word is whom. I..."

"Don't play games with me!” Blaez shouted. “I don't give a gods-be-damned fuck who you are or who wanted me judged. Just tell me what you want me to do to get my woman back!"

"Which woman?"

"My woman!” the werewolf howled with frustration.

"Ah, the very needy Rozenn Quinlan. Is that who you mean?"

"Just tell me,” Blaez pleaded. “I'll do anything to get her back."

"Aye, I'm sure you will."

The werewolf hung his head for he knew the man was playing him, taunting him. He feared the man had no intention of giving Rozenn back to him.

"Your ship is ready,” the man said and when Blaez slowly lifted his head, the man nodded. “It is ready and waiting for you to leave."

Clenching his fists, Blaez shook his head. “Not without Rozenn. I won't leave her here for you to..."

"She's not here,” the man said. “She's never been here."

He could not have explained under penalty of the most brutal of tortures how he knew but he did—the man was telling the truth. “Where is she?” he asked.

"At Galrath,” the man replied. “Where she's been all along."

The engines of The Black Defiance came on and Blaez jumped, spinning around to see his ship also illuminated by the mysterious cone of white light. Hatchway open, the dust beneath the landing skids blowing like wisps of smoke away from the keel, the ship was priming itself for flight.

"You have never done anything for anyone unless you were either paid to do it or it was to your advantage to do,” the man said. He brushed the lap of his robe with the backs of his fingers as though flicking away unwanted lint. “You've never had feelings for another living being in all the years you have drawn breath. It is time you put aside the selfishness and come into the light, werewolf."

The roiling darkness behind the man swished, the black mist swept back and there seated on twisted black iron thrones with serpents slithering up the legs of the thrones were four horrible beings—two sitting to either side of the Evaluator. As different from the first man as night was to day, the beings were ugly beyond belief, misshapen, bearing the countenances of vile monsters, and they were staring at Blaez with spiteful, glowing red eyes.