The Nightwind's Woman (14 page)

And he did wield enormous respect at
Tearmann. If he wasn’t entirely feared by some of the residents, they were wary
of him. He was a hunter, a predator and one of their jailers. The Supervisor
was the warden of Tearmann but the two Alphas—he and Sorn—were the keepers.

He stopped, opened his mouth and allowed
his Jacobsen’s gland to draw in a new scent that had suddenly appeared. It was
unexpected and infuriating. The gods-be-damned
baginis
was out of her
cell again!

And she was in one of the nearby rooms with
a human male in her talons!

“Shit!” he spat as he changed into his
humanoid form. He was going to wring that bitch’s neck once and for all.

Stalking to the door, he tried to open it
but it was locked from the other side. He started to dematerialize but realized
there was another stench clogging up his olfactory senses.

Garlic.

The conniving bitch had stolen a strand of garlic
from the kitchens and had lain it at the bottom of the door to keep him out.

“Arika!” he shouted. “Open the door!”

“Fuck you,
lulli
!” the
baginis
cackled from the other side.

“Help me!” a male voice pleaded.

“I will, sweet meat,” Arika purred. “And
you do have some sweet meat.”

“Problems?”

Randon didn’t look around. “That fucking
baginis
.”

The Supervisor cursed under his breath. “How
did she get out this time?”

“That’s not important right now. She has a
human male in there with her.”

“Then why are you out here demanding her to
open the door, Kayle?” the Supervisor snapped. “Get in there.”

“Garlic,” Randon said, pointing to the
bottom of the door.

“Oh for the love of Pete,” the Supervisor
grumbled. He took the security card from around his neck and swiped it down the
reader beside the door. Once the lock was disengaged, he opened the door,
kicked the garlic away and stepped back to let the Nightwind do his thing.

“Bastard
lulli
!” the
baginis
screeched as Randon bulldozed his way into the room and grabbed her by her long
red hair.

“What did I tell you about calling me that,
cunt?” Randon snarled. He pulled her behind him from the room, turned her then
began goose stepping her down the corridor. “Who let you out?” He yanked on her
hair. “Answer me!”

Arika yowled but clamped her large mouth
shut. She seemed to be getting off on the pain he was causing her and it felt
to him as though she wanted it to last.

The Supervisor entered the room and pursed
his lips. A handsome young man whom he knew to be on the kitchen staff was
naked in the corner with his trembling hands covering his privates. His white
pants and shirt were shredded on the floor at his feet. “Did she—?” He didn’t
finish saying the last two words out of respect for the
baginis
’
s
victim.

Shaking his head vigorously, the young man
sniffled. “She was about to, though.”

With a wave of his hand the Supervisor
fashioned another set of garments for the shivering male then willed him to
forget he’d been snatched up by the creature.

“Be more careful next time,” he said,
planting the seed in the young man’s mind.

“Yes sir.”

“Go back to work.”

“Yes sir.”

Suddenly very tired, Alexandru Hesar
slumped against the wall and dragged a hand through his thick salt-and-pepper
hair. He made a mental note to discuss with his brothers how best to fix the
problem with the baginis.

“Send her to Baybridge.”

The Supervisor looked to the doorway.
Viraiden Cree was standing there, leaned against the jamb with his arms
crossed.

“There is a section of the cells where we
have nothing but sexual offenders. If she gets out and gets to them, no one
will care and your humans will be out of danger of her affections,” Cree
suggested.

“Then take her over there,” the Supervisor
agreed. “She’s getting on my last nerve.”

“The Nightwind’s too from the sound of it,”
Cree said with a chuckle. He pushed away from the jamb. “Any other sexual
demons you want me to take with me as well? I’d be happy to take them off your
hands.”

“Not at the moment but thank you. I’ll keep
the offer in mind.”

Cree turned to go.

“Aiden?”

The Prime Reaper turned, a brow cock in
query.

“Be careful when you’re with Kerreyder,”
the Supervisor said. “I don’t think he’s as he pretends to be.”

A slow, merciless grin tugged at the
corners of the Reaper’s mouth. “Oh, I intend to watch him like the hawk I am,”
Cree said.

* * * * *

Kenzi woke to the soft sound of falling
water. It took some effort but she managed to turn her head. Across the
bedroom, the image suite had become a lush waterfall with a profusion of colorful
orchids and bromeliads growing along the emerald-green banks of an azure lake.
Multi-hued parrots sat in the branches of a beautiful tree that spread its arms
over the lake. The scent of jasmine floated in the air.

He had changed her, she thought as she
stared at the lush scene. Her body was tingling and her mind so sharp she could
focus on each individual leaf dotting the tree.

“Immortal,” he had whispered to her as he
held her tightly in his arms.

The word sent a chill down her back as she
thought of its many meanings—endless, perpetual, eternal and everlasting.

Undying.

The concept boggled the mind but she
accepted it. After all she’d seen at Tearmann it was hard not to accept what
she had once thought unbelievable. Magic. Mindboggling creatures. Strange alien
technology that made the senses reel and suspended disbelief.

And she was ready to be a part of all that.

More than ready.

Gingerly, she sat up—half expecting her
head to spin—and found herself feeling better than she ever had in her life.
The brief flares of pain upon arising each morning that she’d experienced from
her fibromyalgia were not there. There was no momentary
cotton-plugging-the-ears sensation, which had been present since the A-fib
diagnosis did not manifest. She swung her legs from the bed and was surprised
there was no ache in her right instep or minor complaint from the big toe of
that foot in which she’d stripped the tendon after a fall in the bathroom. Her
broken tailbone didn’t protest either as she got to her feet.

All the aches and pains—both minor and
annoying—were gone.

Looking down at her naked body, she was
amazed to find the slight roll of fat that was developing at her waist was no
longer there. Her breasts felt larger, firmer and her belly flatter. Putting a
hand to her hair, it felt fuller, sleeker. Hurrying into the bathroom to the
mirror, she sucked in a stunned breath—her eyes widening—for the scar across
her forehead had been erased.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” she whispered.

Turning to get a look at her ass, she was
further amazed to find no cellulite, no spare fat back there. Her ass was more
rounded than it had ever been and her waist smaller.

She was the perfect woman she’d always
dreamed of being. A woman without extra fat, cellulite, scars, bulges, bumps,
lumps or broken veins. There were no aches, no pains and no blemishes. Looking
at her face once more, she realized her skin was silky looking, dewy, glowing
with health and vitality. Her eyes were gleaming and her lashes longer and
thicker. Her lips were fuller and richly colored. She was…

“Flawless,” she said breathlessly to her
reflection.

All that had happened because she’d lain
with a handsome, virile man?

No.

All that had happened because she had
become the consort of an archdemon.

A momentary shaft of fear went through her.
Religious guilt and trepidation. The echo of her fire-and-brimstone upbringing
before she converted to Catholicism. The threat of being cast into the
Bottomless Pit with sinners who had embraced Satan…

“Knock it off!” she snapped and turned from
the mirror, doubling her fists and digging her fingernails into her palms.

She was not a sinner.

Well, technically she supposed she was
since she’d had sex outside of marriage. She also swiped a few things from the
cosmetic counters when she was a teenager. She cheated on more than a few tests
in high school but had not in college or med school. She’d told more than her
share of lies and had once accused someone of something she’d done.

But she’d not fooled around with married
men. She had never—not even once!—taken the name of the Lord in vain. She’d
never killed. She wasn’t artistic enough to make a graven image and most certainly
had never worshipped any other gods.

She’d always respected her parents, gone to
church on Sundays.

Yeppers, she’d broken a few of the laws of
the Decalogue but not the really bad ones. She wouldn’t go to hell for that.

Would she?

“Of course not,” she said as she marched
over to the shower, opened the glass door and reached in to turn on the water.

Stepping under the very warm water, she wet
her hair. Did it seem longer, curlier, too? While she was lathering it, she
realized it did and that made her smile.

“A woman’s crowning glory,” she said,
repeating her grandmother’s words.

She took a long, leisurely shower and when
she was finished, basked in the soft, thick comfort of a body towel as she
dried herself off. The towel had come warm and enticing from the bar upon which
it hung and the soft cotton smelled of lavender.

After she’d French braided her long hair
then wrapped it casually around the crown of her head, she dressed in a simple
white blouse and dark-tan pair of slacks, slipped her feet…

“Whoa!” she said, wriggling toes that had
an absolutely perfect pedicure with bright-red polish gleaming upon them. She
almost hated putting on her flats.

Glancing at her fingernails, she realized
there was a smooth manicure decorating them. The red fingernail polish covered
her nails faultlessly.

“Now I can get with this,” she said with a
broad grin.

Anxious to learn all she could about
Tearmann—things she hadn’t already been made privy to—she left her suite and
went in search of the woman who would be her advisor. From there, she planned
to start that in-depth training from the director of personnel.

She was ready to work.

Eager to do so!

Milton, Florida

“If you were an ugly ass lizard
freaky-deaky, where would you hide?” Sorn asked as he and Randon drove down
Berryhill Road. The Reaper was driving the airport rental car with Kayle riding
shotgun.

“Fuck if I know,” the Nightwind snapped. “In
a burrow somewhere?” He popped open another salty boiled peanut and flipped it
into his mouth.

“Gimme one,” Sorn said, holding out his
hand.

“Get your own,” Randon replied.

“Prick.”

“Asswipe,” the incubus sent back.

They rode in silence for a few minutes then
Sorn risked a glance at his passenger. “Did you talk to her before we left?”

“Who?”

“Your mate.”

A hard scowl turned the Nightwind’s face bitterly
dark. “What do you think?”

“He didn’t let you.”

“The fucker was with her the entire night,”
Randon groused. “And I had to leave this morning before she was up.”

“You shoulda made the effort to see her,
bro,” the Panthera Reaper stated.

The incubus turned his head and peeled back
his lips to show his fangs. “I’m not your
bro
,” his voice garbled and gravelly.

Sorn popped his. “Big deal. I have a pair
too,” he reminded the Nightwind.

Growling under his breath, Randon turned
his attention to the side window. Being in an enclosed space with the Reaper was
wearing on his nerves. He couldn’t scent the Saurian because all he could smell
was Panthera.

They were passing the cemetery now and
something shimmied down Randon’s spine. The bitch was close. Even if he couldn’t
smell her, he knew she was somewhere nearby.

“I feel it too,” Sorn said. He slowed the
car, swiveling his head left to right, right to left.

“Stop the car and let me out,” Randon said.
It was broad daylight and there were other motorists. He didn’t want to simply
vanish from the front seat of the car and reappear in the graveyard.

Sorn pulled to the side of the street. “She’s
going to know what you are,” he said.

“Yeah, but she’ll have done her homework.
She’ll know this town belongs to a Nightwind.”

“Belonged,” Sorn corrected. “As in used to
belong to a Nightwind.”

Randon ignored the barb and pushed open the
door. As soon as he stepped onto the curb, he caught her scent.

“Make the block then come back from the
opposite direction,” the incubus ordered Sorn. “I’ll make contact with her and
suggest she might like to party with us.”

The Panthera rolled his green eyes. “Like
she won’t find it strange that a Reaper and a Nightwind might want to party
together?”

“We’re male cats and we’ve got two barbed
cocks between us,” Randon reminded him. “She’s got two cunts and that means two
clits. Trust me. She won’t care about anything else save getting fucked by us.”
He slammed the door and headed into the cemetery.

I can’t fuck that bitch now,
Sorn sent to him
. I’m mated.

Who said anything about actually fucking
her
?
I wouldn’t touch her with my dick if you
paid me
, Randon replied.
Just make sure you have the Class Four pistol
loaded with pairilis. I want to put this bitch down as soon as I get her in the
car.

In the trunk of the mid-sized sedan was a
capture cage made from solid iron crisscrossed with titanium bars. It had taken
four strapping men to load the cage into the car but it would hold the Saurian
and the iron would make it impossible for her to use any of the infamous siren
powers her race employed. Known for their immense strength, the titanium bars
would corral her body. Once taken, they would transport her back to the air
field outside Milton and put her on board the Tearmann G-4.

Walking through the headstones, the
Nightwind wondered if any of those interred had been dispatched by Syntian
Cree. The Master Nightwind was legendary as was the tale of him being sent back
to the Abyss by the human female he had loved so desperately. She had been his
Chosen yet she had betrayed him with another Nightwind.

Witches were fucking fickle bitches. You
had to watch your back with them—as Syntian Cree had discovered too late.

That was a chilling thought as he caught
sight of the Saurian. Lauren Fowler had sent her incubus back to the slime of
the Pit because he had been a stone-cold killer. That she’d been such a
powerful witch who had accomplished her vengeance on her own unnerved him. The
woman still lived in Milton and he prayed she would not sense his presence on
her turf and come looking for him.

“I thought you were sent back to the Abyss?”

So engrossed in the morbid thoughts of the
other Nightwind, Randon had failed to detect the Saurian materializing directly
in front of him until he was almost nose to nose with her. Looking up from the
sandy loam beneath his boots into a face only a mother lizard could love, he
realized she thought he was Syntian Cree. That could work to his advantage.

“Do you believe everything you hear,
sweetmeat?” he countered.

Her foul breath washed over him as she
leaned in close. “If I’d known you were here, I would have gone elsewhere to vacation,”
she stated.

“Vacation?” he repeated. “Is that what you’re
doing here on Terra?” He glanced around. There were no humans—live ones at
least—in the cemetery but it was strange the creature would appear here in the
daylight hours. “On a tour of cemeteries are you?”

“I’m looking for something,” she replied.

“A good plot for your final resting place?”
he inquired. “A rock to slither under?”

“What do you want, incubus?” she demanded,
elongated pupils sparking anger. “I’m no threat to you.”

He swept his eyes from hers to the toes of
her sandals and tried not to flinch at the ugly, twisted toes that curled over
the edge of the footwear or the yellowed, crusty toenails that looked as though
they could open cans of peas without trouble. Returning his gaze to her
butt-ugly face he gave her his best seductive smile.

“I’ve never actually met one of your kind
before today,” he told her honestly. “I’ve heard you have two cunts and I was
curious.”

She put her face so close to his it was all
he could do not to gag at the sight of her warty flesh and the horrendous
stench of her putrid breath. “What were you curious about, Nightwind?”

“What it would feel like to fuck one of those
cunts while my friend fucks the other. Is it true your kind are the best lays
in the Megaverse?”

Her reptilian eyes lit up. “You have a
friend?”

“A Panthera Reaper,” he told her.

She flicked out her warty tongue and swiped
it over her thick lips. “Another feline? Barbed cocks?”

He had her. He knew it as surely as her
rotten breath carried the odor of crunched flies and beetles and only the gods knew
what other repulsive scuttling things that might have been drawn into that maw
of a mouth.

“I could call him,” he said. “He lives
nearby.” He forced himself to put his palm on her scaly cheek, run the pad of
his thumb over her thick, rough bottom lip. “We could have a little party.” His
smiled turned wicked. “Just the three of us.”

Once more she licked her lips then looked slyly
about them. “Where’s your life-mate?” she asked. “Your witch?”

“Who the fuck knows or cares? She tried to
screw me over so it’s only fitting I return the favor. Besides, she’s not woman
enough to fill all my—shall we call them—
intense
needs?”

“You incubi swing both ways, don’t you?”
she asked.

“We’ve been known to, aye,” he answered, feeling
his jaw tighten at the reminder.

“Do you and your Reaper friend do one
another?” Her eyes glowed evilly. “Do you two suck each other off?”

“Sorn and I have a very touchy
relationship,” he replied with a wink.

“Can I watch you two go at one another?”
she asked, eyes widening.

He slanted his head as though he was going
to kiss her. “I think that can be arranged,” he said then pulled back. “Shall I
call him?”

“Aye!” she said. “I can look for the key
later.”

“Key?” he asked but as soon as the question
was out of his mouth she stiffened and drew away from him.

“Never mind about that. Just call your
friend. I’m in the mood to party!”

He lifted his head.
Sorn?
he sent
.
How’d you like to join me for a little fun? We have a Saurian aching to be
fucked.

The answer was immediate.
Can’t wait
.

Wondering what it was she was so anxious to
find—and in a cemetery no less—he offered his arm though it took every ounce of
willpower to do so. As soon as she hooked her thin, scaly arm with his and the
rustle of those scales dragging over his shirt sleeve hit his ears, he had to
force the gorge to stay down his throat.

They reached the street just as Sorn pulled
the sedan to the curb. He had a tight grin on his handsome face as Randon
opened the back door of the car, gave him a quick glance then stood back to let
the female precede him into the vehicle.

“That was quick,” Randon said with a hard look.

“I was just over at the Piggly Wiggly
getting some Vienna sausages,” Sorn said then swept his gaze over the Saurian. “What
do we have here?” he asked in a husky tone.

“Well, hello kitty,” she said with a pucker
of her thick lips. She reached across the seat to touch his broad shoulder. “I
can’t wait to have that barb of yours in my cunt.”

Randon got a glimpse of Sorn’s wince as the
Nightwind slid into the seat beside her.

“What’s your name, baby girl?” Randon asked,
to draw her attention to him.

“Tuatara,” she said as she ran her hand
between his legs and squeezed him.

“Where we going, Tara?” Sorn asked, looking
at them in the rearview mirror.

“The Reaper is staying with me but it can’t
be out to my place,” Randon replied. “The missus might have a cow.” He looked
at the Saurian. “How ’bout your place?”

She shook her head. “Not a good idea. Why
not somewhere we can have privacy with no stinking humans close by to ruin it
for us?”

“We could head out in the country, find a
lush place away from prying eyes where we can spend the rest of the afternoon
screwing the hell out of one another,” Randon suggested. He put his hand on her
thigh and squeezed firmly.

“Aye,” she agreed in a breathless voice. “Somewhere
near water. I like fucking in the water.”

“I’ll see what I can find,” Sorn said. He
twisted around in the seat with a merciless grin tautly in place.

She didn’t notice the gun in his hand until
the weapon had discharged and the ampule of pairilis hit her squarely in the
chest. Her mouth dropped open but no sound came out. The high-powered
anesthetic had already shut down her motor and vocal responses. Her egg-shaped
pupils rolled back in her head and she slumped against the Nightwind.

Randon shoved her away none too gently,
reached under the seat for the iron manacles he’d placed there when they’d
taken possession of the car and quickly locked them onto her thin wrists.

“Get us somewhere out of sight so we can
put this malodorous turd in the cage,” he said, disgust rife in his voice.

“With pleasure,” Sorn said through gritted
teeth.

* * * * *

The Cascade Mountains of British Columbia

The Prime Reaper turned up his face to the
cool rain and closed his eyes. He’d always liked the sensation of rainwater
falling into his face. He had a feeling that was the only thing he was going to
enjoy on this trip.

It had been a race between him and the
archdemon as soon as the two of them shifted to avian form and took to the air
two mornings before. He in hawk form and the archdemon in eagle. The sun was
bright over Iowa but as soon as they hit Colorado air space, the clouds began
forming and the air got cooler. By the time they reached Seattle, the rain was
already drenching the landscape.

Nothing new in Seattle though. Everything there
was permanently mildewed.

He lowered his head, scrubbed a hand over
his whiskered face and looked around the clearing. Beside him the Coquihalla
River was rushing past and in the middle of it was a decaying log being taken
along for a ride. Perched atop the log was a furry animal of some kind. The
beastlet didn’t look worried—just the opposite—so Cree saw no reason to get
involved with a wet rescue. He saluted the creature as it passed and he could
have sworn it winked at him.

“Have fun, little buddy,” he laughed,
watching the progress of the log.

“I hope you meant that muskrat and not me,”
the archdemon grumbled as he suddenly appeared.

Cree wasn’t inclined to make small talk
with the male so he ignored him.

“You’re friends with a
bugul noz
,
aren’t you?” Kerreyder asked and it was obvious he was trying to strike up a
conversation. “What’s his name?”

“Ralph,” Cree provided.

“I knew one once,” the archdemon said with
a chuckle. “Worst farter in the forest.”

“Aye, they’re known for that,” Cree agreed.

“Ever met
An Fear Liath Mor
?”

“The Big Gray Man?” Cree shook his head. “No
but a couple of my men have.”

“Now that one is a piece of work,”
Kerreyder observed. “I like him.”

“Any news on the
adlets
?” Cree
asked, tired of trying to pretend he cared what the archdemon thought.

“All work and no play, Aiden,” Kerreyder
chastised then let out a long breath. “Aye, I learned there have been a rash of
missing loggers and two hikers in the past two weeks. I imagine they made the
acquaintance of the
adlet
brothers.”

“Where did the hikers disappear?”

“Around Kamloops. That’s about twenty miles
south of us.”

“And the loggers?”

“Thirteen miles farther north.”