The Nightwind's Woman (3 page)

He walked over to Kenzi, extended his hand
for her to precede him. “Shall we?”

“What’s in the syringe?” she asked,
sweeping her tongue over her upper lip. “I don’t like drugs.”

“It’s a very powerful sedative called
pairilis,” he replied. “I will administer it once we’re airborne. As I said,
you cannot know where we are going.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” she said, eying
the stainless-steel instrument with suspicion.

“I’d be surprised if you had. It is not a
drug engineered on our world but I assure you there will be no ill effects from
the injection. You will fall asleep and when you wake, you will be at Tearmann.”

“What if I am allergic to…?”

“Not possible. Trust me, Doctor. I would
never administer anything to you that might cause harm.”

She nibbled on her bottom lip. “I don’t know.”

“You’ll be given the drug either way, Doctor,”
he said, his face and eyes without expression.

“Whether I want it or not,” she said in a
defensive tone.

He shrugged. “Either with the benefit of
having seen Tearmann or not. It’s your choice.” He put the vac-syringe in the
pocket of his suit coat. “What’s it to be?”

She didn’t want to admit even to herself
that she was dying to see this institute and the fantastical creatures he
hinted resided there. A part of her was nervous as hell, scared beyond belief,
worried she was getting into something that was more than just dangerous but
the scientist in her was anxious to see for herself if what he’d said was real.

“You’re sure you’re not a mad scientist who’ll
suck my brains into a jar and keep my limbs in a box?” she asked.

He smiled. “You never know. I just might.”

Kenzi laughed nervously but she knew she’d
already made up her mind. “Okay, but I’m warning you—I’m claustrophobic. I
wouldn’t do well in a jar.”

“So noted,” he said. “There is something I
must tell you though.”

She tensed, waiting for the shoe to drop,
for the fly in the ointment. “And that is?”

“If you sign on, there’s no turning back,”
he said quietly. “Your involvement with the Consortium is for life. You can’t
just quit. That isn’t permitted.”

“Blood in, blood out,” she joked with a
shiver.

“Nothing like that,” he replied. “There are
no provisions within the contract you sign that allows you to quit or us to
fire you. Only death can void the contract.”

“What if I decide I can’t do the job and
refuse to work?”

He shrugged. “You’ll be given another job
within Tearmann. It might be as lowly as a maid but you won’t be allowed to
leave us until you reach retirement age, which at the present time is
sixty-five for females. There are no monetary provisions for disability or retirement,
by the way.”

Kenzi swallowed hard. “No gold watch or
pension plan, either?” she asked.

“We strongly suggest our employees save the
majority of their pay and place it in a qualified annuity. What little expenses
you occur—personal wants and needs, clothing, incidentals, etc.—won’t make a
dent in your paycheck unless you go hog wild and splurge on a Lamborghini or
the like.”

“Not much chance of that,” she said. “I can’t
drive a stick.”

“When you retire, all memory of your time
with us will be erased and false memories planted,” he continued.

“That’s harsh,” she said.

“It has to be that way, Doctor. For your
safety as well as that of our operatives. Over the years you might have learned
something—should it be revealed—that could pose a problem for us. That we
cannot and will not allow.” He gave her a hard look. “Do you still want to take
a look at Tearmann?”

She took a steadying breath. “Yes,” she
responded. “I do.”

He nodded. “Good,” he said then started
down the hall.

“
The Fog
,” she said, falling into
step beside him.

The Supervisor glanced down at her. “Excuse
me?”

“You asked what my favorite horror movie
was. It’s
The Fog
.”

“The original or the remake?” he countered.

“Puhlease!” she answered, rolling her eyes.
“Adrianne Barbeau, Jamie Lee Curtis, her mama Janet Leigh, Hal Holbrook. The original,
of course. That creeping mist, the music, the fear of the unseen—classic
horror.”

“I agree.”

“What you can’t see won’t hurt you… It’ll
kill you,” she quoted from the movie.

“So true,” the Supervisor. “So very true.”

She shouldn’t have been dreaming but she
was. It was the same dream she’d had for years but this time it was more
vivid—the colors brighter, the sounds sharper, the feeling of impending
pleasure flowing over her like warm honey, his scent flooding her nostrils to
set her juices flowing.

As always, it began in the same way, beneath
a gibbous moon hanging low in the ebon velvet sky. Streaks of pearly gray
clouds moved languidly across the orb’s surface to cast rippling shadows upon
the cobblestone pathway underfoot. The delicate aroma of night-blooming jasmine
drifted on the soft, warm current wafting over her. Crickets chirped and across
the silver-shot lake, a loon called to its mate.

Fanning her palm along the feathery spikes
of the blood-red astilbes growing to either side of the serpentine path, she
smiled at the faint tickle against her flesh.

Barefoot, she could feel the coolness of
the stones beneath her soles as she moved along the pathway to the lattice-work
gazebo in which she knew he would be waiting. She could hear the faint squeak
of the rusted chains on the old wicker swing upon which he sat.

Lifting the long hem of her white silk
nightgown, she climbed the five deep wooden steps that led to the gazebo
platform. The night air caressed her ankles and spiraled up her bare legs as
she stopped just inside the structure and let the hem of her nightgown fall.

He sat with his left arm stretched casually
along the edge of the tall back of the swing and the fingers of other hand were
curled around the chain. One knee was crooked, his bare foot planted on the
white wicker seat while the other kept the swing moving in a slow arc.

She never saw his face for in the shadowy
interior of the gazebo, it was always in the dark. The whiteness of his hands
and bare feet and the glowing amber of his steady gaze were accented by the
long-sleeved black shirt and black pants he wore.

The swing stopped moving.

He removed his arm from the swing and
extended his hand toward her.

“Join me,” he said in that soft, throaty
voice that sent ripples of pleasure through her lower belly.

She went to him, placed her hand in his and
he lowered his knee so she could sit beside him, their fingers entwining as she
laid her head on his shoulder.

Fireflies flitted around the gazebo and
once again the loon called to its mate. It was such a lonely call as it echoed
over the moon-shot lake.

“Tell me what you want,
küçüğüm
,” he
commanded, calling her his little girl. She didn’t know how she knew the word,
but she did.

“You,” she said, lifting her head to look
up at his profile. All she saw were shadows but when he turned his face down to
her, the gleaming chatoyance of his eyes took her breath away.

“You have me,” he said and released the
chain to fan the backs of his fingers along her left cheek. “You always have
and always will.”

“I want you to love me,” she said.

“You already know I love you, Kenzi,” he
replied.

She could not place his brogue. She thought
it sounded Scottish yet there was something else threaded through it that sent
a chill down her spine. It curled in her womb, extending tendrils of hot, slick
pressure.

“Make love to me, shadowman,” she pleaded. She
smoothed her hand over the silk of his midnight-colored shirt. Beneath her
palm, his muscles flexed stony hard—the pebbles of his nipples sliding along
her flesh.

He unlaced their hands and got to his feet.
The iridescent light in his eyes shone down on her as he leaned over and swept
her into his arms, lifting her high against his chest.

As he always did in her dreams, he carried
her from the gazebo and into the lush, cool dampness of the night. His long
legs took them into the ebony darkness of the forest—his bare feet making no
sound.

Deep into the pine-scented greensward, he
carried her until he came to the raintree. Its golden boughs gleamed in the
moonlight. Kneeling, he placed her gently on a bed of lacy ferns and she looked
up at him outlined in the rays of the harvest moon.

“Do you love me, McKenzi Delaney?” he
asked.

“With all my heart,” she answered and
shivered as his strong hands went to the buttons of his shirt.

“Do you willingly give yourself to me?” he
asked as he unbuttoned the garment.

He shrugged the shirt from his broad
shoulders, his flesh glowing warmly in the ambient light.

“I am yours,” she said for she knew that
was what he wanted to hear. “For now and for always.”

She saw him nod. His hands dropped to the
belt at his waist and when he unbuckled it, she swept her tongue over her dry
lips, feeling the heat gathering and moistness forming between her legs.

“For now and for always,” he repeated,
drawing the belt from the loops of his pants.

“Yes,” she whispered. The blood was
thundering in her ears as she watched him work free the pearl buttons along his
fly. Her avid gaze followed him as he stood then pushed the black pants from
his hips. Though she could not see it in the dark, she knew his cock was thick
and hard—steel encased in velvet—jutting from the juncture of his thighs, a
pearly drop of expectation clinging to the broad tip.

“You belong to me,” he said as he dropped
to his knees. He put his hands on hers to push her legs apart, wedging himself
between them as he eased the hem of her nightgown up her thighs. He ran his
palms up and down her flesh. “As all the women of your line have belonged to
me.”

She didn’t understand his words—never
had—but they made her feel connected to him in a way she embraced completely.
He was her midnight lover, her phantom seducer, her shadowman. His nightly
visits since her eighteenth birthday were as essential to her as the air she
breathed. She needed the warmth of his hands, the pleasure he gave so freely,
so thoroughly. The weight of his body, the hardness of his cock, the
claiming—everything that turned her inside out—had begun ten years earlier.
Now, she was addicted to her sensual specter.

“Love me,” she whispered.

“Always.”

He ran his hands down to her knees, cupped
them underneath, lifting so her legs were crooked. He pushed her knees far
apart, opening her up to his heated gaze. Feather-soft, his fingers moved to
the folds of her entrance. His thumb grazed over the clit and she arched her
back, wriggled her hips on the damp ferns. With his hands splayed at the
creases of her groin, he gently eased the folds aside and used the tips of his
thumbs to push back the clitoral hood. Leaning forward, he blew a hot breath
across the swollen, exposed nubbin.

“Ah!” she sighed, her hips thrusting in
invitation.

He stroked his thumbs down the folds on
either side—slowly, sensuously. Down then up again, dragging his short nail
against the sensitive flesh. He used the pad of one thumb to spiral circles
around and the around the clit.

She writhed beneath his touch, wishing she could
see his face but the moon was behind him, the branches overhead blocking most
of the light. All she could see were those burning amber eyes staring into
hers.

He moved one thumb to her opening and
inserted it into the soft channel.

“Yes!” she whispered. “Yes!”

In partway. Out. In again—all the way to
the base of his thumb. Out. In. Slow and firm, moisture building with every
pass.

“So hot,” he said in that deep voice. “So
wet for me.”

She wanted to reach up, to wrap her arms
around his neck, to bring his mouth to hers, but that was forbidden. He never
allowed her to touch him once he brought her to the greensward. He demanded she
lay as still as her body would allow—hands at her side while he pleasured her
with his.

“Let me worship you,” he insisted. “Let me
do what no other man ever could.”

Kenzi was not inexperienced with men. She’d
lost her virginity long ago in high school but none of the experiences she had
gained in college or medical school could compare to the exacting expertise
plied by her phantom lover. No man did to her body the things the shadowman
did. No pleasure had ever been as great as that he bestowed so firmly.

Withdrawing his thumb, he inserted two fingers
into her heat, turning them so he could press against her G-spot as he massaged
her clit with his thumb.

“Who am I, Kenzi?” he queried, gaze locked
with hers.

She swept a tongue over her top lip, curled
it over the bottom one before she answered. “My master,” she replied.

“And what do you wish from your master?”

“Pleasure,” she said on a long sigh as he
worked his fingers inside her.

“What kind of pleasure?”

She knew her lines. She knew what he wanted
to hear—what he always wanted to hear before he began to love her in earnest. “Such
as I will never know from any other.”

He was on his knees between her spread
legs. His chest was a white blur before her but she had an impression of dark,
crisp hair between his pectorals—narrowing its way downward to that hard,
jutting cock she sensed but could not see. He put his free hand just above her
pubic bone and pressed down firmly.

Kenzi sucked in a breath for the sensation
was so intoxicating. His hand splayed over her belly, his palm pushing down
with just enough heaviness to be slightly uncomfortable but the weight pushed
blood into her throbbing clit and brought her G-spot closer to his questing
fingers.

“And will you serve my needs, Kenzi?” he
asked, his voice a dark growl.

“Yes,” she agreed, nodding. “Anything you
want, shadowman. I’ll do anything you ask!”

“I know,” he said. “And you will.”

His fingers increased their speed in and
out, drawing her juices forth so she could smell them, ripe and musky in the
night air. A light wind blew over her naked lower body and she shivered.

“Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Suck my nipples,” she was quick to
respond. “Lick them, bite them.”

She knew he wouldn’t. He never did. Not
once had he touched the swollen, aching, tips of her breasts. Not once had he
palmed the mounds. His gaze lifted to her straining bosom—arching toward him in
offering—but he ignored her gift, lowering his eyes to the juncture of her
thighs. Nor had he ever kissed her. She did not know the taste or feel of his
lips. She longed to have him ravage her mouth as he ravaged her cunt but he
would not.

“Please!” she begged him.

“Not yet.”

The answer was always the same and the
frustration, the need within her to have him touch her there had built to a fiery
desire that left her moaning.

“One day,” he said. “You will have all of
me one day.”

Groaning for she knew her pleading would
not sway him, she clutched handfuls of the cool ferns as he continued to ease
his fingers in and out of her squirming body.

Another finger joined its mate and she could
feel his crooked little finger bumping against her anal opening. The triple
assault—thumb to clit, three fingers inside her, little finger grazing her
anus—made her body burn with a need that was fast pushing it toward its limit.

“Relax,
küçüğüm
,” he ordered and his
hand caressed her belly.

Such large hands he had, she thought. So
strong.

Once more he increased the speed of his
thrusts. The pressure was building inside her feminine channel and she could feel
it spiraling closer to the surface. She dug her heels into the soft ground,
lifted her hips for him to probe deeper. At the moment his crooked finger
straightened and slid unerringly into her anal opening, she cried out, her
vaginal walls rippling around his flesh.

“Aye,” she heard him say. “That is what I
want you to feel.”

The orgasm seemed to go on forever. She
thrashed her head back and forth, helpless to do anything except endure the
intense pleasure he was drawing from her. When the last little squeeze died
away, his fingers stilled inside her, his palm pressed harder against her
abdomen.

“Say it,” he demanded.

Her blood was hammering inside her head. A
light sheen of perspiration dotted her temples.

“Say it.”

The two words were a command she dared not
deny.

“I belong to you,” she said breathlessly. “Only
to you.”

“Aye, you do,” he said and eased his
fingers from her sheath.

Kenzi moaned. She wished he would stretch
out beside her, take her into his strong arms and hold her against his broad
chest but that never happened. As soon as she climaxed, as soon as she said
those seven words he required, he withdrew, coming to his feet with sensuous
ease.

He held his hand out to her. With her
waning strength, she lifted her own to link fingers with him. He drew her effortlessly
to her feet then swept her into his arms without another word.

As he carried her back to the gazebo and
the moonlit cobblestone path, she clung to his neck. It was the only time he
allowed her to do so. Once back where it all started, he set her on her feet
and stepped back.

“Soon,” he said.

That was new, she thought as she stared
into his blazing eyes, wishing she could make out his features.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

But he was already fading into the shadows,
his body becoming transparent.

“Wait!” she cried out. “What does that
mean?”

“
Soon
.” The one word drifted on the
night breeze and then he was gone.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Kenzi sat up, eyes wide as she took in her
surroundings. The room in which she found herself was unfamiliar and her heart
thudded heavily against her rib cage as she tried to place it. She looked
around her, fear flooding her mouth with a bitter taste.

“I will be with you shortly, Dr. Delaney,”
a disembodied voice said and she whipped her head around.