BlackWind: Viraiden and Bronwyn (20 page)

“The gods-be-damned bottom’s fallen out,” Cree complained as he slammed the door shut. “We’re going to have to—”

A strident shriek of lightning forked across the heavens. Bronwyn screamed, covering her ears.

Cree shot the driver’s seat back as far as it would go and reached for her, dragging her gently over the console and into his lap where he cradled her protectively against his firm chest. “It’s all right,
ghrá mo chroí
,” he whispered against her hair. “I am here.”

She pressed against him, hiding her face in the wet coolness of his shirt. His arms were wrapped around her, one hand covering her exposed ear to block the sound of the torrential rains hammering at the car. With each sharp crack of lightning across the firmament, his hold tightened and when the harsh glare pulsed more frequently, he began to croon to her in his native tongue.

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Despite her intense fear of the weather, Bronwyn concentrated on the richness of his voice as he sang. Though she did not understand his language, she knew the melody well. It was “Red is the Rose”. The cadence of his heart beat strongly to the rhythm of the tune. He had a beautiful, clear voice and he sang the old Celtic tune with feeling.

They sat that way for twenty minutes as the storm raged overhead. Hidden by the slashing rain striking the fogged windows, Cree and Bronwyn were cocooned within the SUV, oblivious to what was going on outside. His singing had lulled her, soothed her phobic fears. She relaxed against him, her left hand tucked inside the V of his shirt, her fingertips tracing the raised pattern of his tattoo, occasionally plucking at the wiry hair that thickly covered his broad chest.

By the time the rain stopped, Bronwyn was asleep, her head tucked under his chin, her fingers entangled in the chain of the medallion he wore. Cree was content to sit there holding her, listening to her soft breathing. He was watching truck-stop customers come and go, and when he finally realized he and Bronwyn were receiving odd looks, he mentally shook himself from the languor that had claimed him and gently called her name.

Bronwyn stirred, but she was obviously comfortable and snuggled closer to his warmth.

“Wake up, little one,” he whispered, stroking her back.

She opened her eyes. “Where are we?” she asked, yawning.

“Bosselman’s Truck Stop.”

“Umm.” She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder.

“We’re creating quite a fascinating spectacle, milady,” he said with a note of humor in his deep voice.

She sighed. “Ask me if I care.”

He chuckled. “I don’t need to. I know you don’t, but I do.”

She looked up at him. “Party pooper.”

Cree stared into her beautiful face and lost all sense of correctness. The people walking past the car meant nothing to him. All he saw was the woman he loved gazing up at him with trust and budding affection, and he bent his head to claim her lips.

His kiss was as soft as a butterfly’s wings plying over Bronwyn’s flesh. The touch made her groan, wanting more, needing a deeper pressure, an invasion that would satisfy the hunger building within her. She craved to feel him stretched out atop her, his body pressing hers firmly to the seat, his shaft deep within the very core of her.

“Uh-uh.” He lifted his head and gently shoved her back to her side of the car. “Not the time or the place.”

“Aidan,” she protested in a childish tone of petulance.

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He stopped, thrilled she had used the shortened version of his name. A glimmer of pure desire went straight through him and it was all he could do not to jump on her and ravish her where she sat.

“You’re a beast,” she grumbled as he started the car.

“Best you not forget that, milady,” he replied in a throaty tone.

“You know what I meant,” she said, dragging her seat belt across her.

As Cree backed out of the parking space, Bronwyn was keenly disappointed he had broken off their kiss. But she was proud of him too, for the self-restraint at least one of them had exhibited.

The tires made squishing sounds against the rain-slick pavement as they pulled onto the interstate. To the east, flickers of light still pulsed in the sky, but there the rain had stopped.

“Are we going to talk about your time on Amazeen?” she asked to break the silence.

“If you like. What are you curious about, now?”

She glanced at him, realizing he had not asked the question in a snide way, but seemed resigned to tell her what she wanted to know.

“Did they hurt you?”

“There is hurt, then there is hurt, little one.” He took her hand and brought it to his thigh, rested it there, his fingers twined with hers. “I wasn’t tortured deliberately, if that’s what you mean.”

She moved closer to him. “But they hurt you.”

“They tried to crush my Reaper pride.”

“But they didn’t succeed.”

“They did not. What they didn’t realize is when you attempt to humble a Reaper, all you do is make him meaner.”

Bronwyn smiled. “I can see that happening.”

He glanced at her. “I’m sure you can.”

“Did they manage to—” she blushed and looked out the side window “—you know.”

“Breed with me?” he asked, humor in his tone.

“Yeah.”

“One of them did, but I don’t think she found the experience a pleasant one,” he said grimly.

Bronwyn looked around at him. “Why?”

He grinned. In the greenish light from the dashboard, his face looked evil. He chuckled. “Reapers can mind-screw women, mess with their libidos, but Ski’Ah didn’t know that. It’s a psychic ability we’re born with and learn to control at an early age. I knew what she was going to do before she ever laid her filthy hands on me. I used 120

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every bit of my ability to suggest to her that she unchain me and let me show her how well Reapers can fornicate.”

Bronwyn tucked her lower lip between her lips. “Good at it, are you?”

“Experts.”

She wagged her head at his brag then shifted in her seat so she faced him. “I take it they had you tied down.”

“Spread-eagled, naked and defenseless. Or so they thought.”

“She let you loose.”

“Quicker than a Diabolusian warthog can shit in the forest.”

Bronwyn laughed. “Did you hurt her?”

“I damned near killed her, and would have, if she hadn’t had her women pump me full of cinera.”

“Brian mentioned that drug. What is it again?”

“It’s a neuroinhibitor that instantly blocks oxygen input to the brain. It makes you pass out. It’s the only way you can put a Reaper down instantly.”

“I imagine they weren’t too happy with you.”

“If Reapers scarred, I’d still have the laser whip marks to prove it across my back.”

Bronwyn tightened her fingers around his. “I’m sorry.”

“No big deal. I worked that punishment to my advantage.”

“How?”

He pulled around a long motor home before answering. “They beat me so severely, I couldn’t walk for a few hours. One of the Amazeen felt sorry for me.” He snorted. “I made sure she did.”

“You mind-screwed her,” Bronwyn said.

“In a big way.”

“She’s the one who helped you escape.”

“Provided me with the ship, the manual, all the síoraí crystals I needed to take me to the far ends of the universe and a goodly supply of Sustenance to keep me sane until I got there.”

She was sure she knew what had happened, but asked anyway. “She thought you were going to take her with you.”

“Amazeens are not the brightest stars in the megaverse.”

“What do you think happened to her?”

“Best-case scenario? They banished her and sent her to one of their nunneries on Idyllion.”

“And worst-case scenario?”

“They made an example of her and burned her alive.”

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Bronwyn shuddered, drawing his jacket around her once more. “Which do you think happened?”

He was quiet for a moment. “I think they turned her into a crispy critter.”

“Do you regret she might have been killed because she helped you?”

“No.”

Bronwyn eased her hand from beneath his. “Why not?”

He pulled the SUV onto the breakdown lane. The vehicle skidded on the gravel as he slammed on the brakes. He pushed the gear into park.

“They kept me locked in a cell with nothing in there but a gods-be-damned cot to which I was chained hand and foot. Any of them could come in anytime they liked to

‘assess’ my potential. Some of them were merely curious and did no more than stroke my chest and legs. Some were more aggressive and directed their attention to that part of me they found the most interesting. Even though they didn’t hurt me, being fondled against your will is not enjoyable, Bronwyn. It was humiliating, degrading and I loathed every moment they had their hands on me.

“I managed to stay perfectly quiet around women like that, for they really had no meanness in them. But a few—and that included the bitch who helped me escape—

treated me like a prize stallion they could pull and twist and hurt until I cried out, until I showed something other than stoic acceptance of what they were doing to me. Those women I will hate until the day I cease to draw breath, and if there is a Hereafter, I will curse them until time is no more!”

Bronwyn lowered her head. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For what they did to you.”

“I’ve been hurt far worse than that, baby,” he snapped, reaching for the gearshift lever.

She said nothing as he slammed his foot on the accelerator and sped down the interstate. They were silent all the way back to Baybridge.

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When Cree pulled into the parking garage and stopped the SUV at the elevator, he didn’t get out to open the door for Bronwyn, but sat staring out the windshield, his jaw tight, his hands wrapped around the wheel.

“Thank you for bringing me home,” she mumbled, shrugging out of his jacket.

“My pleasure,” he grated, gunning the engine.

If he had pushed her out the door, she thought, he couldn’t have made his feelings any clearer by racing the motor. She was surprised he hadn’t looked at his watch in a bid to make her hurry.

“I don’t wear a gods-be-damned watch,” he snarled as he leaned over, took the handle of the door and slammed it shut behind her.

Bronwyn’s mouth dropped open as he peeled away, the squeal of the tires loud in the parking garage.

“Son of a bitch!” she hurled at the departing taillights.

She stood there a moment, growing angrier by the second. Hissing, she stomped to the elevator, jabbed the button and mumbled curses. By the time she reached her apartment, she had worked herself into a fine head of steam.

Cedric jumped straight up off the sofa, the fur on his back going stiff as Bronwyn slammed into the room. He hissed, his whiskers twitching before he shifted into human form. “What in Raphian’s name happened?”

“Men!” Bronwyn ran through the living room and into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Brownie padded to the door and scratched at the panel, whimpering. The little dog looked back at Cedric.

“I don’t know,” Cedric answered the silent canine plea for understanding. He walked to Bronwyn’s door and knocked lightly.

“Go away!” Bronwyn said, her voice rife with tears.

“Can I help?” Cedric asked, stroking the door. Rarely was the portal closed between them, for he slept each night in the rocker beside her bed and when he couldn’t, he was uncomfortable.

“Leave me alone, Cedric!”

The Nightwind leaned his forehead against the door. Her crying unsettled him. He slid down beside the portal and resumed his feline shape. Brownie whimpered again and curled up beside him.

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It was a little past midnight when Cedric sensed the other presence in the room. He opened his eyes and looked up. Brownie woke, too. The little dog growled low in her throat then slunk away on her belly.

Cedric shifted, coming with effort into his human form as his old bones cracked and popped. He took in the look on the face of the being standing before him and shook his head. “What you are going to do is wrong.”

“She is mine. As those before her were mine.”

The Nightwind shook his head. “This is
wrong
.”

Danyon glared. “Why don’t you go back to your lair for a while, Cedric.”

Fear filled Cedric. “Danyon, no! I don’t want to—”

“I think you should take a leave of absence for a few days.”

“I won’t interfere!” Cedric said, tears forming in his eyes. “I swear, I will not interfere. Just don’t send me back. Please don’t send me back!”

Danyon smiled, but there was no warmth in that cold expression. “Go back to your lair,” he ordered, his voice hard and rife with demand. “Now!”

Before Cedric could reach out to his master, he disappeared in a flash of multicolored light. His howl of misery was cut off in mid-vibrato, but it was enough to set Brownie to whimpering.

Bronwyn, awakened by the sounds coming from her living room, sat up in bed. The light from the room beyond cast her visitor in silhouette and her heart began to pound.

“Who’s there?” she asked, knowing Cedric would never dare enter her room without permission.

“Rest easy, milady,” was the soft, throaty command.

Bronwyn drew in a quick breath. “Danyon?” she asked incredulously. She threw back the covers. “What the hell are you—”

He moved so quickly she had no time to get out of bed. The protest that began on her lips died as he reached for her, a strange tingling crawling up her arm to numb her brain.

“Lie down,” he ordered.

Unable to resist, Bronwyn did as she was told.

“Listen to what I say to you and understand every word. I have waited long enough for you to come to me. The time for waiting is long past.”

It was as though a blanket of thick fog had formed around her. She could hear nothing but his mesmerizing voice, feel nothing but his hand on her arm as he stroked her, see nothing but the glow of his crimson eyes peering into hers.