BlackWind (61 page)

Afton Pounder—the sick pervert who had murdered twelve children—had been a given the moment he wound up on Bronwyn's list to be interviewed. There had never been a question in Cree's mind about ridding the world of such useless filth. The moment Pounder had voiced his desire to harm Bronwyn, his minutes on Earth were numbered. Showing the twisted murderer what real evil looked like had brought on the exploding vessel in Pounder's warped brain. Although satisfactory for the Reaper, Pounder's death had not satisfied the Queen. Her desire had led to Cree's second kill of the morning.

“They will never find Nyles Brady,” Cree said. “He will become the first inmate of Baybridge to successfully escape.”

Ralph sniffed disdainfully, as if the smell of the animal torturer was still on Cree's flesh, and that his breath bore the scent of Brady's blood.

Cree laid down, his hands to either side of his head, and stared into the bright blue sky. He barely felt the coolness that had crept down from Canada and that would likely bring out sweaters and coats for the staff of Baybridge by evening. He shifted, trying to get comfortable, for the Queen was moving beneath his flesh, feeding Her young. He closed his eyes in an attempt to block out the pain Her ramblings caused. It was something he had lived with all his life, but the older he got, the more painful Her stirrings had become.

“I know why,” he said.

Ralph cocked an eyebrow. “Humphf?”

“There are more offspring. I'm a virtual hive of slithering, wiggling revenants.”

The dog shuddered violently and sat up to lift a paw to scratch at his belly. He grunted as he scratched, one paw waving in the air. He got to his feet and shook himself, his ears flapping loudly.

“Well, it bothers me more than it bothers you, my friend.” Cree chuckled, watching the animal's reaction.

“Humphf!”

“Aye, it is disgusting. But without Her, I would cease to be.”

Ralph laid down, closer to the overly warm body that had become the greatest love of his life. Brownie ran a close second to the Reaper, but she did not hold the key to Ralph's heart. Only Cree possessed that.

Pressing his side close to Cree's, Ordin Gver sighed contentedly. The Bugul Noz was happy as long as the Reaper was near.

Brian waved at Bronwyn when she entered the complex, but the young woman apparently did not see him. He knew she had lost a patient earlier that morning, and when he realized she was taking the service elevator to the morgue, he knew she would be preoccupied a while.

Turning on his Reaper senses, he located Cree a few miles away and sighed. There was no one to have coffee with and he was bored. He was also hungover. Rubbing at his eyes, he sighed. It had been a long time since he'd drank himself into oblivion and now realized why—he felt worse than the specimens in his lab jars looked.

“Dr. O'Shea?”

Brian turned as one of the receptionists from the main desk walked up to him. He smiled. “Aye, pretty one?”

Blushing, the woman extended to him a piece of paper she removed from an overflowing clipboard. “A message from Dr. Hesar, Jr., sir. I've been paging you all morning.”

Brian took the note. “I turned off my pager. Is Sage back?”

“He's due back today.”

“Thank you, Sweeting.” Brian unfolded the note. His eyebrows jumped up as he read.

“Good news, isn't it, sir?”

Brian whistled. “I guess.” He refolded the note. “Does Dr. McGregor know?”

“She hasn't answered her pages, either. I have several notes here from her mother. Have you seen Dr. McGregor?”

“Aye,” Brian said, trying to assimilate the information he'd just read. “If you'll give them to me, I'll see she gets them.”

The woman unclipped a thick wad of notes. “Please have her return her mother's call, will you?”

“I sure will.”

It had been more than an hour since Bronwyn had spoken with Koenen Brell. Furious about his accusations against Cree, she had turned left at the intersection by the guard kiosk and left Baybridge. She drove toward Newton, Brell's words echoing in her mind. Unable to think about anything other than the jealous man's wild suppositions, she nearly lost her life. Had it not been for the wide shoulders, she would have hit a farm wagon broadside as it was pulled across the highway by a slow-moving tractor from one farm road to another. As it was, she careened around the vehicle on to the gravel shoulder toward an oncoming pickup. With the pickup's horn blaring, she turned back into her lane.

Not a driver given to reckless behavior and never having been ticketed for any traffic violation, she was shaken and slowed enough to safely take her shoulder of the road. She stopped the car, got out, and rushed around to the passenger side and threw up, her narrow miss with wagon and pickup turning her insides to mush.

Now she was back at Baybridge, still shaken and distracted by her near-death experience. With no conscious thought of doing so, she headed for the service elevator.

The stench of death assaulted Bronwyn as she stepped off the elevator at the morgue. She slumped against the wall, covering her mouth with a trembling hand, trying to keep the nausea from erupting.

“Are you all right, Dr. McGregor?”

She flinched, turning to see an orderly wheeling a gurney toward her. “I'm fine. Is Dr. Brell in his office?”

“I don't know.” He gave her a strange look. “Excuse me, Doctor, but you are pale as a ghost. Are you sure you're okay?”

“Yes.” On unsteady legs, she headed for Brell's office.

Danyon was leaning against Brell's desk, his arms folded across his chest, when she entered. He smiled at her shocked expression.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“You wouldn't have died, Beloved,” the Nightwind stated. “I was right there beside you in the car the entire time.”

She stared at him. “What?”

“Had it been necessary, I would have snatched you up and taken you out of harm's way. The car would have been destroyed, the drivers of the tractor and the pickup truck killed, but you would have been safe in my arms. I will never let anything happen to you.”

At his bizarre statement, Bronwyn drew in a shaky breath, put a hand to her head, and realized she was well on her way to a wicked migraine.

“I can take care of that, too.” Danyon pushed away from the desk.

“Keep away from me!” Bronwyn hissed, stumbling back. She looked around. “Where is Dr. Brell?”

“He was such a tedious fellow, don't you think? A pesky, boorish man.”

“Was?”

“Oh, I relieved the world of his annoying presence long ago, Beloved. He'll not be a bother to you ever again.”

She backed up another step, realizing he had moved closer. “What kind of sick game are you playing, Danyon? I just spoke to him.”

When he shook his head, his appearance changed, metamorphosing into Koenen Brell's persona. “No, Sweeting,” he denied in a thick Australian accent. “You spoke with me.”

Bronwyn's eyes widened. His was a cruel, nasty smile that never reached his cold, reptilian eyes. There was a vicious twist to his mouth that gave lie to the soft words he spoke.

“You have far too much power over me, Lady. My sword arm is yours, as it has always been at the ready to the house of McGregor. But now you have my heart, as well. What more may I do for you? How else may I show you my fealty? I have taken the life of a useless man who thought he could possess you. I am about to send another to hell. How else to show you my depth of feeling?”

She reached for the Claddagh that was once more around her neck after long years of absence. To her, it was a talisman against the prime evil stalking her, sliding toward her as she backed out into the corridor.

“It will do you no good to call the Reaper,” Danyon told her. “By the time he gets here, we will be long gone.”

“I'm not going anywhere with you!” Bronwyn shouted. She turned, intent on running, but to her stunned amazement, the Nightwind was beside her, his brawny arms circling her waist. Though she fought, she was no match for his inhuman strength. She struggled, screaming for help.

“No one can hear you down here, Beloved,” he mocked as his hand came toward her face.

The moment his fingers touched her brow, the lights dimmed. The room around her spun crazily, the walls and furniture spiraling faster and faster in dull flickers of green light. She squeezed her eyes shut to blot out the vertigo. There was a cold rush of wind, a strong scent of rotting wood, then complete and utter darkness.

Ordin Gver heard the Nightwind's call and sat up, shaking off the form of the black dog he had come to enjoy. Humans loved to pat the animal's head and stroke his silky coat. They talked to the animal and played with him. They showed him affection. Not so the Bugul Noz, Ordin thought as he heard the clarion call once more. No one had ever touched him in his natural form. No human had ever shown him anything save horror and disgust.

“Come, Friend!” the call continued. “I need you!”

Though Ordin had come to dislike the Nightwind and questioned his motives, he had a debt he was obligated to repay. Danyon Hart had made it possible for him to learn how to transpose his body into different forms. It was a treat that had given Ordin a chance to interact with humans, have them touch him, know kindness and affection for the first time in his long life. It was a debt he must repay.

Reluctantly, he stood, cocking his head to once side as the call came a final time. Sighing, he used his warty, humanlike hand to open Cree's door, took a quick look into the corridor to make sure no one was about, then shut the door and shape-shifted into Ralph. Dropping to all fours, he padded down the corridor.

Brian looked up as Cree came into his office. “You look like the hounds of hell are nipping at your heels, boy. What ails you?”

The Reaper plowed a hand through his hair. “I told Bronwyn the truth about myself.”

Brian grunted. He sat back in his chair and regarded Cree. “Now, that might have been a singularly bad mistake you made there.”

“Is that why I feel like the world is off-kilter and me along with it?” Cree inquired, taking a seat in front of the desk.

“Could be. You want a drink?”

“By the gods, no! That's the last thing I need!”

“Piss poor Irishman, you are.”

“But a damned good Chalean.”

“Did she think so?” Brian inquired, and at Cree's wince, he nodded. “I guess not.”

Cree sat forward and buried his face in his hands. “Why do I have the feeling I have screwed myself royally, Da?”

Brian got up and put a hand on Cree's shoulder. “Did she run away screaming?” When Cree shook his head, Brian hunkered down beside him, his knees popping. “Did she tell you to go to hell?”

“She said she needed time to adjust to having found out Sean is living inside me,” Cree said in a miserable voice.

Brian drew in a long, deep breath. “That had to have been a right stunning surprise to the lass, don't you imagine?”

“I know it was.”

“Then give her time like she asks. Keep watch over her, but keep away until she's ready to come to you. My gut tells me that it won't—” Brian frowned. “Why are you looking like that?”

The Reaper shot to his feet. “Something's wrong!”

Brian pulled himself up as Cree sniffed the air, his amber eyes turning crimson. “What is it, lad?” he asked, a chill going down his spine.

“I can't sense her. Brian, I can't sense her!”

“Don't go Transitioning on me, now,” Brian insisted, alarmed at the red cast of the Reaper's eyes. “We'll find her. I saw her going to the morgue.”

“The morgue? Why?”

“She lost a patient this morning,” Brian explained, but before the last word was out of his mouth, his listener was running from the office.

Ordin Gver had nosed his way into the stairwell, loping down the metal stairs to the place from where he sensed the Nightwind's call had originated. He morphed into humanoid form to open the doorway onto the floor, stuck out his head and was satisfied no one was about. Once more, he shifted into his canine form and trotted toward a door at the end of the corridor.

Danyon was waiting impatiently for the Bugul Noz. As soon as the big black dog appeared, Danyon hurried forward to shut the door behind him, throwing a switch he had rigged a few hours earlier.

“You have need of me, friend?” Ordin asked as he resumed his natural state.

“Aye, my dear friend. I have a request of you and it will be the last one I ever make on our friendship. Are you willing to help me?”

Ordin inclined his bulbous head. “I have sworn as much to you.”

“You might find it distasteful.”

The Bugul Noz's chin came up. “That matters not. Ask your favor and I will grant it.”

“I wish you to transform yourself into my lady.”

Ordin's watery eyes blinked in surprised. “Into Bronwyn?” he asked, his gruff voice filled with shock. “I don't understand. Why would you want me to do this?”

“The Reaper is on his way down here. I want him to catch she and I in a situation that will forever ruin their chances of being together. I want him to know I can have her whenever I wish.”

Distaste flickered across the monster's face. “You want to have sex with me?”

“No, no, no!” Danyon shook his head, shivering at the thought, despite himself. “I only want Cree to think that is what we've done.” He took a vial of fluid from the pocket of the lab coat he was wearing and uncorked it. “He will catch scent of this and know I have taken her.”

Ordin recognized the unmistakable odor of male and female love juices. “And have you?” he asked, his ugly face sad.

“Aye, we have known one another. And we will again, once the Reaper is out of the picture. I saved our combined fluids from that night.”

Ordin's shoulders slumped. “This will hurt him deeply. He will never touch her again.”

“That is the Reaper way once he has lain with a woman. He will cast her aside for betraying him.”

“And you will be waiting to take his place.”

“Aye, but think on this, friend—you will have him all to yourself from this day forward.”