BlackWind (66 page)

The two men stood there for a moment, staring into the spot where the Amazeen's body had erupted into flame.

“She felt the kiss of the fire,” Danyon said.

“Good,” Cree said. “I meant for her to.”

Danyon took one last look at the cauldron, then turned. “Think you're strong enough to find your way to the starjet?” When Cree didn't answer, he pressed further. “Want me to transport you there?”

“Put your hands on me one more time and I'll barf,” Cree snapped. “I have your stench slimed to me now.”

Danyon shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He pushed past Cree, chuckling. “I'll see you at the craft.”

His pride refusing to allow him to ask for any assistance, Cree crammed his hands into the pockets of his dusty jeans and tightened the muscles of his jaw. He hurt so badly it was difficult not to groan with every step he took.

When Cree reached the starjet, his jeans were caked with packed snow and he was shivering uncontrollably from the intense cold. His cheeks stinging from the blistering ice crystals, his chest and arms numb, his hands frostbitten, he had trouble gaining access to the interior of the craft. When he did, it did not help to see Danyon reclining shirtless at the captain's console.

“Are you cold, Reaper?” the demon queried as he swung a leg that dangled over the chair arm. At Cree's growl, Danyon made a tsking sound. “And I didn't think Reapers ever got cold. How is it you look as though you're half-frozen?”

Cree refused to answer. He yanked open the door of a utility closet and rummaged around until he found a dark green pullover. Wincing at the color, he ground his teeth and pulled the offending garment over his head, thrusting his arms into the sleeves with barely a grunt of discomfort.

“You do know that's a woman's tunic, don't you?”

Ignoring the insulting remark, Cree stomped over to the navigational panel and stared at the screen for a moment.

“It didn't occur to me that you might not know how to fly this thing,” Danyon said. “I'm sure after a couple of thousand years there have been an improvement or two. I would certainly understand if you admitted you weren't up to the task.”

Cree sat down and typed in commands as fast as his stiff fingers would allow.

“Do you know how to fly it?” Danyon asked with a yawn.

“What difference does it make to you? Why don't you take yourself back to Terra and leave me be?”

“Normally I would be more than happy to, but I promised Bronnie I'd see you home in one piece.” When Cree glared at him, the Nightwind shrugged. “I could easily transport you back before you could say what is on the tip of your tongue, but we're going to have to let you heal first.”

The engines engaged. The dark screens scattered across the room pulsed into life. A low rumble caused the starjet to gently vibrate.

“You knew she wasn't the one I killed in the morgue,” Danyon accused. “How was that?”

Cree narrowed his eyes. He had not known it was the demon in Brell's form that fateful day. In retrospect, he realized he should have suspected as much. Turning his back on Danyon, he busied himself entering the data necessary to return them to Terra.

“How did you know?”

“Think you I would not have recognized my mate's bloodscent, demon? It was not her blood you spilled.”

“Damn. I did not think of that. Do you know who it was I gutted?”

“I don't know and I don't—”

“Your pet. Ralph, was it?”

Cree felt momentary hurt before he turned away, his thawing fingers moving faster across the console.

“Oh, I should explain,” Danyon said. “Actually your Ralph was the Bugul Noz I befriend long ago. No harm, no foul, as they say.”

Cree stopped typing to stare at the screen before him, where numbers flashed by in a long sequence. A Bugul Noz—he knew of such creatures, but had no idea he had ever come into contact with one. That he had, that the demon was being truthful, he did not question. Things made sense to him in a twisted sort of way, and he looked down at the console pad and began inputting more coordinates. When he moved from the navigational console to the pilot's seat, he refused to look at the smug incubus.

“Will the Reaper miss his wittle doggie?” Danyon asked in a childish singsong. “I'm so soweey.”

The starjet shuddered as the main thrusters lifted it off the planetoid, blowing the accumulated snow away from its landing gear as the struts were drawn up into the craft's belly.

“I'd tell you to strap in, but I don't give a Diabolusian warthog's prick whether you do or not,” Cree said, pulling the flight harness across his chest, willing himself not to feel the pain of his numerous burns.

Danyon barely had time to grab at a nearby chair as the starjet took to the air, banking sharply to the right as it picked up speed and arced into the black reaches of space.

Deirdre McGregor Hesar reached out to cover her daughter's hands. “Is there anything I can do?”

Bronwyn eased her hands from beneath her mother's. “I'll be fine as soon as Aidan returns.”

DeeDee exchanged a look with her new husband.

“What if Cree doesn't come back?” Neal Hesar asked.

Bronwyn lifted her chin. “He will.”

“But, Bronnie—” DeeDee began.

“I'm glad you're back, Mama.” Bronwyn opened the door. “And again, congratulations to you and Dr. Hesar.”

“Neal,” her stepfather insisted.

Bronwyn moved into the hallway. “Neal,” she repeated, smiling.

DeeDee stepped forward, looking like she was about to protest her daughter's leaving, when men appeared in the hallway, walking from the direction of Bronwyn's apartment. “What in the world?”

Bronwyn stepped aside to let the movers pass. “Just a little temporary housecleaning while I redecorate, Mama.”

Her mother stared after the men who were carrying the bedroom furniture she and Bronwyn had purchased in Des Moines. “You're redecorating so soon?” she inquired, outwardly aghast at Bronwyn's capriciousness.

“Just changing a color here and there. I'm not getting rid of anything.” She smiled. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Redecorating is expensive, Bronnie. We spent a small fortune and I—”

“Let me worry about it.” Bronwyn looked at her watch. “I have to get going.” Her mouth twitched. “I have to get ready for my guests.”

“What guests?” DeeDee asked, and likely would have questioned Bronwyn further, had not her husband reminded her that her daughter was a grown woman and entitled to her own life.

“But—”

“No ‘buts,’ DeeDee.” Neal drew his wife back into their apartment, waved goodbye to Bronwyn, and firmly shut the door behind him.

Bronwyn let out a relieved breath. Her new abilities—honed from spending nearly every waking hour of the last five weeks with a thick book clutched in her hands—were holding her in good stead. Glancing again at her watch, she hurried down the hall.

The movers had cleared out the room. The carpet had been taken up, the vertical blinds removed. Bronwyn looked around, then turned to the man who had supervised the movers.

“Are you ready?” she asked Brian.

“As I'll ever be.”

“Then let's do it!”

Cree cut the engines and allowed the starjet to settle gently into orbit on the dark side of Terra's moon. He shut down all unnecessary systems and engaged the autopilot.

“I still say you should destroy this craft,” Danyon fumed.

They had argued about the starjet's fate for most of the journey.

“If I'm not allowed to stay with Bronwyn,” Cree snarled, “I will return to Chale where I belong.”

The Nightwind rolled his eyes. “I'm not buying that. You think you'll cause us problems, but I promise, I will see to it that you won't!”

Cree ground his teeth. The argument was starting to get to him. He glared at the demon. “As much as I hate to admit it, you saved my life, and I am honor-bound to you for that.”

“And I've told you, I don't want your gods-be-damned thanks! I didn't do it for you!”

“I wasn't thanking you! Truth told, I would just have soon died than return here to have you force
my
mate to do your vile bidding!”

“She was mine long before you ever met her!” Danyon declared. “As a McGregor clanswoman she—”

“Shut the hell up, incubus!”

“She signed the Pact!”

“I know what you
forced
her to do. What choice did you give her?”

“If you think to tell her about the Amazeen,” Danyon said, his lips pulling back over his teeth, “I would think again!”

Cree's body was almost entirely healed, although a few bone-deep burns still oozed—the Queen had difficulty closing the scorched flesh. His strength back, his fury and hatred as strong—if not stronger—than ever against the incubus, he wanted nothing more than to make mincemeat of the demon. The thing was, he didn't think he would be able to defeat an entity that could shift into nothingness before his eyes.

“Think hard on that.” The demon chuckled, obviously intercepting Cree's reluctance.

Cree's thoughts turned bleak. There was another thing that bothered him greatly—he owed the Nightwind a debt of honor over and above the incubus having saved his life. With no tenerse, no sustenance on board, Cree knew he would have gone mad with hunger during the two-week flight had not the Nightwind disappeared, then reappeared, with what was needed.

“Where did you get that?” Cree had often asked.

“What do you care?” Danyon grumbled as he tossed the plastibags of sustenance to his rival.

That the incubus had fed him, been there to inject him with tenerse, had irritated Cree. Shamed by having to endure being cared for by his hated enemy, the situation was barely tolerable.

“I told her I'd bring you back as you were before you were taken,” Danyon declared, “and that I intend to do.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Cree snapped, tired of hearing Danyon's words.

Danyon stared at his enemy for a long time then decided he would have to find a way to kill the Reaper without Bronwyn knowing. He would never feel truly safe with her as long as the beast drew breath. There had to be a loophole somewhere in the pact she and he had made. It was all in the wording, he thought, and turned his agile mind to finding a way out of his predicament.

Cree ignored the pensive demon as he began the final check of the starjet. He synchronized the transport module with the device he had pinned to his shirt, making sure it would work should he need to return to the ship. With the coordinates set for the lower level of the Baybridge complex, it would be possible for him to transport to the containment cell area without detection.

“Or,” Danyon said, “I could just pick you up and—”

“Keep your filthy hands to yourself!” Cree shouted, unnerved by the demon's ability to read his mind.

“Have it your way,” Danyon quipped and disappeared.

“Damn you!” Cree bellowed, knowing the demon would arrive at Bronwyn's before him. With a howl of rage, he slapped at the transport device on his chest and grimaced as he began to de-materialize.

It hurt, and he hadn't been prepared for that.

Bronwyn was sitting on the sofa of her apartment when Danyon appeared. Her hand tensed on Brownie's silky fur before she looked up.

“Danyon!” she gasped, coming to her feet.

The incubus smiled. “I am home, Beloved.” He went to take her in his arms, but she jumped back.

“Where is Aidan?”

A frown marred the handsome plains of Danyon's face. “Oh, he'll be along.” Again, he moved toward her, his arms outstretched.

Bronwyn moved away. “You told me you would bring him home!”

“I have,” Danyon replied, looking hurt. “Did I not pledge I would?”

“Then where is he?” Bronwyn asked, trembling, her lips quivering. She clutched at the doorjamb behind her.

A momentary bright light pulsed through the room, then Cree was standing there, swaying.

“Aidan!” Bronwyn would have rushed to her lover, but Danyon held out his hand.

“You promised to give yourself entirely to me,” he reminded. “You've seen him and now he will—”

“Danny, no!” Bronwyn pleaded, her hand out to him. “Don't send him away yet. Let me talk to him!”

“I think not. You see he is all in one piece, none the worse for wear.”

Cree glared at his rival and did not speak.

“Allow me ten minutes with him, Danny,” Bronwyn begged, tears falling down her cheeks. She could sense the pain her lover was experiencing.

“No,” Danyon said, shaking his head.

“Five minutes?” Bronwyn countered. At his continued objections, she asked for three minutes instead. “What harm could it do?”

Danyon glanced at his enemy and likely saw the same hopelessness stamped on the rugged features as Bronwyn saw. “
Two
minutes. And no more.”

Bronwyn held out her hand to her lover. “Aidan?”

As if trying desperately to ignore some agony, Cree walked to her and took her hand. His gaze locked on her face, like he was striving to remember it.

“Milady,” he said, bringing her fingers to his lips.

“Come with me.” She began pulling him into the room behind her.

“No, Beloved,” Danyon ordered. “You will stay where I can see you.”

Bronwyn gripped Cree's hand. “Come with me.”

“I told you no!” Danyon snarled.

Bronwyn yanked hard on Cree's hand, unmindful of his gasp of pain as she jerked him into the bedroom.

Cree was oviously stunned by what he saw, for he put up no resistance as Bronwyn propelled him to the center of the room. Looking at the floor, his eyes widened.

“Do not step one foot outside the circle,” she demanded.

He looked into her eyes and nodded as the Nightwind rushed through the door and came to a skidding stop.

“What have you done?” Danyon hissed.

With Cree's hand still clutched tightly in hers, Bronwyn faced the demon. “How is it my mate has suffered great pain?”

Danyon's lips parted. “How did you—”

“Did I not bid you to see that no harm befell him?”

The incubus lowered his stare to the pentagram drawn across the bedroom floor. It was a protection, a barrier through which Bronwyn knew he could not travel. While she was within the circle, he could do nothing to her, nor could her lay hands on Cree.