Charlotte Boyett-Compo- WIND VERSE- Prisoners of the Wind (16 page)

“Can we do that whenever
we want to?” she asked, not realizing her naïve question had sent a spiral of
lust through his lower body.

“Except when you are on
your monthly,” he answered in a gruff voice.

“You can’t make love to
me when I’m on my period?” she asked, disappointment rife in her small voice.

“I didn’t say that,
wench,” he told her. “It just wouldn’t be good to be inside you at such a time.
I might hurt you and make you bleed more.” She felt him shrug. “Not to mention
it would be a bit messy.”

“I’m off limits to your
cock until I’m clean again?”

“Aye,” he said, his
blood heating as though he had walked inside an oven.

“But you won’t have to
wait that long,” she said. “I can pleasure you as I just did.”

Taegin swallowed. “That
you can,” he said, his voice shaky.

“I’ll have to wait an
entire week to have you inside me,” she said on a long sigh. “That’s doesn’t
seem fair, does it?”

“No,” he disagreed,
drawing the word out. “But we can do it like this.”

Lifting her into his
arms, he pulled her over him as he insinuated his knee between her thighs and
rocked her against him.

Marin’s eyes widened for
the pressure of riding his thigh was creating a wondrous sensation between her
legs and when he put his hands to her hips to show her the rhythm he wanted her
to learn, she eagerly set her hips to rotating.

“Squeeze your thighs
together against mine,” he instructed, putting one hand up to pluck at her
nipple.

“Oh,” she said on a long
breath as the sweet friction began to build between her legs.

With his right arm
tightly around her back and the fingers of his left toying with her nipple, he
lifted his leg a little higher, smiling at her gasp of pleasure and the
increase in the speed of her rocking, rotating against him.

Marin’s mouth was open,
her eyes squeezed tightly shut, every fiber of her being concentrating on the
warmth forming at the juncture of her thighs. She pushed against him, dragging
her swollen sex along the hard length of his thigh. When the itching, demanding,
warm radiation of release crept over her, she dug her hands into the sheet
beneath him, arched back her head and trilled with the pure enjoyment of her
release.

Drae gathered her to
him, locking his arms around her trembling body as he planted light kisses on
her forehead. She was slumped upon him, the side of her face pressed to his
shoulder. Her breathing came in shallow gasps that fanned the hair on his
chest.

“Damn but I liked that,”
she said, purring like a kitten that’d had her fill of cream.

“I thought you would,”
he said with a laugh.

“Arrogant Tiogar,” she
chastised, gently plucking at his nipple.

“Satiated Tiogar,” he
corrected, stilling her fingers on him for the sensation was giving rise to the
curious fellow between his legs.

“Are you satisfied
then?” she asked softly.

“More than satisfied.
You are what I have longed for all my life, Marin,” he said in a forceful tone
,
reaching up to rub at his temple
. “I just
didn’t know it was you I was missing to make my life complete.”

“I want to make you a good wife,” she said shyly. “I want
to…” She stopped. “What’s wrong?”

Her lover was frowning as he rubbed vigorously at the side
of his head. His eyes were narrowed and a thin line of perspiration had formed
on his upper lip.

“Taegin?” she questioned.

The Tiogar’s head was suddenly pounding and he felt hot.
There was a sharp ache along his spine and when he realized what it was, he
shot off the bed as though propelled from a rocket launcher.

“What is it?” she asked, terrified at the gleam of sweat
that was forming all over his face even as she watched.

“The gods-damn-it,” he complained, and his voice sounded
like that of a petulant child. “I don’t need this now! I don’t fucking need
this!”

Before Marin could question him, he turned and fled his
chamber. The pneumatic door snicked shut behind him and she heard him yell,
“Lock her in!” a second before the bolt engaged with a dull thud.

Marin sat up and slid off the bed. There had been fear in
the Tiogar’s dark golden gaze—fear and acute pain. When the truth of what must
have caused his abrupt departure hit her, she staggered and had to reach out to
grab the foot rail of the bed.

“He’s going into Conversion,” she said aloud, and the word
made her flesh crawl.

* * * * *

Taegin barely made it to the repression cell before the
transformation from man to tiger-like beast overtook him. With a yelp, he
dropped to the floor on all fours and in the last moment of lucidity—while he
was still mostly human—ordered the cell to lock behind him.

Bright, intense pain shot through every muscle, every sinew
and every bone in his rapidly changing body. Thick, coarse fur sprouted from
his flesh and spread over his entire body, dark rust color overlaid with dark
black stripes, doubled and extending vertically over the back and down the
sides of his eight-hundred-pound body. His hind limbs lengthened longer than
the forelimbs—heavily muscled—and his body became thirteen feet of rippling
muscle and awesome power. Huge forepaws equipped with long, sharp retractile
claws clicked against the metal floor and gleaming white teeth lengthened into
wicked fangs. Along the ridge of his backbone, something pulsed and rippled,
causing intense agony that made the Tiogar howl. His entire body shuddered then
he collapsed on his side, his limbs—now those of a beast rather than a
man—flailing at the air as he writhed in pain.

Chapter Eight

A passing crewman heard hideous growls then a piercing roar
echoing down the corridor from the containment cell and knew what was
transpiring. He sprang to the vid com on the wall as fast as he could to let
Lieutenant Tarnes know he was now the commander of the
Revenge
.

“By Alel’s beard!” Lieutenant Tarnes whined. “This isn’t
good! Why the hell did McGregor have to go out testing one of the shuttlecraft
this morning! The gods-damn-it, I need him!”

From his place on the
Revenge’s
bridge, Tarnes had
been on the verge of sending a message to Captain Drae. He sat in the command
chair—his knuckles bled of color—and stared at the five vessels that had
suddenly uncloaked to surround the ship.

“They aren’t answering our hail, Mr. Tarnes,” Lutz, the com
officer reported.

“Who the hell are they?” Tarnes asked, his hand trembling as
he swiped at his nose.

“Those are Riochasian vessels,” Mr. Forbisoe, the engineer
stated.

“Riochas doesn’t have cloaking ability for their ships,”
Tarnes said.

“Apparently they do now,” Forbisoe said with a grunt.
“That’s Iontach technology and what they have, you better believe the Madras
has as well.”

The ships that had stealthily overtaken them had appeared
out of nowhere with laser cannons locked on the
Revenge
, a single shot
flying across the bow in warning.

“What do they want?” Mr. Lutz, the com officer asked.

“My guess would be the prisoner our captain had in that
isolation cell on five forward,” Mr. Forbisoe replied.

At that precise moment, a very stern, determined female face
appeared on the viewing screen. A woman of imposing features and eyes that held
great malice demanded the release of Marin Deringnoe.

“Who are you?” Tarnes asked, stalling for time.

“I am Captain Dyreil of the Riochasian Fleet Command. You
are surrounded,” the woman snapped, her jaw tight. “Hand Deringnoe over to us
or by Aneas we will turn your ship into space dust!”

Tarnes turned terrified eyes to his crewmembers. He was
completely out of his depth here. He had never actually commanded a ship before
that afternoon and had no idea what to do. Captain Drae would be unreachable
for the duration of his Conversion—generally five to eight days without
Feasting—the fresh blood upon which he lived. Since the Conversion had come on
out of cycle and so quickly, there had been no time to stock the containment
cell with the precious liquid.

Mr. McGregor, the second-in-command, was somewhere near
Karak Point and would not return until later in the day.

“What is your decision?” the woman demanded.

“Give her the prisoner,” Forbisoe advised. “Unless I miss my
guess she is some kin to their leader. Those bitches mean what they say.”

“If the Riochasian attacks us, she’ll kill the Deringnoe woman,
too,” Tarnes argued. “Doesn’t she—”

“Care?” Forbisoe interrupted. “The Madras is a bloodthirsty
bunch and no, she doesn’t care. If she has to fire on us, they’ll use our
denial as grounds for breaking the truce between the League and Riochas. Unless
you want to become known as the man responsible for beginning the hostilities
again, do as she says, man, and turn the prisoner over to her!”

Chapter Nine

Taegin hated the aftereffects of a Conversion more than he
hated the actual transformation. The craving for blood was so intense, so
demanding, he was nearly out of his mind with need. He had a bitching headache
and his body intensely itched from the withdrawal symptoms caused by the
absence in his system of the tenerse drug that kept his Conversion cycles on
schedule. He was grateful too that he only needed the addictive drug once a
month, for the injections were pure hell. For whatever reason—and he suspected
he knew why—the tenerse had not done its job this time around. He made a mental
note to talk to the pharmacy mate about increasing the potency of the hellish
med.

“It didn’t work this gods-be-damned time,” he snarled as he
crouched naked on the floor of his cell. He stared at the clothes he had ripped
to shreds and sighed deeply.

The Tiogar pushed up from the floor. He staggered, weak from
his need and exhausted from the violent pacing and clawing he had poured upon
the floor and walls over the containment cell.

“Captain, are you back?”

It was Kale McGregor’s voice coming from the vid com set
high in the containment cell ceiling—a ceiling so high the Tiogar could not
jump up to disable the device.

“Aye,” Taegin said hoarsely.

“I’m on my way in with clothes and Sustenance.”

Even before the door opened, Taegin knew something was
wrong. He had sent out his power to touch Marin, to make sure she was
comfortable, and had encountered only darkness. When he tried again, he knew
beyond any doubt she was no longer onboard the
Revenge
.

“Where is she?” the Tiogar shouted as he grabbed McGregor by
the front of his brown uniform shirt as soon as he saw the Contúirtian. He
shook his 2-I-C, lifting the man from the floor. “Where is my woman?”

Though they had been friends for many years, Kale still
carried a healthy fear of Taegin Drae. Having seen the Tiogar at his deadly
work, McGregor understood better than anyone the murderous rage of which the
Tiogar was capable. Because of this, he was loath to answer but knew he might
well wind up with a broken neck or a crushed spine if he didn’t and quickly.

“The Riochasians waylaid the ship and took her while you
were in Conversion,” Kale answered as he clutched Drae’s clothing in one hand
and a flask of crimson liquid in the other.

The Tiogar’s eyes widened. “Her mother?”

“Aye. Tarnes had no choice. There were five ships, including
a warship, and every one of them armed to the teeth with laser cannons primed.
They would have blown us out of the sky.”

Staggering back, Taegin let go of his 2-I-C and slumped
against the wall. “How long ago?”

“Four days,” Kale answered. “I encountered a meteor storm on
the way back from taking my shuttlecraft to Karak and had to land at Havershaw,
so I just got back about an hour ago. Tarnes is in his quarters praying to Alel
you won’t devour him.”

Taegin squeezed his eyes closed. For a moment he stood
there, breathing heavily, then slowly opened his eyes. He stared across the
cell then snatched the flask of Feasting from McGregor’s hand and drained every
drop before he threw the glass as hard as he could to the floor.

Kale jumped at the violence and backed away as his captain
jerked the clothing from him and began dragging on the tight, black leather
britches. With the uniform pants only half-buttoned and his chest bare, the
Tiogar spun around and stormed out the door. The 2-I-C took a moment to pick up
the black silk uniform shirt with the red triangle insignia of the Tiogar
Squadron and rushed after his commanding officer.

It was to the bridge Drae marched and everyone there came to
attention as he entered. “Hail that bitch on Riochas Prime, Lutz!” he ordered.
“And watch me closely for a signal to terminate the link.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Lutz replied, and his fingers flew over the
keys of his communications pad.

The face that appeared on the viewing screen was quite
beautiful despite having passed the seventh decade of life. With white hair
piled elegantly atop a small head, pale green eyes that bore no telltale
moistness of age and firm lips painted the color of ripe cherries, the leader
of the Madras was an imposing figure.

“She is out of your reach, Tiogar,” Neala Acet declared
without preamble.

“Give her back to me,” Taegin growled. “Now!”

The Madras leader smiled hatefully. “That is out of the
question, you should know that. She is at Clohar and there she will stay for
the remainder of her life.”

Taegin flinched. “The nunnery?” he asked. “You bitch! How
could you…?”