Charlotte Boyett-Compo- WIND VERSE- Prisoners of the Wind (3 page)

“It’ll be all right,” Iadella said softly.

“I hope so,” Marin muttered.

“We’ll do our four months and be as good as we can be,”
Iadella insisted. “No more eggs and no more political protests. We’ll go back
to school, graduate with honors and go on to lead productive lives.”

“I don’t think I’ll be graduating.”

“Why ever not, Marin?” Iadella asked.

“My mother has disowned me,” Marin said. “Did I tell you
that?”

They were now inside the ship and aware of the bustling of
its crew.

“For something so silly?”

“I shamed her,” Marin replied. “She has—in her words—cast me
to the Winds.”

“Well gock her, then,” Iadella said vehemently, using a
vulgarity she’d learned from one of the Nusian students. “She’s never been
anything but a name to you anyway!”

“What will you do?” Simone asked, having overheard their
conversation.

“Find a job somewhere,” Marin replied. “She won’t pay my
tuition now. I’ll have to leave school.”

“The hell you will!” Simone said. “I am sure my father will
help.” Simone’s father was a prince of the royal house of Laidineach.

“I can’t ask him to—”

“You won’t have to,” Simone insisted. “I will take care of
it.”

“Ladies,” Tarnes called out, drawing their attention. They
turned to see him standing with a female crewmember. “This is Petty Officer
Jannsen.” He consulted a PDA he held in his hand. “Caro Ludd, Dealese Varell
and Uneta Wardlaw, please go with her. She’ll show you to your quarters on Deck
Four. Simone Hesar, Iadella VanDries and Marin Deringnoe, you are—”

“Deringnoe stays here.”

It was not only the forcefulness of the words that turned
Marin’s knees weak it was the tone of the voice that spoke them. She slowly
looked around and when her gaze meshed with the speaker’s, she knew the captain
was aware of her true identity.

He was standing a few feet away, his face stone-cold rigid,
and his golden eyes riveted on Marin. The hood of his robe was thrown back,
revealing dark brown hair barely a shade lighter than the black of his attire.
His arms were folded over his broad chest, a muscle flexing in his jaw. His
stare was as hard as steel, narrowed to a thin, cutting edge that passed over
her with a fury that seemed barely held in check.

Despite her temerity, Iadella stepped in front of Marin. She
held out a hand. “We aren’t going to let you hurt this girl!” she said firmly,
though her voice trilled with fear.

Taegin Drae cocked his head to one side. “Did I say I was
going to hurt her, Lady Iadella?” he inquired, letting them know he knew who
each of them was.

“Marin has not been back to her home in ten years. She—”

“Is the daughter of the Madras leader Neala Acet,” Drae
interrupted, his Riochasian brogue thickening huskily, the woman’s name on his
tongue sounding like a curse.

“Marin had nothing to do with what her mother and the other
women of the Madras clan did to your people,” Simone broke in. She, too,
stepped in front of Marin.

Drae glanced at Tarnes. “Talking out of school again,
Roman?” he inquired.

Tarnes’ mouth opened and closed several times but he
couldn’t seem to find any words to excuse his actions. He simply hung his head.

“Escort Lady Simone and Lady Iadella to their quarters,
Tarnes,” Drae commanded. “I’ll deal with your wagging tongue later.”

“He only answered our questions,” Marin said, pushing her
friends aside. “Please don’t punish him for trying to allay our fears.”

Drae ignored Marin. His hawk-like stare went to Petty
Officer Jannsen who had not moved since her captain had spoken. “Do you need an
engraved invitation to take those other women to their quarters, Jannsen?” he
barked.

“Sir, no, sir!” Jannsen was quick to respond. She put her
arms out and tried to push the other three women into motion, but all three
refused to budge.

“Marin is our friend,” Uneta declared. “She is—”

“Going to have a talk with me,” Drae interrupted. “Now,
unless you ladies would like to be put into the general prison population on
Deck Five, I suggest you accompany Petty Officer Jannsen and Mr. Tarnes.” He
clenched his teeth and spoke through the constriction. “Now!”

Marin sensed the danger to her companions and knew they
would be put in harm’s way if she did not act. Her knees were trembling, her
palms sweating but she nevertheless asked her five friends to go with their
escorts. “I’ll be all right,” she said.

“But Marin, he’s a Tiogar!” Simone stressed.

Tarnes grabbed Simone’s arm. “Shut up or he’ll make good on
his promise! Believe me, you don’t want to be thrown in with a bunch of men who
haven’t been near a woman in months!”

“I don’t know, Roman,” Drae said with a snort. “They might
enjoy being ravished.”

“Go!” Marin insisted, shoving her friends. “Do as he says!”

With Simone’s arm in one hand and Iadella’s in the other,
Tarnes pulled them away, speaking so low Marin could not hear his words, but
whatever he said caused both women to pale for when they looked back at Marin,
the blood had drained from their faces. Even Simone’s militant look had been
replaced with an uncustomary fear.

Caro, Dealese and Uneta reluctantly allowed Jannsen to lead
them away but their mouths were set mulishly, their hands clenched at their
sides.

Marin was left alone with Drae. The crewmen who had been so
busily engaged in whatever work they had been doing were now nowhere in sight.

“Are they virgins?” Drae asked.

Marin’s eyes widened. “W-what?”

“Your friends, wench. Are they virgins?” he repeated,
annoyance clear in his golden eyes.

She stared at him, her heart thudding so painfully in her
chest she had to put a hand there to ease the pressure. Her legs were
threatening to buckle and the blood was pounding so loudly in her ears she
could barely hear his next words.

“I don’t see what—”

“If they aren’t, I won’t worry about it,” Drae growled. “But
if they are, and one of my crew or one of the prisoners at Fiáin takes their
maidenhead while they are under my protection, I’ll drain him dry.”

“You’ll what?” she asked, having missed the last part.

It was all she could do not to back up as he closed the
distance between them. Her breathing was ragged, her fear escalating as he came
to tower over her, his body only inches from hers. His powerful body
overshadowed her slim, womanly curves and he was so tall, she had to crane her
neck to look up at him.

“If a man harms one of those women, I will snap him like a
twig, gorge myself on his blood until there isn’t a drop left in him and, when
I’m finished, there won’t be anything remaining but a few tufts of hair and a
splinter of bone or two,” he said. “I will devour him alive, taking him apart
piece by piece as I feed.”

Marin wavered for a moment, staring into his dark amber
eyes, feeling the waves of hate crashing toward her, and then her eyes rolled
up in her head and she fainted.

Chapter Two

Trying to swim upward within the dark flowing liquid that
tugged at her feet, Marin struggled back to consciousness. All around her the
water was thick and a deep crimson color, smelling of iron as she drew it into
her lungs. She was drowning in that viscous fluid, helpless as she fought the
pull of it dragging her down. Above her a word—Feasting—shimmered beneath the
shifting waves of vermeil. The word terrified her and she strove to put
distance between herself and it. Her arms flailing, she cried out when
something hard wrapped itself around her upper body, imprisoning her. Unable to
move, to break free, she released a shrill scream that brought her fully awake.

“Shit, woman!” Drae snarled. “You nearly pierced my
gods-be-damned eardrums!”

It was the captain’s arms encircling her that were
restraining Marin. He held her so tightly she could barely draw breath. His
arms were like steel bands across her. His chest was a wall of cement to which
she was pressed and just as unmovable as she pushed against it with the heels
of her hands.

“Be still, wench!”

Her eyes fluttering, Marin went rigid in his arms. A low
moan of fear vibrated from her trembling lips.

“Don’t you pass out on me again!” he warned, shaking her.
“Are all Madras women this wimpish?”

Staring up into his molten gold glare, Marin felt as though
her heart would burst, so fiercely was it beating. She began shivering so
violently her teeth were clicking together.

“Ah, hell,” the captain spat and released her, allowing her
to fall back to the bunk upon which he’d laid her. He sprang up from his
position where he’d been sitting beside her and stood staring down at her. “I
knew it was a mistake to bring you here.”

Marin whimpered and scooted upward on the bunk until she was
crouched against the bulkhead wall behind it, knees drawn to her chest. Her
eyes were locked on the Tiogar as he angrily paced the small confines of the
cell. She watched as he raked a hand through his dark brown hair then flinched
as he pivoted around to point an accusing finger at her.

“You are my prisoner, wench,” he said in a fierce voice.
“The Tribunal handed you over to me. You are mine to do with as I please. Do
you understand that?”

Fear bleached all color from Marin’s softly tanned face. So
terrified was she, she wanted to scream, but such a foolish thing would surely
irritate her captor. All she could do was hover there—shuddering and feeling
sweat breaking out on her forehead.

He strode to the bunk, braced one hand on the wall over her
head and leaned over her, his amber glare flaring when she pulled herself into
a tighter ball as though he was about to beat her.

“Please,” she whispered. Her voice was tiny and breaking
with terror. “Please, don’t kill me.”

His free hand was coming toward her and she squeezed her
eyes shut, unwilling to see the moment of death as it claimed her.

But his hand was gentle as it touched her long honey-gold
braid, fingering it for a moment before she felt his palm press lightly along
the side of her neck. Her green eyes fluttered open.

He was staring intently at her. The golden jewels in his
dark eyes seemed to flash with a light of their own—moving and swirling,
blending from topaz to citrine then warming to honey amber. That unearthly gaze
moved over her face as though he was memorizing every feature, dipped to her
lips and held for a fraction of a second before shifting up to fuse with her
wary watchfulness. She felt as though she was drowning in his stare, being
pulled into the vortex of that intense look, captured and held there by the
very strength of his male power.

“Kill you?” he queried so softly his words were barely
audible. “No, my lady, I have no intention of killing you.”

He withdrew his hand and straightened up. There was brutal
authority in his rigid stance, unalterable arrogance in the narrowed eyes and
barely controlled vengeance balled into the fists at his side.

“Kill you?” he asked again, his voice only a decimal louder.
“I intend to fuck you until I’ve had my fill then throw you in with the worst
criminals this transport carries!”

Marin’s eyes flared wide. “No, please! I’m a virgin and—”

He threw his head back and laughed, the sound so evil and
malevolent Marin began to quake. “Do you think that will stop me, wench?” he
threw at her. He shook his head. “Nothing will stop me from having my revenge,
you daughter of that murderous hag!”

“I had nothing to do with what my mother did,” she cried.
Tears were cascading down her cheeks. “I wasn’t even on Riochas Prime during
the war.”

“The sins of the mother are visited upon the daughter,” he
said hatefully. “Let’s see how well that slut of a daughter bears up to the
punishment I will exact!”

He spun around and marched to the cell door. “Open!” he
demanded, and the pneumatic portal slid open.

Marin sobbed hysterically. She crossed her arms over her
chest, grasped the shoulders of her detention center-issued jumpsuit in her
fists and sat there keening shrilly.

She had no illusions that the Tiogar would carry out his
plan. She had seen the determination in his steely glower, had heard the
vindictiveness in his harsh tone. There was no doubt in her mind he would do
exactly as he promised.

Trembling, Marin rocked back and forth, every tale she’d
ever heard of the Tiogar Clan coming back to taunt her.

“They transition into beasts every three months or so,” her
mother had informed her when she was a little girl in an attempt to make the
child hate the Tiogars as much as her mother did. “They become beasts with a
beast’s needs. They devour their enemies, lap up their blood and leave not a
trace of that poor person behind.”

“Can they come in here, Mother?” Marin had asked, terrified
of the images her mother’s words were painting.

“Not if you are a good child and do as you’re told. Tiogars
can’t touch good little girls. It’s only the bad ones they go after.”

Vaguely Marin remembered something about a drug Tiogars had
to be given once a month and that it was more a punishment than a help, for it
was a very painful injection that caused great agony when it was administered.

“Addictive it is,” her mother had said with glee, her eyes
glowing. “It turns their blood to molten lava in their veins, burning its way
through their hellish bodies. Too bad it isn’t necessary for them to have it
every day like other beasts of which I’ve heard.”

“W-what other beasts, Mother?” Marin had asked, shuddering
with fear.

“Ones that eat bad little girls.”

The stories her mother told frightened Marin terribly and
brought her awake in cold sweats, trembling, crying out as phantom shadows
drifted across her walls from the trees beyond the window.

“Aye, Marin, that was most likely a Tiogar trying to gain
entrance to your room,” her mother would tell her. “What have you done to bring
the beast to punish you, eh?”