DarkWind: 2nd Book, WindDemon Trilogy (28 page)

“At ease.” Kahmal snatched open the peephole.

The cell was black as pitch, the light from the phospho lantern left inside having been allowed to die.

“I can’t see anything. Get a phospho lantern lit, now, and open this door!”

The guard on the right side of the door whirled around and plucked the phospho light which swung from a hook embedded into the rock. The guard on the left leaned her pike against the wall and lifted the heavy beam from the braces and pulled the door open.

He was sitting with his legs drawn up, his wrists resting on his knees. The thick manacle links were pooled around his bare feet, the neck band seeming to drag his head down for his chin was lowered to his chest.

“Wake up, Cree!”

“I wasn’t sleeping, Lady,” he replied and raised his head, squinting against the harsh light of the phospho lanterns. He half-turned his face from the bright intrusion, but not before the three women saw the chatoyance that turned his amber eyes a milky green like those of a cat.

“Look at me!”

He did as he was told.

The misery was there for each of the women to see in the Reaper’s handsome face before he dropped a mask of indifference over that telling façade.

“The ship has been repaired and we will be leaving as soon as the solar storm clears. That should be within the next three or four days.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“You will never see her again.”

He nodded and his eyes filled with an unmistakable brightness. “I know this, Lady,” he said softly. “Bridget is better off without me.”

“And you?” Kahmal prodded. “Is Kamerone better off without her?”

“There is no Kamerone without Bridget,” he answered. “There is only Cree, the Reaper, who sits before you awaiting his execution and what other punishments you wish to give him.”

Kahmal took a step toward him, ignoring the warning of the guard on her left. “Are you telling me you go willingly to your death, Cree? I find that hard to believe.”

“I have no life without my lady. I have no desire to live without her, so do whatever you want with me. Turn me over to Sejm if that is your desire. She can hurt me no more than I am hurting now.”

Frustrated at the Reaper’s defeated words, Kahmal came within two feet of him. Despite the agitated warnings of the guards, she hunkered down in front of him.

“Have you any notion what agony that bitch can inflict on you, Cree? She knows as much about Reaper anatomy as do I and what she knows could turn you into a jibbering fool!”

“Then let her,” he said, his voice breaking. “What do I care what she does to me? I am a dead man. Without my lady, I am a walking corpse.” His gaze drilled into hers. “Put me out of my misery, woman, or let Sejm. Either way, it matters not.”

“Major, please move back,” one of the guards advised. She lifted her laser pike, aiming it at Cree’s chest.

“The Major is safe with me.” The Reaper lifted his manacled hands from his knees and turned them palm up toward Kahmal. “I am hers to do with as she pleases.”     

Kahmal stared into Kamerone Cree’s wounded eyes and felt like weeping. The man was lost inside that agonized gaze. Odd sensations flitted through her heart and fluttered in her belly. She found herself wanting to reach out, take him in her arms and smooth the dirty limp hair from his forehead. Her lips ached to know the salt of his brow and the feel of his lips on hers. Her body strained toward him like a magnet to iron filings. She wanted to assure him all would be well and that she would do everything necessary to see he reached Rysalia safely.

As he stared into the Amazeen’s deep green eyes, Kamerone Cree was hard pressed to keep the telling smile from pulling at his lips. He had her in his hand and he knew it. He had been able to reach out and stroke her mind like a lover caresses his lady’s body. His psychic emanations had bored deeply into her subconscious and placed subliminal messages there that would take months-if not years-to fade. He could see her full capitulation in the way she licked her lips and the soft undulation of her body as she knelt before him. Had he desired it, he could-with one thought-have her naked and open to him.

Kahmal shivered, experiencing a heat in her lower body that was unlike anything she had ever experienced. She was unable to tear her attention from the Reaper’s sad face and wanted nothing more than to throw herself on him and take him there on the dirt floor.

“My lady has green eyes like yours,” Cree said softly and forced a single tear down his cheek. “It was her eyes that soothed my pain in the Behavior Modification Unit.”

The women sighed in unison upon seeing that crystal descent.

Clamping down on the whoop of victory that sigh elicited in him, Cree had to lower his head before the women saw the triumph blazing in his eyes. Despite the fact they were hardened warrioresses, they were still women. He had taken a chance they would react as Bridget often had when he spouted such foolishness and he had been proven right.

“I am not your lady, Cree,” said the Major, “but I will protect you as she did.”

He was about to raise his head, to look longingly into her eyes, but a movement near her foot caught his attention. His eyes flared and he moved so fast the three women had no time to react as he lunged at the Major’s leg.

The guard on Kahmal’s left shrieked and triggered her laser pike. The force of the blast caught Cree in the chest and flung him back against the wall. The guard on the right grabbed the Major’s arm and jerked her toward the door, her own pike pointed at the Reaper and firing before Kahmal could order the assault stopped. The second blast hit Cree in the left side and propelled him sideways and along the floor where he landed in an unconscious heap.

The sound of running footsteps scuffled to a halt outside the containment cell as alarmed voices began firing questions.

“What happened?”

“What did he try to do?”

“Is he dead?”

Kahmal was shivering, her gaze locked on the still Reaper. She had come so close to him killing her. Had the guard not reacted so quickly, the Major knew she might not be standing where she was at that moment.

Captain Chakai pushed her way into the cell. “What happened here?” she demanded, her scrutiny flicking over Cree to settle on Kahmal.

“He...he tried to grab me,” Kahmal stuttered.

“Fool! What were you doing in here in the first place?”

Sejm came into the cell and walked cautiously to the unconscious Reaper. She was about to poke him with her foot when she saw something clutched tightly in his hand. Her eyes went wide and she leapt back, knocking a guard down in the process.

“Kill it!” the Chalean scientist screeched. “Kill it!”

The guards aimed their weapons at the Reaper, but Sejm pointed at his right hand. “The ghoret!” she shouted. “Kill the ghoret!”

There was nothing these staunch warrioresses feared more than the deadly viper known as the ghoret. Nothing in their world or on any other was as lethal as the three foot long silver and green snake. The bite of the ghoret took mere seconds to kill the victim and there was no antidote for the venomous bite.

Kahmal’s military training took over. She snatched a laser pike from one of the guards, stepped closer to Cree and blew the head off the viper. The head-its needle sharp fangs dripping florescent blue venom-landed near the Captain’s foot, but duel blasts of two other laser pikes incinerated the lethal thing. Clutched tightly in Cree’s hand, the snake’s body writhed spasmodically in the Reaper’s tightly clenched fist, wrapping, unwrapping, and whipping it’s dying body around the unconscious man’s arm.

“He was going after the ghoret,” one of the guards whispered. She looked at Kahmal. “He saved your life, Major.”

“Attribution,” the guards whispered.

 Sejm’s voice was a wild shriek of protest. “No!” She made a grab for one of the pike’s, intent on using the weapon on Cree, but Kahmal knocked her hand away.

“Keep away from him!” Kahmal shouted. “Do you hear me?”

Her fury knowing no bounds, the Chalean woman turned her head and hawked up a thick wad of phlegm that she turned back to spit at Kahmal’s feet.

The women in the cell stilled as the old Chalean and young Amazeen stared into one another’s eyes. The gauntlet had been flung. The challenge issued.

“So be it,” Kahmal said in a brutal tone of voice.

“So be it,” Sejm repeated before turning and shoving her way out of the cell.

Those left looked to Kahmal.

“Do you accept this?” the Captain asked. Her face had bled of its normal coloring.

Kahmal lifted her chin. “I do.”

“A grave mistake, Sister.” The Captain sighed, shaking her head. “Did it bite him?”

Kahmal stepped close to the Reaper but even before she leaned over him, she saw the two tell-tale glowing blue stains around the punctures on his thigh. “Aye. It did.”

“Then it will be up to you to care for him,” Captain  Chakai responded. “I will not put any member of my crew in danger for the likes of that one.”

Kahmal nodded. She understood the rules of Attribution, but had never expected to be on the receiving end of the time-honored custom. She wasn’t sure she liked the situation.

“I suggest you shorten the length of his shackle chains,” the Captain advised. “Tighten them so that his wrists and ankles are pressed tightly to the stone. That way, he can not put his hands on you.”

Kahmal thanked Chakai for her suggestion then turned to one of the guards. “Get me whatever we have on board The Aluvial that might help him get through this.”

“You will need help with him, Major,” the guard said. She had been the one to blast Cree the first time. “I am willing to stay with you.”

“As will I,” said the other guard .

“You are sure?” Kahmal searched the women’s eyes.

“It is rare that any male risk his own life to save an Amazeen,” the guard replied. “Such a man deserves a measure of respect. He deserves Attribution.”

“Even if he’s a gods-be-damned Reaper?” asked the Captain in disgust.

“Especially so that he is a Reaper.”

In his fever-wracked
delirium, Kamerone Cree lay beside his lady on the shores of the Flint River near their home on Terra. His head was in Bridget’s lap, her hand soft in his as he pressed it to his chest. Close by, their son, Jaelin, slept peacefully on the blanket. The small brown puppy Bridget had brought home from the animal shelter snuffled in her sleep, her paws whipping as she ran in her canine dreams. Above them, the sun sparkled through a lacy draping of Spanish moss and the warm scent of gardenia wafted on the sweet summer breeze. The sounds of the muddy river rolling over rocks and fallen logs underscored the peacefulness to the day.

They were a typical family, he thought as he lay there: happy, comfortable, secure in their love and sure of their safety. Bridie’s swollen belly rubbed against his cheek each time she took a breath and now and again he could feel this new child kicking against his mother’s rib cage. He turned so he could place a gentle kiss on his lady’s stomach.

“Are you content, Kam?” Bridget asked, moving her free hand through his thick curls.

“Aye, milady. More content than I ever dreamed of being.” His grip on her hand tightened as he brought her fingers to his lips. He sealed his words with a gentle kiss against her palm.

Bridget smiled down at him, her beautiful green eyes his only salvation in life. “And are you happy that I am with child?”

Cree reached up to fan the backs of his fingers along her smooth cheek. “I am greatly pleased, sweeting,” he answered with a smile of his own.

His lady nodded and looked out over the rushing water. “Even though the babe is not yours?”

His smile faltered. “I do not understand.”

Bridget lowered her gaze to his. “You never touch our son,” she accused, her emerald eyes as hard as the jewel. “Not once have you held him.”

“You know why.”

“No. I don’t know why.” She cocked her head to one side. “Why won’t you hold our son, Cree?”

“Because he believes to do so would mean killing the child,” a voice spoke from the stand of oak trees beyond.

Cree sat up, his hand going to the dagger at his thigh, but relaxed when he recognized the speaker. “You take chances with your life, Kahn.”

“I will hold our son, Bridget,” said Tylan Kahn, ignoring Cree as though the Reaper were not sitting a few feet away. “I will gladly hold him.”

“I know you will, beloved.” Bridget extended her hand toward Kahn. “I am ready to go now.”

“No.” Cree shook his head.

“She is lost to you,” Kahn reminded the Reaper. “She belongs to me and it is my seed growing in her womb this time, not your evil get.”

“No,” Cree said more forcefully. He got to his feet and his hand went to the dagger hilt.

“Come, Bridie,” Kahn said, holding his hand out to Cree’s lady. “It is time.”

“No!” The Reaper drew his dagger and lunged at Kahn, the wavy serrated edged blade sparking blood-red flame.

“You will not win, Cree. This time I will have the lady and I will have her for all time.”