Shades of the Wind (4 page)

into her shining black eyes, her soft café au lait face that was so beautiful it sometimes

hurt him to look upon her and the sweep of her little pink tongue as she slowly licked

her lips but refused the both of them.

“Take me,” she begged, writhing beneath him. She ran her hands up his side and

around his back, digging her nails into the broad expanse, grinning nastily when she

felt him flinch.

“Stick those wicked claws into me one more time, wench, and I will pull them out

by the roots,” he warned.

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

She raked her nails—none too gently—down his back to his bare ass then trailed

her fingernails down the deep crack until she could touch his puckered opening. “Take

me,” she repeated, straining to insert the tip of one finger into his anus.

The prince of Anubeion growled deep in his throat and he twisted his upper body

so she could not touch him like that again though she tried. Before she could scratch

him once more, he thrust his cock deep into her, mindless of her gasp of surprise, her

moaning complaint at his roughness. He withdrew then slammed into her again as hard

as he could, sliding her up toward the headboard. Such was the way they shared their

bodies and both knew what to expect.

Nyria locked her arms around him as tightly as her legs would go and arched her

hips up to the pummeling force of his hips, his cock driving into her. His head was

buried in her shoulder, his warm, ragged breath fanning across her breasts. He drove

into her so brutally they were both grunting beneath the effort.

“Yes,” she whispered to him, for his cock had found and was stroking that special

place where intense pleasure hovered. She began bearing down on him—pushing her

sheath hard against his marauding rod—until the itch began between her legs, in her

loins, and her womb began to throb with need.

He was pistoning in and out of her—faster and faster, their lower bodies slapping

together with a meaty sound. The bed was shaking beneath them. His hands were

beneath her ass, his fingers arched into her flesh to hold her anchored to him. He tore

his mouth from her shoulder and slammed it down over her lips, thrusting his tongue

deep into her warm moistness. As one muscle plowed the furrow of her cunt, another

stabbed between her sultry lips to lay claim to her mouth.

Nyria’s scream was lost in his passionate kiss as her climax rocketed through her so

hard she saw bright flashes of light behind her tightly closed lids. She clung to him—

riding out the release—and grunted deeply as she felt his seed spurt. She held him as he

stiffened and his cock throbbed, pulsed and filled her so completely he wondered if he

would be able to pull out of her ever again.

Exhausted, completely drained, he fell limp upon her, his face on her breast, his lips

touching her nipple. He was gasping for breath, shuddering as he felt her deliberately

clenching her vaginal muscles over his shaft. It was a nearly unbearable torture but one

he rode out until she grew tired of taunting him. Her hands were raking through his

hair, holding his head to her and she was crooning an old, old Khirbetti folk song as she

relaxed her legs and released him from her tight hold.

He was asleep in her arms in a matter of moments, his breath cooling the sweat that

had formed on their upper bodies.

“You are mine, Khenty Ben-Alkazar,” she whispered. “I’ll allow no woman to take

you from me.”

Lightning flared beyond the windows and she turned her head to look at the

pulsing. It was close to the sixth hour and he would need to be up and at his work. For

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Shades of the Wind

a little while though, she would let him rest. When he returned to her, she would be

waiting.

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Chapter Two

It was the howling that woke her.

It was an animal baying to an absent moon as thunder and lightning clashed

beyond the lace curtains of her bedchamber and rain pelted the glass like small pebbles.

Wind skirled a haunting and lonesome sound through the eaves—moaning, lamenting.

Catherine sat up in bed, unnerved by the mournful sound, made uneasy by the

savagery of the baying. She swung her legs from the mattress and sighed pleasurably as

her toes sank into the plush carpet. Padding barefoot to the window, she pulled back

the curtain and tried to look out. Until the lightning flared again she could see nothing

beyond her own reflection cast from the one lantern she had left turned low, but when

the gray-white light streaked across the heavens, she could make out the melting

landscape viewed through the harsh cascade of rain against the panes.

Thunder shook the house, setting the glass panes to rattling in their casements.

Flare after flare of lightning lit up the firmament in a succession of fiery volleys and it

was then she saw the dark shape sitting upon a low hill, its head thrown back as

another dark and inhuman cry of misery rent the air.

Why was the animal out in the storm? she wondered, pressing her nose to the

window to get a better look. From all she had read, wild beasts were afraid of such

tempestuous weather and eagerly hid to wait out the storm. They tended to shy from

fire and loud noises, and yet this one was right out in the open, seeming to welcome the

dangerous strikes of lightning that fell all around it, almost daring the fiery missiles to

hit it.

Another wretched yowl was torn from the animal’s throat and the sound brought

tears to Catherine’s eyes.

“What has caused you such pain, little one?” she whispered to the beast. “I wish I

could ease your sorrow.”

Almost as though it had heard her, the animal lowered its head, swiveled its

muzzle over its left shoulder and appeared to look right at her. For a long moment it

held its position then pushed up from its haunches, turned and began to lope gracefully

toward the house.

Catherine’s hand tensed on the curtain but she did not draw back as the beast

stopped just beneath her window and lifted its head to look up at her. She did not fear

the animal for there was no way it could leap up to her window, close to twenty feet

straight up.

“You should be under some kind of shelter, little fellow,” she suggested, smiling at

the sodden animal.

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The beast’s eyes glowed fiery green as lightning branched across the sky. It sat

down on its haunches—seemingly oblivious to the crashing storm around it—and

continued to watch her.

“Are you hungry? Is that it?” Catherine whispered, and watched the beast turn its

head to the right—then left—in the manner her pet dog Brownie had often exhibited

when she’d spoken to her. “Are you hurt?”

The inhuman cry of melancholy came again as the animal threw back its head and

howled. When it returned its gaze to Catherine, it brought up one paw and stabbed at

the air. The gesture caused an immediate reaction in Catherine’s tender heart.

“You wait right there,” she said resolutely.

Moving to the bed, Catherine pulled on her robe and belted the sash as she slid her

feet into canvas house slippers. But when she tried to open her door, she found it locked

from the other side!

Absolute astonishment made her mouth sag open. Jerking on the doorknob, she

could not believe Nyria had locked her in her own room. Astonishment turned almost

instantly to anger and she lifted her hand and pounded her fist against the panel.

“Nyria!” she shouted, beating on the door as hard as she could. “Open this door!”

From outside the window, the animal returned to its miserable baying and the

howls were so sorrowful, it made the hair stand up on Catherine’s arms.

“Nyria! Bahru!”

She heard tapping coming from the room to which she realized Olabishi had been

taken. Unable to call out, the woman was letting her companion know she too was

locked in.

Catherine kicked at the panel, rattled the doorknob and pulled at it until her hand

began to cramp. With every ounce of her pent-up fury, she pummeled the door as hard

as she could until she heard footsteps coming down the hallway toward her door.

“What do you want?” Nyria asked from beyond the panel.

“You locked the door!” Catherine accused.

“Yes.”

The one word—spoken with such emphatic agreement—stilled Catherine in her

tracks. She stared with disbelief at the door. Had the woman meant to keep her in her

room all night? Why?

“Open it, please,” Catherine asked, not expecting to have her wishes denied.

“In the morning.”

Catherine could not believe what she was hearing. She slammed her fist against the

door and demanded it be opened.

“In the morning,” Nyria repeated. “You will be safer that way.”

“What are you talking about?” Catherine shouted at her.

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“Everyone is locked into their rooms at night, Lady Catherine,” Nyria explained. “It

is the master’s wish. He wants his guests safe.”

Safe from what? Catherine wondered with a touch of fear niggling at her belly.

“But what if there should be a fire?” she protested, yanking on the doorknob again

in the futile hope she could spring the lock.

“You are safe, milady,” Nyria told her. “He will let nothing harm you.”

Catherine was not claustrophobic but she did not like being locked in her room. If

the door needed to be secured, she could do it from her side. Surely that would be safer

than having it where anyone could come along and unlock it to gain entrance. She said

as much to the housekeeper.

“Only the master and I have keys to the rooms, milady.”

The thought of His Grace having access to her sleeping chamber whenever the

mood struck was no more to Catherine’s liking than being locked in.

“He will not enter unless invited,” Nyria told her with that uncanny knack she

seemed to have of reading Catherine’s thoughts. “He can not.”

Catherine stood there in complete bafflement as she heard the housekeeper’s

footsteps moving away.

“Nyria! Wait!” She pressed her face against the panel. “At least see to the animal

that is causing such a racket.”

Nyria did not answer immediately and when she did, her words sounded odd. “He

is hungry. He wants to feed.”

“Then feed him!” Catherine pleaded.

There was a low, brittle laugh from the housekeeper and when she spoke, her

words sounded bitter. “He will not take what he needs from me,” Nyria answered in a

harsh, brittle hiss. “That was the Covenant he made with my father. Believe me, if I

could, I would gladly provide what he needs.”

A Covenant with a dog? Catherine thought, wondering at the woman’s sanity.

What in the gods’ names was she talking about?

“Not the gods, milady.” Nyria laughed as her voice became nothing more than an

echo down the stairs. “There are no gods at Anubeion!”

Catherine slapped a hand against the door panel and turned away. She knew defeat

when she’d been handed it and until morning—when she could speak with the

prince—there would be nothing she could do.

Flouncing on her bed, she sat there with her chin propped in her hand, flinching

now and again as the lightning continued to stitch through the heavens. Though she

kept listening for the beast, the howling had stopped and even the thunder had ceased

to boom quite so fiercely. Heaving a sigh, she was about to blow out the lamp when she

heard a clicking sound at her door and looked that way.

“Nyria?” she questioned but was met with silence.

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Curious, she got up and padded over to the door. She placed her ear against the

wood but heard nothing out in the hall. She tried the door handle and was surprised to

find it twist in her hand. With infinite care, she opened the portal and looked out into

the hall.

There was no one about and if Nyria had had a change of heart and unlocked the

door, the least she could have done was inform her, Catherine thought. Leaving the

door ajar, she slipped out into the hall, looking both ways down the shadowy corridor

but seeing no one lurking about.

The stairs creaked only in a few spots as she slowly made her way to the ground

floor. She took the back hallway and stopped only long enough to peer out the

mullioned window, searching for the animal that had been making such a mournful

sound. When she couldn’t see beyond the deep veranda that bordered the back of the

mansion, she unlocked the door and slipped out onto the veranda and went to the

railing.

Rain was still coming down hard, cascading over the veranda’s overhang in silvery

sheets. The smell of wet, fecund ground was somehow comforting and Catherine stood

there with her hands on the porch railing, drawing the cool, damp scent deep into her

lungs, reveling in the gentle mist that blew in from the rain to speckle her face.

It felt like a dream when arms slipped to either side of her, imprisoning her against

the railing. She looked down at strong-looking hands that curled possessively over hers

and felt a warm body press against her back. Soft lips touched the side of her neck.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice sounding strange to her.