0036393001337282886 wind demon 01 Read online

  Standing at his door, her hand on the smooth metal expanse, she leaned her forehead against the coolness and called to him again. “Are you all right?”

  “Aye.”

  He sounded tired. Tired and so infinitely lost. Had he misunderstood the alarm on her face when she'd found him standing over her bed? Had he mistaken her look of surprise as fear of him? Had he thought when she reached out to him that she was denying him? And had he taken her whimper as one of fear instead of relief that he was well? Surely not. But with a man like Cree…

  “I have missed you,” she told him through the door.

  There was no answer.

  “Captain?”

  Again, there was no answer.

  Perhaps he had fallen asleep.

  ****

  CREE LAY with his hands behind his head, listening to Bridget finally move away from his door. No doubt she had expected him to rush out and fall on her like a crazed beast, raping her into submission.

  “Captain?”

  He ignored the Vid-Com, annoyed more than ever by its interfering and-to his ears-nagging voice.

  “You are in pain, Sir,” the computer said softly.

  He turned his head and looked at the screen, but didn't answer. He knew his Controllers were aware of his condition. When he had arrived back at FSK-14, he had been whisked off immediately to the Ministry of Science and they had poked and prodded and pried until they had assessed the damage caused by the loss of his kidney.

  “We can not allow indiscriminate Transitions, Captain,” one scientist had told him. “That is exceptionally dangerous for anyone with whom you come into contact.”

  “A new kidney must be found for transplant,” another had remarked. “Until then, he must be transfused frequently.”

  “When was the last time you were given blood, Captain?”

  “An hour ago,” Cree had lied. “Just before I left Hell-12.”

  “Good,” they had all nodded. Smiling and making notations, they had concurred that he would not need to be transfused again until morning.

  Or so they-and he-had thought.

  Now the pain was driving him mad. He turned over on his side, drew his legs up and clasped them in the perimeter of his arms, deliberately trying to quash the growing thirst in his gut.

  “When was the last time you were given blood, Captain?” the Vid-Com inquired.

  “Two hours ago,” he lied.

  The Vid-Com was silent for a moment and he knew it was checking with his Controllers, and then it spoke again. “You are required to go to the Ancillary at this time, Sir.”

  “Go to hell,” he ground out.

  There was a change in the Vid-Com's tone.

  “Captain, you would not want to awaken in the middle of the night in such pain that you mistakenly take from the Terran female what you should not,” it warned. “In that condition, you would have no control over the damage you could do to her.” The very thought of that happening brought Cree upright in the bed. That was the one thing he had been worried would happen since he'd set foot back on the station. He had made a vow to himself to fight the godsawful urges that were now running rampant through his body for he was undergoing a drastic change that concerned him deeply.

  “Captain?” the Vid-Com insisted.

  Aye, he thought bitterly as he got up from the bed. There were changes, all right. Now he could smell Bridget through the solidity of a titanium door. He could hear her heart beating from twenty feet away. Sense the heat of her blood pounding through her veins. Almost taste the saltiness of that red liquid coursing through her jugular-

  “Computer?” he grated, reaching for his shirt. He flung it around his shoulder and jabbed his arms into the black sleeves. “Call the Ancillary and tell them I'm on my way.”

  “Yes, Sir,” the Vid-Com agree and he could have sworn the vile thing had actually sighed with relief.

  “Where is Bridget?” he demanded.

  “She is in her room.”

  “Lock her in until I get back.”

  ****

  BRIDGET PUT down the book she was reading and listened to him moving about in the eating area. She stood, went to the door. “Captain?” she called to him and was surprised when her door shushed open and she found him standing in the opening, his hands braced to either side of the frame.

  “Aye?” he asked, his expression blank.

  She thought he looked none the worse for wear for having spent two months in a penal colony. If anything, he looked more powerful than when he had left. His complexion was deeply tanned, although there was an unnatural ruddy glow to his cheeks and lips. Involuntarily, her gaze traveled over his thick chest and down the heavier muscled area of his thighs before crawling back up to his astonishingly beautiful male face. Her scrutiny settled on the hungry glow in his dark chocolate eyes.

  “Like what you see?”

  “What if I do?”

  That stopped him cold. He stared at her, unable to believe he had heard her correctly. She smiled at him. What the hell?

  “Want what you see?” Bridget felt a quiver deep in her womb and her knees went weak. When she ran her tongue over her suddenly dry lips and watched his heated gaze fall automatically to them, she let out a little moan that snapped his attention straight back to her eyes.

  “Yes, Captain,” she whispered. She held out her arms to him. “I want-” She got no further for he swept her up in his arms with such force, with such powerful intent, he crushed the very breath from her body. Her arms went around his neck, his head swooped down, and their mouths came together with a bruising fusion. His tongue invading her mouth was all she remembered until she felt his body pressed heavily atop her own on her bed, the stabbing steel of his manhood straining to be free of his trousers.

  “Cree,” she groaned against his mouth, taking his kiss, tasting his tongue, wanting much, much more.

  “I want you,” he mumbled against her throat where his tongue was lapping at the salty moisture of her flesh, striking at the spiral of her inner ear, slipping inside to send shivers of delight throughout her body.

  “I want you,” she returned, burying her fingers in the sleek darkness of his unbound hair and dragging his mouth back to her own. She raped him with her tongue: thrusting into his mouth, claiming him as possessively as he had claimed her. She ran the tip of it over his teeth, across his lips, probing at the sensitive corners and felt him shudder violently.

  “By the gods, woman, don't!” he begged, jerking himself off her as though he were being sucked out of an air lock.

  Bridget started to protest, thinking he meant to put a stop to this dangerous business, but then she realized he was ripping off his uniform, tearing the material when it resisted his efforts.

  “Hurry.”

  “You don't think I am?” he growled, rending his trousers.

  She held her arms up to him. “Come here!”

  A snarl of pure animal lust erupted from Kamerone Cree's throat and he bent over her, putting his hands on the front of her blouse. The silk ripped as he dragged it from her body, half lifting her from the bed as he jerked it free. Her skirt followed, the sound of the material being rent making her quiver. Her silken panties and lace bra were no obstacles to him at all and came away with a satisfying zip of sound that made his avid gaze widen with appreciation.

  “Sweet Merciful Alel,” he whispered, looking at her nakedness. “You are beautiful.”

  “Kam, please!” He fell on her, although he kept most of his weight from crushing her. The possessing knee that wedged between her legs and thrust her thighs apart-its mate driving her legs wider still in preparation of his penetration-made her cry out with mindless arousal.

  “Say it again,” he ordered, his shaft paused at the hot center of her.

  “Say what?” she moaned, wiggling her hips, needing the hot steel of him buried inside her.

  “My name,” he insisted, not about to give her what she wanted until he got what he needed. “Say my name again!”


  “Kam,” she rasped, bringing her legs up to clasp his lean hips.

  “Again!”

  “Kam!” She arched toward him.

  He drove the tip of his penis into her body. “Again!”

  “Kam”

  Cree rammed the shaft of his blade to the hilt inside her and held it there: deep, lodged tightly against her womb.

  “Again,” he whispered, straining to keep the seed from spewing forth until he heard her just once more. His arms were trembling as he held himself above her. “Say it again.”

  “Kam,” she whispered. She met his look. “Kam.” She felt the quivers beginning. “My Kam.” Hot spurts of semen shot from him and flooded into his woman: branding her, claiming her, making her his for as long as they both lived. His mate. His woman. His love. The acute sensation that he had never fully experienced; the complete fulfillment of burying himself in the warm, loving body of a woman whose body and soul needed his as much as he needed hers, drove him into the realms of purely physical pleasure. Not just physical relief. Not just the satisfying of his lust. But the pure, unadulterated release of all the pent-up sexual frustrations he had ever known.

  When it was over and he lay spent against her bosom, his lips gently drawing on one rosy nipple, she stroked the long brown hair from his forehead and planted the softest kiss on his brow.

  “Can we do it again?” he asked.

  “I certainly hope so,” she answered and smiled as he lifted his head and looked up her.

  He smiled, too.

  Chapter 16

  “YOU LOOKED pleased with yourself, Captain,” she told him the next morning as she woke to find him lying on his side in her bed, his head propped on his fist as he stared down at her.

  Cree grinned. “Exceedingly pleased, milady.”

  Bridget stretched, allowing the sheet to pull away from her breasts. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his gaze drop automatically to where she had intended it go and was rewarded by a soft chuckle from her companion.

  “You are shameless, woman.”

  She turned her head and smiled. “I know.”

  Cree reached out to tug the sheet lower. He studied the perfection of her right breast, leaned forward to study the other one then placed his hand on the mound of her left breast. “This one is larger,” he declared. “Why is that?”

  “It's just the way a woman is made,” she replied and sighed softly as he stretched his fingers out so that only the center of his palm was in contact with her breast as he ran it delicately over her nipple. When she frowned, he stopped, thinking he was hurting her in some way.

  “What is wrong?” he inquired.

  She took his hand in hers and turned it, looked down at the thick calluses then ran her thumb over the horny protrusions. “I am sorry, Kam.”

  “For what?”

  “For what you had to suffer on-”

  Cree shushed her with a finger. “Something good came of my stay on Helios Twelve.”

  “Really?”

  “I brought two warriors back with me: a Necromanian and a Serenian. Though both noblemen had been given long sentences, I freed them.”

  Bridget blinked. “How did you manage that?”

  His grin became predatory. “You know better than to ask.”

  Before she could comment, the Vid-Com clicked on. “Captain, Lord Anthos Korr from the Ministry of Justice is demanding to speak with you.”

  Cree sat up in the bed. “Demanding?” he echoed.

  “Also, Dr. Dean, the Director of the Behavioral Modification Unit is requesting a moment of your time, as well, ” added the Vid-Com.

  Cree felt Bridget stiffen beside him. “What does she want?” he asked Bridget.

  “I have no idea,” she replied and also sat up, reaching for her robe.

  “Did she say what she wanted?” Cree asked.

  “A moment of your time,” the computer repeated with just a hint of exasperation in its clipped voice.

  “You gods-be-damned-” Cree began, but Bridget calmed him with a gentle touch on his cheek.

  Despite her growing unease, Bridget laughed. “You really need to have a little talk with Helen.”

  “Helen?” Cree questioned.

  “The Vid-Com.”

  His brows drew together thunderously. “You named that acid-tongued bitch?”

  “I named her after my best friend back home: Helen Louise Portas.”

  Cree snorted. “You did not compliment the lady, Bridget!”

  “Captain!” the Vid-Com intruded, seemingly insulted by his remark. “Lord Korr is growing impatient and Dr. Dean is waiting for you answer.”

  “Did she ask a question, Helen?” he sneered, putting emphasis on the name his lady had given the interfering AIU.

  “Captain,” the Vid-Com sighed, “your attitude does not compute. Should I schedule you for a visit with Admiral Kahn's office?”

  At the mention of the Commanding Officer of the Rysalian Fleet Academy, the OIC for all military assignments, Cree sobered.

  “I do not believe that will be necessary,” he answered, somewhat chastened. “Tell Dr. Dean I will call her back and connect Lord Korr.”

  The stern visage of a man in his late eighties flashed immediately onto the Vid -Com screen. “I do not like to be kept waiting, Captain,” Lord Korr snapped.

  “My apologies,” Cree forced himself to say. “What can I do for you, Your Grace?” Anthos Korr appeared to be looking past Cree, into the expanse of Bridget's bedsuite. When Cree realized the old man was trying to get a look at Bridget, he moved to block the view. As he did, Lord Korr scowled. “Did you enjoy yourself last eve, Captain Cree?”

  Cree felt a warning shudder go down his spine. “I received permission to have a live-in companion, Your Grace.” There was a snort of derision from Korr. “Aye, but I can not find anywhere in our records where it states you were granted permission to mate with this female or any other not sanctioned by the Ministry.” The Reaper had to grit his teeth. “I believe the permission was implied, Your Grace.”

  “Not so! And because you have once again flagrantly disobeyed orders, you are hereby ordered to report to Be-Mod 9 within the hour!”

  “Disobeyed orders?” Cree shouted, forgetting to whom he was speaking. “What gods-be-damned orders? What the hell have I done wrong now?”

  “Do not use that tone with me, boy!” Lord Korr thundered. “You will do as you are told or I will have you dragged into Be-Mod 9 in shackles!” The Vid-Com disconnected.

  Irrational fear shot through Cree and he turned to face Bridget. “What did I do that was so wrong?” he whispered. Before she could tell him he had done nothing to warrant such treatment, the Vid-Com clicked on again.

  “Captain? Dr. Dean insists on speaking to you, now.”

  “Put her on,” Bridget commanded. She slipped her hand into Cree's and when Dr. Dean's face appeared on screen, it was Bridget who wanted to know what was happening.

  “They have informed me that we are to do active reinforcement on the Captain this morning,” Dr. Dean reported.

  “Merciful Alel, no,” Cree breathed. He hung his head, shaking it from side to side in denial.

  “Why are they doing this to him?” Bridget hissed.

  Dr. Dean did not answer. Instead, she turned her attention to Cree. “Captain,” she stated, “if you would like, and if she is willing, I can arrange for Bridie to assist with the therapy.”

  “I most certainly am not willing!” Bridget snarled. “And there is no reason for him to have to be put through that torment again!”

  “We have no choice, Bridget,” Dr. Dean stressed. “This has been ordered by the Tribunal. The instructions come from-”

  “Onar,” Cree whispered.

  “Lord Onar,” Dr. Dean finished and saw Cree nodding as though he already knew the culprit's name. “It will only be three sessions, Captain. We can accomplish that in one day.”

  Cree looked up at this woman whose lover had provided half the
equation for his existence and wondered what she thought of him.

  “Bring him in, Bridget,” the Director said. “He will need you with him.”

  ****

  IT WAS THE longest fifteen minutes of Bridget's life as she accompanied Cree to the Be -Mod 9 Unit. She had resisted the urge to take his hand in the elevator although they had been alone. He was calm, now, resigned to what was going to be done to him; but Bridget could sense the unease in him as they got off the elevator and headed for the black double doors at the end of the corridor. He had not so much as glanced her way since leaving his quarters and had said nothing at all, but she wasn't sure he could have made the trip without her.

  “Do you want me in the therapy room with you?” she asked as they reached the doors. Although she would prefer not to watch the man she loved being tortured again, she would accompany him into his own private hell if that were what he wished.

  “Aye,” he said, quietly. He still did not look at her, but she saw the hand nearest her jerk as though he had wanted to grasp her own, then realized he should not.

  Those gathered at the reception desk became quiet as the Reaper and Bridget entered Be-Mod 9. Ivonne's tremulous smile of greeting slid away as the imposing man in the black uniform halted before her.

  “We are expected,” he said.

  Not ‘I am expected', thought Bridget, seeing the same understanding washing over those at the desk.

  “Yes, Captain,” Ivonne replied. She handed a sheet of paper to Bridget. “You know where to take him.” Cree shocked them all when he suddenly reached for Bridget's hand. “Come,” was all he said, but not one of the women gathered there missed the meaning of his action: Kamerone Cree, the Rysalian Empire's Prime Reaper, needed help to enter the therapy suites this time.

  Dr. Dean came out of her office. “I am sorry about this, Bridget.”

  Cree let go of Bridget's hand. “In there?” he asked, indicating the room where he had gone the first time had had been processed into the Unit.