0036393001337282886 wind demon 01 Page 22

  “Aye, I regret it!” he thundered.

  “Why?”

  “Why?” he repeated with a snarl. “Why?! Not only am I AWOL now and will more than likely pay for that with another session with your beloved Be-Mod 9 Unit, and I am-” He stopped, shivered, then walked as far away from her as he could.

  “Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!”

  “What is wrong with you, Cree?” she asked, getting to her feet.

  A brittle laugh escaped Kamerone Cree. “Wrong?” he questioned, snorting with apparent disgust. “Everything is wrong, woman!”

  She watched him wrap his arms around himself as though he were in terrible pain. He was sweating profusely, his face slick with perspiration. Even as she watched, he put up an arm to wipe away the sweat. He shuddered violently, then groaned deep in his throat.

  “Are you sick?” She went to him and reached out a hand. She was stunned when he batted it away.

  “The gods-be-damned Healer took out one of my kidneys!” he answered through clenched teeth.

  Bridget stared at him. “What Healer? When?”

  “On Helios Twelve,” he snarled. “There was a fight; I was stabbed and the bitch took out my kidney. ” As he said the last word, he doubled over, hunkering down on the cave floor.

  “Oh, Kam! Tell me what I can do!”

  “You can get the hell away from me!” he yelled, looking up at her with a wild look in his eyes.

  “Let me help you.” She put a hand on his shoulder and was shocked when he sprang to his feet, his lips drawn back over his gleaming teeth.

  “Don't touch me, woman, unless you are prepared to feed me from your veins! ” He took a step toward her, grinning malevolently as she stumbled out of his reach.

  Cree's feral eyes narrowed and his voice was a husky growl. “I didn't think so.” He turned away, pacing the restrictive confines of the small cave like a caged beast. Now and again, he looked past Bridget to the lethal lightning still spearing the ground beyond the cave's entrance and growled with frustration.

  “How soon?” She understood what was going to happen. Being well versed in Reaper anatomy, she knew the loss of an organ could alter the Transition cycles.

  “An hour,” he spat. “Maybe two. No more than that.” He raked his fingers through his hair, armed the sweat from his brow, and then bent over the growing pain in his abdomen.

  “You need a transfusion,” she said quietly and saw his head come up.

  “And just where the hell do you think I'll get it out here?”

  “Kamerone, you can-”

  “They did this to me.”

  “Who?”

  “The gods-be-damned Resistance, woman!” he shouted. He bent forward, his gut on fire, and a small groan of growing frustration pushed from between his tightly clenched teeth. “It's always them!”

  “The storm stranded us, Kamerone.”

  He turned on her. “Don't you think the weather station on FSK-9 knew we were going to have a storm today? Don't you think they would have alerted my own station to warn me to get my ass back to FSK-14 before it was too late?”

  “I don't understand.”

  “There are female weather techs on FSK-9,” he seethed. “Females who belong to the Resistance!”

  “No,” Bridget said before she thought. “We haven't been able to convince them to join us. We-” She stopped, eyes flaring, as she realized what she had said.

  Cree nodded as though he had been expecting her to admit her connection to the infernal witches who had been tormenting him for more than a year. “By the gods,” he said quietly, fiercely, “I had hoped Taborn was wrong. I should have known better.”

  “It isn't what you think,” she said, starting toward him only to have his hand shoot out to point a rigid, denying finger at her.

  “Stay the hell away from me, Bridget!”

  “Let me help you,” she pleaded.

  “You have done enough! It was a trap, wasn't it?” He looked at her, his face filled with hurt. “They used you to get to me.

  They-” He slumped against the cave wall, his body arching with the excruciating pain ripping through it. “Oh, god!”

  “Kamerone, please,” she said, going to him. “At least let me hold you.” A part of him wanted desperately to be held, to feel the gentle comfort only she could give him. In her arms, perhaps the pain would not be so great; but the danger of him hurting her would increase tenfold so he shook his head, denying them both.

  “I am not afraid of you,” she insisted and reached out but he put up a stiff arm to keep her at bay.

  “You should be!” he spat. He started to tell her why but his words were cut off by a sudden surge of torment that made him hide his face against the stone. “Sweet Merciful Alel!” he whimpered and dropped to the ground, his body jackknifing.

  “I can't stand to see you like this!” Despite his warning growl, she came to him, knelt down only a foot away. “Kam, please let me help you!”

  He lifted his head and looked at her. A slow, menacing grin creased his face when he watched hers lose its coloring. Her lips parted in shock and began to tremble.

  “What's wrong, Bridget?” he growled, holding her in the grip of his savage gaze.

  Bridget felt the cold shudder go down her body as she stared at the altered condition of his face. She knew the wetness that appeared between her legs was not sweat from being too close to the small fire.

  Gone was the dark brown of his eyes; gone was the bold, clean line of his nose; the handsome planes of his face; the white gleam of his teeth.

  “Like what you see?”

  His eyes were glowing red behind the wrinkled advance of his snout. His cheekbones had flared, become elevated, and swept back to sharp, pointed ears. The yellowed fangs protruding from his leathery lips and dripping thick streams of saliva were like needles as he grinned at her.

  “Want what you see?” he taunted.

  It took every ounce of Bridget Dunne's courage and compassion to hold her arms out to him. “I love you, Kamerone Cree,” she whispered.

  Like the bloodbeast he was rapidly becoming, the Reaper cocked his head to one side in question, looking up at her through the dark brush of his hair.

  “Let me hold you.” She put a trembling hand to his rough cheek. “Let me hold you, sweetheart.” A moan of despair came from the very depths of his being and he ducked his head in abject shame. “How can you bear to touch me?” he whimpered and his voice was barely recognizable as human.

  Bridget could feel her fury rising. She knew who was to blame for this. Kam had been right: the Resistance had set this evil plan into motion. They had known full well what terrible pain-both physical and mental-having her see him like this would do to Cree.

  “Come here!” she bit out, drawing him into her arms and holding him even when he tried to break free. “You are my heart. Do you think I care what is on the outside of the man? It is what is inside that matters!”

  “There is a beast inside me, Bridget!”

  “Be quiet,” she insisted. It wasn't her words, but the descent of her lips with protective fierceness on his savage brow that finally calmed his struggles.

  “Do not look at me,” he pleaded, his heavy claw of a hand wrapped around her wrist as she held him to her. “I can not bear you to see this!”

  “I am watching the lightning,” she answered and resolutely looked toward the cave entrance.

  Bridget became lost in her raging thoughts of vengeance against the Resistance for the deliberate torment of this man yet again.

  Cree was sunk as low into the quagmire of beasthood as he could go and was completely unable to comprehend time or space in his pain. She whispered words she doubted he could understand, but knew the sound of her voice soothed him. He held on to her, his face pressed tightly against her bosom so she could not see the full transition that had taken place. She hummed to him, trying with all her might to ignore the rank odor of his body and the sharp nails grazing her wrists as he grippe
d her. He panted with his pain, trying with all his might to ignore the smell of sweet, rich blood flowing through her arteries and the warm flesh so close to his jaws. It wasn't until his need became an undeniable agony that he tore loose from her hold and rolled away, drawing his knees up to his chest. His netherworldly howl of frustration and pain brought tears to her eyes.

  “Tell me what to do for you.”

  “I will let you do nothing!” he rasped, the words more snarl than speech.

  Bridget began to unbutton the cuff of her blouse and roll up the sleeve.

  A low growl of denial came from the Reaper as he realized what she intended to do. He felt as though he were being eaten alive-as his victims always were-yet the relief that was only three feet away, he refused to take. He knew he would rather die than feed on Bridget's blood. It took the very last bit of the human ability to speak left in him to form the single word:

  “No!”

  “I am not going to argue with you.” She crawled to him and put her wrist against his lips. “You don't have any choice. I'm not giving you one!” He tried to move his head away. “Reaper! You have to!” Cree was horror-stricken to find he had no control over the beast within him. The monster flicked out a tongue to taste the warm skin. The salty flavor overwhelmed it and its strong jaws clamped around Bridget's wrist, but with the first touch of fang to soft flesh, the humanoid still struggling to maintain control of the Dearg-Dul's body, froze.

  “Do it,” Bridget demanded, seeing his hesitation.

  A helpless groan came from Kamerone Cree. His tongue slavered over her flesh, but even though he held her fragile wrist in his mouth, he would not sink his fangs into her flesh.

  “Do it, Kam. Do it now!”

  The thought of feeding on the mate he loved was repellent even to the beast in him. He should protect her; not cause her pain.

  She was the dam who would birth his whelp. He must not let anything harm her. With a hiss of fury, he thrust away her arm, shook his head wildly, then scrambled to his feet to bolt out into the raging storm.

  “Kam!” Bridget screamed, running after him.

  Once outside the cave, he loped across the crest of the hill by the stream. The rain lashed at him as he ran; the wind whipped through his pelt. Now and again he stopped, sniffed the air for possible prey to ease the burgeoning hunger in his belly, then threw back his head and howl for the only blood he smelled was his mate's.

  “Kam!?”

  Bridget leaned into the onslaught of the hard rain and harsh wind. Her face was soon numb from the cold that tore at her hair and whipped it to a froth about her head. She called out to him, but her words were flung back at her, lost in the thunderous rumble and sizzle of the storm. With grim determination, she headed toward the eerie baying she knew came from the Reaper.

  He stopped, hunkered down and turned his head from side to side, his chatoyant eyes seeking out any trace of warmth from which he could feed. There was nothing.

  “Kam!”

  He hung his head between his paws. The temptation of her warm blood was becoming too much for him. His strength was ebbing and the parasites inside him were whispering vile demands he could no longer ignore.

  Bridget almost stumbled over him as she came around a tall pine. He was squatting there, making strange sounds that were part growl and part groan.

  “Kam, let me help you.”

  He resolutely shook his head, his tangled mane spraying droplets of water.

  She knelt beside him, her heart thudding as she heard his low, menacing growl. “I love you,” she said. “No matter what you are, no matter what you have to do in order to survive, I love you.”

  In the last embers of humanity alive in his brain, he knew he must not allow her to help him. He had to atone one day for the sin of his very existence-this abomination of nature that was his life-and here and now, in her presence, was just as good a time as any. He turned his head toward the river that overflowed its banks.

  Bridget saw where he was looking and took one final tack; made one last-ditch effort to make him see reason.

  “Have you given any thought to what will become of me if you die, Reaper?” He turned his head away from the river and looked up at her. His gaze locked on hers.

  “I will go back to Konnor Rhye.”

  Fierce, savage possession filled his eyes and a low, warning growl came from his throat.

  “Is that what you want?” He shook his head violently.

  “Then drink!” she insisted, holding out her arm to him.

  Still he resisted. As furious as she knew him to be at the thought of another male infringing on his territory, he was still trying to protect her.

  “Either drink or let me go back to Koni!” she flung at him. “Which is it going to be?” Which was worse, he wondered as he fixed his brutal attention on her flesh: To leap into the moving water and drown or live and endure the shame of what she wanted him to do? He would be damned-and her along with him-if he did this, but the thought of another male leaving his mark on her brought out a bloodlust like none he had ever known. As he hunkered there, he thought of the Keeper touching his mate, thrusting into her, seeding her with his litters, and he howled with despair.

  Bridget extended her arm to his lips once more, her free hand to the back of his head and pressed him toward her wrist.

  “Drink, Kamerone. Drink so we can be together.”

  He closed his eyes in surrender and sank his teeth into her willing flesh. He felt her flinch, heard her slight gasp of pain, and worked his mouth over her flesh, his tongue swirling around the punctures, easing the discomfort.

  Bridget stroked his wet fur, pushing the matted strands from his jaw. She leaned her chilled body into the fierce heat of his, accustomed now to the rank smell. “There is an old Scottish blood vow,” she said, wincing as he became a bit overzealous in feeding. She eased his head back a little to let him know he was hurting her and saw him look up through his bushy brow. She smiled for his eyes were once more brown, not glowing red, and his ears were back to normal.

  “It says: ‘Ye are Blood of my Blood, and Bone of my Bone. I give ye my Body, that we Two might be One. I give ye my Spirit, til our Life shall be done.'”

  She heard him growl his agreement to the words and ran her hands through the dark wet curls that were once more sleek and human.

  “You are heart of my heart, Kamerone Cree,” she whispered. “There is nothing I have that I will not share with you.” As he drank, she became lightheaded and when he sensed it, he withdrew his teeth. He put his thumb over the puncture wounds and pressed firmly to stanch the flow of blood. Before she could say anything to him, he was lithely on his feet, lifting her high against his warm chest and carrying her back to the cave.

  “I am sleepy.”

  “Aye,” he answered. “You must rest now.”

  The last thing she saw before she drifted into a deep, healing sleep, was his worried face -so handsome yet so infinitely sad-peering down at her as he lowered her to the cave floor.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  Cree lay down beside her, gathered her to him, and drew her head to his shoulder.

  “I love you, too, Bridget,” she could have sworn she heard him say.

  Chapter 19

  CREE STOOD rigidly at attention as Admiral Tylan Kahn reviewed the papers that had been sent to him from the desk of the OIC of the Reaper Unit that morning. There was a deep frown on Kahn's face and that usually boded ill for whoever had caused it. He grunted once, snorted twice, and then let out a long exhalation of breath to indicate his irritation. Looking up with his infamous scowl in place, the Admiral tossed the papers aside then sat back into the comfort of his thickly padded chair to glare at the Reaper.

  “I am not pleased with you, Commander,” the Admiral said. “Not pleased at all. At ease!” Cree shifted to parade rest, his attention locked just over the Admiral's head. His jaw worked.

  “You have something to say, Commander?” Kahn snapped
.

  “I beg the Admiral's pardon, but I am a Captain.”

  “Not anymore you aren't,” Kahn grated, daring the Reaper to contradict him. He watched a momentarily spark of fury shoot through Cree's dark orbs as they lowered to his. He held that murderous stare for a moment before Cree snapped his attention back to the wall. “Aye, Sir!” Admiral Kahn drew in a long, cleansing breath then reached out to tap the papers he had been sent.

  “And I am not the only one experiencing displeasure at your recent conduct, ” he stated. “Captain Kullen has signed a formal complaint against you concerning the reprimand you gave his Keeper. The Captain, who, by the way outranks you as of this morning, is understandably upset that you did not come to him with the matter since it is his responsibility, not yours, to punish his crew.”

  Cree blinked, his rage barely held in check. It was bad enough to be reduced in rank, but something else entirely to have an imbecile like Symthian Kullen outrank him. He did not dare look at the Admiral for fear the man would see the murderous intent forming.

  “I want an explanation from you, Mister!” Kahn hissed. “Why the hell did you not go to Kullen with this matter concerning Konnor Rhye?”

  At the mention of Konnor Rhye's hated name, Cree's jaw tightened and a muscle jumped in his lean cheek. “Sir, I could not find Captain Kullen when I was forced to reprimand Commander…” He nearly choked on the name. “Rhye.” The Admiral's left brow cocked upward. “Really? And just where exactly did you try looking for him, Cree?” Cree's forehead creased. “I didn't exactly go looking for him since there wasn't time-”

  “And then there is the other reason for Kullen's displeasure,” the Admiral informed him The Reaper lowered his attention from the wall. “I do not follow, sir.”

  “The female,” the Admiral snorted with disgust. “If what Kullen tells me is true-and I have no reason to doubt his word since he has never lied to me-both you and Rhye are after the same woman.”

  “She is mine,” Cree ground out. He raised his chin. “I purchased her legally.” The Admiral smiled nastily. “Aye, right out from under Rhye's nose, too, didn't you, Cree?” When the Reaper did not respond, the Admiral shot up from his chair, his eyes furious. “Didn't you, Cree?”