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An Excerpt From: EMBRACE THE WIND
Embrace the Wind
 Copyright CHARLOTTE BOYETT-COMPO, 2007.
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing
They were sitting there glaring at him with steady eyes that never blinked. He was perched atop a fragile-looking black velvet cushioned chair that was both uncomfortable and noisy as he shifted—nay, squirmed—under their silent regards. His fingers were laced together in his lap, his legs slightly spread as he sat with his back straight, shoulders squared. His chin was up, his eyes revealing the confusion his presence in this strange room was causing him.
“Be seated, Reaper,” the silver-haired beauty commanded.
His gaze shifted from the silver-haired lovely to the redhead then to the blonde. Though he smiled, they did not so much as move a single muscle in their pretty faces. His smile withered away to be replaced with the look of perplexed concern tugging at it now.
When he could no longer suppress the urge to speak, he did so, his voice a bit harder and rougher than he intended.
“What’s this all about?”
They did not answer.
“Why am I here?”
Again no answer.
Eanan narrowed his eyes. They knew, he reasoned. They knew precisely what he’d done with the woman in the supply closet and they were punishing him for some reason as yet to be explained.
“What I did was not against any rules,” he defended, looking from one set of chilly eyes to the next. “There are no regulations that say I cannot find comfort as long as I do not… If I don’t… If she only… If we…” He found he couldn’t say it. He flung out a hand, fumbling for words. “You know.”
“No, we do not know, Reaper,” the one in the middle replied. Her gray eyes were frosty as she glared at him.
The blonde speared him with a look that said she might slap him silly if he were close enough for her to do so. “We are virgins, milord. Pray tell us what it is you did not do with the whore who serviced you.”
He swallowed hard. Virgins? By the gods, he didn’t know there were such things in this day and age and on this planet. He now understood why the High Lord had issued his warning.
“Begging your pardon, milady, that is not something I should be discussing with you,” he said, feeling a moment of panic as he wondered what Lord Kheelan would do to him if he knew the subject had even been broached with the Gatekeepers.
“Oh, but it is, Reaper,” the red-haired one insisted. “We are Breitheamhtái, Lord Eanan. We are judges. It is within our realm of duty to evaluate any mortal sin you perpetrate against the female inhabitants of the Citadel.”
“Sin?” he echoed, brows clashing together. “Milady, I have committed no sin. The sex was consensual and the last I heard, consensual sex between a man and woman is not a sin in the eyes of the goddess or Alel.”
“Be quiet, Reaper!” the woman in the middle snapped with irritation.
He clamped his lips shut, annoyed now, and crossed his arms over his chest, a muscle working in his cheek as he stared back at the trio. It was bad enough he’d been summoned before the harpies. Now he had to endure their degenerate gazes passing over him as though he were yesterday’s cow droppings. Anger began building within him—an anger he knew he’d better not unleash.
“Stand up, Reaper.”
For a moment he considered ignoring the silver-haired woman’s orders but unfolded his arms and got rigidly to his feet. He stood with his arms hanging at his side but his fists opened and closed—the only outward sign his temper was rising.
“Reaper?”
He shifted his gaze down to the silver-haired temptress. “Aye, milady?” he snarled.
“Take off your clothes.”
Eanan blinked and his lips gradually parted. He turned his head slightly to one side, eyes narrowing. “I beg your pardon?” Surely, he reasoned, he had misheard her words.
Her next words were clear and precise, spoken with just a hint of warning. “I did not stutter, milord.”
His attention slid from her to the blonde to the redhead, back to the silver-haired beauty sitting between them and held. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
“Oh yes, you did,” she disagreed. “Now strip.”
He raised his chin, his gaze hardened. “No.” he shook his head slowly as though emphasizing his denial and repeated, “No.”
The woman in the middle leaned back in her chair and a slow, retaliatory smile crept over her lush lips. She put her elbows on the arms of the chair, steepled her fingers and gazed at him over the tips. “Would you prefer we have guards brought in to strip you instead? You might not enjoy the spectacle but I can assure you we would find it most entertaining.”
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