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An Excerpt From: EVILWIND
© Copyright CHARLOTTE BOYETT-COMPO, 2006.
All Rights Reserved, New Concepts Publishing
“He’s dreaming again,” Lt. Cirolia Sern told her crew mates as she took her seat at the navigational console. She reached down to pet the old weretiger who was never far from her side.
“Strange,” Major Akkadia Kahmal remarked. She was toying with the long red braid that hung over her left shoulder. “I was told Reapers rarely dream.”
“If the E.S.U. system hadn’t been damaged beyond my ability to repair it,” Lt. Melankhoia Chanz reminded them, “he wouldn’t be having bad dreams and we wouldn’t have to be spelling one another and doing each other’s jobs.”
“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Lt. Augenia Deon spoke up. “I’m learning far more than I ever did at Fleet.”
Lt. Renata Aegean looked up from her weapons/defense op monitor. “How do you know it’s a bad dream he’s having, ’Lia?”
“There are tears running down his cheeks,” Sern replied softly.
Dorrie Burkhart—the only non-Amazeen and civilian member among the seven women onboard the Alluvia —looked up from the e-book she had been reading. “He misses his lady,” she said quietly.
“Until I met Kamerone Cree, there was no way you could have ever convinced me Reapers were capable of crying,” Kahmal stated, “much less have feelings that could generate tears to begin with.”
“Kam is not an ordinary Reaper,” Dorrie snapped. “He is a man among men and…”
“You’re in love with him,” Kahmal interrupted. She didn’t like the Terran woman and considered her a rival although neither had a chance with Kamerone Cree.
Lifting her chin, Dorrie glared at the Amazeen Major. “I’ve never said I wasn’t. He knows how I feel.”
“What is it with you Terran women?” Lt. Cedilla Tyrian, the Alluvia’s engineer inquired. “Are you predisposed to fall for men like Cree?” When Dorrie shot her a nasty look, Tyrian held up her hands. “I’m only asking. No insult was intended, Burkhart.”
“No more so than Amazeen women are predisposed to want to enslave the men with whom they come in contact,” Dorrie snapped. “Terran women like strong men who won’t let a woman walk all over him.”
“That would be our Cree,” Sern said with a chuckle. She glanced down at her pet were-tiger. “Isn’t that right, Ceatie?”
The old were-tiger lifted his head, swiped at his mistress’ hand, purred loudly, then went back to sleep at her feet.
“I can’t argue the point about the enslavement,” Kahmal said. “I do own a breeding farm on Amazeen.”
Dorrie blinked. “You do?”
Kahmal shrugged. “I have about twenty-odd men there but they are well cared for. I don’t abuse them as do some of our Sisters. The men seem content enough. I’ve never had to have one emasculated. They are not, however, what I would classify as strong men. I’ve never had one try to rebel.”
“That’s because you treat them decently,” Deon commented.
“The Major’s farm is known for the quality of its breeders,” Sern told Dorrie.
“I’ve utilized the services of one or two of the Major’s studs,” Chanz reported, “but since the problem is with my plumbing, there won’t be any little Chanzettes roaming the hills of Amazeen.”
“When I’m ready to retire, I might check out the men the Major owns,” Lt. Augenia Deon said entering the conversation. “I’d like to have a couple of little girls to teach.”
Dorrie shook her head. “You women make it sound like you’re just heading over to the corner market for a loaf of bread and a jug of milk. You’re no better than the Rysalian Empire when all is said and done.”
Kahmal frowned. “I suppose if you look at it in that way, we aren’t so different than the Empire was except in that they enslaved women, trading and selling them like cattle.”
“Isn’t that what you Amazeen do?” Dorrie countered. “Don’t you trade and sell men like they’re cattle?”
“Men are pigs, not cattle!” Aegean joked and everyone—including Dorrie—laughed at the jest.
“I can’t argue with you there,” Dorrie admitted. “The exception being Cree.”
“It’s good to know you don’t consider me a pig.”
The women looked around to see the Prime Reaper leaning against the bulkhead, his arms crossed over his brawny chest. Since his only pair of boots had been destroyed during one of his Transitions from humanoid to wolf-like creature, he was barefoot as he stood there and that made him even more strikingly sensual to the women. They wondered how long he’d been listening to their conversation but not a one of them dared to ask.
“No, you’re not a pig. A stubborn mule,” Dorrie suggested, “but never a pig, Kami.”
Rolling his eyes at Dorrie’s use of an endearment he allowed only from his lady, Bridget, Kamerone Cree turned his attention from her to Kahmal, the Amazeen bounty hunter who had been dispatched to Terra to bring him back to Rysalia Prime for execution. “May I have a word with you, ‘Kadia?”
“Will it take long? We’re not that far from Diabolusian air space and I’d like to be on the bridge should we be hailed,” Kahmal told him.
“Not long,” he replied and pushed away from the bulkhead. He turned in the direction of the Long Range Cruiser’s lounge, just off the bridge.
“He looks worried,” Dorrie said to no one in particular.
“Perhaps his dreams disturbed him,” Kahmal mused.
“Be gentle with him, Major,” Chanz said with a laugh. “He’s a delicate little flower.”
“Aye, right,” Kahmal said with a snort. “He’s about as delicate as a Chalean fly trap.”
Taking a seat at one of the tables in the lounge, Kamerone Cree stretched out his long legs, crossed his bare ankles, and relaxed as much as his nightmare would allow. His acute hearing had taken in Kahmal’s statement and he thought perhaps the Amazeen women were beginning to know him better than he would have liked. When the Major took a seat beside him, he slipped casually into her consciousness and wasn’t surprised to read her concern for his state of mind.
“Stop worrying about me,” he said quietly.
“Ain’t gonna happen. Whatcha need, Reaper?”
“I have a favor to ask of you,” he said without preamble.
Kahmal braced her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “All right.”
The Prime Reaper drew in a long breath then let it out slowly before he spoke again. “Should something happen to me and I am unable to return to Terra for whatever reason, I would like to make sure Dorrie is kept safe. I want you to promise me you will take her back to Terra and not let them put her in some gods-be-damned convent.”
“You have feelings for this Terran woman?” Kahmal asked, a part of her chaffing with jealousy.
He turned to meet her gaze. “Not in the way you mean, no, but I feel a responsibility toward her. I would like to know she will be free to live her life as she sees fit.”
Kahmal stared into his amber eyes and became lost in the sadness she saw lurking there. She ached to reach out to him, take him in her arms, and comfort him but she knew he would not allow it. The only comfort he sought was many light years away. The only peace he would ever know would be in the arms of Bridget Dunne.
“If I am able to take Dorrie there, I swear to you that I will,” she promised him. “If it looks as though there will be no way to return her to Terra, I will see to it she is taken somewhere there are worthy men.” She smiled. “Perhaps Serenia or Ionary.”
He nodded. “The man she had on Terra was Serenian. She would interact well with such men. They are strong enough to hold their own with her”
“Serenia it is, then,” Kahmal agreed. Her palm itched to touch him but he was sprawled in the chair with his arms crossed defensively—some might say protectively—across his chest. “Is there anything else?”
He unfolded his arms and tugged down the zipper of the dark green flight suit Kahmal had loaned him. It was one of hers and though it fit him perhaps a bit too snugly, the pant legs were long enough to cover his tall frame. Reaching inside the inner pocket, he pulled out an envelope, looked at it for a long moment, and then handed it to Kahmal. “I would like this to be given to my lady should it be that I will never see her again.”
Kahmal took the envelope—still warm from his body heat—and saw that it was sealed. A part of her longed to read what he had written but under no circumstances would she ever intrude on his privacy. She knew if there was no way she could ever return to Terra, the envelope—and its contents—would be destroyed.
“There are two notes within the envelope,” he explained. “One is to my lady and the other to my son.”
At the mention of the son he had never been able to hold in his arms, to kiss, his forehead crinkled with sorrow.
“Cree…” Kahmal began, “I…”
“Even if we are successful in rescuing my bloodkin being held on Rysalia Prime and with the grace of your goddess we escape unscathed, my son will be nearly a man before I see Terra again,” he said, the misery in his voice there for anyone to hear. “I will have missed his first words, his first steps, all the little things that will make him Jaelin Cree.”
Kahmal felt tears gathering in her eyes. She was the cause of this man’s suffering and it bothered her more than she could admit to anyone, even herself. “You have to believe you will return to Terra, Cree.”
“I know you said you did not kill Tylan Kahn and I believe you. I also have to believe he has been able to care for my lady and our son as I would have.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and when he opened them, there was such grief shimmering there, Kahmal wanted to sob. “Kahn loves Bridget and he will make her a good husband if I am unable to return to her.”
The Amazeen Major could not endure his sorrow another instant without letting him know he had her if for some reason he could not make his way back to Terra. She put her hand on his shoulder. “Cree, you…”
He hung his head. “I know how you feel,” he said softly. “There is no reason for you to say it.”
“But I want to,” she insisted. “I…”
“Please, don’t,” he asked. “I belong to Bridget and I always will. There will never be room for any other in the chambers of my heart. If I can not be with her, I will be alone.”
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