Evilwind
By
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
© copyright February 2007, Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Published by New Concepts Publishing
Smashwords Edition
Cover art by Jenny Dixon, © copyright February 2007
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Dedication
To Angie Evans, who has such wicked dreams of Kamerone…
Forward
In the Terran year of 1994, Bridget Dunne became one of many young, beautiful and highly intelligent women to disappear from her world without a trace. Abducted from her college in Grinnell, Iowa, Bridie woke to find she was on board an alien space craft--along with nine other women--bound for the planet Rysalia Prime in a distant part of the universe far beyond her own galaxy. Bridie was just one more woman taken from her home world to a place where men ruled supreme and women were thought of as chattel to be bought and sold at whim. Because of her college training in the field of psychology, she was handed over to the Behavioral Modification Unit on Frontier Station Kahmsin-14 to work with Dr. Beryla Dean, an eminent biogenetic scientist.
Before Bridie arrived on FSK-14, the women of Rysalia had begun organizing a resistance force to gain their freedom. They needed a powerful man among the Rysalians to ally with them to help them achieve their objective. They also needed to set a honey trap--an enticing female to catch the eye and attention of their reluctant target--and Bridie was chosen because a certain renowned warrior had once given her a lustful glance in passing.
That man had been Prime Reaper Captain Kamerone Cree, the most feared man in the Rysalian Empire. An intergalactic shape-shifting killing machine, Cree had been charged with crimes he had not committed--crimes that had been staged by the Resistance to implicate the Reaper in their rebellion. As a result, he was remanded by the Ministry of Justice to the Be-Mod unit for reinforcement therapy--a torturous series of brutal sessions designed to bring him to his knees, to break him down to his lowest common denominator, and then strengthen his savage behavior. During these sessions, he would come into close contact with Bridie and the trap would be set. Unbeknownst to the Ministry of Justice, the Resistance had infiltrated the behavioral modification sessions and began using subliminal messages to turn Bridget into the only saving light in Cree’s dark, painful world. Unable to get her out of his mind or keep his treacherous body from desiring her, the Prime Reaper developed an uncontrollable urge to have her for his own--consequences be damned--and he sets out to do just that.
Neither Cree nor Bridget reckoned on a developing love that would bind them together for all time. Manipulated by the Resistance with deep-seated subliminals and psychotropic drugs, the two lovers would find themselves embroiled in a rebellion that would see hundreds of thousands of men dead in the space of two hours time and their world now run by women who wanted to eliminate Cree from the equation and place Bridget into the hands of his worst enemy.
But no one had counted on a ragtag assortment of warriors who would rescue Cree from his planned execution and spirit him into the barren darkness of space in search of his woman. Having overtaken the ship on which Bridget was being held Cree dispatched his enemy, reclaimed his woman, but in the bargain was forced to terminate three women warriors whose race would issue a death warrant for his capture. Unaware he has been declared the most wanted man in the universe, Kamerone Cree wants only to live in peace with the woman he loves more than his own life.
Fleeing to Bridget’s home world where it was now 2062, Cree, his men and a handful of Terran women who had aided in Cree’s escape from his near-death at the hands of the Resistance, must blend in seamlessly into this new world. Fate is with them and they are able to make new lives on Terra.
On the way to Terra, Bridget gives birth to Cree’s child, creating problems neither she nor the Reaper knows how to solve. Unable to hold his son for fear the beast within him will harm the child, Cree feels useless in this new life. He is a warrior whose talents can never be utilized on Terra. Unhappy, bored, and restless, he finds himself being stalked by a mysterious woman he knows is an alien bounty hunter. Realizing she must have been sent to bring him back to Rysalia Prime and a horrifying fate reserved expressly for him, his uneasiness spills over into his family life, alienating him further from Bridie and their child.
When Cree is captured by his dreaded adversary Dr. Hael Sejm right from beneath Bridget’s nose and spirited back through time and space to his intended execution, Bridie is driven to her knees with fear for her husband. She knows all too well what will happen when the Reaper is returned to Rysalia. She turns to Tylan Kahn, the one man who can help her.
Once more Cree’s friends find a way to attempt his rescue and leaving their adopted world behind, set out to reach Cree before his fate is sealed.
Their ship is disabled when struck by an asteroid and the warrioresses, who had taken Cree prisoner, are forced to land on the barren world of Montyne Vex to make repairs. It is while they are on that desolate world that the Reaper saves not one but three lives of his captors, thus assuring for himself a state of Attribution--his enemies’ lives now belong to him and they are sworn to protect him--no matter what. Now in command of the ship, Cree intends to return to Terra but begrudgingly the women warriors inform Cree his bloodkin are awaiting execution on Rysalia Prime. Cree knows before he can return to Bridget, he must do all he can to save the condemned men. Enlisting the aid of the women warriors and their goddess, the Reaper finds himself once more on the way to a world eagerly awaiting his destruction. With the help of those who were once his sworn enemies, Cree must find a way to save himself and his fellow Reapers from the fiery deaths awaiting them. Only then can Cree return to Terra, taking with him his rescued bloodkin and the warrior women who will never be able to return to their home world because they helped him.
While Cree’s ship and the ship of his friends are racing toward Rysalia Prime, the Prime Reaper’s eldest bloodson--Khiershon--is having his own problems on their side of the universe. He, too, had been the target of the same race of women striving to bring his bloodsire to justice and has managed to escape just in the nick of time. Traveling with a Terran medivac ship from that worlds distant future, Khiershon will find himself as attracted to a Terran woman as his father before him and will Join with Caitlin Kelly in a ceremony that will bind them together for all time.
As the ship carrying Kamerone Cree speeds toward Rysalia Prime, another bearing Cree’s Terran friends in hot pursuit, Khiershon and his crew are also headed for the planet where the bloodthirsty Daughters of the Multitude now rule. Unaware his bloodsire has been captured and is destined for execution on the planet Khiershon is going there to rescue his bloodkin who are to be terminated on the Feast of Alluvial, only one month away.
Chapter One
“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 that 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 weretiger. “Isn’t that right, Ceatie?”
The old weretiger 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.”
She saw a single tear easing down his lean cheek and it hurt her so deeply she had to dig her fingernails into her palms. “Was the dream that bad?” she asked.
For a long moment he did not reply but when at last he began to speak, the hurt in his voice broke her heart.
“We were walking hand in hand along the seashore. Bridie loved to swim but I would not allow her in the water because I could not join her. If something happened and she started to drown, I couldn’t save her.”
“You can’t swim?” Kahmal asked.
“The parasite won’t allow us to learn. It fears the Reaper might drown and it would be destroyed in the bargain. That is why we can’t swim.”
“Did you and Bridget go often to the seashore?” She loved listening to his Ry-Chalean brogue.
“There is a place called Savannah and we went there a few times. She liked to sit on the sand and watch the waves coming in.” He cocked a shoulder. “I must admit I found it a tranquil experience.”
“So was that where you were in your dream?”
“I don’t think so. The surroundings were strange. I’m not sure where we were or if that place even exists. Besides, the whole scenario was off.”
“In what way?”
Cree held the picture of the dream beach in his mind’s eye. The image disturbed him more than he was willing to admit and he shivered.
“Are you cold?” Kahmal asked.
“There were ice floes in the water,” he said so softly she had to strain to hear. “I could see them all the way to the horizon yet the day was bright and sunny, a warm wind blowing over us and I knew what was coming.”
From out of his past three words came hurtling toward him and slammed into his consciousness with lightning speed: “Stage Three complete!”
“Cree?” Kahmal asked, watching the horror invading his golden eyes. When he didn’t respond, she reached out to shake him.
“It was the sessions,” he whispered. “I was reliving the sessions in the Be-Mod 9 unit.”
Kahmal had read the dossier on the Prime Reaper Kamerone Cree and knew he had spent weeks in a Behavioral Modification Unit being tortured by members of the Resistance under the guise of assault therapy to re-enforce his training. It was there he had met Bridget.
Cree plowed a hand through his thick brown hair and Kahmal saw his hand was shaking.
“I felt her hand jerked from mine and then I was out in the middle of the ocean, staked down to one of the ice floes as it bobbed on the waves,” he told her. “There were thick spikes through my palms anchoring me to the ice. I heard Bridget calling to me, begging me to come back but I couldn’t move. I was staked to the ice.”
“You were reliving the therapy sessions,” Kahmal said.
“I heard the wave coming toward me and I lifted my head to see it. It was huge, blotting out the sky. It bore down on me and when it broke, the ice floe flipped over and I was beneath the water, my hands pulling free of the spikes.”
He had been drowning, water flowing down his nose, his air cut off by the invading thickness. He was sinking beneath a wavering, frigid surface, ice floes hovering just beyond his reach. The water was filling his lungs, inflating them to bursting, filling his body cavities with the freezing liquid. The harder he fought to reach the surface and the cleansing air that would free his blocked lungs, the deeper he plunged beneath the white surface until all light was blocked out.
“Then she was there in the water beside me, pulling me up, dragging me to shore. I was dead--I knew I was dead--but she wouldn’t let me go. We were on the sand. I was on my back, staring into her eyes as she put her lips on mine, breathed life back into my lungs. She saved my life.”
Kahmal knew he was unaware that she was stroking his shoulder as he repeated his dream to her. She could feel the tremors rippling through his body and wanted desperately to hold him.
“Just as I gasped my first breath, she and I went spinning through the air and I hit something so hard it knocked the breath out of me. When I came to I was shackled to a stainless steel pole on the plaza in front of the Titaness on Rysalia Prime,” he said.
“Where your bloodkin are to be executed,” she said, knowing he could not have seen the poles that had been erected long after he had fled with Bridget to Terra.
“There were thousands of women standing there to see me die. Hael Sejm and Captain Chakai were holding Bridie between them. She was struggling to get free, trying so hard to come to me, but it was already too late. There was a flash of fire at my feet and I was burning.”
The memory of his scream filled his head. The pain had been so horrific, so invasive, so utterly intense, he had longed for the surcease of life. But just as soon as the flames had enveloped him, blistering his flesh, then burning deep through the epidermis, past the coris, into the muscles and nerve bundles, dissolving capillaries, splitting open veins and arteries and flashing into the very marrow of his bones; just as the pain became so terrifying that he had began to beg for death, she was there holding out her hand to him.
“Come, Kam,” she whispered. “Come to me and the pain will stop.” He held out his hand, striving to touch hers, hopeful, ecstatic, then she began to fade from his sight.
Cree hung his head. “But she couldn’t save me this time,” he said. “Her beautiful green eyes couldn’t save me and I died in the flames.”
Kahmal suspected there was more. “Go on.”
He looked up at her and tears were running down his face. “They threw Dorrie into the fire with me. She was pleading with me to help her, to stop the pain, but I couldn’t. I woke up hearing her screams.”
“It was just a dream,” she told him. “We are not going to allow anything to happen to you or her.”
“Just promise me,” he said, swiping angrily at the tears, “that you will make sure Dorrie is kept safe. Promise me that.”
“I swear it on my honor as an Amazeen warrioress,” she pledged.
He seemed to relax, letting out a long breath. “That is all I can ask, ‘Kadia.”
Kahmal tucked the envelope he had given her into the pocket of her jumpsuit. “Is there anything else you want me to do?”
“If you make it back to Terra,” he said, “you will never be able to return to this side of the megaverse. Your people might well send bounty hunters after you.”
“I’ve no illusions about what may or may not happen to us, Cree,” she stated. “My thoughts are, though, we’ll be written off. No one will come after us. You don’t have to worry about me or my crew.”
“We need to destroy the wormhole,” Cree said. “If my bloodkin and I do escape and we are able to get to Terra, I don’t want to have to be looking over my shoulder for the remainder of my life and have my bloodkin doing the same.”
Kahmal nodded. “I can understand that. Perhaps closing the anomaly would be the wisest thing to do.”
“As long as it’s open, there will always be a chance our enemies will arrive on our doorstep to wreak havoc with our lives. I’d just as soon not have to spend my time looking for tall women in gray sweat suits.”
Kahmal grinned. “I rather liked my gray sweats,” she said.
He smiled, too, for a moment then the smile slipped from his face. “Even if I don’t make it back, I want to make sure it is impossible for anyone from our side of the megaverse to find their way to Terra again. Our people have caused enough pain and sorrow on that world to last a thousand lifetimes.”
“There’s only one problem.”
“What?” he asked.
“I don’t think the Terrans have discovered the wormhole, yet, but I don’t know that for sure,” Kahmal said. “We did encounter that Terran ship near the Vex when we were on our way to Terra to extract you. We came out of the wormhole practically right on top of them. What if they found their way into the anomaly? They’d have no way to get back to Terra if we destroyed it.”
The Reaper’s eyes narrowed. “What ship was that?”
“It was an all-female crew,” she said. “A Terran medivac transport. They were looking for, ah, friends.”
“Friends?” he asked.
“Friends,” Kahmal said, her eyebrow lifted. Her face reddened.
Cree’s forehead wrinkled. “Oh, friends!” He half-smiled.
“Needless to say we weren’t interesting in making their acquaintance,” Kahmal told him.
“I’m sure the Terrans were very sweet women,” he said. “Just a bit lonely.”
“Aye, well they can stay lonely,” Kahmal quipped.
“Do you remember the name of the ship?”
Kahmal thought about it for a moment. “The Orion, I believe, but I can’t be sure.”
“Major?” Chanz interrupted, the vid-com clicking on without benefit of a warning chime.
“Aye?”
“You’d better get up here fast. We’ve got trouble!”
Chapter Two
Four dreadnaught class battle cruisers lay directly in the path of the Alluvia. Appearing out of nowhere, having eluded detection while in stealth mode the mammoth cruisers were braced with laser cannons primed to blow the lightweight LRC out of the sky.
“Who the hell are they?” Kahmal asked. She didn’t recognize either the build or the markings on the matte black ships.
“They are not answering our hail,” Deon reported.
“Cree?” Kahmal asked. “Do you have any idea who these bastards are?”
The Prime Reaper was staring at the vid-com screen, his forehead creased. “I don’t recognize them.”
“They are blocking my probe,” Sern said, referring to her own psychic powers. “How about yours?”
Cree shook his head. “I’m getting nothing.”
“Well, whoever they are, they’ve got their cannons locked on us and if my instruments are reading correctly, they have enough firepower aimed our way to blow us to space dust,” Aegean said.
“Try opening a channel, Deon,” Kahmal ordered.
“Unknown vessels,” Deon said. “This is the Amazeen LRC the Alluvia captained by Major Akkadia Kahmal. We are on our way to Rysalia Prime with …”
“A Reaper in your greedy, murderous little hands and you will hand him over to us! Now, wench!” a booming voice shouted over the vid-com and the center screen lit up to show a grimacing black face filled with fury.
“Necromanian,” Tyrian said. “I’ve never seen one. Very impressive.”
“I am Kamau Taborn, Prince of the Royal House of Necroman and ….”
“Nephew of Lares,” Cree said.
Fierce black eyes jerked from side to side, seeking the image of the one who had spoken. “Who dares to speak the name of the martyred one?” Taborn bellowed.
“On screen,” Cree ordered and the vid-com camera focused on the Reaper. “I, Kamerone Cree, speak the name of my friend, Lares, and since when did he become a martyr?”
The hulking black man at the other end of the transmission smiled broadly, showing a mouthful of shining white teeth. “You are alive!” he shouted. “We had heard you met your fate at the hands of those bitches on Rysalia Prime!”
“Thanks to your uncle that didn’t happen.”
Another face pushed Taborn’s from the screen. “I am Zainabu,” a large-breasted woman spoke. “I am the J’Bai of Lares!”
“Uh, oh,” Cree said and his face turned pale.
“You say my betrothed is still alive?” Zainabu questioned. “Where is he?”
Sern, who was born with the gift of mind reading, scanned Cree’s thoughts and what she saw there made her whistle. “I wouldn’t tell her if I were you,” she sent to him.
Cree glanced toward Sern, frowning. “Lares,” he told the Necromanian woman, “is stranded on Terra.”
Zainabu lifted her chin. “He can not return to Necroman?”
“The vessel which took us to Terra ran out of fuel,” Cree explained to her. “We barely had enough to reach our destination.”
Taborn shoved Zainabu out of his way. “How come you to be on a ship crewed by Amazeen?” he asked. “What have they done to you, friend of Lares?”
“We captured him,” Kahmal said, bringing the Necroman prince’s scowl back to her. “But ….”
“You will hand him over to us!” Taborn declared. “Now, wench!”
“For what purpose?” Kahmal snapped, waving Cree to silence when he would have spoken.
“For what purpose?” Taborn repeated, his dark eyes blazing. “To prevent him from dying in a Multitude bonfire!”
“That isn’t going to happen,” Kahmal denied.
“Nay, it will not!” Taborn snarled. “We will await his transport to our ship.”
“Prince Kamau,” Cree spoke up, “these women are no longer my captors. They have agreed to help me rescue my bloodkin from execution on the Feast of Alluvial. I ….”
“Amazeen are not to be trusted!” Zainabu said, jockeying once more for main position on the vid-com screen. “They are treacherous bitches who lie out of both sides of their ugly mouths.”
Kahmal stiffened. “How dare you insult my Sisters!” she yelled. “We are just as honorable as Necromanian warriors and we do not lie!”
Zainabu snorted. “Every word out of your mouths is a lie. It was an Amazeen who testified against my J’Bai and was responsible for sending him to Helios 12!”
“I thought he was sent there for killing a Domination priest,” Cree said.
“This is so, but he did not murder the priest. An Amazeen accused him, but it was a lie.”
Cree wanted to tell Zainabu that her betrothed had confessed to him that he had killed the man he had labeled a pesky priest, but decided to keep his mouth shut. He held up his hand when Kahmal would have continued the argument.
“These women speak only the truth,” he assured the Necromanians. “I would know if one were to lie to me.”
Taborn shoved Zainabu out of the way. “If you say it is so, then it is so, Kamerone Cree.” He spread his hands. “Will you not at least visit my vessel and allow me to express my gratitude for the saving of my uncle’s life?”
“It was he who saved my life, Prince Kamau,” Cree corrected. “Had it not been for the reed necklace his J’Bai had given him when they were children, I would have died.”
Zainabu pushed Taborn so hard those on the bridge of the Alluvia heard the crash he made as he careened into something on his ship. “Explain!” she demanded. “How did what I made for my beloved aid in saving your life?”
Cree winced for he had a momentary impression of Kamau Taborn’s pain. “I was being hanged when I was transported to safety and could not draw air into my lungs. A breathing tube was needed. Lares did not think twice. He snatched the necklace from him and a reed was used to save my life.”
The glint of tears shone in the black woman’s dark eyes. “Lares treasured the zawadi I made for him,” she said and fingered a similar necklace she was wearing. “For him to destroy it there had to be a great reason.” A smile wavered on her lovely face. “He must have great love for you, Reaper.”
“I have great affection for him, as well, milady,” Cree admitted.
“You must come to our ship! You must be feted in traditional Necromanian fashion!” Taborn stated, easing Zainabu aside this time. “We must praise the man my uncle calls friend.”
“They aren’t going to take no for an answer,” Sern said just loud enough for everyone on the Alluvia’s bridge to hear.
“I will not step foot on the ship of any woman who dares to call me a liar,” Kahmal grumbled. Or any man who dares to call me wench.”
“You were not invited, white woman!” Zainabu barked. She tossed her thick fall of glossy black waist length hair behind her.
“I appreciate your offer, Prince Kamau, and I am honored but we have but a short time to reach Rysalia Prime. The fate of my bloodkin has great concern for me,” Cree reminded the Necromanian warrior.
“You will need help in rescuing your kin,” Taborn said. “We can be of assistance to you.”
“How?” Kahmal snapped. “Will you station your dreadnaughts around the perimeter of Rysalia Prime and threaten to blow away the Daughters to the Four Winds? The Multitude will know there are men nearby and destroy your vessel in the blink of an eye.”
“Nay, but my vessel will be at your back when the Winds lift the wings of your ship,” Taborn pledged. “We will run interference for you as you escape.”
“The Rysalians will know you are in the vicinity,” Kahmal stated. “You ….”
“We will be invisible to their sensors, wench,” Taborn boasted. “We can not be seen until we are ready to be seen!”
“You have cloaking technology?” Kahmal asked, eyes wide.
Taborn grinned. “A marvelous gift from our friends, the Scaans,” he said.
“Your assistance is greatly appreciated,” Cree said for Kahmal. “I don’t think the Daughters are going to let me go with a fond fare-the-well and a see-ya.”
Taborn threw back his head and laughed, a booming sound that reverberated through the vid-com channels. “I would think not, Kamerone Cree! You are high on their foig list!”
“Will you return to Terra when you rescue your kin?” Zainabu asked.
“Aye,” Cree said then could have kicked himself for he knew as surely as he was standing there what was about to happen.
“Then you will take me with you to be reunited with my J’Bai!” Zainabu said, her face lighting up for the first time.
Dorrie groaned for the man in question was already married—to Dr. Beryla Dean. She put her hand over her mouth and looked at Cree.
“I will send Zainabu over to you now!” Taborn said and every woman on the Alluvia heard the relief in his voice as he spoke.
“Wait!” Cree said but it was already too late. In a matter of seconds, the statuesque black woman was standing on the bridge of the Amazeen ship.
Kahmal’s back was ramrod straight as she glared at the tall black woman who was only marginally less muscular and tall as Kahmal. With very large breasts and an oversized ass, the Necromanian was an imposing sight. Before anyone could move, the dark woman marched over to Cree and flung her arms around him, picking him up from the floor in a bear hug as though he was a child.
“Cree, boon friend of my J’Bai!” she greeted him. “It is an honor to meet you!”
Dorrie tried not to laugh at the grunt that escaped the Prime Reaper’s lips as he was being mauled by the large woman.
Sern could hear the gears grinding away in Cree’s brain and was hard pressed not to laugh, as well. She had intercepted the wayward thought that he now had still another female for whom to be responsible and knew the Reaper was inwardly groaning.
“It is an honor to meet you, too,” Cree managed to say before Zainabu released him.
“I will protect you with my life, Reaper!” Zainabu swore.
Kahmal had to look away, biting her lower lip to keep from bursting into laughter. She remembered all too well Cree’s answer to Chanz’ pledge to protect his life with her own.
“You find my vow humorous, Amazeen?” Zainabu demanded, starting toward Kahmal.
“No!” Cree shouted. He put himself between the two women. “The Major is laughing at me.”
Zainabu stiffened. “She had best not laugh at you, Reaper!”
“It was something I said awhile ago that she finds laughable,” Cree was quick to tell her. “It has nothing to do with you, milady.”
The black woman narrowed her eyes at Kahmal. “What was it he said that brought about such a reaction, Amazeen?”
“A typical Cree-ism you will get to know well, Necromani. He had saved not only my life but the lives of two of my crew,” Kahmal replied.
Zainabu nodded. “Attribution. I am familiar with such.” She glanced at Cree. “That he acted in such a way merely re-enforces my vow to keep him safe. Continue.”
Cree groaned and shook his head.
“One of my women pledged her life to him, as well, and he acted like the spoiled little boy he can be by telling her he did not need that kind of pressure. He doesn’t like to think he needs the protection of mere women such as us.”
“You are one more woman for him to feel responsible for,” Sern said.
“I see,” Zainabu stated. She swept her gaze over the Reaper and settled on his bare feet. “Why does he not have proper boots?”
“We like to keep our men barefoot and pregnant,” Dorrie quipped, ignoring Cree’s warning growl.
Zainabu’s lips puckered. “I can see the wisdom in that,” she agreed, “but it isn’t possible, is it?”
“That’s enough,” Cree said, aware that Prince Kamau was listening intently to the women’s conversation. He turned to the Necromanian. “Your help is welcome and greatly appreciated, Prince Kamau. How will we be able to contact you when the time comes?”
Taborn smiled. “We have stealth capabilities, such as no other world has developed, and secure channels. We will not be far away, Kamerone Cree. Zainabu will call us when we are needed.” He arched a thick black brow. “What size boot do you need, Reaper?”
Zainabu sniffed, sniffed again, and then turned to look down at Ceatie. Her eyes lit up. “A were beast!” she said and rushed over to where the weretiger was sprawled out at Sern’s feet. She went to her knees and buried her face in the old animal’s fur. “I have not seen your like in years, Old One!”
Ceatie began purring so loudly it was hard to hear Cree answering Taborn concerning his boot size. He licked the ebony face pressing close to his and made a mewling sound that bespoke of his contentment.
“May I be a member of your pack, Old One?” Zainabu asked the weretiger.
Sern exchanged a glance with the black woman and in the space of a few seconds it was obvious to every woman there the two would be good friends.
The black boots materialized on the transport pad a few moments later and Cree swiped them up. He stalked off with them, muttering under his breath. He barely remembered to thank Taborn for the gift.
“Zainabu!” Taborn called out and when the black woman stood up and faced him, hands on her ample hips, he shook a finger at her. “Do not cause the Reaper undue stress and do not try to run his life as you tried to run mine!”
“Be gone with you, Kamau,” the Necromanian woman said. “We will call when we need you.” She dismissed him by turning her back and dropping down beside Ceatie once more.
“May the Wind be always at your back, Major Kahmal,” Taborn said. “You will need it with Zainabu close at hand.”
With that said, the vid-com screen went black and in the twinkle of an eye, the four Necromanian dreadnaughts were gone.
“Your prince is a member of the Windwarrior Society?” Kahmal asked.
“A grand master, I believe, but I could not care less about such things,” Zainabu said with a sniff.
“Where did they go?” Deon asked with awe. She was scanning the heavens but the dreadnoughts were nowhere on her scope.
“They are out there, but I’ll be damned if I can bring them up on the screen. There isn’t even a blip,” Aegean said.
“Our stealth capabilities are impenetrable,” Zainabu bragged as she got to her feet. She looked around. “Where is the Reaper?”
“He went off to sulk,” Dorrie said, extending her hand. “I am Dorrie Burkhart, a Terran. I’ve known him longer than anyone else onboard so if you have questions, you can come to me.”
“Why does he go to sulk?” Zainabu wanted to know, taking the proffered hand in the warrior way--forearm to forearm.
“He’s a loner,” Sern spoke up. “He prefers to be by himself.”
“And he wants to try on his new boots,” Chanz said with a snort.
Back in the lounge, Cree blocked out the feminine laughter that greeted Chanz’s remark. He felt put upon and under even more pressure now that he had another female to try to keep from harm’s way.
Chapter Three
Kahmal had been searching for over an hour before she finally tried the image deck where she found Cree. When she opened the door to the suite he had programmed, she was shocked to find it resembled what she knew to be a facsimile of Helios 12. The suite was sweltering, with no wind and no moisture at all in the hot stagnant air. Cree was stripped down to a pair of cut-off britches, his bare chest glistening with sweat, the crisp hairs there sparkling, as he went through the intricate motions of some kind of martial arts regimen. He had dispensed with his new boots and she could not help but wonder why he felt the need to torture his feet in such a manner for the sand of the suite undulated with heat.
She didn’t think he’d seen her yet for he appeared to be concentrating on each complex position that made his muscles bunch and ripple. Despite the suffocating heat bearing down on her, she stood there and watched him, mesmerized by the powerful play of his brawny body.
“Would you like to spar with me?” he asked.
“I’d like to throw you down and have at your tight ass,” Kahmal retorted, watching that area of his body flexing beneath the tight-fitting britches.
Cree actually laughed, but he made no comment to her sexiest remark. He continued to move fluidly with the complicated maneuvers. His biceps bulged as he held one position for a few moments before allowing his body to relax. He released a long breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and then came striding toward Kahmal, bending down to swoop up a towel to blot his perspiring face.
The Amazeen Major could not take her eyes from his potent body. The man looked as though he had been molded by the Goddess of Love, Herself. There wasn’t a spare ounce of fat on him and every move he made flowed like a well-oiled machine. Her gaze locked on the stylized crimson tattoo of a scythe on his left pectoral and held. She knew the tattoo had been applied to his flesh with a laser.
“Aye, it did,” he said for she was wondering if it had hurt to have it burned into his flesh.
“I’m surprised you admit it,” she said, tearing her gaze from the wicked brand. She wanted to reach out and trace the tattoo with the tips of her fingers. “How old were you when it was applied?”
He shrugged. “Ten, I believe. I don’t really remember. It was part of the Initiation into the Warrior Caste so at the time it was an honor to undergo the pain.”
“Did you weep?” she asked.
His gaze locked with hers. “What do you think?”
“I cried when my breast was removed,” Kahmal admitted. “It hurt like hell.”
“The tattoo was not nearly as bad as the implants they placed in my brain,” Cree told her.
“When did they surgically insert the micro-receivers?” she asked.
“At about the same time. That played hell with my brain and caused brutal headaches that were incapacitating. The M-Rs did the same thing to my bloodcousins so our handlers didn’t start inserting them in the next class of Reapers until the cadet had gone through puberty.” He ran a hand over his damp face. “That cut down on the severity of the headaches, but I’m told migraines still plagued the cadets.” He swiped the towel under his chin. “I still have the gods-be-damned things and always will.”
Kahmal shook her head. “I thought having my right teat cut off was bad, but it seems you had a much more severe launch into warrior status.”
He stared brazenly at her chest. “You’d never know you had only one breast,” he said.
The Amazeen Major reached up to touch the area. “Prosthetic,” she explained. “Which is removed whenever we engage in combat. Not every Amazeen opts to have the removal of her teat. Only those who know they will be fighting.”
“Ah,” he said. “And you are a warrior before you are a woman.” He held his hand out for her to precede him from the image suite.
She met his gaze. “For you, I would be entirely woman, Reaper.”
His only answer to her statement was a quickly passing smile. Both of them knew she’d never act on her bold declaration and he would never allow it if she did.
Once outside where the cool air could wash over their bodies, Kahmal drew in a long breath. “Was there a reason you were punishing yourself in that hotbox?”
Cree smiled. “It is a cleansing ritual,” he said. “I needed to clear my head.”
“From all the female influences in which you are drowning, Reaper?” she teased.
“Too much estrogen blunts a warrior’s savagery,” he replied with a snort.
“Dorrie tells me there is going to be a problem with the Necromani when we arrive back on Terra,” she said, folding her arms. “How are you going to deal with that?”
The Reaper’s brow furrowed. “The hell if I know,” he said. “I’ll have to leave that problem up to Taborn.”
“Dorrie says Dr. Dean won’t be amendable to losing her mate.”
“No, she won’t,” Cree agreed. “I wouldn’t want to be in Taborn’s boots.” There was something in the Major’s gaze that sent a prickle of unease down the Reaper’s spine. “You have other concerns, ‘Kadia?”
Kahmal looked down at the floor. She didn’t quite know how to broach the subject with him but she and the other women--including the new arrival--had discussed the situation and decided it needed to be brought out into the open. She looked at him.
“As you mentioned to me before, many years of Terran time will have passed before we return,” she began. “How …?”
“You believe my lady will have moved on,” he said quietly. “That she and Tylan Kahn will have become so close he will have taken her from me.”
“You have to consider it,” she said and watching as a bead of sweat rolled down his taut abdomen.
“I consider it every moment of my existence. If such is the case, I will leave them to their new life,” he said but there was great sadness in his tone. “I only want what is best for Bridget and our son.”
She tilted her head to one side. “You won’t fight for her?”
“Bridget loves me,” he said. “I know that. She knows I love her. Tylan knows it just as I know he loves her. As time passes, they will believe me dead, executed at the hands of the Multitude. I cannot expect that she will live her life as a widow. I want her to be happy, to be at peace. He will see to her welfare.”
“You won’t let her know you have returned?”
“I will go to her. The choice will be hers to make,” he said.
“But it will destroy you if she chooses Tylan Kahn,” Kahmal said gently.
“Aye, it will, but if she does, then so be it. If she chooses to stay with him, I will leave and never bother her again.”
The Amazeen turned her face away. “If that happens, will you seek another mate?”
“There can be no other mate for me, ‘Kadia,” he answered.
Kahmal’s eyes narrowed. “Would you at least consider allowing a woman to care for you?” She looked back at him. “To be there to hold your loneliness at bay?”
“Are you volunteering for such an unrewarding assignment, Major?” he countered.
She lifted her chin. “I am.”
He searched her thoughts and was stunned to find every woman on the ship--including the new arrival Zainabu--had offered to stay with him. He shook his head. “Such martyrdom is not necessary,” he grumbled. “I’m a big boy and perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“Dorrie says otherwise,” Kahmal stated. “She mentioned something about you not knowing how to properly drive a car.”
“Properly park a car,” he amended and shrugged. “I can drive one fairly well, but I will admit I have problems parking them. I could learn.”
“She also says you have problems dealing with the human population on Terra.”
Cree frowned. “Dorrie’s going to have her shapely ass turned over my knee if she doesn’t stop talking out of school,” he snapped.
“She’d like that,” Kahmal said with a chuckle.
He gave her a stern look. “Believe me when I tell you she would not.” He turned on his heel and started to stomp away.
Kahmal hurried after him, matching his long, angry stride step for step. “Kamerone, we just …”
“This conversation is at an end, Kahmal,” he said through clenched teeth. “We’ll not discuss the matter again.”
She walked with him all the way to the sonic showers. He arched a brow at her when she would have stood where she was as his hands went to the waistband of his britches.
She grinned and arched a brow, as well.
A wicked gleam entered the Reaper’s eye and he pushed the britches from his hips, giving her an unobstructed look at what Dorrie had speculated would be quite a package.
Kahmal swept her eyes over his loins, gave them a long look, and then met his gaze. “Not bad, Reaper,” she said. “I could always use you on my breeding farm.” With that said, she left, casting him a saucy look over her shoulder.
“Women,” he growled as he snatched open the door to one of the sonic showers and stepped inside.
Kahmal was grinning so widely when she walked onto the bridge all the women stared at her. “Who,” the Major inquired, “gave our Reaper the cut-off britches?”
Deon frowned. “I did. Why?”
“Nice,” Kahmal said. “Damned nice.” She sat down in the command chair. “And by the way Dorrie, he fills them out better than any man I’ve ever seen.”
Dorrie nodded. “Told you, didn’t I?”
“Indeed you did and I got a good look at what those britches were hiding.”
“And?” Dorrie prompted, every woman awaiting the answer.
Kahmal’s lips quirked. “More than nice and, no, he isn’t circumcised.”
Sern intercepted the furious growl from the shower and knew the Reaper was listening to their conversation. “Eavesdroppers never hear anything good about themselves,” she sent to him and had to shake her head at the enraged vulgarities that came flooding through her mind.
* * * *
After his shower, Cree went back to the quarters Kahmal had allotted him so he would have privacy from all the estrogen saturating the air. He had strolled down the corridor barefoot with the towel wrapped around his lean flanks just hoping one of the women would happen by. A perverse part of him had every intention of letting the towel fall just to see the female’s reaction but none of them had been about. He was a tad disappointed and more than a little annoyed at himself that he was.
Sighing, he punched in the access code to his quarters and went inside. The room was dark and cool--just the way he preferred it.
“Lights up fifteen percent,” he told the onboard computer and the room slowly illuminated.
Absently reaching up to rub at the headache he felt coming on, he removed the towel and padded into the sleeping area, sliding himself belly down on the soft mattress. He lay that way for a moment until he realized the headache was only going to get worse so he turned over, reached up to drag a pillow under his head, and flung an arm over his eyes, bringing up one knee to relieve the workout pull on his aching stomach muscles.
“Lights off.”
The chamber was plunged into unrelieved darkness though with his keen Reaper vision, had his eyes been open, he could have seen as clearly as though the lights had still been on.
He lay trying to regulate his breathing and the god-awful agony that was now slicing through his temples. The increase in the severity, duration, and spacing of his migraines were beginning to worry him. It had started with the IH, the strong neuroinhibitor Hael Sejm had administered to him after his capture on Terra. A second dose along with having been deprived of oxygen for a good long while had set into motion a series of problems for him that had now resulted in his headaches being worse and coming more often than ever before. It was all he could do not to allow the women of the Alluvia to know just how horrific the headaches were.
He groaned and raised his other knee. “Temperature twenty degrees lower,” he said for the cold seemed to help the debilitating pain lashing at his head.
With his pain having increased to the point he was beginning to see the strange wriggling flashes of light at the periphery of his vision and the nausea slowly rising in his throat, he tried to lay perfectly still, attempting to force all thought from his mind for even that caused pain.
For a moment he drifted off and, in that moment, memory leapt up to claim him.
* * * *
“Captain Cree?” Bridget asked, seeing the fixed stare leap back to life. “Are you with us, Captain Cree?”
He had never seen such beautiful eyes in his life as the ones that were staring down at him with such compassion. They were the most delicate shade of green: pale and soothing. They looked at him with so much tenderness, such overwhelming sympathy he knew he could trust their owner.
“It’s over,” she told him gently. “We’re through.”
“S .. stay,” he whispered, his throat an agony.
“What?” she asked.
Even as the orderlies lifted him, moving him to a gurney, Cree found he could not look away from the woman’s beautiful green eyes. He tried to lift his hand, to touch the hand of the woman whose eyes held him so enthralled, but his muscles wouldn’t cooperate.
“W .. with me,” he asked.
“Captain Cree?”
There they are again, he thought, his lips pulling back in a slow, confused smile. There are those beautiful, understanding eyes. He tried to lift his hand to touch their owner’s cheek, but could not.
“How do you feel?” Bridget asked him.
“What’s your name?” he croaked.
“Dr. Dunne,” she replied. When he frowned, she amended her answer. “Bridget. Bridget Dunne.”
“Bridget,” he repeated.
“Are you cold?”
“Aye,” he sighed. Her voice was so soft, so incredibly gentle. It filled him with a need to which he could not put a name.
“We’re getting you a blanket.” She reached out to smooth away a lock of dark hair from his forehead.
Cree closed his eyes, the effects of the synthetic neurotransmitter making the smell of her flesh a vivid sensation in his nostrils. Like the caress of her voice, her touch was infinitely desirable and completely calming.
Then there had been excruciating pain. Horror. Betrayal. Fear. Helplessness. Hopelessness. Defenselessness. Uselessness.
“Come, Kam,” she whispered. “Come to me and the pain will stop.”
He held out his hand, striving to touch hers, hopeful, ecstatic, then she began to fade from his sight.
“No!” he cried out, but she was gone, leaving him lost, desperate, so totally without hope.
“Where is she?” his mind demanded. He whimpered. “Where is she?” He screamed. “Where is she?”
“Captain?”
The light was piercing white filing his head with the worst pain he could ever remember experiencing.
“Why wasn’t she here?”
“Captain?”
He tried to focus. Someone shook him gently, spoke his given name. Fog, thick and numbing was clouding his vision and he couldn’t move, couldn’t find his way out of the mist. Why wouldn’t she come to him?
“Captain Cree!”
His vision cleared and he found himself looking up into the beautiful green eyes of the woman for whom he had been searching in his nightmare world. She was leaning over him, her face concerned, those beautiful green eyes filled with tears.
“Go away.” The command was bitter. “You weren’t there when I needed you and I don’t want you here now!”