Charlotte Boyett-Compo- WIND VERSE- Hunger's Harmattan (16 page)

He sighed heavily. “I suppose so.” Her
fingers were on the closure of his trousers and as she undid his fly, he looked
down at the top of her glossy white hair. As she peeled the garment down his
legs—squatting as she tugged—he put his hands in those luxurious albescent
tresses. “I love your hair,” he whispered.

She was hunkered on the floor at his feet
as he stepped out of his trousers. She tossed the black leather pants aside and
put her hands up to his semierect shaft and heavy balls.

“And I love these,” she said, taking him
into her mouth.

Ailyn drew in a short breath and felt his
body tremble beneath her soft, warm and wet attention. Her tongue was laving
his hardening flesh as her palm cupped him to massage his sac, her lips flexing
around him.

“No, baby,” he said, his voice gruff. He
reached down and tugged at her shoulders until she released him, giving him a
petulant look as he lifted her to her feet.

“Ailyn…” she protested.

“In you,” he said. “I want my cock to be in
you.”

And he got his way.

Captain Bartlett rang to ask the newlyweds
to join him for the evening meal in the ship’s VIP dining hall. “It will just
be the five of us,” he said. “Our healer and my 2-I-C will be joining us.”

Shanee had wanted to decline but Ailyn told
her it would be discourteous to do so. He didn’t want to go either and said as
much.

“Then why are we going?” she grumbled.

“To make nice,” he said as he watched her
slipping back into her uniform. He was already dressed in his with the simple
wave of his hand but she had refused to allow him to dress her in that way.

“I’d get spoiled,” she told him.

Ailyn shrugged. “I like spoiling you but I
understand.”

When the elevator arrived on Deck Four,
there was a man already in the cage. He nodded but did not speak, moving back
as Ailyn escorted his lady in. With their backs to him, the couple stared at
the mat finish on the titanium doors. It was Shanee who moved first, turning to
push Ailyn away before spinning around to confront the man whose hand gripped
an obsidian dagger.

Ailyn hit the opposite wall of the elevator
cage with his right shoulder and bounced off it, falling back to land on his
ass on the floor. The force of his collision with the wall had sent a numbing
pain all the way down to his fingers. Grabbing his hurt arm with his other
hand, he stared up at his lady as she struggled with the man who was striving
to stab his blade downward toward Shanee. Before Ailyn could get to his feet,
the elevator came to a halt, settled and the door opened, spilling the Amazeen
and her protagonist out into the corridor. He gasped as he saw his wife falling
backward with the man atop her. Scrambling to his feet, he reached out to grab
the man’s shoulders to pull him off Shanee. With a growl, he spun the man away
from his wife.

“Cocksucking scum!” Shanee snarled as she
was jerked up by her husband’s pull on the assailant. She used every ounce of
her strength to twist the man’s wrist until the blade he’d intended to use was
imbedded to the hilt in his own heart.

The man looked down with disbelief at the
dagger buried in him then lifted his eyes to Shanee. “You bitch,” he whispered.
He was dead before he hit the floor.

Breathing heavily, the Riezell Guardian
rolled off the dead man and sprang to her feet. Her husband was staring at her.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded and bent over to pull off the
man’s left boot, her jaw clenched. Peeling away his sock as well, she looked at
the bottom of his bare foot where a mark on his sole identified him for her.

“A Storian Primary,” she said, dropping his
leg. “I thought as much.”

“I heard they wore the Assassin’s Mark on
the left side of their neck,” Ailyn said.

“Aye, they used to, but now they hide it so
they appear no different than you or I,” she said. “They’ve been doing it for a
while now. We’ve known about it since your stepfather was attacked a few years
ago.”

At the mention of Vice-Counselor Jost,
Ailyn frowned. “That bastard could have killed you, Shanee,” he said.

“Not a chance. I felt him the moment we got
on the elevator and I know you did too. He’s one of O’Shay’s hirelings no
doubt,” she stated. “That’s the second time they’ve tried to do me in.”

Guards suddenly appeared rushing toward
them down the corridor.

“What happened here?” one of the men asked
after introducing himself as the chief of security.

After relating to the security chief what
had transpired, Shanee told him she’d brief the captain. “You might as well
jettison him now. You can do a retinal scan but there’s not a chance in a
million of finding out who he is,” she said.

“He called himself Franklin and he just
signed on this trip,” the chief said. “Kept to himself.”

“Typical Storian professional,” she
allowed. “Get this prick out of here.”

“Aye, aye, Ma’am. If I need any more
information from you, Colonel, I’ll get in touch.”

“Whatever,” she quipped then took Ailyn’s
arm as two guards picked up the dead man to take him to the morgue. “Let’s go.
I’m hungry,” she said, and pulled him along with her.

“That’s it?” he asked her. “That’s all the
response you’re going to show? You killed a man,
ionúin
.”

“What would you have me do,
ehemann
?
Flutter my eyes and faint? Fall into your arms and sob?” She snorted. “Not
gods-be-damned likely you’ll ever see me do either. He struck, I
counterattacked and he died. End of story.”

“I would have killed him for you,” he said.

“There was no need. I can fight my own
battles.”

When they reached the VIP dining hall, the
captain had already been apprised of what had happened. He apologized
profusely, made sure Ailyn had not been harmed and invited them to take a seat.
The others at the table also voiced their concern.

“We are fine,” Ailyn said, sensing the
annoyance that was lurking just beneath the surface of his wife’s barely civil
disposition. “It’s all over with.”

“Not a very good welcome back to military
life,” the healer commented.

“Oh Colonel, your mother sent a message
asking you to contact her first thing when you return to your quarters
tonight,” the captain said.

Shanee’s head snapped up. “When was this?”

“She called while you were en route to the
dining hall,” Captain Bartlett replied. “I told her what had happened but
assured her you were all right.”

Glaring at the man, Shanee asked from where
her mother was calling.

“She is staying in your quarters on
Riezell,” Bartlett reported.

Ailyn saw a muscle jump in his lady’s cheek
and knew she was a breath away from exploding with fury. Her hands were
clenched into fists in her lap and her gray eyes were sparking fire, her lips
pressed tightly together. He reached out to place his hand over hers. He felt
her jump then snap her attention to him.

“I am here,” was all he needed to say to
calm her down.

Shanee let the tension drain from her rigid
shoulders and she tried to smile although her lips would not obey the command.
Ailyn’s warm flesh on hers was a promise of more than just unity. He was
letting her know he had her back.

The rest of the evening passed intolerably
slowly for Shanee and she was thankful nearly all the questions and remarks
were aimed at her husband and she was being all but ignored. His ordeal on R-9,
his intriguing status as a Reaper, his tales of life on Theristes, held those
at the table spellbound. She was keenly aware of his polite answers, his calm
voice, even his laugh now and again but since he was sitting beside her, her
attention would drop to his right leg as it bounced up and down, an
unmistakable sign of his agitation.

Walking hand in hand back to the elevator
later, they were quiet, each lost in his or her own thoughts.

“Was that as excruciatingly boring to you
as it was to me?” she asked as they waited for the elevator doors to open.

“I’ve had worse times,” he admitted, “but
it’s been awhile.” The doors opened and he put a hand to the small of her back
to usher her inside the empty cage. “I suppose I’ll have to readjust myself to
a social life.”

“I don’t have one so you need not worry on
that account,” she said as the doors closed. She frowned. “You aren’t going to
want to start a social life, are you?”

He shook his head. “Not high on my list of
things to do to make up for twenty years of exile,” he said. “I don’t know that
I will always be capable of playing nicely.”

“Just the thought of having to return my
mother’s call irks the shit out of me,” she snapped. “And to think that woman
was given access to my quarters! There’s no telling how much snooping she’s
done by now.”

“I hope you don’t keep a diary,” he said.

“Of course not,” she snapped. “That’s a
silly female thing to do.”

“Far be it for you to do anything so
impractical,” he teased.

The elevator stopped and they walked out,
were quiet until they reached her door.

“I’d rather take a beating with a
Dóigra
than return her call,” she said.

“
Dóigra
?” he questioned.

She shrugged as the door shushed back on
its pneumatic hinges. “An Amazeen weapon,” she explained. “It has a star-shaped
glass ball on the end used to burn flesh.” She pointed to her own
Dóigra
that stood in one corner of her quarters.

“Ouch,” he commented, having missed the
wicked-looking thing before. It didn’t look like anything he’d like to have
applied to him.

“You should have brought your spear,” she
told him. “We could have crossed them on the wall.”

The vid-com screen was pulsing a light
pearly gray color—not intrusive but not something that could be overlooked
either. It was a not-too-subtle reminder that a call had been generated and a
reply was requested.

“Might as well get it over with,” Shanee
grumbled. “Vid-com on!”

The face of Queen Polemusa, the defense
queen of Amazeen, appeared instantly on the screen. She wasted no time getting
to the point. “You took your time getting back to me, Shanee. Were you hurt in
the attack?”

“No, Mother,” Shanee replied. “I’m sure the
captain said as much to you.”

“He’s a man,” the queen scoffed. “He can’t
be trusted.” Her eyes narrowed. “Is that the Reaper with you?”

Ailyn had sat down in a chair, an ankle
crossed over his knee. His elbows were on the chair arms, his fingers steepled
as he stared at the vid-com screen. “I am Ailyn Harmattan,” he said. “Your
daughter’s mate.”

“A Reaper,” the queen sneered. “A male
warrior of supposedly incomparable abilities though not as good a fighter as an
Amazeen.”

“Try me sometime, sweeting,” Ailyn drawled,
his voice hard. “Any time you feel you want to get your ass put down, look me
up.” An evil smile pulled at his lips. “I’ll be happy to oblige you.”

Shanee’s mouth dropped open and she turned
to stare at her husband. No one dared speak to her mother in such a way and to
have Ailyn do so put unbridled fear for his life in his mate’s heart. “Ailyn!”
she hissed in warning.

“Why are you disturbing Shanee?” Ailyn asked,
ignoring his wife.

Polemusa’s gray eyes widened. “How dare you
allow him to speak to me in such a fashion, Shanee! Chastise that man and send
him away so we can discuss our business.”

“Any business you have with my woman, you
have with me,” Ailyn snapped. “State it and be gone. We’ve had a boring evening
with boring, pretentious people and I’m getting a fucking migraine.”

Sputtering with outrage, Polemusa cursed
vehemently in her native Amazeen language. Her face had mottled with anger and
her eyes were as hot as the fires of hell. “You despicable cur!” she insulted
Ailyn.

“You meddlesome old hag,” Ailyn threw right
back at her.

“Bastard!”

“Bitch.”

Shanee was so astonished all she could do
was turn her head from vid-com to husband as though she were at an
old-fashioned tennis match.

Another wild curse propelled Polemusa up
and out of her chair. She doubled her fists and braced her weight on them as
she leaned on the desk before her.

“I received word an attempt was made on
your life three months or so ago and that you nearly died, Shanee. Since you
had not bothered to inform me what had happened I came to Riezell to speak to
you, to talk sense into you about this ridiculous job you have undertaken with
the Guardians. I want you…”

“We don’t give a Diabolusian rat’s ass what
you want,” Ailyn interrupted her, his face as hard as flint, eyes as cold as
ice. “Shanee is a grown woman—a
married
woman—and is no longer
answerable to you or her tribe since you tossed her out for following the
dictates of her conscience. If all you’re doing is calling to complain, we
don’t care to hear it and now you can end the call.”