Shades of the Wind (25 page)

Catherine lay there in her linen shift with the counterpoise of her own broad collar

digging into the center of her back. “What of me, milord?”

He cocked his head to one side. “Is that one of your favorite gowns?”

A small frown formed on her lovely face. “Yes. Why?”

Her husband gave her a hot look. “Do you want it ripped from your body or would

you prefer to take it off yourself?” he asked in a low, sultry voice.

She sat up. “I’ll take it off,” she said. Swinging her legs from the bed, she turned so

he could unhook her broad collar.

Khenty obliged her then tossed the necklace aside, putting his hands to her

shoulder to bring her back against him. He lowered his head to her neck, his lips

finding the bare spot on the plain of her shoulder the shift did not cover. He kissed her,

nipping her lightly with his teeth. She arched her head to the left to give him better

access and was not surprised that his kiss slid up to her neck and his fangs pierced the

vein there.

Bright lust burst over Khenty as the honeyed taste of her rich, red essence flowed

into his mouth. His cock was like steel against the small of her back and he ground

himself against her as he took her life fluid.

“You are insatiable, milord,” she whispered.

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Withdrawing his fangs, he turned her in his arms and before she could protest,

ripped the gown from her shoulders.

“Oh Khenty,” she said. “Not another one!”

“I’ll buy you a thousand such gowns, my beauty,” he said in a husky voice as he

brought her naked body against his. He slanted his mouth over hers and thrust his

tongue deep inside, lifting his bare thigh to press it between her legs so she rode him.

Catherine’s hands went around his neck and she pulled herself up, clasping him

around the waist with her silken legs. “Two can play this game,” she murmured against

his lips.

Sliding his hands from his wife’s shoulders and over her breasts, he gripped her

hips and lifted her so he could impale her moist sheath upon his rigid cock. The

moment he was well seated within her, he put a knee to the mattress and fell with her

beneath him, her limbs securely imprisoning him.

“My woman,” he said as his hips began the ancient rhythm lovers throughout time

had ever enjoyed.

With her husband buried deeply within her, his hands squeezing her buttocks and

lifting her to him for every forceful stroke, Catherine opened her mouth and sank her

fledgling fangs into her prince’s neck to experience the same intense explosion of desire

that he had.

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Shades of the Wind

Aken woke with a gruff snort then made haste to retrieve the boat. Mahaf, the

ferryman, mumbled and grumbled and snorted as he made his way to the boat to pilot

it. Two shades were already seated in the stern of the vessel as he stepped over the side

and took up his oar to plunge it into the midnight dark waters of the underground

river. In the bow of the boat sat the Lord of the Silent Land of the West and his Lady

Consort.

Torches flickered on the rough rock walls of the cavern as the papyrus boat glided

noiselessly over the black satin of the Celestial Waters of Nu. The only sound was the

gentle lap of the water against the hull and the occasional squeak of a bat along the

craggy subterranean cliffs. A faint scent of brimstone wafted past to mingle with the

funeral perfumes that clung to the corporeal bodies of the shades. As silent as the tomb,

the shades sat with heads bowed, fingers clutched, eyes closed.

Seated in the newly remolded seat for the Conductor of Souls, Prince Khenty and

Princess Catherine were quiet, each lost in thoughts that plagued them. It was the lady’s

third journey into the vast land beneath the grounds of Anubeion but unlike the first

three times when she had accompanied her husband joyfully as he led the souls of

Hasani, the tribunalist and Jacob through the Judgment, this time would be different.

This time there would be a reckoning.

Khenty tightened his grip on his wife’s hand. He could feel her trembling and knew

this would be a bad night for her. He had bid her stay behind but she had refused,

telling him that where he went so too would she go.

As the boat flowed up onto the loose shale of the End Shore, its keel scraped the

sand like fingers along a casket lid. The sound was final. It was gruesome and it pierced

Catherine’s tender heart.

As Mahaf stood in the middle of the boat with his oar jammed into the oily ebon

waters to keep it steady, his prince and princess stepped out onto the shore and waited

as the two shades shuffled forward, each in their burial gowns of plain white linen.

Neither shade looked up at the Conductor of Souls as they passed.

Ament, the goddess of the Gates of the Underworld, stood at the entrance with a

tray containing bread and water. Silently she offered the repast to the shades but the

two sadly shook their heads. The goddess looked sadly at Khenty.

“It is not a good night, milord,” she said softly.

“No, Ament,” Khenty replied. “It is not.” With Catherine’s hand in his, he led the

shades into the Underworld and their destiny in the Hall of Two Truths. It was nearing

the sixth hour—the Hour of Journey.

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Standing to one side as the ritual began, Catherine could not keep the tears from

easing down her cheeks. She took pride in watching her husband perform his sacred

duties as psychopomp of his people. In his dog-like mask he was a sight to behold. His

was the power, the authority, the grandeur of his ancient lineage and he represented

Anubis respectfully.

At one point—just before his heart was weighed—Bahru had turned to look

beseechingly at Catherine. His fear was evident in his wide stare. Her tears seemed to

terrify him even more and he looked away, soon lost to the gruesome fate that awaited

him. To give him his due, he did not scream when the croc took him.

Nyria—though she had been silent and submissive on the ferry—grew angry and

defiant as her heart was laid upon the scale. She cursed her prince and his lady,

screaming in wild rage as the crocodile lashed up to devour her, cutting off the black

woman’s savage curses. The sound of her dying filled the chamber.

Catherine saw Khenty lower his head and knew he was hurting for the loss of two

souls even though those souls had been as black as the stygian waters of Nu. She knew

he would take to his canine form before the night was over and run until he was

exhausted, his great heart aching for what should have been and could not be. She

ached to go to him and take him in her arms but there would be time for that when they

returned to Anubeion.

The journey back was as silent as the journey into the Underground. Khenty sat

with his hands dangling between his knees, his head down. Catherine did not touch

him for she knew he needed this time in peace. When the boat docked and Aken had to

be roused to come take possession of it once more, Mahaf shuffled off to his bed and the

prince and his lady started the long climb up the steps that led to the preparation

chambers.

“Would you like me to wait up for you, beloved?” Catherine asked her husband.

Khenty turned to her. “Wait up?” he asked.

“Will you not be going out this eve?” she asked.

The Kensetti prince shook his head. “I’ve no need to go out, milady. I have what I

need here beside me. I will take my comfort from you.”

Catherine smiled and reached up to place her hands to either side of her husband’s

face. “Do you know how grateful I am to the Fates for sending me to you?” she asked.

Khenty drew her into his arms. “As I am grateful to Them, milady.” He kissed her

sweetly then released her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as they resumed

their walk.

“Do you have any regrets?” he asked her.

“Not a one,” she replied. “And you?”

“Never.”

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Shades of the Wind

They reached the halls of the mansion and headed for the stairs. Before they

reached the serpentine steps, Catherine stopped her husband and turned to him, gazing

deeply into his eyes.

“There is something I need to tell you, beloved,” she said.

He tilted his head to one side. “And that is?”

She smiled. “I am carrying your child.”

Khenty nodded. “A girl child as it has been prophesied,” he responded.

Catherine’s eyes widened. “Truly?”

“Aye,” he said, bending down to sweep her up into his arms. He lifted her high

against his chest, ignoring the residual pain that shot through his left arm. “And we will

name her Qeb-hwt.”

Catherine laid her head on her husband’s shoulder as he carried her up the stairs.

She had her answer for long ago. She had found her destiny in the arms of her dark

warrior.

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About the Author

Charlee is the author of over thirty books. Married 39 years to her high school

sweetheart, Tom, she is the mother of two grown sons, Pete and Mike, and the proud

grandmother of Preston Alexander and Victoria Ashley. She is the willing house slave

to five demanding felines who are holding her hostage in her home and only allowing

her to leave in order to purchase food for them. A native of Sarasota, Florida, she grew

up in Colquitt and Albany, Georgia and now lives in the Midwest.

Charlee welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email

address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

Also by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Ellora’s Cavemen: Legendary Tails I
anthology

Fated Mates
anthology

HardWind

Passion’s Mistral

WesternWind: Reaper’s Revenge

WesternWind: WyndRiver Sinner

WindVerse: Ardor’s Leveche

WindVerse: Phantom of the Wind

WindVerse: Pleasure’s Foehn

WindVerse: Prisoners of the Wind

WindWorld: Desire’s Sirocco

WindWorld: Longing’s Levant

WindWorld: Lucien’s Khamsin

WindWorld: Rapture’s Etesian

And see Charlotte Boyett-Compo’s stories at Cerridwen Press

(www.cerridwenpress.com):

BlackWind: Sean and Bronwyn

BlackWind: Viraiden and Bronwyn

Desert Wind

In the Wind’s Eye

Taken By the Wind

Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning

publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC

on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you

breathless.

www.ellorascave.com