Rapture's Etesian (6 page)

Her acute hearing took in the words of the sentries as Kynthia opened the courtyard gate. She limped up the marble steps to the portico then pushed open the door. Tired as she was, pain lingering to impede her movements, she knew she would never be able to climb the curving stairs. Instead, she headed for the pantry where darkness prevailed almost as completely as in the special room her aunt had built on the upper floor.

Like a very old woman—feeble and bent—Kynthia eased the pantry door closed and barred it from the inside. She supposed Erinyes would find fault with her choice of lodging for the coming day but there was nothing within the pantry that was of such vital importance it could not wait until sundown.

Upon sacks of flour and salt, Kynthia made her bed. Though uncomfortable and lumpy, it was better than the cold, bare floor. As she settled down, her thoughts were jumbled, mixed in with bitter memories that made her heart hurt.

It was the memory of the evil man who had changed her life forever that kept Kynthia awake through that long day. Even as she heard her sisters and aunt converse with the servants who had not been able to gain entrance to the pantry and had called the mistress for her advice, the young woman lay wide-eyed in the darkness.

Nor did she answer her aunt when the older woman called softly to her through the door.

“Minos,” Kynthia whispered, loathing the name as much as she despised the one who had held it.

It had not been the vicious rape that had left a sixteen-year-old girl bruised and battered, broken and bleeding. The bastard’s rough hands and chipped nails had gouged and pinched her flesh, his dirty fingers ramming into each orifice of her body as he used her. His foul breath and jagged teeth, filthy, unwashed body and sour odor had repelled her as he rutted over her. Though the painful invasion of his stumpy tool had hurt her soul more than her defenseless body, it had been his drunken assurance that she had enjoyed the defilement he had enacted upon her.

“You like that, huh, girl?” he had asked over and over again as he rammed his cock inside her torn vagina, flipping her over to invade another opening that brought screams of agony shrilling from her throat.

Finally flinging over to his back in exhaustion claimed by the potent wine he had been swilling all day, he ignored the girl he had deflowered so brutally. As he lay spent—his withered rod flopped upon his dirty thigh—she had crept to a rock, lifted it quietly then brought it down upon his ugly head, squashing the cranium like an over-ripe melon.

Over and over again, until there was nothing left but mush where once there had been brains and skull, Kynthia took her revenge on the man who had ruined her life. Staggering to her feet, she had begun the long trek to her parents’ home in a state of icy calm.

“No man will want her now. She’s damaged goods,” her brother had warned their parents when the Healer had come and gone and Kynthia’s wounds had been dressed.

“She’s lucky the Tribunal does not sentence her to death for killing a man,” her father moaned, burying his face in his hands. “What will we do with her now?”

“We must find her a good man,” her mother had sobbed. “A gentle man who will overlook what was done.”

“She murdered a man!” her father whispered. “Who will want to take her to wife knowing that?”

But one man had.

Even as the young girl lay healing, word came to her parents that a man wished her hand in Joining. With no expectations of anyone else ever asking for marriage to their deflowered daughter, Kynthia’s parents had agreed. Despite screams of denial and pitiful cries of pleading, her father and brother had taken her to the island where her betrothed lived.

“I don’t want you!” Kynthia had screamed at the man who had met them at the quay.

“Be quiet, girl!” her father had insisted. He would have continued but the man who would be his son-in-law had held up a hand.

“What is it you want, then?” the man had asked her.

There was no hesitation for Kynthia. “I want to be as strong as any man and just as heartless. I want to live my life as I see fit and never have anyone gainsay me!” Her hands had clenched into fists. “I want no man between my legs ever again!”

“Forgive her, milord!” her brother had cried out. “She has been unhinged by what happened.”

A single glance from the man had silenced father and son. Extending a purse to them with a bride price that would equal any in the district, he bade them leave.

Hating every man who had ever drawn breath—her father and brother included—Kynthia did not care that her kin left her alone on the island with a man none of them knew anything about. If she had to, if it took a day, a week, a month or a year, she’d bash the man’s brains out and flee the island. Never again would she be at the mercy of any man. Never again would any man ram his filthy rod into her.

“I have no desire for you in that way, wench,” the man told her. “You need never lie with any man you do not wish to.”

“Not even you?” she had sneered.

“Most especially not me,” he had insisted.

“Then why did you buy me?” she snarled.

“To right the wrong, Sweeting,” he said with a faint smile. “For my sister.”

Chapter Four

Kratos sat bolt upright in the bed, his heart hammering as the door to his room was flung open. He would have flung himself to the left to take up his dagger but Leksi’s voice stopped him.

“She is a wolf!” Leksi pronounced. He advanced into the room. Striking a light, he lit a lantern then shook out the thin piece of wood and tossed it to the table. “A beautiful gray wolf but a wolf just the same.”

Having been rudely jerked out of a sound sleep, Kratos was understandably disoriented and a tad more than annoyed as evidenced by the large fart he let loose as he threw the covers aside. Standing in all his naked, brawny glory, the warrior’s bodily note was loud and prolonged and carried with it an extremely unpleasant odor that caused Leksi to fan the air. “By the gods, Kratos! Have a care that you don’t suffocate me!” he complained.

“Don’t burst into my room whilst I am dreaming of having five dancing girls giving me the massage of my life then!” Kratos shot back. He scratched his balls as he padded heavily to the chamber pot then braced himself for a good piss. “What couldn’t wait until I’ve put my head together, brat?”

“She’s a wolf!” Leksi repeated. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

Kratos concentrated to make sure his aim was as sure as ever as he relieved himself. The old warrior prided himself in the fact that, unlike many men his age, he left no mess for the morning maid to clean. He glanced back over his shoulder, frowning. “Are you talking about the bothersome one?”

“Aye!” Leksi agreed. “She came to fetch her horse but things got a bit off track. I’ll take the beast to her this evening.”

Sha
king his member, Kratos’ frown deepened. “She’s a changeling and you’re going to meet her at eventide? How stupid is that, brat? Why not in the full light of day?”

“I don’t think she’s about in the daylight, Kratos,” Leksi explained. He puffed out his chest. “I am not afraid of her.”

“Well, you’re not the brightest piece of material in the stack,” Kratos reminded his young friend.

“Nor am I the dullest,” Leksi returned. He plopped down on Kratos’ bed, as the older warrior got dressed.

“I’ve heard tell of a gray wolf haunting the hills beyond,” Kratos remarked. “Could be her.”

“I hurt her,” Leksi admitted, and when his friend turned to give him a narrowed look, the younger warrior blushed. “Not on purpose, though.”

“And she is willing to meet with you?” Kratos inquired as he pulled on his uniform tunic. “Either the girl is curious about you or she’s luring you to your death.” He took up his belt and dragged it around his ample waist. “Perhaps I should accompany you.”

Leksi shook his head. “She’ll think it’s an ambush. I’ll go alone.”

Kratos shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He sat down to pull on his boots. “You will no matter what I advise.”

As the two friends made their way to the barracks to break their fast with the other soldiers, Kratos kept a surreptitious eye on the young warrior and plotted a way to follow Leksi to the meeting place that night.

* * * * *

Kynthia woke long before the sun was high in the sky. The sacks of flour were soft enough but the salt and sugar had gone lumpy and poked her in myriad places to deny her rest. Staring through the almost-dark room, she listened to the servants going about their midmorning chores and listened in on their conversations concerning their menfolk. It was at such times she learned more about males than she had at the knee of her aunt, as Galatea instructed her on the ways of life.

As she had grown older, Kynthia had begun to feel an emptiness that at first merely annoyed her. She had tried to fill her waking moments with martial arts training, becoming the best horsewoman she could be, and learning strategy at the hands of the most knowledgeable warrioresses among the Amazeen. Despite grueling hours of training, the daylight hours were filled with loneliness and building restlessness. She was miserable most of the time and nothing she did seemed to alleviate the situation. The harder she worked, the more restless she became.

Kynthia did not understand what ailed her and sought out her aunt’s counsel.

“It’s not that your cycle is completely reversed from an ordinary woman’s,” her aunt had explained. “Training at night instead of during the day has its particular challenges but you will be the best night warrioress among all the tribes. As for the sleeplessness and discontent during the daylight hours, my guess is you are simply lonely, Kynni. You need a companion.”

By companion, Kynthia knew her aunt meant of the male persuasion and such a thing was anathema to the young woman.

“I have no need of a man to burden me!” she exclaimed. “Besides, men sleep at night and war during the day!”

Well, men save the one who had purchased her from her father, and his was a different story…

* * * * *

“You want me for what?” Kynthia had shouted, backing away from the man who had bought her from her family.

“Now, wait before you jump to the wrong conclusion!” the man had asked.

“I might not want a man pawing me, but I sure as hell don’t want a woman to, either!”

“That’s not going to happen. Let me explain.”

Despite mistrust of the man across from her, Kynthia snapped her mouth shut and surreptitiously looked for a weapon should he decide to attack her.

“There is a large rock just behind you, wench, but I warn you—before you could turn and reach for it, I would be on you like snow blanketing the highest alp.”

Kynthia blinked. “You read minds?” she asked.

“I possess many talents and that is a minor one,” he admitted.

“I will not be some woman’s plaything,” Kynthia stated. “Nor will I be someone’s slave!”

The humor slipped slowly from the man’s face. “We are all slaves to something, wench. At the moment, your master is righteous anger and he rides you more cruelly than any human owner could.”

“What does she want of me?” Kynthia shouted. She did not care for word games and she sensed such activity with a man like this would be a losing endeavor.

“My sister was raped just as you were.”

Kynthia sat down upon a large, flat rock. “She wants my help in slaying the man who attacked her?”

He should his head. “No. He received his just punishment long ago and Callista, too, is long gone.”

Suspicion narrowed Kynthia’s eyes. “She is dead?”

“Aye, she is dead,” he said.

Kynthia frowned. “I still don’t see how—”

“My sister was considered to be the most beautiful girl child beneath the canopy of the heavens,” he continued. “She had thick brown curls that swept the ground as she walked. Her eyes were the color of lush green foliage and she possessed skin sun-kissed with perfection. Suitors came from all over the world to vie for her hand.”

“But that ceased when she was raped, eh?” Kynthia asked in a bitter tone.

His face became a mask of hatred. “She was a mere child when that Molossian bastard stole her from us. He used her like a common whore then cast her aside in search of his next victim.”

“Molossian?” Kynthia repeated for it was a word she had never heard before.

“I would have gelded the son-of-a-bitch had I not been off-world at that time.”

“Off what?”

“Never mind, just listen,” he had snapped.

So she had paid attention to his tale, and when he was finished, she had stared at him. “Your sister must have been a very astute warrioress.”

“What she knew, she learned from me and that by chance. On my world—”

“That’s it,” Kynthia grumbled, throwing up her hands. “I don’t know what world you live in, milord, but apparently it isn’t the one where the rest of us reside.” She started to get up but he was so quick, she never saw him move until he was right beside her, his heavy hand on her shoulder. He kept her from rising and the strength in that one hand made it impossible for her to shake it off.

“You are right, Kynthia Ancaeus, I am not of your world. I am a Reaper. My name is Cainer Cree and I am from a place millions of miles from here called Ghaoithe. I have been here now for over seventy-five years and have not aged one day in all that time. I never get sick and if I accidentally cut myself, I heal in the blink of an eye. I have the strength of ten men along with the ability to read minds and…” He raised one thick dark brow. “If I could leave this island, I can fly.”