BlackWind (62 page)

The Bugul Noz looked up. “You know?”

“That you are in love with him?” Danyon glanced at the clock, knowing it would be a matter of minutes before Cree crashed through the door. “I am aware of your feelings, friend.”

Ordin heard the noise at the end of the corridor.

“Change, my loyal friend!” Danyon ordered. “Change now and we will both have what we want!”

Ordin had no time to think about what he was doing, for there came a pounding at the door. Danyon bid him hurry as the pounding increased. He heard Cree's bellow of rage. Oath-bound to do as he was bid, Ordin had no choice but to give in to the demand.

“Do it now!” Danyon hissed, obviously sensing Ordin's capitulation.

Gver pictured Bronwyn in his mind and shuddered, her physical shape settling over him like a silken coat. He looked down at his shape and was not displeased. A momentary flash of thought sped through his mind and he wondered what it would be like to have the Reaper hold him, to make love to him in this borrowed form. So engrossed in his own metamorphic change, he didn't notice Danyon had also taken a different shape until the blade buried itself deep in Ordin's belly. He knew he had made a terrible mistake. He had trusted the incubus and now his life was forfeit.

“I am sorry, my friend,” Danyon said from the mouth of a stranger. He dragged the blade upward, slicing into Ordin's heart. “Your sacrifice will not go unmourned.”

The last thing Ordin Gver saw was the door bursting open with a bang. He turned his eyes to the sudden flash of flames spreading across that side of the room, and through the crackling, searing heat, he saw Cree's terrified face. Though the Reaper was screaming, Ordin could not hear the tortured cries. As his stolen form sagged against the stranger/Nightwind who had gutted him, he knew Cree could never pass through the flames to what he thought was his ladylove. Reaching out his dying hand toward the only being he had ever loved, Ordin Gver died, Viraidan Cree's horrified face stamped forever on his soul.

“Bronwyn!” Cree screamed, trying to find a way through the flames. The parasite was crippling him with pain in order to keep him clear of the leaping fire. He had caught the blended scent of Bronwyn's vaginal juices and the tormenting stench of Brell's ejaculatory fluid. The mental image of Brell straining against her, taking her, as she lay unconscious nearly drove Cree mad. The pain in his body was nothing compared to the pain in his heart.

“She's mine!” he heard Koenen Brell shout. “She will be with me for eternity! If I can't have her, you sure as hell will never put your filthy hands on her again!”

The insane coroner was holding Bronwyn's limp body in his left arm, his right hand pressed between her breasts where the scalpel was buried. As the flames rose higher, shutting out the people locked in a deadly embrace, the fire alarm began to peel. Overhead, the sprinklers sputtered and came alive.

But Cree knew it was too late to save Bronwyn. The flames surrounded her, but she was not feeling their lethal kiss. He had seen the moment her life had fled and it was a moment he would relive for as long as he drew breath.

“Bronwyn!” It was an anguished cry that drove him to his knees. He drew in a deep, suffering breath, then froze as the scent of shed blood reached his quivering nostrils.

Because of this distraction, he barely smelled another putrid odor that invaded the corridor, and barely felt the prick of the needle as it entered his neck. He reached up to cover the spreading sting.

“See what your lust has done to Bronwyn McGregor?” a voice bid him.

Turning his head, he found himself staring into the gloating, vengeful eyes of Ski'Ah Dubhgaoth. As consciousness fled, his last thought was that the bloodscent he had inhaled was not Bronwyn's.

“What did you learn?” Dr. Wynth, Baybridge's D.E.O., asked when Sage Hesar entered the open door of Wynth's office.

“They recovered two bodies.” Sage wiped a sooty arm across his forehead. “Both male.”

Brian slowly looked up. “Both?”

“One is definitely Koenen Brell. The fire didn't destroy his face entirely. They think the other is Nyles Brady.”

“Who?” Brian asked.

“The s.o.b. who killed all those animals in Missouri at the animal shelter? He's missing from Five North,” Sage explained. “They can't go by dental records because Brady was toothless and didn't wear dentures.”

“Oh, him.” Brian looked at the floor, confusion running rampant through his numb brain.

“Why did you think Bronwyn was down there, Brian?” Wynth queried.

“I saw her take the service elevator.” Brian motioned for Sage to take a seat beside him. “Have they found her?”

“We're still looking for her and Captain Cree,” Douglas Cahill responded. Cree's second-in-command had been standing silently on the far side of Wynth's office. He shrugged. “Neither answers their page. Chances are they're off site together and don't have their pagers on.”

Brian knew differently. He had been too far away down the corridor to stop the tall, red-haired woman from disappearing with the Reaper. He had no doubt the malodorous smell that had assaulted him when he got off the elevator after Cree's descent had belonged to the Amazeen about whom Cree had warned him. Only two people had disappeared before his eyes—not three—so that left Bronwyn's whereabouts unaccounted for.

“What was Brady doing in Brell's office, anyway?” Wynth demanded.

“How would he have gotten there, is a better question,” Sage countered.

“Inmate Brady managed to get out of his pod,” Cahill reported.

“Obviously,” Brian grated. “How the hell that happened, I can't imagine.”

“Well, we'd damned well better find out!” Wynth snapped. “We lost a good man to this carelessness. Koe will be sorely missed.”

Brian and Sage exchanged a look. Brian knew Sage shared his feelings for Brell. Neither man had liked the coroner. Though Brell had done his job exceptionally well, his social skills had left something to be desired. While Brian would not mourn him, neither would he say anything bad about him.

“Do they know what started the fire?” Brian asked, changing the subject.

“Not yet.” Sage, obviously bone tired, drew in a long breath. He had arrived at the complex from the airport just after the fire alarm started, and had seen the firefighters manhandling Brian out of the building. Brian's frantic shouts to Sage, begging him, anyone, to get Bronwyn out of the engulfed room, had pushed Sage into the building, outwardly mindless of his own safety. “The State Fire Marshall was there when I left. It probably won't be known for a few days.”

“I want to take the security level to Six until we find Cree,” Wynth said. “No one in or out for the time being, all inmates in their pods and accounted for. I want responses from every staff member, whether on duty or not.” He pointed at Cahill. “Is that understood?”

“Perfectly, Sir. Anything else?”

“Find Cree!”

Cahill snapped to attention and saluted, then dashed from the room.

“I'm worried about Bronwyn,” Sage admitted, looking at Brian.

“If she's with Cree, she's perfectly safe,” Wynth said.

“Do you think she's with Cree, Brian?” Sage asked.

Brian flinched. “No, I don't.”

“Then where is she?”

“I don't know,” Brian said, getting up. “And I won't find out sitting here.” He locked gazes with Sage. “Will you help me look for her?”

“I've got a stake in finding her,” Sage said with a quick smile that slid almost instantly from his lips. He cast Dr. Wynth a passing look. “After all, she's now my stepsister.”

“Go,” Wynth said, flinging a hand at them. “I'm worried about her, too. I'll hold off calling Neal and DeeDee until you men get back to me.”

Brian took Sage's arm and led him into the corridor, moving close to the young man once they were out of Wynth's earshot.

“We aren't going to find Viraidan. But Bronwyn is another matter.”

Sage stared at him. “You think that was Cree's body in the morgue?”

“I know gods-be-damned well it wasn't. If it isn't Brady, I don't know who the hell it is, and at this point I don't really care. We need to concentrate on finding Bronwyn and as quickly as we can!”

Bronwyn was listening to the wind skirling through the trees. She felt the chilly breeze blowing across her face and was reluctant to open her eyes. Comfortable where she lay—the cottony softness beneath her, the warm comforter snug along her body, and the soothing silkiness of the fabric pressed lightly against her cheek—had lulled her into gentle dreams from which she hated to be drawn. Sighing as a firm hand stroked her hair, she smiled.

“Time to wake, Milady.”

A pout formed on Bronwyn's lips. She gave out a moan of protest but opened her eyes. For a moment, she watched her bedroom curtains billowing, the white lace fluttering in the breeze. She closed her eyes once more and turned to her back. Lifting her arms to the sides of her head, she stretched, groaning as her muscles flexed.

“Pease shut the window, Cedric.”

The sound of the window closing, the cessation of the wind, brought her eyes open again. Expecting to see the aged Nightwind hovering at her bedside, she was not pleased to find Danyon Hart.

“It's late afternoon, Beloved,” he informed her. “There are people looking for you.”

She pushed up in the bed, her face tight. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”

“Your machine is turned off and you weren't answering your pages. People are worried. I thought it best to wake you.”

Looking at her watch, she was stunned to see it was well after 4 p.m. “Oh, my God!” she said, tossing back the covers. She stopped, staring at her nightgown. “What the hell is going on here?” Not prone to taking naps during the day, she would have never put on her nightgown to sleep. Suspiciously, she looked at Danyon. “Did you do this?”

He folded his arms over his chest. “There was a fire in the morgue. Koenen Brell is dead.”

Surprise lifted Bronwyn's eyebrows. “Dead?”

“Do you remember being there with him?”

Bronwyn looked at the comforter, her gaze straying back and forth over the floral pattern. She searched her memory and found a black hole, pieces of her day missing. A vague recollection of talking to Brell flittered through her mind but escaped as quickly as it came.

“What's the last thing you remember?” Danyon pressed.

“I was with Aidan. At the stables.”

“And Brell drove up as you were leaving. Remember?”

She put a hand to her head. “Vaguely, but—”

“The two of you talked about Brell's concerns regarding Cree.”

“Concerns about what?”

“Do you remember going to the morgue to confront Brell?”

“Confront him? Why would I have...?”

“He suggested that Cree had been killing your patients,” Danyon said, his eyes holding hers, not allowing her to look away. “He was more astute that I gave him credit for, since that was exactly what the Reaper has been doing.”

A memory slithered insidiously through Bronwyn's mind and snatches of her conversation with Brell returned.

“You went to the lab and got into an argument with Brell,” Danyon insisted. “He tried to stab you, but you got away. You ran into the corridor, passing Nyles Brady, who attempted to grab you. Remember? You kicked him, ran to the stairwell, and as you snatched open the door, you looked back and saw him struggling with Brell. You watched in horror as Brady dragged Brell into the lab and the slammed the door shut. Do you remember?”

Bronwyn was lost in the Nightwind's stygian gaze. Slowly, she saw the scenes unfolding in her mind's eye, accepting them as truth as the tragedy played itself out.

“Do you remember?” Danyon repeated.

She nodded, unable to break free of the hold his dark orbs had on her.

“Good,” he said, putting out a hand and drawing her to her feet.

She allowed herself to be enfolded in his arms. He nestled her against his chest and cupped her head in one strong hand.

“Listen carefully to what I tell you, Beloved,” he said, his voice the only sound she could hear. “Heed my every word and know it to be exactly as things occurred. Understand?”

“Yes, Danyon,” she answered automatically.

“You fled the morgue, running up the stairs to find a call box from which to let security know what was happening. You heard the fire alarm go off and it startled you. Understand? You tripped on the stairs and fell, hitting your head on one of the risers. Do you feel the bump?”

Bronwyn touched the raised knot on her left temple. “Yes.”

“Your head is hurting, is it not?”

A slight whimper escaped her lips. “Yes...”

“You don't know how long you were out, but when you woke, the air was thick with smoke. The klaxons were peeling and you could hear people running. Understand? You were disoriented, and instead of going up the stairwell, you went down, well past the morgue level and to the containment cells below.”

He tipped up her head and stared into her eyes.

“Do you know how you gained access to the containment cell area?”

Bronwyn reached down to her hip and pantomimed digging into a pocket. She brought up her hand, her fingers clutched around a phantom key.

“I had this in my jeans,” she said.

“Good. What happened then?”

Bronwyn blinked for a moment, then a memory congealed in her mind. “I went into the containment area and locked the door behind me. My head was hurting so badly, all I wanted to do was lie down.”

“Did you?”

“Yes,” she said in a monotone. “In one of the cells.”

“On the floor?”

“There was nowhere else to lie.”

“Where was your pager?”

“I had left it in my apartment.”

“Where was Cree during this time?”

She cocked her head, thinking. “I don't know.”

“Do you remember arguing with him?”

Bronwyn nodded.

“What did you argue about?”

She suddenly felt deep regret. “He asked me to marry him and I told him no.”

“Why would he have asked you to marry him?”

A blush spread over Bronwyn's cheeks. “We've been having an affair, but I had decided to break it off.”