Wind Wolf Read online

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  New Concepts Publishing

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  Copyright ©2007 by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  First published in 2007, 2007

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  Lovelorn:

  WINDWOLF

  By

  Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  © copyright July 2006, Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright Sept 2007

  ISBN 978-1-60394-081-8

  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.

  Foreword

  On the planet Faolchú in the Brúidiúil Quadrant of the Ainmhí Galaxy, werewolves ruled and humans are second class citizens relegated to jobs and positions the weres do not want. The Slándáil Phoiblí—or the National Security—is populated entirely by the Modartha, the elite band of werewolves commanded by Colonel Crevan Byrne, the most powerful law enforcement officer in the galaxy.

  Byrne is known well beyond his own segment of the megaverse for being the toughest and most lethal of his kind. His position within the Modartha is one of privilege and power.

  Having taken a human woman as his mate, Byrne married Bailey MacKenna at the stroke of midnight on the 17th of Aibreán, the month of his birth and considered to be an auspicious time for a Joining. Senator Eaaron Flynn gave his niece into the keeping of the Modartha and Diener Class Nate Striker, Bailey's friend, was her only attendant. Major Patrick Byrne, the youngest brother of the Modartha commander, was his best man.

  Having paid an exorbitant amount of money to have a home constructed quickly for his wife exactly to her tastes, and having allowed her to decorate it in any fashion she saw fit, the most feared man on Faolchú found wedded life much to his liking. But married life did not dull the edge of his abilities nor temper his unchallenged authority. If anything, being Joined to Bailey made the Modartha even more appreciate of his exalted station in life, for he could give the woman he loved what her heart desired, and he had the wherewithal to protect her from any and all dangers.

  There was but one fly in the ointment, and that fly was scheduled to die within the week. Come the Summer Solstice, the Resistance leader Kona Doyle would meet his fate in the Central Plaza, and with his death, the only man who had ever stolen a kiss from Bailey Byrne's sweet lips after she'd been claimed by the Mordartha would be no more

  Chapter One

  Crevan Byrne glared at the deputy who had come reluctantly to report to him. The Modartha commander was beyond furious. He was livid and his emotions showed succinctly on his stone-cold face and were evidenced in the brutal tic that kept bunching in his lean jaw. The longer the deputy spoke, the more pronounced the tic became, and the silver of the commander's eyes turned a dark, stormy gunmetal color.

  "We issued a full alert for his arrest, Milord, and...” the deputy said, swallowing hard for the merciless glower that pinned him where he stood was unnerving. It did not waver, and the chill coming from those icy eyes made him shiver.

  "You let him get away,” the man known by friends and enemies alike as Van stated in a soft, menacing tone. His fingers were drumming slowly on the desk top in a dangerously impatient rhythm. “The most wanted man on this planet and you just let him slip right through your fucking fingers!"

  "There was an ambush as we were transferring him to the Teach Bás, Milord. His people killed two of our best men,” the deputy defended his squad. “We did not expect them to..."

  "Where the Resistance is involved, Lieutenant,” Van interrupted him with a sneer, “you expect the unexpected for ten times out of ten that is what they will do.” He sat back in his chair with a snort. “Did you send a team to Sionnach in case the bastard decided to flee back to his Homeworld?"

  "Aye, Milord,” the deputy replied. “The Portal Police have been carefully watching all ships into and out of our air space and..."

  "Doyle is long gone, Lieutenant,” Van snapped. “We'll have to hang his sorry ass another day.” His gray eyes narrowed. “Get the hell out of my sight before I break you in half!"

  Saluting smartly, the deputy got out of the commander's office as quickly as he could, his pale face glistening with sweat, his body trembling violently. He didn't notice the dark stain on his light gray uniform pants until he was standing in front of the Assistant to the Commander's desk.

  "You've pissed yourself, O'Leary,” Daniel Brewer said with a snort. “Go change your clothes, man."

  "Aye, Milord A-C,” Seamus O'Leary replied, his face a dull red as he hurried away.

  Daniel got up from his desk with a curse and knocked once on Van's door before going inside. “What happened?” he asked, not bothering with protocol for he knew Van hated it between them.

  "The fools let Doyle escape,” Van snapped. “The Resistance took him as he was being transferred to the death house."

  "Shite,” Daniel spat. He took a seat in front of Van's desk. “We'll have a helluva time catching the slippery bugger again."

  Van leaned back in his chair with his elbows on the thickly padded arms and steepled his fingertips together. “I'm not so sure. My guess is he'll try to contact my lady."

  Daniel blinked. “The man can't have that much of a death wish, can he?"

  "I know what I'd do if I were him, and there's no doubt in my mind he'll try to get in touch with Bailey,” Van grumbled.

  The A-C shook his head. “He couldn't be all that smart if he'd dare to come after your woman."

  "It will be to our advantage,” Van said, grinding his teeth. His silver eyes sparkled with malice. “His obsession with my lady."

  Daniel had to look away from the brutal look those words caused in his boss. He was very glad at that moment that he wasn't Kona Doyle. “Do you have anything you need for me to do?"

  Van replied that he didn't. “Keep an eye on the teams, and let me know if they get any word on Doyle's whereabouts,” the Modartha said. He lowered his hands and pushed up from the chair. “I'll be home if you need me."

  Striding out into the late afternoon sun, Van glanced around him at the tall buildings surrounding the Central Plaza where the scaffolding had already been erected for Doyle's execution. Somewhere within the scope of the soaring granite and steel constructions that towered above him, he was relatively sure the Resistance leader was hiding. It would have taken someone in power to have arranged the escape, someone with enough clout to stymie the Portal Police and hide Doyle's location from the law.

  Frowning as he climbed aboard his turbo-powered motorcycle and adjusted the black full-face helmet comfortably, he felt a ripple of disquiet wiggle down his back and knew Doyle was watching from somewhere high above him. He resisted the urge to tilt his head back and look up, not wanting to give himself away.

  "I will catch you, were-fox,” Van said aloud. “It's only a matter of time."

  From the fifty-second floor of the copper-colored glass Patterson Building, Kona Doyle observed his adversary kick start the motorcycle then full throttle it into the rushing traffic, mindless of the congestion and speeding vehicles as he wove his way recklessly along the expressway. “I suppose it is too much to ask th
at a ten-ton lorry run over him and squish him into so much mush,” he complained to the man beside him.

  "Our Modartha will get his just desserts, Kona,” Doyle's companion replied. “We will bring the wolf to his knees very soon."

  Tracing a pattern on the security glass through which no one outside the building could see, Kona leaned his head on the window. “I want to be there when he meets his end."

  "You will,” the other person assured him.

  "I want to be the one to drag the blade across his throat,” Kona insisted.

  "We'll see,” came the reply accompanied by a pat on Doyle's tense back.

  "I've never hated anyone like I hate that fucking wolf,” the Resistance leader stated. “He took my woman from me, and for that alone he will pay with his life!"

  "Aye, he should be made to atone for what he did to Bailey in that alley, but you must remember it was her uncle who set the Modartha after her."

  Kona's eyes turned to chips of blue ice. “I've not forgotten it was the Senator who put the plan into play. He'll be made to atone for his transgressions, as well."

  "You will leave the Senator to me,” Doyle's companion said with authority.

  "Aye,” Kona was quick to reply for he had heard the deadly tone and taken note of it.

  "Now, let's see what we can do to expedite the matter of our were-wolf's fall from grace."

  * * * *

  Bailey MacKenna Byrne stood back from the arrangement of spring flowers she'd just finished placing in the vase and cocked her head to one side. Satisfied with the display, she picked up the tall porcelain container and carried it to the polished mahogany sideboard. Once it was aligned precisely between the two golden candelabrums where she thought it should go, she turned to look down at the table setting, smiling at the pale ivory china with its swirls of ivy around the plate rim as it sat on the snow white linen flanked by the golden flatware and pale green crystal water and wineglasses. Everything was just as she wanted it, and the smells coming from the kitchen made her sigh with happiness.

  "The wine!” she said and hurried to the kitchen to uncork the rich port that would accompany the braised beef tips in green peppers and onions so the heady liquor could breathe as Van had taught her.

  Thoughts of her husband and the many little lessons he'd taught her in the months since their marriage made her smile.

  When she had met her Modartha, she had been a simple coroner's assistant—a job she liked well enough but which had been a dead end position. She had known that wasn't how she wanted to spend her entire life but going beyond it didn't seem possible. She had longed for a hearth and home of her own but had never wanted to marry. She could never have imagined in her wildest dreams that she would and that it would be to a man outside her own species—much less that her future held a man of Crevan Byrne's power.

  As she stood looking at the table arrangement with pride, her cheeks turned pink as memories of him accosting her in the alley behind the medical facility that day crept into her mind. His hands had gone where no man's ever had and just thinking of it sent delicious shivers of passion down her.

  "You like that, wench?" he had whispered, his lips at her ear. He had pushed against her and she had felt the hard bulge at the front of his uniform trousers.

  She might not have enjoyed it while he was hassling her, it might well have terrified and shamed her at the time, but thinking back on it now, she realized he had given her what she had needed, though she hadn't known it then. Her body had been crying out for the things he did, though she had refused to listen, had no idea how wonderful a man's hands on her could be.

  She also realized it was only one man's hands she wanted on her and those gentle, knowing hands belonged to her Modartha.

  "Wench, I could smell whatever it is you are cooking all the way to the gate."

  Bailey jumped at his words spoken so close to her ear. She hadn't heard him come in, hadn't felt him near until his sweet breath fanned across her cheek. When his strong arms went around her, imprisoning her against that rock-hard chest, she melted as she always did, her womb clenching to send a flood of lust oozing between her legs.

  "And that smells even better,” he growled and bent his knees to sweep her up into his arms.

  "What?” she managed to ask, looking up in his hot eyes. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

  "Those warm juices flowing between your luscious thighs,” he answered.

  "Van!” she gasped. His words made her bury her face against his shoulder as he carried her from the dining room toward the stairs.

  "I'm a beast,” he stated. “What can I say?"

  "Aye, but you're my beastie,” she said in a shy voice.

  Her Modartha threw his head back and laughed as he put his booted foot on the first riser. With the superb strength of his kind he vaulted easily up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and was laying her upon their bed before she knew it.

  "What is it you're cooking for us?” he asked as he straightened up and took off his uniform tunic. He draped it over the footboard then began tugging at his black leather uniform tie.

  "Beef tips in red wine sauce with green peppers and onions over orzo pasta,” she answered. She loved to watch him undress so she lay with her arms under her head observing him.

  Van knew her innermost thoughts, was so attuned to her needs, he well understood what enticed her and what excited his lady. He took his time undoing the tie, pulling it slowly from its knot then tossed it casually aside as he pulled the tails of his shirt from his pants. Using his left hand to run the field of buttons on his dark gray uniform shirt, he kept his gaze fused with hers.

  "What vile vegetable are you insisting I consume along with the blessed beef tips?” he inquired as he unbuttoned his cuffs then shrugged out of the silk shirt.

  Bailey's attention was locked on his hairy chest and the spectacular dragon tattoo that curved from his left shoulder all the way down to his right hip across the finely-honed muscles. She knew the dragon's claws gripped his firm buttocks as she ached to do while the spiny tail of the beast curled down to the very tip of his penis.

  "Four hundred hours in hell," he had once remarked when she asked how long it had taken the artist to draw the intricate swirling tribal design upon his body.

  She reached out to stroke his broad back as he sat down on the edge of the bed to remove his black leather boots and socks. Tracing the sweep of one multi-colored dragon wing that bracketed his spine, she felt a shiver ripple through him and sighed when he got up, putting a bit of distance between his body and her soft hand.

  "Broccoli in cheese sauce with pine nuts and wild mushrooms,” she replied, licking her lips as he put his hands to his belt.

  "Argh, wench,” he said then shuddered. “That sounds revolting."

  "You can't just eat meat and drink wine,” she reminded him.

  "Why the hell not?” he countered with one dark brow arched. “I'm an adult beast."

  She didn't reply, just watched as he unbuckled the belt, unbuttoned the clasp, and then unzipped his pants. As he pushed them down his lean hips and the dragon tail came into view wrapped around his jutting shaft, she smiled.

  "Broccoli is actually considered an aphrodisiac in some places,” she said. The sight of that complex tattoo ranging over most of his body never failed to make her palms itch to touch it.

  "Name one,” he challenged and when she couldn't, he narrowed his eyes. “Uh huh. I knew you were pulling my shaft, wench."

  "Not yet I'm not,” she said and ran her tongue along her upper lip.

  The Modartha's smile was slow and evil as he stood there with his hands on his hips. “See something you like?"

  Bailey shrugged. “Not really."

  She saw the evil in his smile darken to unrelenting lust and her eyes widened. “Now Van..."

  He threw himself atop her and rolled, pulling her up and over him, trapping her with his bulging arm muscles as she wriggled above him, wrapping his legs around hers t
o hold her in position—spread wide—with her hands pressed tightly to his chest.

  "Are you getting tired of your wolf already?” he queried, lifting his head to nuzzle her beneath her chin. He ran his tongue down her neck and laughed deep in his throat when she shivered.

  "Never,” she whispered.

  As it always happened when their naked bodies touched, Van and Bailey felt the immense heat of desire washing over them in unrelenting waves. It had been that way since the first time he made love to her and only seemed to increase in volume and intensity with each time they gave their bodies to one another. It was a core-deep bonding that neither could adequately explain to anyone else. It simply was.

  He put a hand to her face to push a strand of light brown hair behind her ear, then smoothed the pad of his thumb over her lips. “You have the most delectable mouth of any woman I've ever seen,” he said and in his tone was a touch of awe. He slid his hand behind her head and pulled her lips to his.

  Crevan's kisses were not like the hit and miss bussing she'd known from young boys when she began experimenting with the opposite sex in her late teens. They were nothing like the sloppy, almost frenetic kisses of Kona Doyle. Van's kiss was a hot, searing awakening, a possessive press of firm, knowledgeable lips that made her entire body aware of his questing mouth. Taking her bottom lip between his teeth, he would tug gently until she opened her mouth for him then his tongue did wicked things to her libido as it stroked hers. His breath was always sweet, always deliciously warm, and he was so careful that his saliva did not ooze between her lips.

  And his hands...

  When he kissed her, his hands roamed at will up and down her back, cupped her cheeks to hold her head steady for his gentle assault, slipped over her shoulders and down to her buttocks to mold over her flesh. His hands were never still on her and never lingered too long in one place but moved constantly to touch and stroke and massage. Moving in tandem with his flicking tongue and grinding hips, the lovemaking the Modartha had perfected sent her into spasms of ecstasy time after time.