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forehead.
The name didn't sound right to her. It was a pretty name, a lovely name but it wasn't her
name. Why she felt that way, she couldn't say but every time she said the name aloud, it was like
a sharp goad. It struck the wrong chord. It bothered her.
Her husband had gone into town to pick up lunch simply because she'd thought a spicy
Italian sandwich from Subway would hit the spot. She hadn't said it aloud. She didn't need to.
All she need do is think of something she wanted and Azzin jumped to provide it.
"Azzin," she said aloud and that name sent a shiver racing through her. What was it
about her husband that unsettled her, she wondered?
He was the epitome of kindness, the sweetest and most gentle of lovers. His touch was
exciting and when he made love to her, she was never left wanting. He made her body sing with
lust and fulfilled every ounce of need within her yet there was something ....
Too on edge to sit still for long, she pushed up from the love seat and went to the front
door, opened it and walked out on the wide veranda that ringed the entire cabin, shooing Bean
away as the cat tried to sneak out past her. She went to the redwood rail and peered over it was
a good ten foot to the ground from where she stood. The wide, graceful wooden steps twenty
in all leading up from the cobblestone walkway glistens in the bright wash of mid-morning. A
soft, warm breeze blew against her face and the smell of honeysuckle filled the air.
"Why am I so unhappy?" she thought.
She had all a new bride could want: a rich, handsome and attentive husband; a gorgeous,
expensive and luxurious home with all the fancy amenities; all the accoutrements she could
perceive, she possessed.
Another deep sigh pushed from her lungs and she leaned on the railing, watching a
ground squirrel scampering beneath the lilac bushes, his mate playing tag with him. The two
little beasties were so comical as they chased one another. It struck a chord in her heart and she
WINDS THROUGH TIME Charlotte Boyett-Compo 111
felt tears prickling behind her eyes. She tore her gaze from the wee creatures and turned her
attention to the woods.
He was standing right at the edge of the forest where the meandering stream took a deer-
leg turn around the back of the cabin. She stopped breathing as their eyes met: his golden stare
so stately, so full of confidence. Her heart slammed hard against her ribs and she dared not
move, grateful she had not allowed Butterbean to come outside. Eyes locked on her visitor, she
drew in a slow, silent breath.
Black fur rippling in the light wind, the wolf was sitting on its haunches, its golden gaze
locked on Wynter. He was a magnificent creature, a prime beast with an elegant tilt to his broad
head. She could see his nostril twitch as he drew in her scent and was terrified he would spring
toward her not sure she could get inside the cabin before he leapt over the railing to attack her.
Keeping as still as she could, her stare was meshed with his. She could hear her heart
pounding, feel it drumming in her ears. Her mouth was dry. She had never been so afraid in her
life.
Then the wolf turned its head and from the sweeping canopy of bushes to its right a white
she-wolf appeared, padding on velvet paws toward him. She was as striking and lovely as her
mate was imposing. Smaller than he, her eyes were a deep forest green and when she came to
his side, she butted him playfully with her head.
"Snorf."
Wynter clearly heard the sound the male wolf made and at once thought it was one of
humor and affection. She watched as he stuck out his pink tongue and swiped it across his
mate's face. He groomed her for a moment longer then turned his attention back to Wynter.
He grinned showing long, dangerous fangs then sprang up from his haunches, spun
around and loped into the forest, his bushy black tag wagging. His mate whimpered, glanced at
Wynter for a second or two then bounded after him.
"My God," Wynter whispered. What she had seen made her tremble and when she
looked down at her hands, they were shaking. Swallowing painfully for her throat had gone as
dry as the Sahara desert, she hurried back inside.
WINDS THROUGH TIME Charlotte Boyett-Compo 112
Chapter Seventeen
If it had been left up to the Reaper, he would have flown straight to Watertown but the
Ridgelord would not allow it. They were in the elevator, conserving energy as they left the
containment cells deep beneath Wind Cave.
"There are safeguards in place, Cree," Lord Kaleb insisted. "You would not get within
ten miles of the McGregor woman before the Nightwind fled with her and we would have to start
all over again."
"I want my woman!" Kaegan thundered. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]