To Race the Wylde Wynd Ch. 10

Warm spicy breath being huffed into his face greeted Templer when he regained awareness. He experienced a moment of anxiety. Where had Azra deposited him this time? His outrider's warped sense of humor had caused the gunman to awaken in some very interesting places. When he opened his eyes, the priest looked up at Nuva's long, narrow face. The mare was hanging over her stall door trying to nuzzle him awake. Judging from the amount of moist destria slobber adorning his nose, forehead, and cheeks, she had been doing this for quite a while.

“Yuck!”

The man rolled away from the concerned animal, scrubbing at his face. Azra did not make a sound. This was cause for concern. On those occasions the demon pulled a prank he thought was funny, the outrider remained close to the surface to reap his reward of earned chuckles.

Templer regained his feet, groaning as his abused body protested the movement. The transition to his outrider's form still did not come easily. He paid a physical toll whenever it happened. The gunman had no recollection of the events after the transformation. He had a sudden vivid image of a gate swinging open and a lightening lit, wicked devil in full charge. The priest staggered out of the barn and into the dim light of the false dawn. The courtyard was quiet. El Diablo stood in his locked paddock. The big animal, startled awake and grumpy because of it, popped his formidable teeth together as the gunman passed.

“Azra, what happened last night?”

The demon hesitated before answering.

“I... hmmm.... I went storm riding.”

The demon flashed him a brief image of flying along the storm's leading edge, racing the wild wind and dancing with the lightening.
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Templer shuddered. It was almost better NOT knowing how the outrider used his body when they exchanged places. No wonder he hurt! He realized that Azra was trying to distract him from his original question.

“Mother of demons, Azra... What happened HERE?” He waved irritably towards the silver's paddock gate.

The Talon felt his chest tighten as he hurried through the kitchen and up the stairwell. Damn it he LIKED Chrysta. He didn't know what would be worse, that she had been hurt by El Diablo, or frightened to death by his outrider.

“HEY, that's not fair!” The demon sounded genuinely peeved. “I returned the destria to its prison without violence.”

Prison? That statement stopped Templer in his tracks. The next had him staggering to lean against the closed door of the room.

“Afterward... I introduced myself to Chrysta.” Azra's voice had gone from peeved to smug.

“HOLY...!” Was the thought in Templer's head as he opened the door a crack and looked in. He expected Grant to be there with his shotgun loaded and ready. He saw no such thing. The room was quiet in the pre-dawn light. Chrysta was rolled up in her quilt sound asleep on the duvet. She looked unharmed except for a small cut on one side of her generous lower lip

The confused priest slipped in to the room and made a bee line for the bed. Maybe after a couple of hours of much needed sleep, things would be clearer.

"This doesn't get you off of the hook though," he told his head's cohabitant. “I expect a detailed account of what happened out there, in the morning.”

“Oh, you will have to get that story from Chrysta.” Azra replied. “A gentleman NEVER kisses and tells!”

“WHAT?” Templer sat straight up at this comment.

“Hehehe... All kidding aside Host,” The demon's teasing tone shifted to deadly serious in a heartbeat. “You need to find out just how much this woman knows about Talons. More important than this, we need to find out what she knows about you. My relationship to you is not common knowledge outside the Maker's Sept. Even in the Hand only the eldest are familiar with our case. Chrysta's husband was a Maker's Acolyte. He would have a Vow of Silence burned into his mind to insure his obedience in keeping the Order's secrets. As with us... there is NO physical way the man could have talked about what takes place in the labs. Constantine, the thing that stood out the most last night... Chrysta was NOT at all surprised to see me!”
“Hnnn...”

Templer lay back down, disturbed more than he cared to admit by the demon's observations. His outrider almost never called him by his given name. Something about their roommate had shaken the ancient being up. On the morrow Talon Constantine would have to see what he could find out. For now, he was overwhelmed with the need to rest.

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Subject zero was aware of darkness, pain, and the terrifying feeling of being trapped. No memories remained of a time before... his life had begun under the agony of the Maker's knives. Not having any experience to draw on made it impossible to put the unending torture into context. He feared it was all he would ever know. The man twisted, struggling against the restraints holding his body tight against the bloodied metal table. Cold so intense that it burned ran through his veins, a residue of the day's experimental treatments.

“I do not know why you struggle so... Priest. You cannot escape. Even if you did, what would you return to?”

His keeper's face twisted into what, for it, served as a nasty smile.

“Your world is forever gone. Even if this was not the case... Who would accept the monster you have become?”

The Demonae's nerve grating voice was full of contempt.

Some part of man's dreaming mind knew that this was not real, but it was buried too far down in sleep to awaken him.
The soft voice urging him to wake up was a familiar torment in this God forsaken hell. Ignoring its insanity was almost a reflex now, the thing that shared his mind was as capable of hurting him as its masters... it could NOT be trusted! The sight of the alien scientist picking up a sharp, torturous looking instrument already stained with his blood had the frantic man arching against the straps holding him down. His breath came in short, panicked gasps.

“Come, come Subject zero... you should be grateful! We are Making you into something greater than what your so called God created. You will be beautiful, you will be powerful and you will bring the unworthy down like so much chaff in the wind!”

One of the creature’s hands dropped onto the trapped man's shoulder, patting it in almost a friendly gesture. The man caught a scream behind his teeth and struggled harder. Whatever it planned was going to be bad. The creature hissed a sinister laugh as it raised the flashing knife.

“You might as well just lie still and enjoy this... Servant of Fools... I know that I will.”

For a second the gunman again thought he heard that other voice calling his name. He disregarded it as the strap that immobilized his right hand and arm parted. He struck at that hated face, the sharp talons of the weapon IT had given him flashing in the sunlight.

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In the last instant, that flash jerked the man awake. There had been no sunlight in the pits of Hell. The priest realized the face he was striking at wasn't one of his tormentors and Azra was screaming in his head. It was too late; he couldn't stop the blow from falling.

“CRAP!”

With reflexes honed by years of dodging destria strikes, Chrysta twisted away. As his blade-hand passed just millimeters in front her eyes the woman caught it at the wrist and with incredible strength she yanked... hard! Templer, his reflexes slowed by surprise and sleep, flew out of the bed. He ended up flat on his stomach on the floor. The Talon hit hard enough it drove the air out of his lungs in a whoof. It didn't help that the woman landed on his back with both knees planted just under his rib cage making sure that said lungs were totally emptied. She twisted the deadly bio-engineered hand up behind his back with his palm turned in. If he used the talons, he would only pierce himself.

For a moment they froze there. Templer gagging and gasping, trying to regain his wind and Chrysta leaning hard on his arm, her compact weight interfering with this single minded task.The woman leaned forward to place her mouth close to his ear,

“Are you AWAKE Constantine? Can I let go?”

Her voice was tight with concern and something else... Pain?

The gunman got enough of his breath back to answer.

“I am awake.”

Chrysta released his arm and eased her knees out of his kidneys. She ended up straddling his waist with his stunned body still pinned to the floor.

“Mother of HELL! YOU HAVE GOT TO STOP DOING THAT. One of these days you are going to get us KILLED!”

His outrider sounded like he didn't know whether to laugh or scream.

“YOU are immortal, remember?” Templer answered dryly.

“Not if you succeed in giving me a coronary! HEY... was I imagining things or did that little slip of a woman just take your supposed to be bad ass DOWN!”

It seemed the urge to laugh had won out. As the demon dissolved into gales of laughter, Templer sighed and turned his attention back to the problem at hand. Namely that he had a member of the opposite sex straddling his hips for the first time in many years. Just because he occasionally slept in a brothel, didn't mean he had been tempted to sample the wares.

He cleared his throat, his wind still wasn't fully back.

“Hey Chrysta?”

She leaned forward a little.

“Yes Templer?”

He kept the tone of his voice conversational.

“I understand the reason you don't ride in the speed races.”

Those legs tightened alarmingly on his waist. Damn, but they were strong.

“What did you just say?”

“Oh nothing... you may want to dismount so I can catch my breath.”

The gunman's voice was deliberately bland. Again... the friends who had accused him of not having a sense of humor would have been stunned. The prone man wished he was in a different position so he could see the expression on the woman's face as she slid off of him. Her softly muttered “Smart ass” told him all he needed to know.

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a link to the next chapter
https://steemit.com/art/@fetherhd/to-rce-the-wylde-wynd-ch-11

A link to the beginning of the story for those who would like to start there.
https://steemit.com/fiction/@fetherhd/to-race-the-wild-wind-chapter-1