To Race the Wylde Wynd CH. 25

There were still a few stars burning in the early morning sky when a small sound jerked Templer out of a sound sleep. He was squeezed between Chrysta, who had stolen most of the blankets, and what felt like a solid wall. That wall was the reason that he did not feel the morning chill. Zephyr had lain down against him. The destria's broad back radiated heat better than any fire. Nuva was nowhere to be seen. A small panicked squeal, followed by a thrashing rustle outside of camp indicated the mare was prowling nearby, presumably looking for sleeping...tidbits. This was the sound that had disturbed the Talon's sleep.

Constantine slipped out from between his two bed partners. (Now wasn't that an odd thought!) The morning's cold did not bother him but the thought of parading nude around the campsite did, so Templer made the effort to find his discarded shirt. There was a brief tussle as Zephyr made it clear that he preferred to have his soft muzzle resting on the soft fabric rather than the cold, hard ground. When their brief tug of war caused the mound of blankets to stir. The black flashed his adversary a piteous look... which did not work. Templer got his shirt back, but only after it had been worked over by the animal's soft wet lips! The priest wiped at the damp spots this left in the spider-silk material as Zephyr chortled and settled his nose back on the ground. Templer did his best to ignore the beast as he went to retrieve his pants. The man knew when he was being laughed at!

Their pants were as dry as they would get with the heavy morning dew. This made sliding into the supple black leather difficult at best. As the gunman belted them on, he suddenly realized that the Trinity had to have gotten soaked when Azra went into the river. He found the big gun, wrapped in a soft piece of leather, resting on a flat rock. Its holster hung on a branch beside it. They were both situated far enough from the open flame that the heat wouldn't damage the tooled leather. The Talon appreciated the fact that the weapon had been broken open so that the now empty chambers could dry. He found the damp ammunition wrapped in another soft cloth and tucked behind the same rock the gun was on. It only took him a moment to dig his waterproof kit out of his saddle bags and replace the wet rounds stored in the holster with dry ones.

Templer got the fire re-lit and knowing there was no way that Chrysta had left town without coffee, he made a quick search of the other bags. Sure enough, the man found the precious black beans tucked in next to a small bag of dreamleaf. He was pleased that both had been well wrapped and their contents remained totally dry. After getting a pot of coffee brewing, he sat down by the fire and broke the Trinity down. As his talented hands went through the very familiar process of cleaning and oiling the complicated gun, the priest felt Azra stir. Knowing that the energy released during sex usually gave the outrider the equivalent of a massive hangover, Constantine did not press. He continued concentrating on the task at hand, politely giving his "other" some space to deal with the after affects. It was not as if the demon could stagger to the bathroom for a good bout of porcelain worship!

“Ummmm, Constantine...you might want to heat some water.”

Templer's hands did not slow in what he was doing as he absentmindedly answered...

“I have coffee on already. You KNOW it won't help your headache... right?”

“Yes... that is usually the case." The gunman's fingers paused in their task at the surprise in his outrider's voice. “I find it hard to believe, but I am not experiencing any ill affects this morning. As a matter of fact, I feel rather pleasantly... sated! That coffee actually sounds good but...”

Azra was interrupted by a muffled yelp from the blanket's general vicinity. This was followed by...

“Son of a BITCH!” ...a low groan, followed by a softly muttered, “DAMN...I KNOW better than to ride bareback!”

Zephyr snorted and scrambled hastily to his feet. With a cautious look back at the crumpled ball of blankets, the black casually started to amble (sneak) away. He moved faster as that scary ball of cloth shifted slightly and what was contained within released a wicked hiss!

“Nuva... you are FRICKEN lucky I can't get up else I would kick your ass!”

The cream mare had appeared back in camp casually chewing on some little... tidbit... she had found. When the mare heard Chrysta, Nuva's jaws stopped working and she slunk over to join Zephyr in his attempt to hide behind the seated priest. The big black did not help matters when he snorted derisively and bumped Templer with his nose.

“ZEPHYR!”

The woman's head popped out of the blankets as she tried to get herself straightened out.

“What?!”
Templer was astounded when it seemed the big animal was going to try to crawl right into his lap! He slapped at the black muzzle to get it out of his way while he hastily reassembled the Trinity and scrambled to his feet. He had not lived for centuries just to end his life crushed underneath TWO anxious destria!

There was a choked sound of laughter mixed with a small moan as Chrysta curled back up under the blankets.

“I was just informed that HE was not the only thing that I rode bareback!”

Templer froze for a moment and heard his outrider quietly murmur...

“He has a point. We did not use the saddles.”

The vivid image of what COULD be done with said saddles that Azra played through the Talon's mind WAS not only depraved... Mother of demons help him... it was also very interesting!

The ball of blankets trembled and the woman softly groaned.

“Oh HOLY... somebody shoot me now!”

With a long suffering sigh, the priest went back to the saddle bags and retrieved her bag of dreamleaf along with the small pot the bag was tucked in. He filled the pot with water and set it on the fire to heat. Templer then strode over to the blankets. Without warning, the man scooped up the entire pile, woman included. He instantly felt guilty when he felt her body stiffen and her breath hissed out in a soft curse.

“Sorry.”
The man whispered in her ear as he carried her over to the fire. Templer settled his armload as gently as he could against the same flat rock that the Trinity had rested on. Chrysta leaned back against its warm surface, her eyes tightly shut in a face made pale by pain. She did manage a smile when he brought her a freshly brewed cup of coffee. The woman quietly sipped it as she watched the Talon strap the now holstered Trinity back into its place on his lean hips. He was not aware of her contemplative gaze as his long fingers systematically tied the straps that kept the big gun secured down to his thigh. When he straightened, all the man saw was her holding out her cup with an entirely TOO innocent look on her face.

Templer snagged the empty cup as the pot of water started to boil. Here he hesitated. The priest realized that he had no clue on how to prepare the dangerous drug. Azra moved forward in his mind.

“Let me do this... Constantine. It is not something you want to play with.” The outrider's voice dropped to a whisper. “You need to ask her what she weighs.”

"Hnnn... I... DON'T... THINK... SO!" The gunman turned all responsibility over to the demon. “I am NOT that stupid!”

“FINE...”
Azra sounded put out... it made no difference to Templer... the immortal bastard was on his own with this one!

“Ehem.... If you would please Chrysta, I need to know your exact weight.”

The outrider's words were excruciatingly polite.

Templer hid smile behind the rim of his cup. This disappeared when he sneaked a sideways peek and caught the quick look of apprehension that flitted across his companion's quiet face. The Talon could not blame her. He would think twice before allowing another person to mix up a dose of anything for himself. Let alone a drug that could prove lethal if prepared wrong! Chrysta winced as she tried to shift into a more comfortable position and Constantine could see the exact moment she resigned herself to trusting in the demon's knowledge.

"I am one hundred and forty-eight pounds, give or take an ounce or two."

She pulled her blankets a little tighter about her body and somehow managed to look even more miserable.

“Constantine... I need the use of your hands.”

Templer had to ruthlessly quell the instinct that made him automatically fight the demon's request. After a short struggle with himself, the man found he was able to step back in his mind and watch what his outrider did with detached interest. Azra poured a small amount of the crushed herb into the palm of his bio-engineered blade-hand. The priest knew that the demon was using the incredibly sensitive circuitry within the construct as a highly accurate scale.

“Are you closer to the minimum dose or the max for your physiology?”

Templer's brows arched up as he silently applauded the stealthy way Azra was working out just exactly how much resistance the woman had built up against the powerful drug.

Chrysta leaned her head back with a sigh.

“I am two grams off of the maximum dose... Azra.”

Templer noted that one shaking hand surreptitiously rubbed the spot where that awful scar started as she quietly continued...

“And I don't NEED any lip from either of you!”

The gunman swallowed what he had been about to say and was the only one to hear Azra's soft rumble of displeasure as the demon added a bit more to the small amount nestled in his palm.
Dropping the dried leaves into a slotted metal tea ball, Azra placed it carefully into the cup and poured the boiling water over it. The outrider was just as precise in the time he allowed the leaves to steep as he had been in measuring out the dose. When he finally removed the ball the demon spent a few moments carefully scrutinized the steaming amber fluid. Templer had to ask.

“What are you looking for?”

Using the tip of one elongated talon, Azra flicked a minute piece of leaf that had escaped the ball, out of the cup.

“You should NEVER ingest the actual leaf." The demon relinquished control back over to his host. “You go ahead and take this on over... I would rather not be the one to hand it to her.”

Templer handed the waiting woman her cup. He had to suppress a shudder as she blew on the vile brew to cool it, then sipped it in careful mouthfuls. The herb tasted as bad as it smelled. The priest had decided the night before that he would rather go back under the Maker's knives then let another mouthful of the stuff pass his lips!

By the time the tonic kicked in and Chrysta got things unlocked enough to get up to get dressed, Constantine had the rest of the camp packed into their saddle bags. The sound of a throat being cleared snapped his attention back to his companion. She stood casually, dressed in her pants, tight fitting riding boots and a pretty, soft pink...

“BRASSIERE!” Azra helpfully interjected.

Templer flinched as she held up what remained of her shirt. It was missing the top two buttons and with the back practically in ribbons, there was not much shirt left! Chrysta grinned and thanked him when the gunman did the gentlemanly thing and removing his black shirt, he draped it over her shoulders.

Azra was snickering.

“It’s a good thing you don't sunburn!”

“Azra...” Templer was interrupted.

“Yeah, yeah... I know... Shut up!”

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link to next chapter

https://steemit.com/art/@fetherhd/to-race-the-wylde-wynd-ch-26