To Race the Wylde Wynd Ch. 27

Chrysta limped over and slid in next to him. She arranged herself so that she was curled against his left side. Templer carefully slid his blade-hand under her strong shoulders and shifted her closer allowing her to rest her head lightly on his shoulder. The Talon kept his attention on the written page in front of him as her hand slid up to rest lightly on his chest. The woman was so quiet, at first he thought she had fallen asleep. When he glanced down, the gunman realized she was watching his face as he read in the dim light of the room. Her lips twitched up at the corners a little when she realized he was looking at her. She poked him with a stiff finger.

“I have read that one already. Do ya want me to tell you who done it?”

Constantine casually turned the page.

“Only if you want to spend the next night or two out in the barn with Nuva.”

He was secretly pleased when this was answered by a quiet chuckle. Marking his spot in the chapter with one talon, the gunman turned a little so he could see his bed-mate's face.

“Speaking of Nuva, we had a short but enlightening conversation today. She is very wise.”

Chrysta's eyes widened slightly.

“Well... they do say that great wisdom comes with age. Nuva is quite old.”

“Hnnn,”

Templer continued to look at her expectantly.

“How... old... is old?”

The woman squirmed a little. The fingers resting on his chest twisted themselves into the soft fabric of his shirt.

“Nuva was my first mount. She was also my father's first mount, my grandfather's first mount, and my...” She hesitated here and he could feel the fingers do a quick tapping count. “...umm, great, great... great grandfather’s favorite mare.”

Azra, who had been slumbering lightly in the back of Templer's mind (HE did not like mysteries, he MUCH preferred good old gruesome horror stories) jerked awake.

“Did I hear that right?”

Chrysta shifted away from him and sat up. She punched the pillows into a big ball so she could lean against them.

“Yes, you heard it right. If you tell Nuva I am the one who told you, I will vigorously deny it.”

Templer set the book down as an unsettling thought occurred to him.

“Mother of Demons, will El Diablo live that long?”

The priest could see some serious ramifications if this were the case.

The woman glanced in the direction of the window, and Constantine heard her softly mutter.

“Not if HE has anything to say about it.”

Then she returned her attention to Templer's face.

“As near as we can tell, the destria trace their bloodlines back to Hell. It is rumored that they evolved from some type of wingless dragon, courtesy of the Re-gen plague. They ALL use to live a very long time but that trait has been bred out. Their average lifespan is now approximately seventy years. One of the things that was also bred out of them is intelligence. A smart destria equals a dangerous destria. Every now and then though, a breeder will get a throwback. These animals are usually dangerously intelligent and if they don't CHOOSE to be with humans, well... let's just say you have a serious problem that lives a very long time!”

Her voice trailed off.

Templer winced. He asked his question already knowing what her answer would be. After all, this sort of thing was a part of his job description.

“Why would ANY intelligent being voluntarily CHOOSE a life of servitude?”

Chrysta snorted,

“I think Nuva does it just for the entertainment factor.”

The woman's lips twisted as if her next words tasted foul.

“There is no choice really, the alternative is... terrible.”

The gunman's stomach rolled when Azra, his voice a low, soft growl asked,

“And just what is their other... choice?”

Chrysta's voice came out as soft as a breath. Even with his enhanced hearing, the Talon had to lean towards the woman to catch her words.

“They are drugged, abused, and twisted into insanity. Then they are forced to fight in the pits.”

Templer had a split second of stunned shock to process what she had said. Then Azra came completely unhinged. The man couldn't control his muscles sudden recoil as the outrider tried to claw his way out in a howling rage. The Talon ended up clear across the room on his hands and knees, locked in a frightening struggle for dominance.

As Templer's eyes flashed from black to hot gold, Chrysta bailed out of the bed. The struggling man was between her and the door. She hesitated, watching those gleaming black talons dig deep gouges in the hardwood floor as the man fought for control. Chrysta stifled a scream as the mental barriers she maintained started to crumble under the overwhelming emotional onslaught that rolled through the room. She found herself drowning in the waves of hate and rage that poured out of the Talon as his form wavered in a mist of black and red. The woman knew she had been lucky the first time she had dealt with outrider's savage temper. She did the wise thing and took the only other way out of the room.

Templer didn't know how long they struggled. When he was finally able to push Azra into retreat, the very air around his body was white hot and pulsing with unreleased energy. There was no safe outlet for the powerful surge. If he did the easy thing and just let it go, the blast would level the building... possibly even the entire block. The Talon's nervous system screamed as he took precious seconds to buffer the elemental power. Once he felt he had some control, he pulled it back, allowing the molten tide to return to its vessel. His vision sheeted to red in agony. Azra was designed to absorb this kind of energy... Templer was not. The priest had never attempted to do anything like this without his outrider's direct participation. He doubted he would ever attempt it again!

When he could finally see again Templer remained where he was. The priest drew in harsh, shuddering breaths as he rested on his hands and knees between the bed and door. He heard footsteps flying up the stairs and the door blasted open as Grant just about kicked it off of its hinges. Constantine found himself in the unenviable position of staring down the double barrels of a sawed off shotgun. Not sure if even Azra could repair a head splattered all over the wall, the gunman wisely froze. Grant took in the shredded floor, the scorched wood and the other man's weary features. The barman's voice was eerily calm.

“What in the seven HELLS is going on?!!”

Templer noticed with approval that the shotgun never wavered.

“I apologize for the damage. Azra and I had a slight... disagreement.”

He remained very still as Grant's eyes surveyed the rest of the room. The priest tensed when the man's finger tightened imperceptibly on the trigger.

The big man's voice came out in a growl.

“Where is Chrysta?”

Templer realized that the woman was not in the room.

“I am sure I frightened her.” The priest felt a sharp stab of guilt. “She probably did the smart thing and got the hell out of here.”

Grant frowned and the shotgun dipped a little.

“That's odd, I didn't see her pass me on the stairs.”

Constantine had been waiting. When the shotgun dipped, he shot forward, flesh hand closing in such a way that the hammer on the lethal weapon couldn't fall. As good as Grant was, the Talon got possession of the shotgun. He had the big man's arm twisted behind him, before the Grant could draw his next breath. The wide open window caught Templer's attention.

He carefully applied pressure, causing the captive man to give in such a way that he turned to where he could see it too.

“I believe she went through the window.” Templer kept his voice calm.

Grant sagged a little in relief. Then jerked in the gunman's tight grip.

“Wait!” The bartender was almost whispering. “You FRIGHTENED her badly enough that she felt she HAD to go out a second story window... SHIT!”

Grant twisted suddenly and broke the Talon's hold. He practically flew to the window. Templer followed more slowly, a little confused. He had been in and out of the window many times. He knew, even with her fear of heights, Chrysta could negotiate the climb easily.

“Damn! It's too dark, I can't see her.” Grant was panicked. Templer didn't understand why.

The Talon stepped closer to the window. His enhanced sight had no problem with the dark. He could see Chrysta. She was unharmed and evidently had stopped just as she reached the barn door. He could also see El Diablo safely locked in his paddock, stalking along the fence towards her. There was no way for the big silver to get out. Templer was just about to tell the other man that he could relax, when the woman turned and started back. He noticed there was something odd in the way she moved. All of the woman's easy grace was gone. As she limped along the fence line, El Diablo followed, maintaining his distance. A serious shudder of unease passed over the Talon as he caught a glimpse of Chrysta's face. It was deathly pale. Her lips were pressed together so tightly that they were white. The unease flashed to fear as he realized that her eyes were glowing the same feral ice green as the eyes of the battle stallion ghosting along behind her.

“What the hell!?”

This slipped past the gunman's lips in a whisper.

“WHAT?” Grant finally caught a glimpse of what was going on. “SHIT!”

The man turned and went flying out the door. That was enough for Templer. He dropped out of the window, landing lightly in the courtyard below just as the woman reached slowly for the lock on the gate. Constantine realized that even with his speed he wasn't going to reach her in time. Every action seemed to slow. His unnatural eyesight clearly saw her hand open the latch. El Diablo reared behind the electrified gate, his guttural, anticipatory WAH WAH WAH echoing in the darkness. Templer remembered how Zephyr had taken that position in preparation for a killing strike. Chrysta had called it Levade. The gunman had covered three quarters of the distance when the electric circuit was broken. The gate swung open. Chrysta just stood passively and watched as her death towered over her. Templer could see one of the guards come running from the barn but the man didn't have a clear shot. He knew he couldn't risk using the shotgun with her that close to the target.

“Mother of Demons...” The priest tried to move faster but knew deep down he was not going to reach her in time.

There was a sound like thunder and he caught a flash of white as fury incarnate came sailing over her paddock fence. Nuva landed hard. She slid past Templer in a shower of sparks. As she reached the woman, the mare spun. A hind leg lashed out to catch the gate, slamming it closed on the startled stallion. El Diablo's frustrated scream echoed through the courtyard. The beast twisted away as he tried to avoid a painful shock. Nuva placed her big body between her trainer and the re-imprisoned stallion. She snaked her head around in a threat display, her vivid eyes glowing gem bright.

Templer heard Grant run up behind as the gunman managed to slip past the furious mare and re-lock the gate. He turned and saw Chrysta's eyes flicker between feral green and sky blue. Nuva seemed to win the mental tug of war as they flashed blue once more than faded to their normal green and gold. A look of anguish crossed the woman's face as she lifted a shaking hand to rub her forehead. Templer saw her eyelashes flutter queerly and that is all the warning he got. Chrysta's eyes rolled to white and her body dropped. The Talon's inhumanly fast reflexes saved her from hitting the hard flagstones. Easing her limp form to the ground. Templer ran a careful hand over it, trying to see if there was any physical damage. The gunman could feel her heart hammering away through the sensors in his hand. Her skin felt clammy and cold.

Grant knelt next to him. His face was worried when he checked the pulse in her wrist. Templer gathered the woman up in his arms, lifting her with ease.

“I believe she is in shock. We need to get her inside.”

It took him little time to get her back up the stairs. It took even less to strip and tuck her still form into the warm bed. Templer was relieved when he felt that frighteningly rapid heart rate ease back to a more normal rhythm. Grant followed him up a little more slowly. The barman took a moment to stop and grab a bottle of good brandy and some glasses from the bar. When the he came through the door, Templer turned from the bed, crossed his arms, and pinned the man with a fierce glare.

“Would you mind telling me, what the HELL just happened?”

The Talon's deceptively soft, grim voice made it clear he expected some answers... NOW!

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Link to next chapter
https://steemit.com/fiction/@fetherhd/to-race-the-wylde-wynd-ch-28