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LENGTH: Full Novel--PLUS
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Cover art (c) Jesse Palon 2006
ISBN 1-58608-961-7
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The Rysalian Empire, in their determination to crush their enemies, had unleashed their horror upon themselves instead. But the women of the megaverse and beyond, even unto Terra, paid the price. Plucked from their home worlds and enslaved by the Rysalian warriors, they were bought and sold, bred and discarded or slain at the whim of their captors … until the Resistance was born of their hate and suffering.

The Elite warriors, the Reapers were the demons of every Terran woman’s nightmare. And one in particular was a nightmare in his own right, a killer among killers. His name was Kamerone Cree. But the Resistance needed him and it fell to Dr. Brigit Dunne to do the unthinkable, the impossible--she must seduce Captain Kamerone Cree and make him fall in love with her to turn him from the Empire.

Rating: Contains graphic sexual content, adult language, and violence.

(Please note: this title was previously released elsewhere but has been revised for its NCP release.)

The WindDemon Trilogy Book One

BLOODWIND

By

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

© copyright Charlotte Boyett-Compo

NCP Release September 2006

Cover art by Jesse Palon, © copyright September 2006

ISBN 1-58608-961-7

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.

PROLOGUE

In the barren reaches of space, through a wormhole deep in the blackness, across billions and billions of miles of emptiness lies the Cairghrian Galaxy and in that vast expanse are the Federated Moons of Rysalia.

While Earth was still staggering from the assassination of the greatest political leader their world had ever known, the Rysalians were systematically eliminating anyone they considered a threat to their multi-world domination; not even newborns of the ruling classes escaped the Rysalian sickle of destruction.

To that end, Dr. Piev Jale, the head research scientist on board Frontier Station Khamsin-14, had engineered a new retrovirus which caused instantaneous infertility in his female lab specimens. The retrovirus, codename V-7, attacked the ova and destroyed all the egg cells, thereby rendering the female unable to conceive. The inability of enemy females to bear offspring would mean no future enemies about whom Rysalia would need to worry. Therefore, V-7 was developed as part of a huge stockpile of biological weapons to be added to the Rysalian Empire’s war arsenal for use in future conflicts. If Rysalia could simply stop their enemies from reproducing, ultimately, there would be no more enemies with whom to share their part of the universe. It had the full endorsement of all high-ranking members of the Fleet Command.

Once the retrovirus was deemed safe for transport, two hundred titanium canisters were sent via three long-range cruisers to the holding facility on Rysalia Prime. Each of the other fifteen space stations was to receive a dozen canisters to be incorporated into the weapon’s array of that station’s assigned warship.

While FSK-14’s own warship, the Whirlwind, was having her cache of V-7 installed, the canisters of the retrovirus suddenly exploded in the cargo bay. The pressurized contents were forced out of the ship’s forward hold and sucked into one of the space station’s air registers and from there into FSK-14’s ventilation system. The bacteria invaded every chamber, every corridor, and the respiratory system of every living thing aboard.

The results were disastrous.

What had been harmless in lab animals, became lethal to the females of FSK-14. Every woman who breathed in the odorless, colorless gas drew deep into her lungs the live bacteria and was dead in less than one hour from massive hemorrhage of the uterine blood vessels.

Before news of the disaster could reach Rysalia Prime--and before the other fourteen space stations could be warned of the potential danger--each of the poorly-manufactured pressurized canisters exploded, sending clouds of deadly gas into the lungs of every Rysalian female in the Empire. Within two hours, all the women were dead.

Such a tragedy stunned the men of the Rysalian Empire.

To have lost their mothers and wives, their lovers and sisters and daughters, was a crippling blow. Humbled by their grief, the Rysalian’s accepted peace terms from their enemies and set about to re-populate their world with willing women from among their former enemies.

But the gods had frowned darkly upon the Rysalian warriors and their attempt to rule their part of the universe. The retrovirus, while harmless when inhaled by Rysalian males, nevertheless attached itself to the reproductive system of its victim and began to mutate amongst the spermatozoa. While no longer lethal, V-7 still carried with it devastating results: the instantaneous infertility of any female who engaged in sexual relations with a Rysalian male.

And there was no way to reverse the contamination of the spermatozoa.

As their male population began to decline, the Rysalians ranged farther and farther afield from their home world, seeking out carbon-based humanoids with whom they might successfully mate and repopulate their dying world. The search within their own galaxy had proved futile; the females they found were just as susceptible to the bacteria as were their own.

Then, when their race was on the very brink of extinction, Captain Kyrish Brell of the Rysalian Fleet Command encountered an anomaly while on a routine run of the Gamma quadrant. The long-range cruiser was sucked into a massive wormhole and jettisoned out into an area of space widely thought to be uninhabited. After ascertaining he could make the return trip through the wormhole without endangering his ship and crew, his tried his luck in the solar system into which he had been thrust.

Passing planets that showed no signs of sustaining life as he knew it, the Captain finally arrived at a small, blue-green, pear-shaped ovoid.

What he had found was Earth, or Terra as he named it in his own Rysalian High Speech. Captain Brell and his men transported to the surface of this undiscovered world and encountered a female species that was not unlike their own. With methodical intent, twenty young women of childbearing age were abducted, taken on board Brell’s ship, The WindLass, and examined for their ability to conceive. Only one was rejected and she was soon replaced with another fertile female. Satisfied with his human cargo, Brell returned to FSK-14. Once there, the women were handed over to specially selected males of the elite warrior caste whose task it was to impregnate them. When the first female conceived, there was uncontrolled jubilation throughout the Empire, but the jubilation soon turned to abject disappointment. Though all twenty females conceived and bore offspring of the Terran-Rysalian union--twelve females and nine males--the female children were born without reproductive organs; the males with contaminated spermatozoa.

Such news was bitterly disappointing to the Rysalian males. If these females’ children could not reproduce, what good were they? It was decided by the High Council of Scientists that from that time forward, all female fetuses growing in Terran wombs would be aborted while the male fetuses would be left to term. It did not matter that these male children could not reproduce. After all Terran women could easily be harvested from their backward world to be used to re-populate the Rysalian Empire.

What Rysalia needed were more Terran women to bring forth Terran-Rysalian males who would become fierce warriors over time.

In order to advance this Rysalian objective, special sections of the Rysalian Fleet Command were formed for the sole purpose of extracting suitable females from Terra. They were called Retrieval Units.

The men of the first section were called Hunters. They were transported to Earth and left there to blend in with the inhabitants. Their job was to seek out young females of exceptional intelligence, maximum physical heath, and arresting beauty: all attributes thought to be necessary for optimum breeding ability.

The second section, the Shepherds, were assigned the job of ‘herding’ those women who were selected to a pre-arranged spot where the third section, the Harvester, picked them up and brought them to Rysalia. Once on FSK-14, the women were turned over to the fourth section, the Breeders, who assigned them to their mates.

But it was the infamous Fifth Section that was feared the most. It was these men who struck fear into the heart of every woman brought to FSK-14. They were called Reapers, cold-blooded killing machines bred without conscience, compassion or regard for human life. Programmed to repress all gentle emotions, they were shapeshifting vampires who bled black blood and had the strength of twenty men. Not only were the Reapers feared by their enemies, they were feared by their own society.

‘Run and the Reapers will find you,’ it was said.

‘Disobey and the Reapers will punish you,’ they were warned.

‘Harm your mate and the Reapers will kill you,’ they promised.

The Reapers were the demons of every Terran woman’s nightmare.

And one in particular was a nightmare in his own right, a killer among killers.

His name was Kamerone Cree.

CHAPTER 1

Kamerone Cree ignored the gasps of surprise. He felt the uneasy gazes watching his every move; smelled the terror as people stepped aside, plastering themselves against the corridor wall rather than risk touching him. Whenever any of his kind appeared on Frontier Station Khamsin-14, the arrival was reported at once and people reacted by locking their doors. Women were kept securely behind the closed portals and men found reason to sequester themselves inside their quarters. His kind was feared and he liked it that way. No one dared intrude on his privacy and no one dared to deny him what he wanted. Along with the other six Elite warriors like himself, he enjoyed an autonomy unprecedented in Rysalian history. What he desired, he received. What he said was declared law. What he did was never questioned.

Until now.

On this morning, of all mornings, no one would want to admit they had seen him standing outside the closed doors of the Court of Military Inquiry. No one would dare discuss either him or the reason one of his kind would have been called to the Court.

“I will let them know you are here, Captain Cree,” the guard on his right commented.

He glanced disdainfully at the guard, his clenched jaw the only outward sign the Reaper Captain was agitated.

Actually, Cree was infuriated. His hands itched to reach out and tear the heads from the two Security Officers who had been sent, just after dawn, to escort him to the Court. A powerful bloodlust built inside him and it was all he could do to stand still as he waited for permission to enter the judicial chambers. It was imperative that not one flicker of his eyelid; one tremor of his hand; one involuntary tensing of his muscles; one quiver of his voice betray him to those bastards behind the door. He knew if he showed the slightest weakness, they would crucify him.

“They are ready for you, Sir,” the guard informed him.

Cree let out an annoyed breath as the thick doors to the judicial chamber opened. He was not guilty of the charges that had been leveled against him, but he knew that would make no difference to the Tribunal. The Court of Military Inquiry had been out for his blood for more than a year and today, he was sure they would get it.

Striding to the Bench, Cree executed a sharp salute, his boot heels clicking together. “Captain Kamerone Cree reporting as ordered!” he barked, his attention steady at a point somewhere just above, and to the left, of the Chief Justice’s head.

The five elderly Rysalian Lords who sat on the Bench of the Court of Military Inquiry stared at him, their sharp gazes traveling down his tall form. They examined the press of his shirt, the straightness of his tie, the cleanliness of his pants, the high sheen of his black boots, and then passed judgment on the gleam of his insignia and the shine of his belt buckle. They paid close attention to the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, searching for fear, watching for nervousness. They made note of the unwavering steadiness of his gaze, the impassivity of his face, the rigidity of his posture frozen in salute.

“At ease, Captain,” the Chief Justice finally ordered.

Cree’s right hand came down sharply. He placed his hands behind him and clasped his wrists at the small of his back. Shifting his legs apart, he lowered his gaze to the Chief Justice, blinked to rid his eyes of dryness, swallowed casually, then respectfully directed his full attention

to the man seated before him on the Bench.

“You know why you are here,” the Chief Justice stated formally.

“Aye, Your Grace, I do,” Cree answered.

“How do you plead?”

Cree knew it did not matter what plea he entered. He had already been tried, convicted, and sentenced long before he had been summoned to the Court. The fact that he was there was proof of his guilt in the eyes of the Empire. The Minister of Acquisitions would have made sure of it. Trying to keep the bitterness and anger from creeping into his voice, he replied, “Not guilty, Your Grace.”

The Chief Justice’s mouth twisted. “No more than we expected from one of your kind,” he snorted contemptuously. The old man shuffled some papers in front of him and without glancing either to his right or his left, asked for comments from the rest of the Bench.

“At the request of the Minister of Acquisitions, we have no choice but to recommend disciplinary action,” Justice Largus Cul stated.

“I agree,” Chief Justice Ilya Ruan concurred.

“May I be permitted to speak?” Cree asked.

“No, you may not!” the Chief Justice snapped.

Cree had to bite his tongue to keep from lashing out at the old man. A muscle bunched in his jaw, narrowing his eyes with the tightness. His countenance took on a belligerence that did not escape one Justice’s notice.

“Wipe that disrespectful look from your face, Captain!” warned Justice Cul.

Not daring to look at the man who had spoken for fear Cul would see his fury, Cree blanked his expression. He returned his gaze to a spot above the row of men and waited for whatever punishment was going to be meted out to him.

“Recommendations?” the Chief Justice asked the others.

“Whatever we decide in regard to his punishment must be sufficiently harsh enough to discourage further rebellion,” offered Justice Ruan.

Cree’s hands clenched into fists behind his back. He wished he knew who was responsible for him being here. If it was the last thing he ever did, he would find that person, rip off her head, and drain the blood from her worthless body!

“I agree,” Justice Cul concurred. “A year on Helios Twelve would not be amiss. The Captain needs to be taught humility.”

“It will take more than a year at hard labor on a penal colony to teach this fool humility, Cul,” muttered Justice Traye Onar.

“That is true,” agreed the Chief Justice.

“Well, then,” Justice Ryda Lona drawled as he threaded his fingers together and sat forward to glare at Cree. “I vote for Active Reinforcement.”

The dark brown gaze of Captain Kamerone Cree widened, then shifted incredulously to the wizened old man. He spoke before he thought of the consequences of doing so. “For what?” Cree demanded. “I have done nothing wrong! I …”

“Silence!” the Chief Justice barked. “Did you receive permission to speak, Cree?”

Cree shook his head. “No, Your Grace, but …”

“Then be quiet!” came the sharp rebuke.

“But Your Grace, I …”

“Silence!” The single word was a dire threat left hanging.

Cree came to precise military attention: shoulders squared, arms rigid at his sides, gaze straight ahead. His lips were clamped shut, but his eyes blazed with fury. A muscle began to tick noticeably in his lean jaw and his breathing became audible to even the most hard of hearing among the elderly men.

Justice Vuin Barif pointed an arthritic finger at Cree. “Do you see what I mean, Milords? It is for that very look of disrespect on his face right now that I am seconding the recommendation for Active Reinforcement!”

“I agree,” Justice Onar nodded. “This is not the first time his insubordination has been brought to the attention of the Tribunal.” The elderly man smiled hatefully. “I think it is time the Captain was taught he is a servant of the Empire and not the other way around.”

Cree swung his narrowed eyes to Onar and saw triumph blazing on the wrinkled face. Of all the Lords in the room, Cree knew Onar was his worst enemy.

“Active Reinforcement is the recommendation, then,” the Chief Justice pronounced. “Are there any objections?” He swiveled his shaggy white head from right to left. When no one objected to the recommendation, he trained his hawk-like glower on Cree. “Do you have anything to say in your defense before judgment is passed, Captain?”

Cree held the old man’s stare. “What can I say?” he asked bitterly.

“What, indeed?” Onar scoffed and grinned as the young man’s attention shifted to him. “You brought this upon yourself, Cree.”

“Other recommendations?” the Chief Justice inquired.

Justice Barif smiled viciously. “Since he is the highest ranking warrior in the Ministry of Acquisitions, I believe we have to make an example of him to the others.”

“What do you suggest?” Justice Onar inquired.

“A month on Helios Twelve after Reinforcement,” Barif declared.

“I will agree to that,” Justice Lona put in, nodding thoughtfully. “That should be enough to curb our wayward Reaper’s insubordination.”

“It should,” the Chief Justice proclaimed. He looked once more around him. “Objections?”

“None from me,” Justice Ruan grunted. “If anything, such a sentence is too lenient for our headstrong Captain.”

Cree’s bloodlust rose and the venom inside his veins scalded him. He would have liked nothing better than to fly across the Bench and attack his tormentors, mutilating each in turn until there was nothing left but a heap of yellowed bones and tufts of wiry white hair. The vision of such a massacre was a red haze before his vision, but he knew he would never be able to exact the revenge upon them they so richly deserved.

“Then it is the recommendation of this Court that Captain Cree present himself to the Ministry of Behavioral Modification no later than oh nine hundred hours today to begin his sessions with them.”

“Do you understand the punishment as it was given to you, Cree?” asked Justice Ruan.

Cree nodded, not trusting himself to speak. If the old men took that as another sign of his insubordination, then let them add another month or two of hard labor on top of his unjust sentence.

“Then you are dismissed,” the Chief Justice proclaimed. Cree managed a halfway decent salute before taking one step back, pivoting and, with shoulders straight, spine erect, he marched from the room.