To Race the Wylde Wynd Ch. 12

Grant had the coffee ready. The big man gave Templer a long, hard look.

“Kind of noisy up there this morning, is everything okay?”

He handed a cup to the waiting gunman and filled it with the steaming black liquid.
The Talon studied the other man's mild face over its rim as he took a much needed drink.

“Morning calisthenics.” he answered dryly.

Grant's eyes narrowed but he wisely made no other comment.

Templer made it through his first cup and started on the second when Chrysta made her way down the steps. He noticed that the flowing grace had returned to her limping gait.

“I told you, dreamleaf is miraculous stuff.” Azra sounded a little wistful, then sly. “It has been known to do anal retentive personalities a world of good. You really should try it!”

“Hnnn...,” was the only answer the priest made.

He was busy studying Chrysta as she ambled over to the bar. Instead of the heavy pants and shirt over protective leather gear that she usually wore, she was wearing soft, black suede leather pants and high topped boots that form fitted to her legs. Her loose shirt was white with intricate embroidery on the open collar and cuffs. The simple black leather vest she wore over it accented the fact that this woman was in great physical shape.

Templer usually paid very little attention to members of the opposite sex. (Unless he was involved in a Hunt!) This was a personal choice. Men of his rank were referred to as priests and, indeed, they could step into this role if need be. BUT... unlike the secular Priest, Talons were not required to abstain from carnal acts. As a matter of fact, in some of the matters they attended to, sex was an important weapon in their complex arsenal. Many a man or woman had let secrets slip in the heat of passion that could not be torn from them on the Inquisition's bloody rack. Add to this the fact that the elemental creature a Talon hosted could supplement its ethereal needs with the type of energy released during sex. Constantine had been trained almost as extensively in the Art of pleasuring the flesh as he had in the Arts of destroying it! His duties in the last few decades had tended more towards the more mundane tasks of a Talon. Monster hunting, adjudicating border disputes, enforcing Order laws, and Sorting the Tainted did not require the use of bedroom skills in the way espionage did.

The only place that casual fornication was not illegal was at the brothels in a Sin city. Being as how Azra absolutely detested the taste of lust, Templer's outrider actively discouraged any interest his host might have in visiting these places. The truth be told... the demon did not have to work very hard at this. The thought of using one of the poor souls trapped in those godforsaken places made Templer's skin crawl. He would have to be more than desperate! As for pursuing a LOVING relationship with a woman that included marriage, this was forbidden. A Talon's loyalties could not be divided. Those of Constantine's rank were permanently wedded to the Hand. All of this did not matter. Templer was sure there was no woman on this earth who would willingly warm his bed and body once they discovered what being a Talon entailed.

It had been decades since Templer had sampled the flesh. The feel of the warm, strong legs straddling his hips this morning had driven home the fact that whatever else he was, be it priest, Talon or monster... he was still very much a man.

As he covertly watched Chrysta badger the barman about her coffee... the priest couldn't help but compare the woman with the two females he was most familiar with. He was aware that Sig's lover was a lovely young... woman. With her well-toned frame, honey colored eyes, and silky gold hair, the gunman could see why the Wind-master was so protective of her. Add to this Skye's gentle personality and MOST of the time, one could forget that you might find yourself in bed with her alter ego if her control slipped. There was a soft snicker in his mind and Templer hid the slight smile that danced across his lips behind the rim of his cup at the thought. He had oft wondered just how the volatile Captain dealt with those occasions!

The only other woman he had any kind of ongoing relationship with was Iniko. This ward of the Saint's was just a child. At sixteen, the little thief was growing out of the long legged, slender, teen age look. If you could get past her abrasive personality, one could see the beautiful woman she would become... IF she lived to maturity. The Talon and his outrider had an ongoing bet that someone would do her in out of pure aggravation before that day. There was no comparing the young girl to the mature woman before him.

Chrysta carried her tall frame with the confidence created by a lifetime of experience. Her shoulders were broad even for her five foot eight frame. Her arms and long fingered hands had been strengthened and hardened by years of handling destria and her waist was still trim. The priest could attest to the fact that those long slim legs were nothing but muscle and sinew.

Grant handed the woman a small well filled pouch and she glanced Templer's way, flashing him a quick smile before returning to her conversation.

Templer sipped his coffee and continued to covertly watch her. Her face's best features were her large, beautiful eyes. She had high cheekbones, a straight slightly too long nose, a generous mouth, and a strong jaw line. Her soft chestnut hair was clipped very short. This was not the most attractive style but one that made sense when you spent a great deal of time wearing a helmet. No, Chrysta definitely would not meet the standard of what most men would consider beautiful or even pretty. Still... when she smiled at him... it was like the sun breaking through deep shadow to softly warm his tired soul. That, combined with the odd grace she incorporated into almost every move, made the woman down right...

“Hot? Sexy? OH MY GODS, give me some of that... I want to ride it like a monkey!!”

His outrider's sudden intrusion into his thoughts was accompanied by a flood of lurid images.

Chrysta's head snapped around as Templer convulsively jerked in shocked surprise. With a sound like a gunshot, the coffee cup cracked in his hands.

“AZRA... STOP it!”

Templer felt lucky that he hadn't inhaled the coffee that had been in his mouth. Although, the threat of drowning seemed to be the least of his problems as his body reacted in a delighted fashion to the images still rolling through his mind.

“WHAT? You keep telling me I am demon. If this is true, I am SUPPOSED to have depraved appetites!” His tone was defensive as he snickered. “You on the other hand don't have that excuse and YOU are the one in control of our body right at the moment.”

The gunman rested his forehead in his gun hand while he forced the other to release the pieces of the cup. Taking deep breaths, he tried to block out Azra's input and get his overly enthusiastic body back under control.

“What the fuck... Azra! You don't like that sort of thing!”

The demon generated images stuttered to a halt.

“WHAT... the... HELL! Your right. I DON'T like that sort... Holy... I think I might be sick!”

“Constantine?” Chrysta was at his side, her face questioning.

“Hmmm, sudden cramp...,” was all Templer could think to say, while he silently cussed his IDIOT demon cohort out.

“Ah-hum...,” was her unconvinced answer. “If you are okay now, we should be heading to the track.”

The woman scooped the pouch off of the bar, blew a kiss to Grant and headed out through the back door. Templer slowly followed her into the early morning sun. He was surprised to see that Nuva and Zephyr were already saddled and waiting. Chrysta attached her pouch to the big black's saddle and lithely mounted up. Zephyr danced in a tight circle waiting for the gunman to follow suit. Nuva chortled in greeting, and when he was seated, swung her heavy ridged head around to lip fondly at his knee. The old girl arched her neck. Stepping high, she followed the black down the alley and out on to the main street.

They covered the couple of miles to the racing compound in relatively quick time as there was not much in the way of festival crowds this early in the morning. The security guards passed them through with no hassles. Chrysta was well known as a trainer and rider. She led them through the maze of barns and paddocks until they came to the stable marked with Don Ricardo's name. The priest was a little surprised that along with the couple of stable-hands who took custody of Nuva and Zephyr, there were also quite a few mercenaries serving as guards. These were posted in and around the stables and on the outside of some of the paddocks. He threw a questioning look at Chrysta and she gave a small shrug.

“There have been problems in the past with suspicious accidents, and animals getting poisoned.” The look in her eyes matched the hard edge present in her voice. “This can be a cut throat business.”

As she passed in front of a high walled stall a lean, blood red head suddenly struck out over it. Chrysta didn't even blink as black fangs clashed together mere centimeters from of her nose. She did however, protest and slap the slobbery muzzle away when it tried to nuzzle into her shirt.

“Damn it Inferno! You big dope, DON'T mess up the shirt.”

Templer could tell by the exasperated affection in her voice that this was an ongoing game the two played.

Inferno dodged the halfhearted slap then danced away snorting in triumph over his obvious victory. The big animal shook out his flame colored mane and minced up to study the gunman with eyes that burned like the heart of a star. The priest carefully stepped back as the stallion showed an inordinate amount of interest in HIS shirt.

Chrysta smiled as she gave the ridged head a final gentle slap then headed toward the exit. As they walked, she pointed out to the Talon the animals in Don Ricardo's barn that were racing that day. She told him which ones were worth betting on.

What followed was one of the most enjoyable days Templer Constantine had experienced in a very long time. They spent the morning wandering the grounds and watching the racer's workouts. When the racing started, Chrysta had V.I.P. seats reserved that afforded them a perfect view of the track. Her pouch had been filled by Grant with a variety of goodies and a small bottle of red wine that they shared throughout the day. With her input, the gunman managed to make a little silver on some of his bets. Even Azra was unusually quiet, content to just observe from the back of his host's mind. The only dark spot in the day was in the third race when a young sprinter had a bad fall in the backstretch. Chrysta started to rise... but settled back down as the sharp crack of a gunshot echoed across the tracks. She sadly explained that with over six thousand pounds per square inch balanced over one fragile leg at a time sometimes the racers strong but thin bones broke from the strain. This type of catastrophic injury could not be healed with conventional methods... the animal was usually put down.

As the races for the day were finishing, they headed back to Don Ricardo's barn. When they arrived Andrew had Zephyr, Nuva and a lovely almost delicate looking filly saddled and bridled. A small crowd had gathered at the adjoining arena, waiting for Chrysta's dressage demonstration. She explained on the walk over that dressage was an ancient style of riding based on the skills that battle mounts were taught before they went into battle. There would be several buyers watching who were interested in purchasing the destria that she would be riding. Chrysta put on her helmet and left Templer at the gate with the Nuva and Zephyr. She mounted the filly, who was a dramatically dappled gray, and entered the arena.

Making a slight bow in the direction of her audience, Chrysta and her mount began their patterns. Templer had ridden Terra-birds many times. The couple of times he had ridden Nuva had driven home the differences in the riding styles needed for each animal. Even so... the priest had never seen anything quite like the display this pair put on. Chrysta seemed as much a part of the destria as the legendary centaurs said to roam West of the Waste. The filly spun and leaped as she performed intricate moves that took incredible precision and control. It was like watching an elegant, dance as the pair floated over the ground. The Talon remembered how El Diablo had battled his rider. He was struck by the amount of training that had to go into producing an animal like this pretty gray.

As the pair came to an easy stop in the center of the arena the small crowd applauded politely. A disturbance attracted the gunman's attention and he recognized Rafe along with several of his cronies making their way to the gate.

“What a waste of time.”

Rafe was preening in front of his crowd, showing off as he pushed past Templer to enter the arena.

“Imagine... teaching a destria how to dance!”

The arrogant young man laughed loudly making sure everyone there observed his obvious contempt. His retinue of three laughed with him, but remained on the outside of the arena.

Chrysta turned towards the obnoxious young man. She motioned to someone behind Constantine. One of the stable-hands took Zephyr's reins and led him into the arena to where the gray and its rider waited. Templer was mildly surprised when five of the mercenary guards entered the arena. They were all heavily padded and more astounding... all were also protected by elemental shields. The priest casually blocked Azra as the outrider instinctively reached out to Test whether the magic was Sanctioned
.
“We are on vacation... remember?”

The men began to set up obstacles and very human like manikins. They then positioned themselves in strategic locations around the arena. One of them handed Chrysta a long, sheathed blade. She dismounted from the filly and with a lithe swing, was up on the much larger Zephyr. The stable-hand led the gray over to the side of the arena as the woman rode the black forward to face Rafe. Leaning forward a little Chrysta spoke quietly to the red head. Templer's enhanced hearing had no problem deciphering what she said.

“Little man, you should study your history.”

Rafe's face flushed with anger at the contemptuous tone present in her soft voice.

“These dance moves, as you call them, are used to teach destria the Art of War.”

As she said this, the rider dropped her reins and drew the sword. Templer saw her legs tighten around the black's sensitive sides and Zephyr spun. As he completed that lightning fast move the black transformed from a quiet beast of burden to a red eyed, screaming weapon of destruction. He launched forward to meet the mercenaries, who had also drawn weapons, head on. As the beast passed one of the manikins Chrysta's sword drifted out, easily removing its head. Three of the mercenaries tried to close in on the pair. Zephyr cantered in place, turning a tight circle as he lashed out with teeth and hooves. Chrysta parried and slashed with her blade and all three men were forced to fall back.
The big black broke from his circle into a huge sideways trot. Two of the guards who had been closing on their left side had to scramble to get out of his way. A lightning strike with a front leg shredded a second manikin. One guard charged and Zephyr reared striking out with sharp, cloven front hooves. The reason for the heavy padding became clear as the man was knocked across the sand. Two others tried to get to the destria's unprotected sides but found their way blocked by Chrysta's blade.

The black, still on his hind legs, hopped forwards. He turned as he came down, knocking both men off of their feet with a swing of his ridged, horned head. Breaking into a gallop Zephyr made a circuit of the arena slashing and kicking as he passed the manikins. He left none of them standing. The mighty beast then turned and charged Rafe. Before he reached the man, Zephyr came to a sliding stop and reared up on quivering haunches. His scream was a guttural challenge, his lips were pulled back to expose black, killing fangs. In the space of a breath he covered the distance to the redhead with three long hops, front legs clawing the air. Rafe back pedaled until he reached the fence.

Chrysta, her point made, snatched up the reins. Zephyr came to a shuddering stop directly in front of the now panicked young man. There was complete silence, then the small crowd was screaming and clapping. They had totally enjoyed the show.

Rafe's face was flushed as he looked up at Chrysta.

“I will pay you whatever you want for him.” He gestured towards the now quiet black.

Chrysta shook her head.

“Zephyr is not for sale at any price.”

“Fine, then I will pay twice what your buyer offers for the gray.”

The man's avarice was clearly evident in his voice.

Chrysta leaned forward slightly. “You don't understand Rafe.” Her voice was quiet. “None of my herd is for sale... to YOU.”

It took a moment for her meaning to sink in. Rafe's face twisted and his hand dropped for the gun at his side. Templer's hand also dropped before he remembered that the Trinity was not holstered there. He did not see Chrysta move but Zephyr sprang forward, rearing up. The woman's blade licked out and Rafe's gun flipped into the dirt. The big black's muscled chest struck the staggering man and bore him down to land on his back in the dirt. Two deadly cloven hooves slammed down on either side of his pale face. Rafe's three companions all snatched for their weapons. Templer caught the first man's hand before he could clear leather. With a savage twist, he broke the fragile wrist. His blade-hand dropped on the second man's shoulder. Its sharp talons bit deep into muscles and nerves, paralyzing the arm. The priest threw this screaming man away and spun to deal with the third. He froze at the scene that met his eyes.

Nuva had sidestepped and slipped behind the third gunman, who just happened to be the blond temple guard. She had her mouth locked over the back of the man's neck, and was applying just enough pressure that her fangs barely pierced his skin. This man had the presence of mind to freeze and drop his gun.

For a moment everything was still. Then Chrysta signaled Zephyr, and the black stepped back placing his sharp hooves with care. He snorted his disdain into Rafe's face as he allowed the man to scramble to his feet. Nuva matched his snort as she removed her fangs from her captive's bleeding neck. The mare licked the blood off her lips with evident pleasure while the man scrambled away with a curse. The Don's son didn't say a word as he tried to brush some of the dirt off of his expensive clothes. He turned to gather up his injured group.

As they were leaving, Rafe once more faced Chrysta.

“This isn't over you Tainted bitch!” The words were choked with embarrassment and rage.

Templer heard Chrysta murmur as she watched them leave. “No I imagine it isn't.”

The woman looked over at him and a tiny smile crinkled her eyes.

“Why don't you take Nuva and head back to the Ironwood. I'll meet you there when I have finished with this sale.”

The gunman just nodded and gathering Nuva's reins he swung up into the saddle. As he was turning to leave, the woman kneed Zephyr up close to him.

“Thank you.” was all she said.

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link to next chapter
https://steemit.com/art/@fetherhd/to-race-the-wylde-wynd-chapter-13