To Race the Wylde Wynd Chapter 9

Constantine realized in the first day or two of festival that Chrysta was not joking about keeping odd hours. Between the various competitions she was entered in on Don Ricardo's and her own behalf, plus her unofficial title of town Vet, her visits to the room they shared were sporadic at best. More often than not, when she was there, it was with one of the locals. She spent a great deal of time stitching up a multitude of destria inflicted wounds or bar fight injuries. It seemed the town's people shared Chrysta's views on the high cost and quality of the medical care from the town Healer.

Templer occupied his time attending various events and playing a little poker at one of the smaller, less populated casinos. At Grant's suggestion, he left his cloak and the Trinity in his room. Without these trademarks of rank, the priest found that other than an odd glance or two at his blade-hand, most people treated him as just one of the crowd. The races were scheduled to start on the morning of the festival's third day. Templer realized that both he and his outrider were looking forward to them. It came as a surprise that they were enjoying their time off. He hoped he could pin Chrysta down before the races long enough to pick her brains on which animals he should wager on.

Late the afternoon of the second day, Templer was snagged by Grant as he headed up to the room. He needed a break from the afternoon heat and crowds. The bartender beckoned him over whilst sending one of his girls to the kitchen.

“I don't usually interfere...”

Templer just looked at the man as the word... liar... came to mind.

Oblivious to the gunman's thoughts, Grant continued...

“It's just that I KNOW that Chrysta hasn't eaten since God knows when, and I am willing to bet you haven't either.”

The young woman reappeared. She carried a tray piled high with sandwiches and other tasty snacks in one hand, and a frosty pitcher of iced tea in her other. Grant's face took on a conspirator's look.

“Now... if I take these up, they will most likely just go to waste. I am sure if you make it seem like this was YOUR idea, Chrysta might take some time to ingest something other than coffee or Anesthetic.”

The man's soft brown eyes and gentle smile were guileless.

“Hnnn...” (Didn't usually interfere... my ass, this man was also sneaky, manipulative and very good at hiding it!)

Templer accepted the tray and pitcher, his stoic expression giving no hint of the thoughts running through his mind.

Somehow the priest managed to make it up the stairs and jockey the door open without dropping either the tray or the tea. Chrysta was sprawled, fully clothed on the duvet. Her left arm was thrown over her face shielding it from the late afternoon sun. Thinking his roommate was asleep, Templer set his burden down as quietly as possible. He was taken by surprise when he heard a soft buack, buack, buack, come from the duvet. Chrysta looked at him from under almost closed eyelids, grinning. When she was sure she had his attention, the obnoxious woman made another series of mother hen sounds. This drew a snide snicker from Azra.

“I was going to bring this over to you so you didn't have to get up. I've changed my mind.” Templer gestured at the table, “You can drag your butt off of there and come eat like a civilized person.”

This earned him a snort of laughter as the woman levered herself into a standing position then limped over to join him. Constantine wasn't hungry. His altered metabolism along with Azra's support could make due on very little. He knew from experience that people eat better when someone else is dining with them. The gunman casually picked out a sandwich and took a bite. He was secretly pleased when his psychology worked and Chrysta tucked into her own sandwich with determination if not enthusiasm.

As they ate their meal in companionable silence Templer realized how much he appreciated that both Grant and Chrysta seemed to understand his quiet ways. Neither one of them pressured him in any way to participate in small talk or inane conversation. His friends, were always trying to get him to "open" up. It was like they wanted to change him into something he was not. Granted some were more persistent at this than others. Templer could not remember a time when he had been one for conversation or overt displays of emotion. The Hand's training accentuated these traits. A Talon learned very quickly to hide what he was thinking or feeling. It was just a part of the job.

A soft sigh from Chrysta brought his attention back to the present. With a start he realized that she had been studying him while he was deep in thought. (HOLY... he had to stop doing that! It made him vulnerable.) His companion finished her meal, pushed back from the table, and got up. Limping from cabinet to cabinet she gathered various medical supplies and arranged them neatly in an extensive travel kit. She glanced his way and a small frown wrinkled her brow.

“I hate to ask this.” Chrysta looked slightly embarrassed. “Do you have anything planned for tonight?”

“Not really,” he answered.

The only events scheduled for that night were a dinner and dance (NOT happening) and the pit fights. He was not attending either. It was his plan to just stay put and make a few belated phone calls. Iniko's last angry message upset his Cricket enough to give it a serious case of the hiccups. The poor thing had chirped intermittently for hours until it calmed down. Templer ignored the little mental nudges Azra gave him. The gunman was justifiably proud of the control he had gained over the sometimes over bearing elemental since their bonding. Because of this, he was caught with his guard down when said demon snatched control for a moment.

“I was hoping you would have some spare time this evening to go over the racing forms with me for tomorrow.”

Templer's voice, under Azra's control, came out rougher than his usual silky baritone.
Chrysta's chestnut brows arched in surprise but other than a piercing look sent his way, she didn't comment on the change. Templer choked a little as his rather smug outrider released control back to him.

“Ahhh,” Chrysta's smile became a little predatory. “I will make you a deal. If you will come and give me a hand this evening, I will take some time off and attend the races with you tomorrow.”

“Aren't you riding in some of the races tomorrow?”

Templer was a bit taken aback when the woman started laughing.

“Bless you... Constantine.”

At his confused look she took pity on him, still chuckling.

“I am much too heavy to be a jockey in the speed races.” She continued grinning, “But I will thank you for the compliment anyways.”

“Hnnn...”

The priest folded his arms, the black talons of his blade-hand tapped a quiet rhythm against the other.

“So what DO you have planned for this evening?” The combination of her and Grant had started to bring out the paranoid side of his personality.

“The stallion pit fights are tonight, so I will be hanging out there.”

Chrysta's expression gave nothing away. Templer recoiled a little. The stallion fights were something he had NO interest in attending.

Chrysta gave a small satisfied nod at his reaction.

“I agree... watching two beautiful animals tear each other apart is NOT my idea of a good time. I am not going there to watch. I will be in the barn providing veterinarian care. Sometimes I need another pair of hands or just someone to provide brute strength when putting some of these guys back together. Neither one of my stable hands can stomach the violence or the blood. You seem to have no problem on either account and could even be of help with some of the stitching.”

Templer felt Azra perk up at the mention of blood and violence.

“Come ON Constantine, this sounds like a lot more fun than dealing with your obnoxious girlfriend!”

“Iniko is NOT my girlfriend!”

Although to be honest, the demon did have a point. The priest ruthlessly squelched the little stirring of guilt as he agreed to give the hopeful woman in front of him a hand. He would just have to make his calls some other time.

It was very late that night when a much subdued Templer Constantine returned to the Ironwood. Even Azra had seen more blood, rage and death then he could stomach.

“I think I have stitched more tonight than I have in my entire life.” The Talon told his quiet outrider. He was a little surprised when he received no answer.

If Chrysta had given any inkling of how traumatic the night would be, he would not have agreed to go. One after another destria had come through the vet barn. Few owners could afford to provide Blessings for their beasts. Chrysta on the other hand, after flashing him a wary look, opened a small case which held several softly glowing Hexes. These Unsanctioned and highly illegal static healing spells were less pricey than the legal Blessings one could purchase from a legit healer. Most could not afford even these black market spells for their loved ones. It was a surprise that Chrysta had a supply of the illegal ones AND that the woman was willing to use them on an animal. When Chrysta produced the first Hex after hastily examining a dying stallion, Templer grimly reminded himself HE was on vacation. The Talon forced himself to look the other way. It was a relief that as soon as they got the screaming beast pieced back together his companion triggered the Hex and the worst of the suffering beast's damage was healed. This was one of lucky few. For those not as badly injured, Chrysta did what she could with traditional techniques. This entailed not only a tremendous amount of cleaning, stitching and bone setting. It also involved a true element of danger. More than once both her and Templer were slashed at, snapped at or thrown into the wall. Once the precious Hexes were gone, those stallions they could do nothing for, had to be put down. Chrysta was the one that eased each one of these into the peaceful sleep of death. As the long night wore on, the woman became more and more quiet. In the end, she sent the gunman off, telling him she could deal with the clean-up. Her expressive eyes were dull with fatigue and dark with tears she did not yet have the time to shed.

When Templer walked into the Ironwood, Grant took a long, hard look at his haggard face and bloodstained clothes. Without saying a word, the bartender poured a brandy snifter full of Anesthetic, forced it into his bloodied hands and sent the priest up to his room. Constantine finished the potent drink in several long swallows. He stripped and stood under the pounding hot water, trying to ignore the crimson stream that ran down the drain in a steady flow. The Talon had no problem with blood. He alone had let loose rivers of it in the line of duty. This was different, this blood had been shed for the sole purpose of entertaining the screaming crowd.

Templer had long come to grips with the fact that in most citizen's eyes... he was a monster. The Talon would be the first to agree with them. Even with his outrider in complete control, those of his rank were highly trained, cold blooded killing machines. The Hand had created his kind in order to bring the devastating Re-gen wars to an end. They had built their own monsters to counteract those the enemy brought into being. With the Truce in place... the soldiers who were extensively modified to battle monsters and survive had been turned to another use. As the most powerful of these... the Talons patrolled the Borderlands dispensing the Hand's harsh justice along with eliminating any threat that invaded from the Wastelands. Their unusual skills were also used to negate other threats to the Order. The “problems” that originated from within, were sniffed out, run to ground and terminated without prejudice. It was acceptable in these circumstances for there to be some collateral damage. It had been drilled into Constantine that all of the atrocities committed in the act of protecting the Realm, were in the end... forgivable. He did not believe it. This night's events had blurred the line dividing what he was from the masses. He was well and truly damned if these blood thirsty souls were an example of what he had become a monster to protect... the priest did not finish this traitorous thought. Instead, he let the hefty dose of Anesthetic temporarily shut his mind down, lifted his face into the hot stream... and tried to convince himself that all of the liquid rolling down his cheeks was water.

The weary priest was standing in front of the open window, watching a storm roll in when Chrysta came into the courtyard. The exhausted woman moved like she was bleeding to death from an unseen wound. She did not seem to notice the underbelly of the storm light up as electricity danced between the clouds. A cold rain started to fall. The rumble of thunder hid the small sound of a gate swinging open from her, but the Talon heard it.

“Constantine... MOVE!”

Azra had seen what both Chrysta and Templer had missed in the darkness of the storm. El Diablo's paddock gate was unlocked and swinging in the wind. The tired woman saw it in the same moment that the destria did. She froze as the battle stallion launched himself into a charge. Templer didn't hesitate. He dove through the window at the same time he released control to his outrider. Black shadows spun through the air and what had started out human at the beginning of the leap was something entirely different at the end.

Azra slammed down between the startled human and El Diablo. The elemental's mind was racing. He did not want to kill this beast. Fanning black on crimson wings to their widest span, he spread his arms out... long talons extended, making himself look as large and intimidating as possible. Crouching in a battle stance, the demon met El Diablo's rage and hate with his own.

The startled destria put the brakes on, his cloven hooves sliding on wet flagstones. He came to a shuddering stop just inside the open gate. Snorting, with his neck arched and his regal head held high, the stallion stepped almost daintily over the line then slowly approached the motionless demon.

Azra heard Chrysta's sharp intake of breath as the beast reached out, nostrils flared, to sniff at the tip of one leathery wing. The big animal followed its leading edge until his sharp fanged muzzle was blowing warm breath on the tense outrider's face. The stallion drew back and his jewel-like green eyes studied the demon's gold ones. There was no threat when the soft muzzle gently bumped Azra's shoulder then rested against the demon's bronze cheek. Shocked beyond belief the outrider drew on his host's experience with Nuva. He forced himself to relax and carefully exhaled.

El Diablo whuffled, swinging his flared nostrils in closer to share breaths with him. Azra was overwhelmed with a wave of emotions. These triggered corresponding chords in his mind. Despair, rage, loneliness, and the humiliating feeling of being trapped rolled through him, all of it underscored by a fierce intelligence. It was like taking a savage punch to the guts. Azra jerked back, breaking the contact. The big destria chortled and turned away. With slow, deliberate steps and great dignity, El Diablo returned to his enclosure.

The demon couldn't control the rage he felt as he found himself forced to be the great stallion's jailer. His clawed hands shook as he closed and latched the gate. Spinning, his hot, angry eyes settled on the motionless woman and she became the target for the overpowering emotion.

He was growling as he advanced on her,

“By what right do you keep him captive? He is a sentient being and you are holding him against his will. This is nothing less than slavery!”

Chrysta's eyes widened as the dark demon advanced and she started to back up. At this last statement, those eyes narrowed and her temper exploded to life.

“How DARE you judge me?”

The woman didn't scream or yell. Her normally husky voice deepened to a growl that almost matched Azra's own. Chrysta stalked up until she was right in his face.

“What in the seven Hells do you expect me to do with him? It's not like I can just turn him loose. In case you have forgotten, Destria EAT people! I made a promise a long time ago and I am keeping it to the best of my ability. That silver fucker can try to make me kill him all he wants. It's NOT happening. YOU don't know enough about the situation to be giving me a hard time!”

Azra found himself in a quandary. Human females (and males for that matter) ALWAYS ran screaming in terror from him. When this didn't happen, it was in battle and they ALWAYS ended up very... very dead. It was a new experience to have a woman standing toe to toe with him. Mother of Demon's... she could not possibly be poking his chest in rhythm with her angry words. The outrider had his own rage barely in hand, and he knew Constantine would make his life a living hell if he harmed this woman.

Azra had heard it said that there was a fine line between anger and passion. Without thinking about it the demon caught the offending hand and jerking Chrysta forward the last couple inches, he silenced her angry words by covering her mouth with his. Being gentle wasn't in his nature and his sharp fangs cut the soft lips, flooding his mouth with the richness of her blood. The taste was amazing; sweet, and smoky with a spiciness that must come from her close association with the destria. For the second time in the space of a few moments the outrider found himself shocked to his ethereal core. Rather than pulling away from his hunger in fear, Chrysta's lips parted and she returned the kiss with an appetite equal to his own. It was not the woman who breathlessly ended it.

They stood still for a moment, face to face, warm breath mingling in the cold night air. Azra did not know what was going on in Chrysta's mind but his was spinning in confusion. His kind was NOT supposed to be able to experience the warm, pleasant, tingly sensations that had accompanied the delectable energy created by that errant kiss. Lust was possible, but that burning, insatiable need was a sweet, empty addiction whose taste he found disgusting once the impulse wore off. It was NOTHING like what he had just experienced.

“Constantine would birth a Terra-bird if he were aware of this.”

Azra noticed the red of her blood mingling with the rain at the corner of that sweet mouth. He had a brief savage fight with himself not to lick it off. The woman stepped back wiping it with her bandaged arm. The demon blinked. There was some of his golden blood present there.

Chrysta's eyes were a dark stormy green as she insolently looked him up and then down.

“Yes... I can imagine what Templer's reaction would be. Still, it just might be worth the risk. I am willing to bet my last silver that you would be one HELL of a wild ride!”

Her grin was as wicked as any harpy's as the woman turned and headed for the door. The astounded outrider just stood motionless with the rain dripping slowly off of his wing tips. His mouth worked, savoring the taste of her sweet, spicy blood mixed with his own. A talon-ed hand lifted to lightly brush his lips. DAMN, how the in the hell and more important... WHEN... had she managed to bite his tongue?

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YES... my flash drive survived the washing machine! You can bet I now have this file saved on my computer.

LINK to next chapter
https://steemit.com/fiction/@fetherhd/to-race-the-wylde-wynd-ch-10

https://steemit.com/fiction/@fetherhd/to-race-the-wild-wind-chapter-1 here is a link to chapter one for those that want to start at the beginning!