The Nightwind's Woman by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“All the women of
your line were.” He tilted his head slightly. “Would you like to know about
your great-grandmother Lenora?”
    “She was a suffragette and a staunch supporter
of the Temperance Movement,” she replied.
    “Oh, Nora was much more than that. I’ve rarely
come up against a woman as strong-willed and mean as that one,” he told her.
    “Mean?”
    “Brutally so,” he said. “She had the
disgusting habit of chopping off the heads of newborn kittens instead of having
the females spayed to keep unwanted litters from being born. I think she took
pleasure in killing the helpless little things.”
    Kenzi shuddered. “That isn’t mean, Kayle.
That’s evil.”
    “I agree,” he said, nodding. “But that was
your great-grandmother. Using her shotgun to drive hungry drifters from her
door was another favorite pastime. She was not a nice woman.”
    “And my grandmother?” she asked.
    “Gilda was as tenderhearted with animals as
her mother was cruel,” he replied. “But she was terrified of her mother and did
whatever Nora ordered. You knew Gilly died giving birth to your mother.”
    “Mother rarely spoke of her,” she said. “My
grandmother raised Mama.”
    “To be exactly like her,” he said with a
twist of his lips. “Thankfully Inez did not pick up Nora’s more bloodthirsty
habits although she was not the most compassionate person I’ve ever known.”
    “No,” Kenzi said, lowering her eyes. “She
wasn’t.”
    “Now here you are,” he said.
    She lifted her gaze. “Are you going to offer
your services to me?”
    “I am.”
    “What happens if I turn you down?”
    He smiled. “You won’t.”
    Kenzi’s brows drew together. “How do you know
I won’t?”
    “Because you aren’t like the last three
generations of Thompson women,” he replied. “You are the one I’ve been waiting
for. You are the Chosen.”
    “The Chosen,” she repeated.
    “The woman meant to save my immortal soul
and make me human again.”
    She slumped back against the sofa, staring wordlessly
at him. “I think you’d better start at the beginning,” she said.
    “Okay,” he replied and leaned back. “It was
a dark and stormy night…”
    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
    Kayle looked up at the wildly thrashing
leaves overhead, squinting as the cold rain peppered his eyes. He was drenched
to the bone, shivering, trying to outrun the she-wolves intent on making
roadkill of him. He could hear their frenzied shouts and ululating shrieks over
the harsh booms of thunder and piercing snaps of lightning. Around him the wind
skirled, pushed against his trembling flesh with phantom hands.
    It had not been his intention to garner the
notice of the Matriarch and her blood-thirsty band of warrioresses nor to be
the recipient of their anger but he had managed to do both. Now, he was running
for his life and freedom—away from a hoard of women intent on causing him as
much pain as they could muster before killing him.
    Gasping for breath, he pushed away from the
tree under which he’d been hiding and headed up the steep slope. His feet
slipped in the mud, his bare knees scraped across rocks and debris as he went
down but he managed to make his way to the top. Not daring to risk a glance
behind him, he took off running across the plain. He stumbled, righted himself
and then winced as pain lanced up his right calf. Limping now, half dragging
his right leg as energy and strength began to fade, he listened as the
cacophony of shouts and hoots reverberated through the storm-lashed night. They
were gaining on him and the sounds of triumph were like a sharp blade carving a
line down his naked back.
    One of the things he knew they’d do to him
if—and when—they brought him to ground.
    It took every last ounce of stamina he had
to put one foot ahead of the other. His body ached and bled in a dozen places
from scratches and cuts. He knew it was only a matter of moments before he went
down—never to rise again. When the first rock slammed into