Spring Wind [Seasonal Winds Book 1]

Spring Wind [Seasonal Winds Book 1] by Charlotte Boyett-Compo Read Free Book Online

Book: Spring Wind [Seasonal Winds Book 1] by Charlotte Boyett-Compo Read Free Book Online
Authors: Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Chapter One
    "Fucking cops," Striker grumbled as he increased his
    footsteps. His hands were thrust deep into the pockets of his
    scrub pants and his shoulders were hunched defensively. A
    scowl drew his features taut, making his eyes appear smaller
    than normal.
    "Just keep walking," the woman at his side said in a low
    voice. "Don't give them any reason to suspect us."
    "I hate fucking cops," Striker stated.
    "Well, none of my best friends are cops, either," Bailey
    MacKenna said. She gave Striker a quick glance. "You look
    guilty, Nate. At least wipe that expression off your face."
    Making an attempt to relax, Striker carefully watched the
    two policemen strolling along the sidewalk across the avenue.
    So far, neither of them had looked Striker's way. In his
    position as diener—the person responsible for handling,
    moving, and cleaning the bodies at the morgue—he rarely
    came into contact with the authorities and he wanted to keep
    it that way. He especially disliked the Portal Patrols who
    maintained the exits points on Vardar-7.
    "Uh, oh," Bailey MacKenna whispered.
    Striker looked to where she was staring and felt the blood
    drain from his face. "I knew it," he said. "I knew we were
    going to get caught." He lowered his voice. "I told you we
    were going to get caught!"
    The tall man walking toward the policemen wore the
    dreaded steel gray uniform of the Modartha, the ultra-secret
    4
    Spring Wind [Seasonal Winds Book 1]
    by Charlotte Boyett-Compo
    police responsible for the Slándáil Phoiblí, the National
    Security. The people of her world were terrified of the
    Modartha for the elite law enforcement officers were not only
    deadly assassins but during full moons, changed into gray
    wolves—the most dangerous of their kind.
    "We're going to hang," Striker said with a moan. "Sure as
    shit, we're going to hang."
    "Shut the hell up, Nate!" Bailey said. So far the Modartha
    agent had not looked their way. He had stopped to speak to
    the policemen who appeared as rattled by his appearance as
    did Striker.
    "We're going to end up in the Doinsiún hanging by our
    thumbs," Striker muttered.
    "We're not going to the Dungeon," Bailey hissed at him.
    "We've done nothing wrong."
    "You don't think providing aid to the Resistance is doing
    anything wrong?" Striker demanded. "Bailey, if we are
    caught, we'll be jailed and I've no desire to be some bull's
    cow!"
    Bailey rolled her eyes. "We haven't been aiding the
    Resistance and we haven't done anything to warrant being
    sent to the Dungeon. We've simply been attending their
    secret rallies just as hundreds of other people have. If every
    curious citizen was jailed, there wouldn't be anyone left to do
    their everyday jobs. There is nothing with which the Modartha
    could charge us."
    "Not yet," Striker reminded her. "You know what they say
    about curiosity and the cat."
    5
    Spring Wind [Seasonal Winds Book 1]
    by Charlotte Boyett-Compo
    It was at that moment the Modartha agent turned his head
    and looked right at Bailey. She could feel her stomach do an
    odd little flip and she drew in a breath. Quickly, she looked
    away from his probing stare, lowering her head with the
    proper respect one showed a man of his position.
    "Oh, Sweet Morrigunia, Bailey," Striker whimpered. "He's
    crossing the street and coming straight at us."
    "Keep walking," Bailey told him. Sweat was gathering in
    her palms, her heart was thundering—blood pounding—and a
    cold finger of dread was scratching down her spine.
    "Halt!"
    Immediately both Bailey and Striker did as they were
    ordered. They stood stock still, waiting for the Modartha to
    reach them. With heads down, eyes on the sidewalk, they
    assumed the required position of hands clasped behind their
    backs in an attitude of subservience.
    "Identify yourselves," the Modartha demanded. He came
    to stand directly behind Bailey and it was she who spoke first,
    the senior of the two.
    "Cróinéir Second Class Bailey MacKenna, Milord," she said.
    "Diener

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