Chrysta seemed to sag, the piece of paper fluttered out of suddenly boneless fingers. The anger on her face had Grant pushing back from the table. The silver haired stranger snagged the offending paper before it reached the floor. He met Templer's unearthly eyes without flinching and offered a soft hand.
“Talon Constantine... I presume.”
The Don had a mild tenor voice.
“I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance. I am Don Ricardo.”
Templer's gaze flicked down to the hand then back to the calm face. He did not extend his own hand. The pale gray eyes blinked sedately and with a slight shrug, the man went to studying the paper.
“Hmmm... It seems Mr. Brenaan here was confident enough in Chrysta's abilities that he put the Ironwood up as collateral in a legally binding wager with Don Diego. Along with a substantial amount of silver I might add. He wagered that she would win the Gauntlet tomorrow.”
That quiet face tilted towards Grant who had his eyes closed. The bartender's big body loosely sagged in his chair. Chrysta had turned her back to him but the gunman could tell by the stiffness in her shoulders she was livid. Her breathing had developed an occasional odd hitch.
Don Ricardo set the paper on the table and chose his next words delicately.
“Since we no longer have an entry in said race...” He gave a sad nod at Grant, “I see no way to prevent the Ironwood from changing ownership.”
Andrew cleared his throat nervously and coming forward he tapped Chrysta on the shoulder.
“Umm... the stuff in the needles... it was Thearazine.”
The boy back pedaled as Chrysta turned. Don Ricardo sucked in a breath and his quiet face hardened in anger.
“What's Thearazine?”
Templer had already figured out the answer but wanted it verified.
“It's a hallucinogen and a stimulant. They use it on the pit stallions to make them more aggressive.”
Chrysta's face tightened with a flash of pain and she hugged her arms around her ribcage miserably.
“If you are holding any guilt about putting Inferno down, LOSE it. That amount was an overdose and he would have died a horrible death if you hadn't.” She turned a stricken face to the inebriated barman. “Grant what were you THINKING? Forrest loved this bar... and you were his best friend! That's why he deeded it to you in his will.”
The big man stirred and his brown eyes sluggishly opened.
“Did it for you...”
The woman returned his gaze with a bewildered one of her own.
“What!!?”
Azra had been listening intently,
“Hold on... Constantine... May I see that contract?”
Templer reached out and slid the contract over to where his outrider could peruse it.
After a short minute, there was a soft rumbling.
“Ummm... CHRYSTA... Did you see what Don Diego wagered?”
The woman tiredly shook her head. Her eyes were still studying Grant, who had laid his head down on crossed arms. The priest read aloud what the demon had noted.
“Diego put up the ten thousand acres between Dragon back ridge and Flattop Mountain as his wager.”
Azra hummed thoughtfully then clarified the location for the confused priest.
“That is the valley Chrysta called... paradise!”
Don Ricardo sat back with a low whistle of astonishment. Chrysta just blinked, too stunned to say anything. Andrew slipped by the Don, he needed to get out to the barn and check on Nuva. As he passed, the young man laid another small piece of paper on the table.
Ricardo smiled and shook his head. He smoothed the paper out.
“The council has decided that since foul play was proven in this case they will allow a substitution for the race tomorrow.”
Templer sat forward as a sudden thought slipped through his mind. He re-studied the contract in front of him.
“This is worded in such a way that Grant bet that CHRYSTA would win the race, NOT Inferno.”
The gray eyed man's fingers drummed a soft tattoo on the table, but that isn't what caught and held the gunman's attention. Chrysta's face had become very still and... Thoughtful.
Don Ricardo pursed his lips as if he had bitten a lemon.
“It is no good. I have no other destria of the same caliber as Inferno. Really, I have none that even come close.”
"No... You don't...But I do.”
Chrysta sounded a little breathless as she whispered this. The woman ran her hand down the right side of her chest guard and gave it a small tug. She looked long at Grant, slid her gaze past him and let it linger on Templer for a moment. A nasty little smile twisted her lips. She turned and headed for the stairs tossing words over her shoulder as she went.
“Go ahead and fill out a substitute entry Don Ricardo. I WILL be ride the Gauntlet tomorrow.”
Don Ricardo gathered himself up and looking perplexed he asked.
“What destria am I entering?”
Chrysta paused for a moment on the stairs, and both men winced as a name floated down.
“Vera's Silver Flame.”
Don Ricardo hesitated for a moment. He rose with a nod at the silent gunman, picked up that little piece of paper and strode out the door.
The Talon's head snapped around as a horrendous noise emanated from the bartender. The man was snoring.
Azra shifted as Constantine glared at the other man. The outrider's voice was dark.
“Do you think Chrysta would mind if I killed him now?”
“Hnnn...” was the gunman's answer.
It took Templer a few minutes to locate his travel bag. Grant had tucked it behind the bar for safe keeping. Azra broke into his thoughts as the priest was contemplating what he should do next.
“I think you should follow Chrysta.”
The Talon hardened the walls around his heart.
“I said I would stay and help with Nuva. I promised nothing more.”
Azra shredded those walls and froze his heart with his next growled words.
“Use your head HOST! Do you really think that an un-Tainted human can have a two-thousand-pound animal roll over the top of them and come out of it completely unscathed? Something is not right here. You... need... to follow Chrysta!”
The gunman took the stairs two at a time and slammed the door open. He could hear the tub being filled and smell dreamleaf. Chrysta was standing with her back to him, watching from the window as Andrew did the evening chores. She had slipped out of her boots. The woman seemed fine as she turned towards the door, and Templer could have KILLED Azra when the outrider snickered.
“For someone who does not... CARE... You sure came up those stairs awfully...”
In the next moment, the Talon grimly told the demon... “Shut up!” as he strode towards the woman. Even from the door he could see Chrysta's lips had taken on a bluish tinge. She was pulling at the chest protector, desperately trying to get it off.
As Templer reached her, the woman sagged against him. She panted in shallow... panicked breaths.
“I... CAN'T... breathe!”
Easing both of them down, Constantine didn't even bother with the buckles and straps on the leather guard. He sliced through all of them and the shirt underneath with careful talons. Even fighting for breath, Chrysta managed a strangled laugh.
“DAMN... Constantine, you are HELL on shirts.”
Templer sucked a breath in through his teeth as he saw the extensive bruising that covered the right side of her rib cage.
Azra vented a savage curse...
“I don't care how precious they are here... THAT needs a Blessing!”
The man felt as Azra again drew on their reserves but stopped the outrider when Chrysta grabbed his wrist to get his attention.
The woman shook her head... as she wheezed,
“I can't use any magic within twenty-four hours of the race... no Blessings... no Hexes! Just get me to the tub... oh...HOLY... not the PANTS!”
This last was in response to Templer cutting her pants off. Scooping her naked body up, the Talon carried her bridal style and carefully set her in the steaming tub. For several LONG minutes the priest knelt and watched while Chrysta struggled to breath. He couldn't stand it. He rose to his feet and was telling Azra to power up (race be damned!) when things started to ease up. Chrysta sank down deeper into the water with a relieved groan. Even though the breaths she drew in were shallow and careful, her face had better color and her lips pinked up.
The woman opened one eye, quietly taking in the tall, ebony cloaked man standing tensely over the tub.
“I think I just cracked some ribs. If it will make you feel better, you can check them when I get out.”
Templer stood silent, gleaming talons tapping on his crossed arm. Without a word, he exited the room, leaving her to soak. Going down into the empty common room, the priest checked on Grant who was still snoring. Then he raided the bar. Templer found where the Innkeeper kept the Anesthetic (even with the dreamleaf, this would be unpleasant) and then he went looking for linens. He found some very nice quality ones upstairs. It was a shame to use these, he thought as returning to the room he tore them into long, wide strips.
Templer was ready when he heard her struggling to get to her feet. Slipping into the bathroom, he plucked Chrysta out of the tub, and wrapped her in a towel. He deposited the surprised woman onto one of the straight backed chairs in the room. She sat gasping while she looked at the supplies he had laid out in astonishment. He stepped behind her, carefully peeled the towel down to expose her upper body, and sternly reminded her...
“You SAID I could check you out.”
She gave him an apprehensive look,
“Well... yes... that I did.”
Chrysta flinched when the priest ran careful fingers over the bruised area. It started at her right shoulder and covered most of that half of the woman's ribcage. Traveling around her side, the damage extended over the sternum and into her left side also. Templer's touch was as gentle as he could make it, but checking her ribs took a little poking and prodding. He elicited more than a few gasps, a couple of yelps and several interesting swear words that even impressed Azra.
When he was finished, the Talon held an internal conference with his outrider to compare notes. Then he poured and handed the woman a large glass full of Anesthetic.
“Drink all of that!”
Her brows flew up, and she started to protest.
“Shut up and drink it Chrysta!”
This was a terse growl. Azra did not like mixing the hefty dose of potent alcohol with the dreamleaf but he also knew she was going to need it!
Templer sat in the chair opposite her and watched solemnly as she did as they demanded.
“From what Azra and I can tell, you have at least three cracked ribs on the right. One rib on the left has an open fracture and you have a badly bruised sternum. There is also a lot of soft tissue damage. I am going to wrap you tight. It will make it easier for you to breathe.”
Templer's glowing eyes held her green ones for a moment. The man noticed that hers were already starting to glaze. Dreamleaf and alcohol were a VERY potent mix.
“I truly apologize for this beforehand. I... AM... going to hurt you.”
“UmmHumm...” Chrysta tilted her head. He did not have the heart to smile as he assessed the wasted look she gave him. Her eyes were most definitely glazed! She blinked and reached out to catch the edge of his spider-silk cloak. Rubbing it between two fingers, she smiled sweetly.
“Ahh... Constantine... at least you are honest about it.”
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link to next chapter
https://steemit.com/fiction/@fetherhd/to-race-the-wylde-wynd-ch-31
