WINDDREAMER Read Online Free

ached. He bit his lip to control the cry that battled to come out.
    Conar sat forward in his chair, took another deep breath, and laid his hands on Corbin's knees. He smiled. "You are my son. I should have acknowledged it long before now, but the coward in me wouldn't let me. I blamed myself for what Tohre did to you and could not own up to the guilt. But in my heart, I accepted you as my child the moment your mother told me. If you will allow me, I will make up to you for all the times I have not called you my own."
    He sat back and opened his arms to Corbin.
    "I do love you, son. Can you forgive me for being a coward?"
    Corbin flew into his father's arms, hugging him with a fierceness that surprised him. "Papa," he cried, burying his face in Conar's black silk shirt. "I love you, Papa!"

    * * * *
    Standing in the doorway, his own eyes brimming with treacherous tears, Regan watched the scene with growing hurt. Not that he wanted the man to hold him in that fashion, or tell him that he was loved. He didn't need Conar McGregor to apologize for having allowed Kaileel Tohre to do evil things to him as Tohre had done to Corbin. He didn't need love; he didn't need being held. He didn't need anything Conar McGregor could offer.
    Turning and walking slowly down the hall, then running full out, his tears flowing like bitter acid down his face, Regan vowed he needed nothing but Conar McGregor--and now, Corbin McGregor as well--dead and buried.

Chapter 4
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Kaileel Tohre sat brooding in front of the fire-pit in his conjuring chamber. His hooded gaze bore into the flames, watching images leaping in the fire that only he could understand. His head lay against the high back of his velvet chair, the white blond mane nearly glowing against the black fabric. With his gnarled hands hanging miserably from the carved chair arms, his lean body slumped dejectedly in the curve of the chair, Tohre presented a picture of hopelessness totally unlike him.
    The skeletal mask of the tightly drawn flesh over his high brow and cheek brought the prominence of his light blue eyes with their heavy dark circles to the attention of those who came and went about the chamber.
    The thin lips, bloodless and pulled down in a hard frown, now and again mumbled incomplete phrases that would make Tohre mentally shake himself out of the self-imposed stupor into which he had placed himself. Reaching up a trembling hand to wipe at the sweat on his face, he trailed the long, talon-tipped fingers to the mottled and discolored flesh under his chin and stroked his small goatee.
    As memories stirred in his mind, he sat up straight, drawing in his left leg, crippled by stroke, and massaged his knee. As the memory faded, he slumped back in the chair.
    Kaileel groaned.
    It wasn't a groan of pain, nor of despair. It wasn't even a groan of fatigue, but of frustration. He was anxious for the final confrontation between himself and Conar McGregor to begin. As yet, the signs were not right; the battle yet to be waged. Shifting in his chair, he turned his head and, with a start, remembered the blonde-haired woman.
    Across the room, the Webspinner watched him. A thin, veiled smile stretched over her lips. Raja De Lyle tucked her long, tapered legs beneath her as she reclined on one of the benches scattered about the room, her arms crossed over her ample bosom.
    He groaned again, this time with contempt. "Why are you still here?" he snarled, focusing his good eye on her.
    Raja raised her arms over her head and stretched, pointing her scantily clad breasts toward the ceiling in an unconscious attempt at seduction. She unwound her body and stuck out her legs, flexing her naked toes toward the fire. "I was awaiting your decision, Holiness. You told me to stay." Her white teeth sparkled behind scarlet-red lips. "Do you not remember telling me to stay?"
    Tohre didn't. He detested the woman more than any other, save perhaps Elizabeth A'Lex. If it were not for the fact that he needed