Read (2005) 'Whispers In the Wind' for Free Online Page B

mind it conjured incredible battles in ancient times, drinking the blood of whoever opposed it, wrecking vengeance upon the evil ones. She bent down and placed the axe in front of her, reaching for her jacket and dropping it on the floor, taking her shirt, pants and panties off. She didn’t wear a bra, her breasts were small and erect, proud and strong and there was no need for one. At the touch of the cold air in the apartment, the nipples became large, distended, a dark shape on the otherwise ivory looking body. She was tall, over six feet; her long, slender legs showing the sinewy muscle beneath the unblemished skin. Her belly was flat, like a greyhound and just below her navel, a line of reddish blonde hair made its way to the dark shadow that was her pubic area. The arms were supple and well formed, also showing the play of muscle beneath the skin as she moved. Long hair cascading down to the shoulders, the color of dry wheat, framed a beautiful face, with a small nose and full ripe lips. A row of white, even teeth could be seen when she parted her lips. And now she stood, completely naked except for the gold chain around her neck holding a small, gold key. She breathed deeply of the cold air, her mind no longer centered on the killing, almost blank, letting the feelings come without asking what it was that had finally moved her to kill the cop.
    She took two steps back, her eyes closed now and started to move, her hands and feet moving in a blur, hands slashing the air, legs kicking high. She was a six ‘Dan’ in Karate, capable of snapping a man’s neck with one blow and she excelled in performing the exercises. She moved and weaved, jumping, turning, moving with an economy of movement that was impressive, until thirty minutes later a sheen of sweat had formed on her body and her breathing was coming in ragged gulps, chest burning. She continued the movements, muscles screaming in pain, her face suffused in red as the blood pumped through her veins and the sweat ran in rivulets down her entire body. When she finished, she bent down again, still naked, and picked up the axe. She walked into the kitchen with it and turned on the hot, tap water.
    ‘There is still work to do’, she told herself, breathing deeply, steady, calming the wild racing of her heart. She cleaned the dried blood that marred the face of the axe carefully and then she dried it cautiously, reaching for a small can of oil in the cupboard in front of her. Slowly, wary of the sharp edge, she oiled the head of the murder weapon, spreading a thin cover all over it. The axe was heavy; almost six pounds in the head alone, with a wooden shaft almost three and a half feet long and over an inch in diameter. It was a beautiful, ancient weapon, obviously crafted by an expert. The axe head was small on the top, spreading to almost twelve inches at the bottom from tip to tip, almost like a V and silver wire lines were inlaid in the metal. The handle was made of some dark wood, almost black, strong as steel and resilient. When she finished she picked the gold, detective shield that she had laid on the counter top and walked away, heading for the ‘room’, still naked. She hit the light switch, bathing the room in the amber light and bent down, laying the axe on the carpet of her bedroom floor, in front of the circle of light. She walked to the side, her hands reaching for the horizontal steel bars coming down from the ceiling. She gave a small jump, fingers locking unto the bar, pulling herself up, fast, and the muscles in her arms standing up, the blood pumping. She pulled herself up until the sweat started to run down her face and her breath was coming in ragged gulps again. She dropped lightly to the floor, breathing deep and steady until her heart slowed down and she was herself again. She was still pumped from the murder, her whole body itching, muscles tingling, alive. She walked to the circle of light, sitting in front of it. Her left hand reached for