A Reaper's Love (WindWorld) (18 page)

“Laci, that doesn’t apply here,” Cree told
her. “You need to understand the seriousness of the situation.”

“Understand what?” she questioned.

“Even after the hellions are swapped,
Coulter is going to continue his obsession with you. That’s not going to stop.
He will love you, desire you, lust after you for as long as he draws breath. To
him, you will always be his life-mate. He will consider you that and he will
continue to bombard you with suggestions, with commands to come to him. The
only way to protect yourself from that happening is to let
Mo Regina
wipe your mind of his existence and implant a safeguard that will keep him from
reengaging your subconscious,” the Alpha Reaper explained.

“I said no,” she insisted.

“Laci—”

“You need to swear to me, Viraiden,” she
said then swept her eyes to both Sorn and Fallon before coming back to Cree’s.
“You will not ask Morrigunia to get involved in this. Swear to me—on your honor
as the Alpha Prime—that you will not ask Her to wipe my memory.”

“This is—”

“Swear it, Viraiden!”

She could hear his harsh breath filling and
leaving his lungs. He cursed in a language she didn’t know, then agreed.

“Anything else?” she inquired.

“I guess not,” Cree replied.

“Good.” She walked to the door. “If he
succumbs to the drug, I’ll let you know.”

The Reapers watched her leave. They sat
collapsed in their chairs without speaking for a long time. Finally Cree shook
his head.

“This is a fucking nightmare,” he told the
others. “Allowing her to retain her memories is going to backfire on us
big-time.”

“There’s a way around it,” Sorn said.

“How?” Cree barked.

“She made you vow not to get Morrigunia
involved,” the Panthera Reaper said with a grin. “She said nothing of Bastet.”

“You are in contact with the Panthera
creatrix?” Cree asked, his eyes wide.

“No, but I can try to communicate with
Her,” Sorn answered. “What have we got to lose in trying?”

“Nothing,” Cree said, a muscle ticking in
his tense jaw. “Let’s do it!”

“How?” Fallon queried.

“Well, I’d say Google rituals for the
Egyptian goddess Bast and take it from there,” Cree replied.

* * * * *

“And?” Keenan asked her husband. She had
accompanied Fallon to the Exchange to be there for Laci. Bronwyn Cree was
somewhere in the facility as well.

“She appeared,” Fallon said. His eyes were
glazed and from time to time he shivered.

“What does She look like?”

He shivered again then ran a hand through
his hair. “A hundred times more beautiful than
Mo Regina
and a thousand
times more sensual. I can see why She is also a goddess of pleasure,” he
answered.

Keenan frowned. “I don’t think I like the
sound of that.” She narrowed her eyes. “Did you get aroused, Reaper?”

“In spades,” he told her. “And then some,
but poor Sorn…” He let out a ragged breath. “That poor boy’s gonna be walking
funny for a few days to come.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, following
him as he made a beeline for the bathroom. “Misha?”

“The last I saw of him,” he said as he
stepped up to the commode and bent over to lift the lid. “She had him so
enthralled, me and Cree could have set fire to his ass and he wouldn’t even
have noticed.” He unzipped his fly. “My guess is She set fire to it in ways I’d
rather not think about, thank you just the same.”

She leaned against the doorjamb as he relieved
himself. “You think She seduced him?”

“I think She fucked what little brains he
had out,” Fallon replied. “Sorn needed to get laid anyway.”

“Okay but is She going to help?”

“That was the condition of Her help,” he
said, shaking himself then stuffing his cock back into his jeans. “That Sorn
make himself open to Her demands.” He reached for the handle of the toilet. “I
don’t think that was too much of a burden for the boy.”

“He needs a life-mate,” she said.

“He’s getting one,” her husband said as he
started toward her. At her raised eyebrow, he made a detour to the sink.

“When?”

“Soon according to Her. The woman has been
picked and will be coming to work at Tearmann within the next few months.”

“That’s good,” Keenan said. “So have Laci’s
memories been cleaned?”

“Not yet,” he said as he dried his hands on
his pants instead of the towel. “She’ll do that after the hellions are traded.”

“I did some reading on Bast,” Keenan said.
“She is a protector of women. That makes Laci important to Bastet.”

“She only spoke to Sorn and in a language
neither Cree nor I understood but we got the impression Laci would be under Her
protection as the life-mate of a Panthera,” he told her. He draped an arm
around her. “What’s for supper, babe?”

“I think it’s Mexican day in the cafeteria,”
she replied. “What about this Coulter guy? Do you think She considers him
Panthera?”

“Hell no,” he said as he led her to the
door of their apartment. “He wasn’t born and bred one of Hers. His hellion was
stolen. If She thinks of him at all, it’s as a thief to be punished. You ever
heard how the ancient Egyptians punished thieves?” He opened the door. “That
would work for me.”

* * * * *

Morrigunia wasn’t pleased that another
goddess had materialized at the Exchange. The moment She became aware of the
dark beauty strolling toward her, the Triune Goddess hissed, Her inner dragon
trying to escape.

“I have come to You out of respect,” Bastet
said. “Not to engage in hostilities.”

“You would lose,” Morrigunia said.

“I think not,” Bastet said. “I have killed
many reptiles in My day and what is a dragon but a flying snake?”

Fury lashed at Morrigunia but She could
hear Her husband’s voice bleating in Her ear and let the insult pass.

“Why are You here?” She demanded of the
an
Éigiptian
deity.

“One of Mine is in difficulty. I came to
help.”

“If you mean Taylor Reynaud, when a Reaper
comes to Terra or is birthed here, he falls under My aegis,” Morrigunia said
with a sniff. “Thus, he is one of Mine.”

Bastet’s smile was nasty. “Consider him
what You will. He is Panthera and of My blood but since I do not visit this
backward world, You are welcome to see to his welfare. As far as I can tell,
You have things well in hand regarding the male. It is the female I came to
help.”

Morrigunia narrowed Her dark-green eyes.
“Help her how exactly? I will erase—”

“She made the dangerous one vow not to
allow You to interfere,” Bastet said. “She bid him swear not to let You remove
her memories of her time with the thief. He had no choice but to agree.”

“You mean Cree,” Morrigunia said and at
Bastet’s nod, She frowned. “Why would Taylor’s life-mate make such a request?”

“I cannot fathom human stupidity nor will I
try but that does not matter. I will erase the memories she wishes to keep. The
dangerous one made no such vow in regard to me.”

“I see,” the Triune Goddess aid. “Smart
move on Cree’s part.”

“Actually, it was Panthera Darkyn who
suggested I be brought into the fray.”

“Cute boy. He needs a woman.”

“And one is being provided,” Bastet told
her. “What of this thief? What are Your plans for him?”

“He will be punished,” Morrigunia assured
Her. “I will see to it in such a way he will not be tempted to interfere with
the purview of the gods ever again.”

“He is arrogant and needs chastisement. I
slipped into his mind,” Bastet said.

“I’ve done the same though he was unaware
of it.”

“There is evil therein.” The
an
Éigiptian
goddess’s top lip arched. “Reptile evil.”

“Raphian,” Morrigunia supplied. “Akin to
the one Your people call Apophis.”

“Ah yes. The serpent of darkness, storms
and destruction. He who was born in the waters of the primordial swamp. I
defeated him.”

“As I will one day defeat Raphian,”
Morrigunia stated. “For now, He serves His purpose. When He ceases to do that,
I will crush Him.”

“As well You should,” Bastet replied. “Will
You rid the thief’s mind of the evil?”

“In time,” the Triune Goddess answered. “I
will let him suffer awhile first. I have a true life-mate in mind for him who
will—as the Terrans say—fuck his shit up.”

“A goddess after My own heart,” Bastet
said, Her amber eyes glittering. She turned to go but looked back over Her
shoulder. “Should You need assistance with one of Mine, feel free to call upon
Me. Light a green candle and say My name. I will come when I can.”

“Understood,” Morrigunia agreed, having no
intention of ever calling upon the goddess.

“Do not make the poor man suffer too
greatly,” Bastet said. “He does love My Panthera’s life-mate.”

“Aye, I know,” Morrigunia said. “All the
more reason the punishment I hand to him will never be forgotten.”

Dixon felt her long before he caught the
intoxicating scent of her gardenia perfume. He drew in a long breath and with
it a hint of fear.

He frowned.

He didn’t like her being afraid of him.
He’d been very careful not to hurt her when he’d lain with her. He’d tried to
only give her pleasure and he knew he had succeeded in that department. That
she feared him made his heart ache. If it came down to giving his life for her,
he would gladly hand it over to the Gatherer. Hurting her in any way was not
something he ever wanted to do.

Her light knock at his door made him take a
deep breath to center himself before he could answer.

“Come in.”

The door opened hesitantly and the moment
he saw her, he could not stop the smile that pulled at the corners of his
mouth.

“Are you busy?” she asked in that sweet
Southern drawl that set his juices to flowing.

“No, love,” he said.

She came into the room and closed the door
behind her. His gaze traveled down the soft curves of her body beneath the halter-top
sundress. The sight of her painted toenails peeking from beneath the hem
widened his smile.

“Sit,” he said, sweeping a hand to the
sofa. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Pop?”

She shook her head. “No, thank you.” She
went to the chair that flanked the sofa and sat down.

No, he corrected in his mind, she
perched
there like a frightened doe ready to bolt at the least sign of danger.

He walked casually to the sofa and sat,
stretching one arm along the back and crossing his ankle over his knee. He
tilted his head slightly to one side. “What’s bothering you, sweeting?” he
asked.

Her hands were clenched in her lap and she
looked down at them. “I came to talk to you about being assigned as your
Extension.”

“How do you feel about that?”

She shrugged and he thought the motion made
her look tired, weary of it yet resigned. “I believe I can work with you.”

He couldn’t stop his foot from wagging with
irritation. “I know you can,” he said.

“I’m not sure Taylor can or will.”

“Taylor won’t be in the field,” he reminded
her. “He’ll be here doing whatever it is they decide suits his abilities.”

She flinched. “He’s a good agent,” she
stated, her chin up.

“I’ve never said otherwise but he is no
longer the Alpha here.” He picked at a piece of lint on the arm of the sofa.
“It was his decision to leave the field, Laci.”

“And you know why,” she stated.

“Yes, I do and I don’t blame him. Had they
done to me what they did to him, I suspect I wouldn’t be as keen on going back
out there.” He sighed. “Laci, I am deeply sorry about what they put him
through. No man should have to endure that kind of agony.”

“Yet you are more than willing to heap more
agony on him,” she accused.

He raised his eyebrows at that. “In what
way am I doing that?”

She looked away from him. “By claiming me
as your life-mate when you know I belong to him.”

“He’ll just have to learn to share,” he
said. “If I am willing to compromise, he should be, too, else—”

Her attention leapt back to him. “Else
what?”

“The Supervisor will send him to Tearmann
or Baybridge.”

He saw the color leach from her face and
could have kicked himself for upsetting her. “But that’s not going to happen,”
he said. “I believe he and I can work something out.”

“Don’t hurt him, Dixon,” she said. He
watched her straighten her shoulders as though she’d come to a decision. “Don’t
hurt him and I will accept the Extension.”

“And all that it entails?” he asked softly.

She took a deep breath then released it
slowly. “And all that it entails.”

He lifted his hand from the back of the
sofa and extended it toward her. “Come here, sweeting.”

For a brief moment she hesitated then rose
gracefully from the chair and came to the sofa. She sat down beside him and he
wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him.

“I love you,” he said, running the palm of
his hand up and down her arm. “Do you know that?”

“I know you think you do,” she said.

“There is no thinking about it, love,” he
said. He turned so he was facing her and put his other hand to her cheek. He
fanned the soft skin under her eye with the pad of his thumb. “You are
everything to me.”

She didn’t stiffen as he brought his mouth
to hers. She did not pull away or flinch. His heart soared when she opened her
lips to allow him to slip his tongue inside the sweet, warm cavern. Her tongue
dueled with his as he deepened the kiss and when he leaned into her—pressing
his chest against her breasts—he heard her moan. That one little concession
gave him hope that she would eventually accept him, but when she pulled away
his heart sank.

“I need to…” She looked around. “I have
to…”

She was looking toward the bathroom and he
felt the sudden clinch in his gut release and removed his hand from her face.
He watched her get up and walk to the bathroom door. She turned and gave him a
hesitant smile.

“I’ll take that glass of tea, now, if
you’ll join me,” she said then tucked her lower lip between her teeth.

“Sure thing,” he said, pushing up from the
sofa. When he returned with two glasses of iced tea, he handed one to her then
took a sip of his as he sat down.

Laci frowned.

“Something wrong with the tea?” he asked,
his forehead furrowed.

“No, I’ve just got a bitching headache.”
She set the glass on the table to rub a small spiral on her left temple. “Do
you have any ibuprofen handy?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said. He put his glass on
the coffee table and headed for his bedroom.

As soon as he was inside the bathroom, Laci
emptied the vial of drugs into his glass of tea. She swirled it with her finger
then hastily pocketed the vial only a second or two before he returned with the
med.

“It’s not a migraine, I hope,” he said. He
dropped two caplets into her outstretched hand.

“No, just a bad headache,” she said. She
swallowed the caplets then washed them down with a couple of swallows of tea,
staring at him over the rim of her glass as he took a hefty pull on his own
tea. “This is good.”

“My mama’s only claim to doing anything in
the kitchen was to make iced tea,” he said.

“My mama made a mean Brunswick stew,” she
said, then held out her glass. “To mamas.”

He smiled, clinked glasses with her then
took another large swallow. The moment the glass left his lips, a deep crease
formed across his brow. He looked down into the glass then slowly lifted her
eyes to hers.

“What did you do, Laci?” he asked. The
glass slipped out of his fingers and he tried to stand. His legs gave way
beneath him and he collapsed—sliding off the edge of the sofa seat onto his
knees. “What did you give me?”

Laci felt sorry for him. The look in his
bewildered eyes cut her to the quick. He was struggling to get up, scratching
at the fabric on the sofa but his legs kept sliding out from under him.

“It’s all right,” she said. She reached
into the pocket of her dress and pulled out the thin iron choker and wrists
bands, making quick work of binding his psychic powers.

“What have you done?” he whispered and she
hesitantly laid a hand on the top of his head. He was panting—having difficulty
breathing—and suddenly shuddered hard. “Laci?” he pleaded.

“Just relax. Let it take you. It won’t hurt
you.”

She prayed that was true and made a mad
dash to the intercom beside the front door. She punched in 872 then hurried
back to the sofa. She knelt on the floor beside him just in time to catch him
as he pitched forward. She was cradling him in her arms, stroking his cheek
when Cree and Sorn came to get him.

* * * * *

“We miscalculated the dosage it would take
to knock him out,” Dr. Hesar said. “If you’d been a minute or two longer in
getting him here, he would have suffocated. The drug was shutting down his
respiratory system.”

“He was in no danger of dying,” the
Supervisor said.

“Thank the goddess for that,” Laci said,
giving her boss a hard look.

“We’ve got the room ready,” Hesar said.
“Taylor’s already prepped and ready to receive the Transfer.”

“You can be there if you like,” the Supervisor
told her.

She shook her head. “No.” She looked down
at Coulter lying so still on the gurney. “I feel bad enough about it as it is.”

“It’s your life-mate in there, Laci,” Cree
said from across the room. “Don’t you want to be with him?”

Laci didn’t answer him. She pushed through
the swinging doors of the med unit and all but ran down the hallway to get away
from the guilt she didn’t understand.

“Is she here?” Taylor asked as Cree came
into the prep room ahead of the gurney.

“Nah,” Cree replied. “She’s a bit
squeamish, bro.”

Taylor stared at the man lying belly-down
on the gurney being wheeled into the room and bit back the questions rolling
around inside his mind. The hellion within him writhed—causing intense pain in
his left kidney—but he barely noticed. His eyes were locked on the still face
of a man he wanted dead. Glancing down at Coulter’s hands, he frowned. Those
hands had been on Laci and that infuriated him.

“Get his T-shirt off,” Hesar told one of
his assistants and the woman went to work cutting Coulter’s shirt from his
back. The moment his back was exposed everyone there saw the hellion beneath
Coulter’s skin bunch.

“It knows it’s about to be harvested,” Sorn
said.

Hesar frowned. “I’ve got to get the one in
Tay out fast before the one in Coulter breaks through his skin.”

“Let it,” Taylor said. He had his jaw
clenched tight, his hands curled into fists around the edge of the table on
which he lay in order not to spring up and beat Coulter to a bloody pulp.

“Why do Tay first, then?” Sorn asked.

“Because his hellion is being fairly
docile. When I take out Coulter’s, it’s gonna fight me. With Tay’s back already
open, hopefully it will dart inside the wound and not try wriggling away.”

“The minute you begin to remove it from
him, he’s going to wake,” Cree warned and when every eye flicked to him, he
shrugged. “Trust me. It’s going to happen. You might better lash him down with
iron restraints before you cut into him.”

No one questioned how Cree knew what was
going to transpire. They simply did as he suggested, lashing Coulter to the
gurney with thick links of iron chain kept on hand for Reapers who transitioned
outside a containment cell.

“Ready?” Hesar asked.

“Yeah,” Taylor agreed. He was lying on his
belly with his head turned toward Coulter. The desire to completely destroy the
man’s face, to turn it to mush, was so strong he was shivering.

“He never hurt her, Tay,” Cree said
quietly. “Keep that in mind.”

Taylor looked over at the Alpha Prime. “How
would you feel if it had been Bronwyn he assaulted?” he demanded.

“The same way you do. I’m just telling you
he didn’t hurt her.”

“Okay, here we go,” Hesar said.

The cold, clammy feel of disinfectant was
swabbed over the lower right quadrant of his back. There would be no anesthesia
to dull the pain of the scalpel that was about to make a six-inch incision
above his right kidney because Taylor had declined it. He wanted to feel
everything. It was his own brand of punishment for what had happened to Laci.

A thin burning line traveled diagonally across
his back and the stinging pain made him draw in his breath. The hellion was
rolling and tumbling inside him, not wanting to be removed. The creature liked
where it was.

“You’re not going back in a jar,” Hesar
said and he prepared himself to reach inside the incision to find the hellion.
“We’re putting you into another Reaper so quit squirming.”

The beastlet was going to bite him, sting
him, rake at him with its barbs but Hesar knew that. It wasn’t his first
Transference and though he hated doing them, he was the only one allowed to
perform the operation at both Tearmann and the Exchange.

“Son of a bitch!” Hesar snarled with a gasp
as he closed his fingers around the wriggling hellion and it sank its teeth
into his thumb. He pulled it out of Taylor’s back and dropped it into a beaker.
He grinned hatefully. “I lied, you filthy little shit. You’re gonna be in that
jar for a while just to teach you a lesson.” He sat the beaker on Coulter’s
gurney.

Staring at the hellion that had been inside
him, Taylor knew it was looking back at him. The creature was enraged as it
whipped and jackknifed inside the beaker, leaving a greenish-gray slime on the
glass. He’d never seen one up close and it was an ugly thing that resembled a
tomato hornworm with sharp red spines on its segmented back.

“Ugly little bastard, huh?” Sorn said. “No
wonder they hurt us when they move around inside us.”

“When they hurt you, they do it on
purpose,” Cree said. “It’s their way of keeping us in line.”

“All right,” Hesar said, moving over to Coulter.
“This will be a bit hairy.”

Coulter flinched when the disinfectant was
applied to his back. His eyelids fluttered.

“He is aware of everything going on around
him,” Cree said. “Like a horse dosed with ketamine.”

“More like a donkey’s ass,” Taylor mumbled
and saw Coulter’s lids flutter again. “Yeah, you hear me, fuckwad. I’m talking
about you.”

Sorn exchanged a look with Cree, who was
trying not to laugh. It was very rare for Taylor to use vulgar language.

The moment the number-ten blade cut into
Dixon Coulter’s back, the Gravelord bucked—coming up from the table, straining
the shackles binding his body to the gurney. A yowl was torn from his throat
and his eyes flew open.

“Hey there,” Taylor said as Coulter’s glare
meshed with his own. “Fuck you and the turd you rode in on.”