BlackMoon Reaper (14 page)

over to her and gripped her upper arm, shaking her. “What were you thinking coming

down here unprotected?”

“I’m not unprotected. I am where I should be, warrior,” she replied, and stood on

tiptoes to kiss him. She rubbed against him. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Aye, you know I am,” he said, and circled her waist with an arm to draw her to

him. He lowered his head and kissed her soundly.

There was a knocking at the saloon door.

“Hello?”

“Must be Redfield,” Fontabeau said, and headed out of the kitchen. “Aye, we’re

coming! Hold your horses!”

Lucy smiled at Phelan. “Do you think the other Reaper mates will like me?”

“I can’t imagine why they would not,” he answered. He scooped coffee from the tin

and put it in the basket of the percolator. “They are good women.”

“Good women,” she repeated, shadows gathering in her eyes.

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“Bevyn’s mate worked in a brothel too,” he told her—omitting the part that Leah’s

job had been one of housekeeper and not whore.

Lucy’s face brightened. “She did?”

Phelan nodded, feeling guilty for not telling her the entire truth. Instead, he reached

into his pocket and pulled out a filled vac-syringe. “You might as well get accustomed

to giving this to me.”

“It hurts you, doesn’t it?” she asked, wrinkling her nose as he gave the vac-syringe

into her keeping.

“It stings like hell,” he said, “but for only a little while.” He pulled a chair away

from a small table and sat. “Run your fingers along the side of my neck to find the

jugular. Now stick the needle into the vein and press the plunger at the back of the

syringe.”

Lucy took a deep breath and injected her man with the drug. His flinch brought

tears to her eyes but she sniffed it up, determined not to let him know it bothered her to

have hurt him.

“I’ll need to take Sustenance from one of the horses when we go outside,” he said.

“I—”

She offered him her arm. “Take it from me.”

He smiled. “Not this time, sweeting. Later though. I need to drink hearty because

I’ll be needing it for later this morning.”

The reminder that he would be going up to the mine and into danger caused Lucy’s

bottom lip to tremble but she said nothing, only nodded at his words.

“Redfield is going down to the stable to get a carriage hitched up,” Fontabeau said

as he came in with Nellie close on his heels. “As soon as everyone has had breakfast,

he’ll drive them down to Robbinsville.”

“You want me to give you your tenerse?” Phelan asked.

“I took it already,” the gunman replied. “We should go down to the stables though

and take care of business.”

“Aye.” Phelan cupped Lucy’s cheek. “You stay here, wench. You hear?”

“I’ll set a table for us then,” Lucy said. “How many will be eating?”

“I’m not hungry,” the gunman stated.

“Then just you, Nellie, Deal,” Phelan said. “I don’t know about Brell.” He looked at

Nellie. “Is he up and about?”

“Lord Brell will be down shortly,” Nellie told the men as she began gathering

things to make a quick breakfast. “Deal said he’d watch after him.”

“Is he feeling no better?” Fontabeau inquired.

“Says his megrim ain’t as bad but he’s as weak as a newborn kitten. Can’t walk all

that well on his own what with his head spinning and all,” Nellie answered.

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“He’s not going to be of any help to us at the mine,” Fontabeau told Phelan as they

left the kitchen together. “What do the Shadowlords think he can do?”

“I can keep watch for you,” Brell said from the stairs. The old man had a grip on the

younger man’s arm, helping him negotiate the steps. “And I can hit the side of a barn if

you give me a big enough gun.” He smiled.

Phelan laughed. “With our guns, you don’t even need that much aim, milord.”

“Des,” Brell insisted. He stopped—leaning against Deal—then stepped from the

stairway. “That took more out of me than I expected.”

“Do you really think you can sit a horse?” Fontabeau asked.

“My horse knows me,” Brell said. “He’s smarter than your average steed.”

“Then have some breakfast while Phelan and I see to things in the stable. We’ll be

riding out within the hour.”

Brell nodded and Deal helped him to sit at one of the gaming tables.

“Our Ridge Lord looks like death warmed over,” Phelan commented as he and

Fontabeau walked out into the muddy street.

“The pain must be fierce,” Fontabeau replied.

Redfield had the horses for the carriage harnessed and was leading them into the

carriage traces when the Reapers arrived. He tipped his hat then told them he had

packed the charges and detonators into saddlebags.

“Have the old man ride up top with you,” Phelan said. “He reeks to high heaven

and back.”

The deputy grinned. “I got a cold anyways so I most likely won’t smell him.”

“You’ll smell him,” Fontabeau said. “A dead skunk could smell him and come to

life to court him, he reeks so bad.”

Shrugging, the young man asked how many he’d be escorting down to

Robbinsville.

“Two ladies and the old gent,” Fontabeau replied as Phelan entered the stall where

someone’s horse was stabled and bent his head toward the steed’s neck. He saw

Redfield glance that way, swallow hard then look away again. He asked Redfield if he’d

had breakfast.

Turning a strange shade of green, Redfield shook his head. “I’m not hungry,

milord.”

“A good cup of coffee might help that cold though. Why don’t you go on up to the

saloon and have yourself one. We’ll finish up here.”

Eager to be away from the Reapers, Redfield bobbed his head and all but ran out of

the stable.

“Boy’s got a queasy stomach,” Phelan commented as he walked toward Fontabeau.

“Aye, well, it’s no wonder,” Fontabeau said with a snort. “You were slurping your

breakfast.”

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“I gods-be-damned sure wasn’t,” Phelan grumbled.

Fontabeau snickered. “I’m going on up to the saloon and get our saddlebags. I’ll

bring Brell back with me.”

After the gunman had gone, Phelan led the horses pulling the carriage out to the

hitching post. He glanced around to see Lucy walking toward him.

“Beau took one whiff of the bacon and decided to grab some food after all,” she told

him. “He’ll be awhile by the looks of the plate he piled high.”

Phelan smiled. “Did you want something, wench?”

Lucy wrapped her hands around the top rail of the hitching post. She tucked her

bottom lip between her teeth—a nervous habit Phelan was coming to cherish.

“What’s eating at you, sweeting?” he encouraged.

“Do all the Reaper mates get the gut-rolls when their men go off to do what they

do?”

He put out a hand to cup her cheek. “I think all women do.” He caressed her cheek.

“That’s been the way of it since time began.”

She covered his hand with hers. “I’m scared shitless for you, Phe.”

“No cause to be,” he said. He slid his hand to the back of her neck and guided her

around the hitching post and into his arms. “I’ll be just fine.”

She snuggled against him. “I’ve spent my entire life wanting what I thought I’d

never have. Other women got husbands and homes and babies. I got a passel of whores

to tend. I never thought I’d ever find out what it meant to be respectable.” She looked

up at him with tears shimmering in her green eyes. “I’m afraid the other women will

think me unworthy to be a Reaper’s mate. I’m terrified they won’t like me and the other

Reapers will think I’m not worthy of you. I’ve never been anything but trash and I like

sex way too much to ever be a good girl.”

He glanced around, saw they were alone and reached down for her hand. “And

speaking of which…”

He led her into the stable and to a darkened stall, pushing her against the wall.

“I need to say a proper goodbye to my woman,” he said, swooping down to slant

his mouth across hers.

The gown she was wearing had a scoop neckline with puffed sleeves—making it

easy for the Reaper to pull the fabric down to expose her breasts. He bent his head to

claim one dusky nipple as he hefted the weighty globe in his hand. His other hand

plucked at the gown’s skirt, drawing it up her legs until he could slide his fingers into

her wet sheath—grateful she had foregone underwear.

She ran her hands up his arm and gripped his shoulders. “Down,” she said, and

stepped back so she could draw him with her to the mound of hay in the corner of the

stall.

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BlackMoon Reaper

Reluctantly Phelan released her, but she was already sinking to the floor, her gown

rucked up around her waist, the smooth flesh of her long legs and the triangular tuft of

hair at the apex of her thighs beckoning him. She held her arms out to him.

“Come here, Reaper,” she said in a sultry, husky voice.

He growled low in his throat, making quick work of freeing his engorged cock and

came at her like a starving man before whom a banquet had been spread.

His shaft was like warm steel as he thrust it into her—giving credence to the old

saying that it wasn’t the length of the scythe but the way it was wielded that counted.

The moment he penetrated her cunt, he went deep with a grunt and withdrew only to

return again with a pistoning motion that had her grunting along with him. She

brought her legs up, hooked them around his hips, flung her arms around his back and

dug her short nails into the scarred seams that lined his flesh under the shirt. With

every slap of bare flesh to bare flesh, the pleasure grew until it was an itch that had

them both squirming like vipers in the hay to quell the tickle.

“Harder!” she hissed in his ear, latching her teeth onto the lobe. She felt him

shudder beneath her and smiled as she clung to his flesh.

Pounding into her, Phelan wanted not so much to pleasure himself as to bring her

intense delight. He felt the surge of release coming. At the moment he spilled his juices

into her, he slammed his hands under her buttocks and yanked her to him, wanting to

bury himself as deep inside her sweet, understanding body as he could get.

The ripple of climax overtook her and she cried out, straining her head toward him,

pressing her forehead to his shoulder as the hard little squeezes milked his softening

shaft.

Collapsing atop her when her last undulation died away, he was breathing hard,

sweating—his shirt stuck to his back, straw clinging to his clothing. She was soothing

him with soft little cooing sounds as she stroked his back.

“I am a very lucky girl,” he heard her say.

“No, sweeting,” he told her. “I am the lucky one. I have found what I didn’t even

know I was looking for.”

* * * * *

Long after Phelan had left her, Lucy sat in the carriage staring out the window with

tears easing down her cheeks. She’d never been so happy and yet so worried at the

same time. What had she done to merit finding such a wonderful man? Such a good

man? Such an understanding man? she wondered. How had she managed to find a

man who was willing to accept her as she was—warts and all?

She sniffed, plying the already-damp handkerchief in her hand.

Thrust into the business of pleasuring men when she was little more than a child,

she’d never known any other life. She was accustomed to polite society snubbing her,

fingers being pointed, lips quirked in distaste, eyebrows raised with disdain. She’d been

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called many things over her lifetime—soiled dove, harlot, slut, whore. The range of

insults had been varied and deep. Having a home and a man of her own to care for her

had been nothing more than a passing thought, a fantasy she longed for, dreamed

about, wished would magically happen.

But now she would have that home with a mate to care for her. She could put her

past behind her and start anew. Worries over being arrested, brought to justice, hanged

for what she’d done had never been far from her mind. Now at last she thought she

could lay those fears to rest. Though she was more than a little afraid of how the other

Reapers’ women would react to her, she was willing to do whatever it took to earn their

respect and friendship. She was determined to make sure Phelan never regretted his

choice.

She looked around at Nellie. “Nell, do you believe in second chances?”

Nellie nodded. “I surely do.”

“But what about the other people at the Citadel?” Lucy asked. “Do you think they’ll

shun me? Make Phelan regret having asked me?”

“Can’t see that happening, Lucy-Lou,” the older woman said. “He wouldn’t have

chosen you if he thought it would make your life harder. That ain’t the way of them.”

“Aye,” Lucy said, chewing on a thumbnail. “I guess you’re right. I’m just worried

he’ll come to see he took the wrong woman.” She turned her face toward the window

again. “The wrong
kind
of woman to be his mate.”

“Don’t you go borrowing trouble now,” Nellie advised. “You’ve got a good life

waiting for you. From here on out you need to thank the gods for what They are giving

you.”

“Oh I do!” Lucy said, looking around. “I do, and I’ve been saying prayers like crazy

to the Triune Goddess for it was She who sent Phelan my way.”