Reaper's Justice (24 page)

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Authors: Sarah McCarty

Tags: #Werewolves, #Paranormal, #Fiction, #Romance, #Fantasy, #Western, #Historical

BOOK: Reaper's Justice
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“They’re the men in charge of taking care of you. I wouldn’t expect anything less, but now we have a problem.”
“We do?”
“I have to find a place to sleep. I was planning on sleeping outside—”
“Why do I hear a ‘but’ in there?”
“Reese stole my spot.”
“You just don’t want to give him the satisfaction of your leaving.”
“You’ve got that right.”
“What’s your solution?”
“How much do you want to irritate them?”
“Enough that I don’t want you sleeping outside.” It might be petty, but it was the truth.
“Where’s the bedroom?”
She motioned to the stairs in the foyer. “Upstairs.”
“There’s only one?”
She nodded.
“All right.”
“What does that mean?”
“Not much.”
Addy looked around the kitchen. There really weren’t many options. “I’d suggest the sofa in the sitting room, but it’s really not even that comfortable for sitting.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Maybe I could—”
He cut her off before she could finish. “I’ll be fine.”
From his pocket he pulled the paring knife. “We’ve got to get going on those apples if you’re going to get some sleep tonight.”
“That’s true. And we’d better make an extra loaf.”
“Why?”
“Reese loves apple bread, and if we don’t make him one, he’ll steal one.”
“Not if you don’t want him to.”
She shook her head at his tone. “My cousins may be irritating, but I love them, Isaiah, and that’s what you do for people you love. You spoil them with little things.”
“Like apple bread.”
She smiled. “Like apple bread.”
Isaiah picked up the apple and efficiently stripped the skin from it, though some of his pleasure of before was missing. One of the loaves was going to her cousin. Because she loved him. He resented that affection.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“We’re still making apple bread.”
He shrugged, ready to hate the man for having her love. Hell, no wonder
They
had forbidden emotion. It addled a man’s mind.
“He’s a good man, Isaiah.” She hesitated and then said in a rush, “He and Cole rode into certain death to save me once.”
Did she think he didn’t know about her capture and rescue from the Indians? There wasn’t anyone in the territory that didn’t know about that. Not many captives made it home. Not many families kept up the hunt long enough to find them. The story made the Cameron brothers heroes and Addy notorious.
“Couldn’t have been that certain. They’re both still alive.” It was a petty thing to say and he felt petty saying it, but he didn’t like that she did so much for others.
And nothing for him.
The knife gouged into the fruit. A chunk fell onto the table.
Shit.
He was getting as bad as the beast.
“They both have scars from the arrows they took. We almost lost Reese. His wounds got infected. I owe them a lot.”
“Because they saved you?”
She shook her head and started making up the batter for the bread, her lower lip between her teeth, the memory of fear lending a faint, acrid tinge to her scent. “Because they never once gave up on me. In the two years it took them to find me, they never gave up. And when they found me, they did what they always promised to do. They brought me home.”
“I guess I can’t hate them then.”
“No.” She hesitated with a spoon midstir. “And maybe you could not kill them when they get too provoking?”
“How about I just agree to do my best?”
“I’d feel better with a promise.”
“I’d feel better with a hedge.”
She supposed he would, and considering all she knew of him and what she’d heard of his kind, it was the best she was going to get. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He looked up, catching her looking at him. His eyes darkened and dropped to her mouth. Heat arced from him to her. She braced her weight on her hand, lips parted, nails biting into the tabletop as she waited. She swore she could hear his heartbeat, feel his breath. Oh Lord, her knees went weak.
He held up a peeled apple. “Now, what do I with these?”
It took her to the count of twenty to regain control. Her hand barely shook as she handed him the grater. “You shred them.”
13
 
HE ENDED UP SLEEPING AT THE FOOT OF THE STAIRS. IT wasn’t overly comfortable, but he’d slept in worse places. Tonight none offered a defensive position as well as this. All the air in the house funneled through there, carrying the scents from inside and out. It also had excellent acoustics, along with the advantage that anyone trying to get upstairs would have to step over him. That would never happen.
Settling his hat over his face, Isaiah leaned back against the railing. Closing his eyes, he took a calming breath, ignoring the beast’s restless prodding that he go upstairs and find Addy. The scents of the house seeped into him along with a drowsy contentment. Yeast, cinnamon, honey, and Addy. Contentment was as foreign a beast as the one that was his constant companion. He didn’t trust it any more than he trusted the calm before the storm. The latter, if one fell for it, often led to disaster.
But this is different.
No it wasn’t. It was never different. There was only the illusion before the pain.
This is Addy.
Yes it was. He recalled the heat of her skin, the taste of her passion. His cock went hard and his pulse kicked up. The beast purred and growled before stretching lazily, confident in its power to please, anticipating the pleasure that awaited if Isaiah enjoyed the illusion for as long as it lasted. Isaiah shifted against the balustrade, a reckless energy joining contentment. Living for the moment was what he did. There was no reason he couldn’t enjoy it with Addy. She seemed willing enough.
Because she doesn’t know what you are.
So what? Neither did he.
He swore. His conscience prodded. The beast snarled. His cock throbbed, and damn it, his fucking heart hungered. He glared at the zucchini bread earmarked for Reese, sitting on the counter. For the softness Addy so easily offered others. For her smile, her company. With her, he felt human. What the hell was wrong with that?
Nothing
, rumbled the beast.
Everything,
snapped his conscience.
SHUT UP!
he told them both. He was tired and all he wanted to do was enjoy what others took for granted. A bit of peace before he went to sleep. Was that too much to ask? He mentally elbowed the beast aside when it snarled an answer.
No one asked you.
 
 
HE woke in the middle of the night, his instincts screaming a warning. Lying quietly, not opening his eyes, he scanned with his senses. From upstairs, he could hear Addy’s deep, even breaths. She was asleep. No sound of footsteps. No scent of fear or danger. On the front porch, Reese snored rhythmically. Neither of those sounds had woken him.
He lay for two minutes listening, and still nothing, but the hairs on the back of his neck stayed raised and his beast was snarling a warning. There was only one thing that caused that reaction in a Reaper. Another Reaper.
Very carefully, he rolled to his side and reached for his gun. Emptying the chamber, he reached into the pocket sewn into his shirt and pulled out the special bullets. If Reese really did know how to take out a Reaper, he’d have some of his own.
The bullets were heavy, cold, and glowed dimly in the dark interior. They were made of silver, worth more than their weight in gold. One of those, lodged in a major organ, would poison a Reaper in minutes. Anything less than a kill shot and it would only give him a nasty, soon-to-heal wound.
Crab crawling backward, being careful to not scuff his feet or hands on the floor, he moved to the darkness of the hall. Still he could hear nothing, but every sense screamed alarm. The Reaper could only be here for one of two reasons—for him or for Addy. Since there was no way the Reaper council could know of his relationship with Addy, it wouldn’t be because of her. Not this soon. No one had been close enough to catch her scent on the way to town. He would’ve known that, which meant they’d come for him. Isaiah looked at the black beyond the window. Since they’d come for him, if he left the house, Addy should be safe, but Reese wouldn’t be. Any Reaper would take him out as a precaution.
Working his way to the front door, Isaiah opened it slowly, glad that Addy was the particular type who hated squeaking. Still, if a Reaper was close, he’d hear it. But that was just as well. Isaiah wanted a battle outside.
He slipped into the darkness and made it the two steps to Reese. When he reached to cover his mouth, Reese’s hand touched his. Reese was awake. Isaiah held his finger to his mouth, unsure if there was enough light for human eyes. He heard the rustle of Reese’s hair as he nodded. Bending down, he put his lips close to Reese’s ear and whispered in a voice barely more than a breath, “Upstairs.”
Catching Reese’s hand in his, Isaiah placed the two bullets in his palm, folding his fingers over them. “Heart shot only.”
Reese nodded and weighed the bullets in his hand. He mouthed the words, “And you?”
Isaiah set his hat on the porch and smiled. Leaning down again, he murmured, “Going hunting.” Reese nodded when he straightened. With almost the skill of the Reaper, the other man stood and disappeared inside the house. Satisfied that Addy was protected, Isaiah blended into the shadows, searching for the scent or sound that would give the other Reaper’s position away. It was quiet, without the occasional bark of a dog or even a cricket to break the stillness. Crickets were always a giveaway to a Reaper’s presence. Crickets and birds. The two always seemed to sense the danger humans could not. Being easy prey for so many, they were not willing to betray their hiding places. Not to the devil’s own. But their silence revealed the Reaper’s location. He was around the back of the house.
Isaiah headed that way, staying upwind. It took longer, but any advantage was needed. He paused at the back corner, pressing into the rough shingles while he surveyed the yard. There, by the well. A shadow slightly deeper than the others. It shifted but not with the wind. Isaiah made his way forward carefully, palming his knife, walking toe to heel, feeling for any betraying stick or stone with his toes. The beast inside fought for the rule, wanting dominion in this fight for survival, for which it was so ideally suited. Breathing slowly, he fought for balance, tempering its impetuous nature with rational calm. Another advantage he’d spent years perfecting.
When he was ten feet away, the Reaper came for him. No control, just feral instinct backed with massive muscle. In full wolf form, longer than a man was tall, broader than a man, more muscular than an ox, with jaws gaping, dripping saliva, the beast leapt out of the shadows. Isaiah held his ground, held his beast, until the last instant and then ducked, striking upward with his knife. Vicious claws raked the air above his head as the silver-coated blade sliced along the beast’s abdomen. The copper scent of blood filled the air, blending with the scent of poisoned flesh. Inside Isaiah, his own beast howled victoriously at drawing first blood.
Premature
, Isaiah thought. Not a killing blow. Not even a particularly weakening one, though the silver blade would cause the other to bleed excessively. Enough of that type of wound, and they would add up. The other Reaper snarled, dropped, and spun, coming back.
Isaiah smiled as he squared off against the wolf, straining to maintain his partial human form, keeping the advantage it gave him. Wolves knew how to kill wolves. They knew how to kill humans. They didn’t know how to kill a wolf that fought like a human. “That get your goat?”
The Reaper snarled and bit the air with jaws big enough to crush his head.
It would have been easier for Isaiah to just shoot him, but then he wouldn’t have the opportunity to grill him. Something the wolf wouldn’t understand. He waved the knife in an invitation. “Then this is going to really annoy you.”
The Reaper came in, lunging low, going for his hamstrings. Again Isaiah waited, letting the other get close, anticipating a last-minute lunge upward, ducking low, catching it with his shoulder, flipping him over, slicing out as he did. He managed to cut a hamstring, again not a mortal wound, but even for a Reaper it took a couple days to heal a wound like that. This time, when the wolf spun around, he stopped. His left rear foot dangled uselessly.
He motioned again with the knife. “Want some more?”
A low rumbling growl was his response, but the Reaper didn’t charge back in. He was learning.
Isaiah shifted his position so his back was to the tree. From here on out, it was going to get tricky. The wolf was big and strong, and like any Reaper, well trained. Isaiah didn’t recognize him, and with the distinctive half mask, he should. That was a concern. He’d heard stories of other Reapers held in other locations who’d fared worse, as hard as that was to imagine. So hard, when discussed, they were written off as myths, or threats. Something
They
held over the Reapers’ heads to keep them in line.

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