Reaper's Revenge (14 page)

“I have her hidden in the Cave of the Winds,” Otaktay replied. “It is to the south of us in the mountain range that separates this territory from Exasla.”

“Then let us join her,” Jaborn said. “It will take the two of us to defeat the Reaper even if he is ill.”

“You believe him that powerful?” Otaktay demanded.

“I know him to be that powerful, and if he can command a dragon, he can send that demon after us.”

“What of the other two Reapers? Should we not kill them? Will they not join forces with Cree?”

“They believe the threat to Terra has been laid to rest with the killing of the Ceannus and the
balgairs
,” Jaborn said. “They will return to the Citadel when Cree is well again. We will need to bide our time. He will come after the woman and when he does, we will slay him.”

“And I will keep my woman!” Otaktay said.

Jaborn smiled but his eyes were as hard as flint. “Aye, you may keep your woman.”

He turned away, hiding his inner thoughts from the red man. The woman had been implanted with a parasite and had to be killed—as did Otaktay after he outlived his usefulness to Jaborn.

75

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Chapter Nine

The pain was almost more than he could bear. It was eating him alive, his insides burning like molten lava flowing through his veins and organs. Writhing upon the cot—his wrists and ankles once more lashed to the metal frame—he twisted and convulsed until he was so weak he could barely move beneath the lightweight blanket covering his fevered flesh. The intensity of the movement of the new queen bunching up under his skin—coiling and uncoiling as it produced an antidote for the ghoret poison—was so fierce, Cynyr screamed with the agony.

It had been nine days since the multiple bites of the ghorets. Morrigunia had wakened her Reaper in small increments to feed him Sustenance but then sent him back into a restless slumber so his body would heal. She, alone, had bathed him for she would allow no one else to wipe away the poison oozing from his body for fear of making the other Reapers sick or killing the helpful townspeople. It was taking longer than she expected and she had yet to bring him fully to consciousness in order to speak with him. His wild, glazed eyes, sunken cheeks and paleness were enough to convince the triune goddess his mind could not embrace the agony lashing against it. She feared he would sink into irrevocable madness should he be brought to full consciousness too soon.

Moira’s once twisted fingers were moving with alacrity as she sat in the rocking chair Annie had asked Arawn to bring to the jail. The old woman was knitting a black wool sweater for Cynyr, for the first snow had arrived during the night to cover the peaks of the mountains where dark gray smoke still spiraled up from the ship Morrigunia had destroyed. Casting a row of stitches or two, Moira looked toward her charge as he moved restlessly in his painful sleep. She stopped as she heard him moaning Aingeal’s name and tears filled her eyes.

“He fears for her,” Bevyn said. He was stretched out on the cot in the cell next to Cynyr’s. Lying on his side, his head propped in his hand, he’d been watching Moira’s nimble fingers with fascination.

“I hope his lady is all right,” Moira said quietly.

“Morrigunia would know if she weren’t,” Arawn said. He was sitting behind Sheriff Brewer’s desk, ladling beef stew into his mouth and savoring the hearty fare. Moira glanced at the Prime Reaper and a secretive smile pulled at her lips. Little by little, Arawn was being worn down by the sheriff’s pretty little daughter Danielle. Yesterday it was a jug of lemonade and a platter of crisply fried apple pies that had been brought to tempt Arawn Gehdrin. The day before it had been roast chicken with dressing that had caused a thawing in the Reaper’s cold eyes. The old woman 76

Reaper’s Revenge

wondered what culinary delights the next day would bring to win the heart of the stubborn Arawn.

Bevyn turned his head and sniffed the air. Once more, Cynyr had soiled himself, bloody black urine and gastrointestinal fluids seeping out to spread upon the sheet beneath his nude body. Sighing, he sat up and swung his legs off the cot.

“You need help?” Owen Tohre, one of the four Reapers who had come to Haines City, asked Bevyn.

“Aye,” Bevyn agreed. “Now that he’s not oozing venom, I think we can bathe him. He’s due for a bath.”

“I’ll get the water,” Glyn Kullen, another of the Reapers, offered, and left the jail. Arawn wiped his mouth and pushed his chair back. “I’ll help you, Kullen.”

Lending their support from the across the room, the two remaining Reapers—

Phelan Keil and Iden Belial—looked up from their card game, but upon seeing their help wasn’t needed, continued to good-naturedly rib one another over the luck of their draws.

Tohre walked into Cynyr’s cell and gently laid the blanket aside. He winced when he saw the enflamed flesh streaking down the Reaper’s legs. “I hope to Alel you wiped out all the ghorets,” he said.

“Morrigunia believes we did,” Bevyn replied.

Moira looked away from Cynyr’s nakedness and focused entirely on her knitting.

“The lad will need more Sustenance after his bath,” she commented to no one in particular.

“We’ll take care of that,” Phelan told her.

“It would be best if he could take directly from us,” Iden suggested. “Do you think we could bring him up enough to do that?”

“We can’t, but Morrigunia can,” Bevyn put in. “Does anyone know where she is?”

“Haven’t seen her this morning,” Moira answered. “Thought maybe she went looking for Aingeal.”

“My guess is she already knows where Aingeal is,” Bevyn stated. Glyn and Arawn returned with hot water from the saloon next door. John Denning, the saloonkeeper, kept a large pot simmering most of the day for the Reapers’ use. Carefully washing the fluids from Cynyr’s pain-racked body, Bevyn waded up the soiled sheets and handed them to Glyn to take to Su Hun, the washerwoman who worked at the Guthrie House. Between them, Bevyn and Arawn eased a fresh sheet under Cynyr and pulled up another lightweight blanket to cover his nakedness.

“His eyes are open,” Arawn observed.

Cynyr was staring unseeingly up at the water-stained ceiling. He was sweating profusely so the Prime Reaper wrung out a cloth in a bucket of cool water and wiped his fellow Reaper’s face.

77

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“Aingeal,” Cynyr managed to say.

“You need to feed,” Arawn said gently.

Phelan skirted the cot and began rolling up the sleeve of his black shirt. “I offer my Sustenance to you,” he said and placed his bare wrist to Cynyr’s lips. Too weak to lift his head, it took all of Cynyr’s strength to sink his incisors into Kiel’s wrist when Arawn slid his hand under Cree’s neck and braced his head up. His eyes strove to track Iden Belial as that Reaper moved into place beside Arawn and pushed up his own shirtsleeve.

Moira glanced around as Morrigunia came into the jail. The goddess moved with such grace it was a delight to watch her walk. Her beauty lit the room as though a dozen candles had been put to the flame. “Lad’s awake,” Moira reported. Morrigunia nodded. “I woke him.”

“He’s asking for his lady,” Moira whispered.

“It will be a while before he can take care of that situation,” the goddess replied. Gently, Phelan removed his wrist from Cynyr’s lips and Iden moved into place, offering his own blood.

“Arawn, Bevyn, Glyn,” Morrigunia said. “Give him yours as well. Phelan, go fetch Owen from the stable and tell him we have need of his blood.”

Cynyr’s gaze was clearing, his eyes losing the opaqueness of confusion to focus on the men standing around his cot. When Arawn removed his hand from beneath Cree’s neck, Cynyr was able to hold his head up so he could sink his teeth into Arawn’s wrist and when he did, the paleness began to leave his drawn face. Phelan Kiel returned with Owen Tohre who was unbuttoning his sleeve and rolling it up.

“I have spoken with the Shadowlords,” Morrigunia told those gathered. “They have scanned the mountain and found nothing left of the Ceannus, the cybots or the remaining rogues.”

Arawn looked up as he eased his wrist from Cynyr’s mouth. “Remaining rogues?”

he questioned. “They were all there, weren’t they?”

“Except for those we already knew about who are hiding in Exasla Territory?”

Bevyn asked as Cynyr sank his fangs into Coure’s wrist.

Cynyr was not only focusing on those around him but was obviously taking in the conversation. He was listening and his gaze homed in on the goddess, waiting for her to answer.

“Two rogues managed to escape my retribution,” Morrigunia said, her eyes locked with Cynyr’s. “One is the brother of a man Cree vanquished back in the summertime.”

At Cynyr’s frown, she told him the rogue’s name. “Khnum Jaborn. His brother is called Kasid.”

“Who is the other?” Arawn asked.

78

Reaper’s Revenge

“The Jakotai,” Morrigunia answered.

Cynyr slowly closed his eyes for a moment. Every man there knew the Reaper had hoped that would be the goddess’ answer.

“He has your lady,” Morrigunia said softly, “but she is safe. I have checked on her.”

Glyn had replaced Bevyn and it was his flesh Cynyr sank his fangs into so savagely the Reaper yelped. He looked up to the ceiling, his lips pressed tightly together as Cree drank angrily, his amber gaze glittering with red flames.

“Don’t take your rage out on Kullen, Cynyr,” Morrigunia commanded. “And do not hurt Tohre when it is his turn to feed you.”

Shame drifted across Cynyr’s face and he looked up at Kullen. His fellow Reaper shrugged, understanding, and he smiled when Cree’s tongue laved Gynn’s wrist in an attempt to soothe it.

“I think I’ll just cut my own wrist and dribble it into his mouth,” Owen joked. He shook a finger at Cree before offering his arm. “Be gentle with me, Cree. It’s my first time.”

The room was silent as Cynyr fed from Tohre’s wrist. Everyone could see the strength flowing back into Cree. His cheeks were no longer so sunken and there was a rosy hue to his cheekbones. He was not sweating as badly and his hands were no longer clenching and unclenching. He was lying much calmer, much more in control and Morrigunia ordered his restraints removed.

Licking a drop of Tohre’s blood from his lower lip, Cynyr sighed. He laid his head down and closed his eyes, aware of the men moving out of his cell. He knew without being told whose blood would next be offered and when he felt her hand on his cheek, he opened his eyes to look up at her.

“Has he hurt her?” he asked, and winced at the weakness in his voice. Morrigunia smoothed the hair back from his forehead. “She lost the child, Reaper,”

she told him.

Sorrow shot through Cree’s amber eyes then a dark crimson flare of fury replaced it. His lips peeled back from his teeth—the incisors lengthening to needle-sharp points—and he hissed like a cornered viper.

“It was the ride that unseated the babe from her womb,” Morrigunia said. “Not the red man. He hit her when he took her and her memories are scattered but she is slowly regaining knowledge of who you are. Though he tries to tell her you are the enemy, she knows better. He has not hurt her since that night.”

Rage settled on Cree’s countenance and his hands dug into the blanket, crumpling it in fists whose knuckles had bled of color. He was staring up at the goddess, the knowledge in his direct gaze telling her he knew there was worse news to come.

“He mated with her.”

It was the first time any of the other Reapers had heard the hideous news though Bevyn had suspected as much, having kept his suspicions to himself. The men flinched, 79

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

their attention going immediately to Cree who was lying so still—not even breathing—

he appeared dead. Bevyn hung his head, thinking of his own mate Lea.

“He raped her,” Cree said in a voice as cold as the tomb. “He raped my wife.”

“He believes she is his wife, Cree,” Morrigunia told him. “He will guard her with his life. You have no reason to fear he will harm her.”

“He will lay with her again,” Cree said through clenched teeth. Morrigunia shook her head. “No, that will not happen. I have seen to that.”

“How?” The one word was bitten out as though it were a bitter taste in Cree’s mouth.

“I have made it impossible for his staff to harden,” she said with a small, dangerous smile. “Never again will he take another woman.”

“Especially not when I carve that malignant flesh from his carcass,” Cynyr swore.

“Right now you are not strong enough to carve your way through hot butter,”

Morrigunia reminded him. “It will be a week, perhaps two, before you are well enough to go after Jaborn and the savage.”

“And we’ll go with you when you do,” Arawn stated.

Cree turned a furious glower to Bevyn. “Why did you not go after my woman, Coure? Why did you allow the Jakotai to take her?”

“I would not allow him or Arawn to go,” Morrigunia said. When Cynyr turned his hot eyes to her, she lifted her head. “But if you do not want the opportunity to avenge your mate—”

“I will do it!” Cree snarled, and threw the cover from his legs. He tried to sit up, but his head swam unmercifully and nausea came galloping up his throat.

“You won’t be doing anything for a while yet,” Morrigunia told him. “Do not make it necessary for me to have you shackled again.”

Moira had stopped her knitting and was watching the tableau playing itself out in the jail cell. Despite every promise she’d made to herself, she could not stop from staring at the beautiful male body lying naked upon the white sheet. Though there were still angry red streaks crisscrossing the flesh on his legs and a dark purple bruise covered much of his left side, he was something to behold lying there.

“Stop ogling him, Moira,”
Morrigunia whispered in the old lady’s mind.
“He would
not like it.”

Moira ducked her head and began knitting as though her very life depended upon it. Her aged face was bright red, her wrinkled lips pursed tightly together as she set her chair to rocking quickly.