Reaper's Revenge (26 page)

Reaper’s Revenge

With the last of his waning strength, he dressed himself—remembering his boots this time—and gingerly swung his legs from the cot. Though the headache was gone, he still felt dizzy, the room tending to canter off to one side.

“Where’s Arawn?” she asked. “I’ll go get him and—”

“He’s on his honeymoon,” Cynyr broke in. “He married Danielle.”

“She finally chased him ‘til he caught her, huh?” she giggled.

“Something like that,” he agreed. “Is it still raining?”

She cocked her head, listening with the acute ability Reapers had to hear even the smallest of sounds. “Doesn’t sound like it is. We should go over to Moira’s.”

He watched her unlocking the door and smiled. Her memories were almost all intact. Lightly reading her, he could see the puzzle nearing completion in her mind and that eased him. He sat on the cot, his hands bracing the mattress to either side of him, and hung his head in thankfulness his lady had been returned to him—alive and well. Fury rose up in his throat though as he thought of where she’d been and what had happened to her when she had been out of his care. He knew a white-hot rage that threatened to scald him. The darkness inside him was a blossom of poison that ached to be released.

“Otaktay.” He said the name aloud, putting every ounce of venom he had in his gut into the word. Never had he hated anything or anyone as he did the Jakotai. If it was the last thing he ever did, he’d take the bastard apart piece by bloody piece for what he’d done to Aingeal.

His eyes went to the laser whip that had sat on the sheriff’s desk for going on three weeks now. It called to him, the dragon handle giving off a slight crimson glow.

“Soon, old friend,” the Reaper whispered. “Soon you will the drink his evil blood.”

141

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Chapter Fifteen

Otaktay and Jaborn rode away from the cave late that afternoon. The Jakotai was painted for war, his face and chest streaked with crimson and black lightning bolts. A single red hawk feather was braided into his thick hair and lay at an angle over his right shoulder. He carried a bow and quiver slung across his back, a tomahawk and knife on either thigh and in his hand was a six feet long war lance, tipped with a finely honed steel head.

Kasid Jaborn glanced at the savage and smirked. All the trappings of war the red man carried could not—and would not—be of any help in defeating the Reaper. The implements might slow Cree down but they were like chaff against the wind alongside the deadly laser whip the Reaper could wield so expertly. Only the weapon that lay strapped to the Akhkharulian’s thigh in its leather holster would provide any source of real danger for Cynyr Cree. Jaborn had no confidence in the savage’s ability to survive the coming fight.

There was also the matter of disquiet that had come upon Jaborn as soon as they left the cave and headed eastward. There was something causing a shift of unease in the
balgair’s
gut that had him constantly sweeping the terrain over which they rode.

“Do you fear he will attack us?” Otaktay called out, his chin lifted in challenge. The unease riding alongside Jaborn was growing with each mile they traveled. It was more a premonition of disaster that had settled on the warrior’s shoulder than a fear of Cynyr Cree.

“Do you not feel the rift in the Veil?” Jaborn countered. “Cree is well protected.”

The Jakotai puffed out his chest. “I feel nothing but the blood of my enemy singing to me, calling me to come and set it free.”

Dismissing the braggadocio, Jaborn sent a mental probe out to search for the source of the apprehension that troubled him. Nothing came back to him but chaos, a roiling vapor of blackness that seemed to be stretching toward him with eager talons arched. The unease grew and the discomfort between the Akhkharulian’s shoulders increased.

“How many Reapers were in the white camp when you took the woman?” Jaborn asked, gnawing on a thumbnail as he tried to make sense of the warnings going off in his head.

“Two besides Cree,” Otaktay replied.

The number felt larger to Jaborn. He had a sense of many Reapers and he felt as though they were riding into a trap. He pulled up on the reins, calling out for Otaktay to stop.

“What concerns you, Jaborn?” Otaktay demanded.

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“It stands to reason the Shadowlords would have sent reinforcements as soon as they learned of the Ceannus’ landing,” he replied. “There are seven Reapers. I believe all of them are in the settlement.”

Otaktay stared in the direction of Haines City. “It may be true what you say. The beast may also be lying in wait there.”

Jaborn knew the dragon who had attacked the Ceannus had come from another realm and he suspected it was the goddess who had made the Reapers who had destroyed Her enemies, the servants of Raphian. The chances were good the goddess had flown back to Her dominion but She might not have and that was the reason he felt so troubled. There was no way either Otaktay or he could come out alive if all the Reapers were in Haines City and the dragon goddess was still in residence to add Her support.

“I believe I will pass on this encounter,” Jaborn said, and tugged on his horse’s reins, turning the beast’s head toward the south.

“You are running?” Otaktay sneered.

“Call it what you want. I prefer to live to fight another day,” the Akhkharulian said, and kicked his mount into motion.

“Coward!” Otaktay insulted Jaborn, yelling after him. “I alone will send Cree to his punishment!”

Jaborn laughed to himself. The only one who would be entering a final place of death would be the savage. There was no doubt in Kasid’s mind concerning Otaktay’s fate. Drumming his heels into the horse’s flanks, he wanted to put as much distance between him and the Reaper as was possible.

Though honor required the Akhkharulian to avenge his brother Khnum’s death, Jaborn shrugged away the obligation. He had never liked Khnum—had thought him a buffoon. The lone survivor among those
balgairs
the Ceannus had transported to Terra, he had no intention of calling attention to himself and warranting the wrath of the Reaper. Since he had no hand in what had befallen Cynyr Cree’s mate, he believed himself immune from the vengeance that had been set aside for the Jakotai. All he believed he had to do was disappear into the deep southwest, not use the humans as prey and he would live. He prayed that would be the case for suddenly he had no desire to harm either Cree or the Reaper’s woman. He preferred to back a winning hand and not truck with losers.

* * * * *

Bevyn and Phelan watched Cynyr and his lady walking down the street toward Moira’s house.

“He’s not all that steady yet, is he?” Phelan asked.

“She’ll work the poison out of his system,” Bevyn said.

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Phelan frowned as he and Bevyn stood there watching as Aingeal carefully escorted Cree toward the house at the end of the street.

“Do you miss your lady?” Phelan inquired.

Bevyn sighed. “More and more as the days pass,” he answered. “Arawn says as soon as Cynyr is able to go after the Jakotai, we’ll be allowed to return to the Citadel.”

“You don’t think one of us will be ordered to accompany him on the kill?”

The second-in-command of the Reaper unit shook his head. “No, although I disagree with that decision.”

“So do Owen and I,” Phelan quipped. “As far as we know the red man and Jaborn are the last of the
balgairs
. They’ll fight viciously to stay alive, especially the Jakotai.”

“The high lords believe Cree can handle it. They possess more wisdom than the rest of us. I’ve never known them to be wrong.”

“Aye, well there’s always the first time.”

“This isn’t that time, Kiel.”
The imperious voice flashed through the Reapers’ heads like a bolt of lightning.

“I heard that too,” Arawn said as he joined his fellow Reapers. “I’d think you two would know better than to question Lord Kheelan.”

Bevyn snorted. “Danielle let you up for air?” he goaded the Prime Reaper.

“I left her snoring like a big dog,” Arawn replied.

“She snores?” Phelan asked, wincing.

“A figure of speech, Kiel,” Arawn murmured. “She was well-sated and—”

Bevyn groaned and rolled his eyes heavenward.

“Say no more,” Phelan said, holding up a hand. “I don’t need to know!”

Arawn’s grin was lecherous and his wagging brows made Phelan’s face infuse with embarrassment.

“Will the Jakotai come into town if we’re all here?” Bevyn asked his fellow Reapers.

“Aye, for from all I’ve heard of him, he’s crazed,” Arawn answered. “I believe we should stand guard to keep the townsfolk safe. My gut tells me the savage will call Cree out very soon.”

“And Cree will go,” Phelan said quietly. “Whether he is healed or not.”

“She’ll heal him,” Arawn declared. “She will push the last of the poisons from his body with hers.”

“Bevyn said as much,” Phelan observed. “I’m not sure I understand what he meant.”

“I wouldn’t have been able to explain it to you had not I mated with Danielle,”

Arawn said. “A woman’s love is a healing balm, Phelan, and one I totally recommend.”

“A healing balm you didn’t want anything to do with as I recall,” Bevyn reminded the Prime Reaper.

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“Just goes to show you
can
teach an old Reaper new tricks,” Arawn returned.

“What you are saying is that during the act of sexual intercourse, the woman will absorb the poisons from—”

“No, Kiel,” Arawn said with a sigh. “First, it is not the act. When I mated with Danielle, it was love—pure and simple. Making love is not like having a surrogate lick your stick.”

Phelan blushed a deep crimson and looked down at his boots. He wasn’t the youngest of the seven Reapers but he was—by far—the most naïve.

“Second,” Arawn continued as though he hadn’t noticed Phelan’s acute mortification, “your mate doesn’t absorb the poisons. She simply vanquishes them. Don’t ask me how. I’m not a woman.”

“For which I’m sure Danielle is most pleased,” Bevyn joked. There was a long, loud sigh from the Citadel.
“She does not vanquish the poisons, Lord
Arawn. His body evacuates the last of the poisons through his ejaculation. The natural juices of
her body—whether oral or vaginal—mixed with his parasitically enhanced semen destroy what
is left of the poison.”

“In essence, she vanquishes the poison,” Arawn said smugly. Silence—deep and telling—met the Prime Reaper’s remark then,
“We will have a long
talk about your attitude adjustment when you return to the High Council, Lord Arawn,”
was the steely reprimand.

“Best keep your smart mouth shut, Gehdrin,” Bevyn suggested, “else you’ll be up a containment cell without a tenerse paddle.”

Arawn snorted. He had heard the slight humor in Lord Kheelan’s voice.

“Well, he’s made it into Moira’s house so I guess we can start positioning ourselves on the roofs around the perimeter in anticipation of the red man’s arrival,” Bevyn said.

“I’ll take this end of the street.”

“I’ll take the south end,” Phelan said.

“Before you take up your positions,” Arawn said, “Bevyn, go let Cynyr know the brave is on his way. Phelan, go tell Owen to take the Guthrie House roof, Glyn, the saloon and Iden, the stable. I’ll be on the dry goods store roof.”

“I didn’t see Cynyr’s whip on him when he went to Moira’s,” Bevyn said. “I’ll stop by the jail first and fetch it for him.”

“Make sure none of you fire on the brave unless it’s absolutely necessary. If you have to wing him, aim for his legs. This is Cree’s kill and he won’t thank you for taking it away from him,” Arawn ordered.

“I just hope to Alel he’s well enough to take the bastard out,” Phelan said as he headed off.

“So do I,” Arawn said beneath his breath.

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

* * * * *

Moira waved the young couple away, sending them to their room. The old woman was pleased to know they hadn’t eaten any of Harold’s soup and would be downstairs to have a late supper with her and Annie as soon as Cynyr had taken a nap.

“A nap, my hinny,” Moira said to Annie as the Reaper and his lady climbed the stairs. “She’s going to jump his bones.”

“Wouldn’t you, if’n you was her?” Annie asked as she put another log on the fire. Moira chuckled and took her seat before the fire, gathering up her knitting as she began to rock. “I’d give the little whippersnapper a run for his money if’n I was thirty years younger. That’s a given, gal.”

“How many of them sweaters have you made now, missus?” Annie asked.

“Got all but this last one done,” she said. “Seven in all.”

Annie laid her head on the back of her rocker, tapping a rhythm on the floor as her feet went from instep to heel and back again. “Seven?” she mused. “Shouldn’t that ought to be eight, missus?” She swiveled her head toward her mother-in-law. “One for Aingeal too, since she’s Reaper?”

Moira’s fingers stopped flying and she laid the knitting down in her lap. “Aye, you’re right, gal. There should be.” She resumed knitting, humming as she worked.

* * * * *

Cynyr did as his lady bid and sat down on their bed, reaching up to unbutton his shirt. He watched her going from chair to armoire to dresser examining things. He knew she was reacquainting herself with the life she’d shared with him before her abduction and was reconnecting to that life.

“I heard a voice in my head,” she said to him as she straightened the toiletries on the dresser.

“Most likely it was Lord Kheelan’s,” he told her.

She paused with her hand on her brush. “The high lord.”

“Aye. When we were at the Citadel the healers took some blood from you, remember?”

Aingeal’s eyes narrowed. “It’s hazy but I think I recall that happening.”

“It was so the Shadowlords could converse with you if the need ever arose.”

“Ah,” she said, nodding. “That explains how I heard his voice.” She looked around.