Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - WesternWind 01 - Wynd River (26 page)

footsteps falter as she walked to her crouching mate. She knelt down beside him and put a hand on his

furred shoulder.

What was left of the human inside Cynyr Cree flinched at that touch. It struck him like a bolt of lightning

and he whimpered, pressing himself tighter into the corner.

“Taim’ ngra leat,”Aingeal said in Gaelach then repeated it in Terran. “I love you.”

The creature that was her husband moaned loudly and those watching saw him shudder violently. His

claws were scratching at the two walls flanking him, putting long grooves in the rocky surface.

Aingeal moved her hand to Cynyr’s neck and felt for the wild pulse into which she knew she needed to

inject the tenerse. He hissed at her, but did not move as she put the needle to his skin and released its

fiery payload into the thick, furry neck.

Instantly the creature shrieked in pain and lashed out, knocking Aingeal down as he jumped to his feet

and slammed into the iron bars. He grabbed the thick columns and hopped up on it as he had the first

time and yanked with all his might.

“Is she hurt?” Bevyn asked.

“I don’t think so,” Arawn answered. He wasn’t looking at the wild, savage brute jerking against the bars

but at the woman who pushed up from the floor and turned to look at her mate. He saw her sweep away

a lock of hair from her forehead with the back of her hand then slowly get to her feet.

Those watching the monster swinging on the bars could see lethal intent on that black leathery face. His

lips were peeled back from fangs dripping with saliva and he was howling his rage. The scarlet gleam

from his bulging eyes spoke words his animal mouth could not—he was glaring defiance and pure fury at

his tormentors.

“If he could get his hands on you, Kheelan, he’d strangle you,” Lord Dunham said.

“No,” the high commissioner replied. “He’d tear me apart.”

“Look at his hands,” Arawn said.

The claws were still extended from the ends of the creature’s hands but the fur was dissolving, seeping

back into his flesh. The same was true of his feet as he braced the soles against the bars as he hung on

the grid work. He was still salivating profusely but the red gleam was softening in his fierce glare and his

fangs were receding into his gums.

Aingeal came toward her mate, her hand outstretched. “
Mo tiarna
,” she said.

The creature dropped from the bars and turned to confront her. His arms were raised over his head, his

claws extended as though he intended to attack her but then he scuttled off to one side, slamming his

back into the wall and sliding down it with a grunt.

Aingeal watched him as he raised his knees and hid his face in the shelter of his arms. He was

whimpering from the pain of the tenerse invading his system. She went to him and squatted down in front

of him, putting her hands on arms that were no longer thick with pelted fur. She pulled his arms aside and

wedged herself between his legs, slipping her hands around his waist.

Cynyr was by now more man than beast and his shame knew no boundaries. He let his head fall to his

lady’s shoulder and he wept bitterly, the second time he had cried so harshly since he was a young boy.

“I know, beloved,” she said, soothing his back where the raised scars pulled at his flesh. “I know.”

He wrapped his arms around his lady and held on to her. His blood was on fire with the powerful drug

racing through it but, with her against him, he could hold at bay the agony that threatened to shatter his

sanity. The creature was bunching up along his back—causing untold misery—but that pain hurt no

worse than the thought of Aingeal seeing him as he’d been.

“Someone bring him the Sustenance,” Aingeal asked.

It was Lord Arawn who hastened to do as she’d bid. He unlocked both doors and carried in four of the

six bottles that had been left for Cynyr. He hunkered down beside Aingeal—careful not to touch her, for

her mate had raised his head and hissed at the other Reaper’s nearness to his lady—and held out one of

the bottles. He tried not to look at Cree’s nakedness as the Reaper jerked the Sustenance out of his

hand but the white scars that lapped at the man’s chest and shoulder could not be ignored.

“Leave us, Lord Arawn,” Aingeal asked.

“Would you like me to provide him with clothing, Lady?” Arawn asked.

“He’ll do that himself when he’s ready,” she replied.

Arawn nodded and stood up. He was a bit nervous about turning his back on the other man but did so,

feeling the searing weight of Cynyr Cree’s anger between his shoulder blades.

Once outside the cell, Lord Kheelan told them all to leave. “Let the Crees be alone.”

Aingeal sat down beside her mate but did not stare at him as he swilled down bottle after bottle of the

Sustenance, flinging them aside as he was finished with them. She waited until he had drained the fourth

bottle before getting up and retrieving the other two from the barrier. She brought them back to him and

handed him the first one.

Cynyr had a wild smell about him that was very unpleasant and he seemed to know it for he moved

away from his lady, putting distance between them. He was still in a great deal of pain but the Sustenance

was helping to control the parasite and the demonic thing was no longer bunching up under his flesh.

“I read the letter the townspeople sent to the High Council,” Aingeal said in a conversational tone of

voice. “It was very touching.” She was plucking at the side seam of her boot. “Everyone is eager for us

to return.”

Cynyr wiped his mouth with the back of his hand when he was through with the last bottle. He was

craving more of both addictions—the Sustenance as well as the tenerse—but he needed his lady’s touch

even more. Despite the horrid smell that clung to him, he laid down and put his head in her lap.

His hair was filthy, the strands clumped with oil, and he needed a shave, which surprised her. Not once

in all the time they had been together had she seen him shave. She ran her fingertips over the rough

stubble. “I kinda like this,” she said, and heard him grunt.

It was difficult for him to form words yet. He had spent nearly four weeks in a state of beastliness that

had taken away nearly every vestige of his humanity. Even his dreams were that of a creature. Only the

thought of Aingeal waiting for him kept insanity at bay.

She stared down at his profile and was struck again with what a handsome man her lover was. His dark

hair was thick and curled lightly around the nape of his neck and she was grateful he had allowed her to

give him a haircut before he had met with the High Council. His nose was perfectly masculine. His lips

were full and she ached to place her mouth upon his. Tracing the arch of his left brow, she saw him turn

his amber eyes until he was gazing up at her.

“I love you, Cynyr Cree,” she said, and smoothed the sideburns that ended at the lobe of his perfect ear.

He grunted again and she could tell he was having trouble swallowing. She moved her fingers to his neck

and lightly stroked the column of his throat from Adam’s apple to the sensuous notch at the top of his

sternum.

His left arm was curled around her thigh as he laid there with his head in her lap, holding her to him. He

was curled up in a fetal position and it was only a few moments more when she heard him lightly snoring,

his tired, abused body giving in to the rest he needed to heal.

They stood side by side before the High Council, awaiting the pleasure of Lord Kheelan. He glanced at

the Reapers lined up behind Cree and his lady and hid an amused smile. The Reaper Brethren were there

in support of their own.

“Did you have a good night’s rest last eve, Lord Cynyr?” the high commissioner inquired.

“Aye, Your Grace. I slept like a baby.”

“And you, Lady Aingeal?”

“Very well, thank you, Your Grace.”

“You enjoyed your bath? I’m told you stayed in the tub for nearly two hours.”

Cynyr almost smiled. “It was very relaxing, Your Grace.”

“You Reapers do love your baths,” Lord Naois commented.

“Is there anything about your room you would change, Lady Aingeal?” Lord Dunham asked.

“Oh, no, Your Grace,” she was quick to say. “Everything was perfect.”

“You will always have quarters here in the Citadel, as each Reaper does,” Lord Kheelan told the Crees.

“We have yet to meet the lovely Lea, Lord Bevyn’s mate, but perhaps when next you visit us, she will be

here as well.”

“Let us hope the next visit that brings together our Reapers will be a joyous occasion,” Lord Dunham

observed. “Will you bring the babe back to present him to us?”

Cynyr had yet to come to grasp with the idea of becoming a father. Aingeal had not had to tell him, for

he had sensed it the moment he had come to himself in the Containment Cell. He had stared up at her

with shock. “A babe?” he had questioned.

“That’s what comes of doing the things you do to me,
mo tiarna
,” she replied.

The Reaper winced. “Stop calling me that,” he said. “Please?”

Aingeal had sighed. “All right. How ‘bout I call you my widdle dumplin’ wumplin’?” she asked sweetly,

batting her eyes.

Cynyr narrowed his. “I think not, wench.”

“You’re no fun, Reaper,” she protested.

“You want something to call me?” he’d asked. At her nod, he said, “
Mo shearc.
It simply means ‘my

love’.”

“Mo shearc,”she said, trying it out.
“
All right.
Mo shearc
it is.”

“A babe,” he had whispered.

“Are you angry?”

“No!” he said, grabbing his lady and spinning her around, his face bright. “I am thrilled!”

“Lord Cynyr?” Lord Dunham asked.

Dragging himself back to the present, the Reaper told the High Council he would bring their son to the

Citadel on his first birthday.

“Do not make the mistake many Reaper fathers have made in the past, Lord Cynyr,” Lord Naois said.

“There is nothing wrong with you picking your son up and holding him. The old legends have no basis in

fact.”

Arawn had already said the same thing to Cynyr, but the Reaper nodded politely and thanked the

Shadowlord for his advice.

“Lady Aingeal, it has been a pleasure to meet you,” Lord Kheelan said. “You are a brave and

courageous woman and are, indeed, worthy of being a Reaper.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Aingeal responded.

“But if you will excuse us, there is something of importance we need to say to your husband.” He looked

at the other Reapers. “You too may be excused.”

Aingeal looked at her mate but he only smiled at her. He didn’t seem concerned with whatever the HC

had to say privately to him. Hating to leave him alone with the Shadowlords, she would have protested if

he had not arched a brow at her, telling her in his unique way to leave.

When the others had departed and the door closed behind them, Lord Kheelan leaned back in his chair.

“Silus Gibbs is not dead,” he reported.

Cynyr’s forehead crinkled. “I saw him fall into the water, Your Grace.”

“Aye, but he survived his tumble down the river and is wrecking havoc in the Exasla Territory this time

around,” Lord Kheelan said.

“Apparently he has been looking for you,” Lord Dunham observed.

“There is also the matter of a Jakotai brave named Otaktay,” the high commissioner added.

“I killed him.”

“You killed
a
Jakotai brave,” Lord Kheelan said. “You did not kill Otaktay.”

Cynyr ground his teeth. “Do I have permission to dispatch the two of them?”

“You most certainly do, for the two have banded together and unless I miss my guess the Jakotai will

have been turned by now.”

Such news concerned the Reaper, but he would do his duty as it came to him and swore as much to the

High Council.

“Be careful, Cree,” Lord Kheelan warned. “Those two men are after your hide as well as your woman.”

That sent a shiver of cold down Cynyr’s back. “I will handle it, Your Grace.”

When he joined his wife and the other Reapers in the corridor, they all knew something was wrong for

Cynyr’s eyes were blazing and his face was set.

“What did they do to you now?” Aingeal demanded, ready to do battle with the men who were

bothering her mate.

“We’ve got to get back to Haines City as quickly as possible, wench,” he said. “The men I thought I’d

killed are still alive.”

Aingeal slipped past his guard and read the knowledge in his mind. She drew in a breath. Otaktay was

alive?

“Do you need help, Cree?” Arawn inquired.

“If I do, I’ll send word,” Cynyr replied.

“If Gibbs finds out where you’re heading, the people of Haines City will be in danger,” Arawn said. “I

could go on ahead and stand watch until you get there.”

Cynyr shook his head. “I appreciate your concern, but this is my fight. There are things I need to teach

my lady and now is as good a time for her to learn as any.”

That didn’t sound all that good to Aingeal’s way of thinking. “We’re not going to take the train back?”

she asked.

“If you’re thinking of teaching her to shape-shift, now isn’t the time,” Arawn said. “Not when she is with

child.”

“Shape-shift?” Aingeal said, her voice a mere squeak.

Cynyr looked at her and realized what the Prime Reaper said was true. It would not be a good time for

her to try changing. He tucked his lower lip between his teeth. “You’re right,” he told Arawn.

“Let me go on ahead,” Arawn said. “I’ll watch over your people until you arrive.”