Her Reaper's Arms (20 page)

she’d ever seen, and the tat on his left cheek made her womb clench with need. “I have

never lain with a man and never expected to, but I could make an exception with you,

Coure,” she said boldly.

He snorted. “Won’t happen,” he stated. “I belong to her.”

The Blackwind blinked. “A Reaper would dare say such a thing?” she asked.

“I belong to her,” he repeated. “With my entire being and with every beat of my

heart.”

Sweeping Lea a hard look, Penthe asked her how she had managed to bewitch the

Reaper.

“With love,” Bevyn said softly.

Penthe rolled her eyes. “Love makes a warrior weak.”

Cornelia came over to them and stood glaring down at the Amazeen. “And hatred

won’t keep you warm on a cold winter night or fill your belly with food or child.”

“Food I want,” Penthe admitted. “A child?” She waved a dismissive hand. “That I

never want.”

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“Can’t say as I blame you,” Cornelia quipped. “They can be an ungrateful bunch.”

She turned her attention to Lea. “I need some help with supper.”

Lea didn’t want to leave her man with the statuesque beauty who was squatting

down beside him, but when he gave her a look that curled the toes in her slippers, she

got up and without a backward glance started toward Cornelia’s house with her.

“You’ve trained your pet well,” Penthe remarked. She lowered her rump to the

blanket, sitting tailor fashion, placing the Dóigra upon the ground.

“How did the rogue manage to get hold of one of your weapons?” Bevyn asked her.

“He attacked my partner, ravaged her in his insanity,” Penthe said. “He was rabid.”

“It happens to
balgairs
,” Bevyn said.

“But not to Reapers?” she asked, intrigued. “Why is that?”

“They don’t know. Our Prime was once bitten by a rabid fox. He was sick but not as

if it had been a ghoret bite.”

Penthe shuddered. “Even hearing that word disturbs me,” she said.

“You and me both,” he admitted.

“He lived? This Prime?” she inquired.

“Aye, but I’ve heard tell that rogues succumb to the disease in a matter of days

when bitten. Obviously their parasites aren’t as strong as ours,” he replied.

“Thankfully Artesia did not survive his mauling to contract the illness,” Penthe

said. “That would be a gruesome way to meet the Gatherer.”

“How was it he managed to kill her?”

Penthe swept her hand along her thigh to brush away pieces of hay. “We had

argued and she’d gone off on her own. In her state of mind, she wasn’t being careful

and he jumped her, tore her throat out before I could shoot him with my weapon. He

saw me and took off running with Artesia slung over his shoulder, her Dóigra in his

unworthy fist. I was amazed at how fast he could run.”

“Rogues aren’t as fast as Reapers in that department, but they can move when they

feel threatened,” he agreed.

“He took her to that hellhole where he had slaughtered the other women.”

“Did you know he was rabid?”

She nodded. “His face was already turning black and his tongue so swollen he

could not draw it back into his mouth. I knew it was but a matter of time before he

succumbed. There was nothing I could do for Artesia so I just waited, hoping he’d come

outside so I could shoot him and put him down. I never got the chance for he died a few

hours later, howling and snarling the likes I hope to never hear again.”

They were silent for a moment then Bevyn asked what she would do now.

“I have no idea,” Penthe said. “By rights, I suppose I should stake you to the

ground and avenge my grandmere.”

Bevyn smiled. “I don’t think I’m going to let you do that, wench,” he said.

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“Too bad,” Penthe said with a sigh. “Torture is so entertaining and…” She swept

him a sultry look. “I wouldn’t mind putting my hands to you, Reaper.”

“It was Kennocha who wronged me,” he told her. “Not the other way around.”

She waved a hand. “Aye, I realize that now, but at the time I accepted the Edikeõ, I

was young and somewhat foolish and—I will admit it—looking for adventure. Coming

to Terra to extract you seemed worthy.”

“And now you may be stuck here,” he reminded her.

“Aye,” she said, her lips twisted with irritation. “So what do I do, Reaper?”

He turned his head and looked up at the home he was helping to build. The

foundation, walls and rafters were in place, much of the roofing panels laid. Come

tomorrow, he and his crew would begin work on the inside.

“I will be journeying to the Citadel in the next several days,” he told the Blackwind.

“You are welcome to come with us and meet with the Shadowlords. Perhaps they can

find something worthy for you to do.”

Penthe sat up straighter. “The Shadowlords?” she repeated. “I have heard of them.

They are here on Terra?”

“Three of them are,” he replied.

“It would be entertaining to meet them,” she said then gave him a wicked look.

“Not as entertaining as putting my hands all over you but interesting, I would think.”

Bevyn threw back his head and laughed. “You don’t give up, do you, wench?” he

asked.

Penthe bent forward and put a hand on his thigh. “I believe I could keep at it all

night long, warrior. Your cock would be so sore, you wouldn’t be able to move come

morning.”

Bevyn glanced up to see Lea coming toward him. His lady was not smiling and

when her eyes flicked over the Blackwind, there was anger in them.

“What is it, milady?” he asked, getting to his feet.

“I need to speak to you,” Lea said, and snaked out a hand to grab his arm. “Now!”

She yanked him behind her, storming toward the stable.

“Be gentle with him, wench!” Penthe called out, and everyone still left at the

building site laughed.

Bevyn stumbled along behind his lady, his eyebrows drawn together. She was

furious and he could feel her anger snapping like lightning around him. “We were only

talking, sweeting,” he said, instinctively knowing it was the Blackwind who had caused

Lea’s fury.

“She wasn’t talking,” Lea snapped as she jerked the stable door open and pulled

him inside. “She was flirting with you!”

“Nah, wench,” he said. “Not really. She just—”

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Lea let go of his arm and shoved him hard to send him crashing into an upright. He

grunted as his back hit the wood.

“I won’t have it, Bevyn Coure!” she snarled at him, coming toe-to-toe with him. “Do

you hear me? I won’t have it!”

“But, sweeting, she—”

Her hands were suddenly all over him and Bevyn gasped at her ferocity. She was

snatching at his belt buckle, snagging down his fly, pushing the sweat-dampened

denims down his hips.

“Lea, what are you…?” he began before she slammed into him, reaching up to grab

his face between her hands to pull his mouth to hers.

Lea boldly thrust her tongue between her Reaper’s lips and ravaged his mouth, her

lower body grinding against his, his suddenly very attentive tool rising to the occasion.

He turned her so her back was to the upright, tearing his mouth free of her frenzied

kiss.

“Two can play at that, milady,” he said through gritting teeth, and swept her gown

up, his hard hand going under her chemise to pull it up as well.

The moment his fingers touched her core, Lea draped her arms around his neck and

pushed her feet off the stable floor. His free arm locked around her and he lifted her up,

her legs going around his waist as he held her against the upright.

“You are mine, Bevyn Coure,” she said.

“I am,” he agreed as he thrust himself up inside her. “You gods-be-damned better

believe I am!”

Her hands were tight in his hair, pulling his mouth to hers. Her sheath was

squeezing him fiercely as he rode her, pushing her hard against the upright. His thigh

muscles were taut as he held her, his arms around her so tight it was hard to tell where

his body stopped and hers began. His legs were spread wide as he worked her up and

down on his hot, slick shaft and all the while their tongues were dueling, swirling

around one another.

Lea reveled in his broad, sweaty chest pressed against her. His was a clean, manly

scent that did wonderful things to her body and sent her into spasms of delight. She

could feel her channel tightening around his rod, beginning the series of tremors that

would bring forth such pleasure for both of them.

He nipped at her bottom lip and when her eyes widened, he swept his tongue over

the slight pain.

“I want to taste you,” he said huskily, and she knew he did not mean the musk that

lay between her thighs.

Unable to deny this man anything, Lea arched her head to one side, exposing her

neck to him.

Bevyn didn’t hesitate. He wanted the taste of her blood on his lips, in his mouth,

settling in his soul. He needed it for more than for just the carnal pleasure it would give

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him, give her. He needed it to bond with her as no other male ever would. His fangs

came out and he bit her—shallowly but enough to break the skin. Two tiny beads of her

sweet blood bubbled up and he retracted his fangs, latching his lips unto the tiny

wounds.

Lea tensed against him but the pain was so much more than the slight, momentary

discomfort. It brought with it a surge of sexual intensity that made her groan. She could

feel him drawing against her flesh, heard the soft swallow that told her he had

consumed her very essence.

“Bevyn,” she whispered, attached to him more at that moment than mere flesh to

flesh or body to body. She was being forged into him and she knew it.

The taste of her life force was so intoxicating he wanted to drown himself in it. He

had drank from her vein before, had taken all he needed so that no matter where she

went, where he went, he would be able to find her, track her, but he wanted to reinforce

that bonding, needed to tie her to him so irrevocably she would never give thought to

another man. Never would she be able to escape him now. Not even her thoughts could

escape him for he was able to hear her thoughts, speak to her even though they were

apart, and keep her safe in ways beyond the ordinary.

With her blood bursting down his throat, he felt his release pushing upward,

burning his cock in waves of exquisite agony. He shoved hard against her. Thrust

upward with such force she groaned for he had touched her very womb with his

straining.

“Come for me,” he hissed. “Come for me, my love.”

And she did in ripples of pleasure that gripped him with silken fingers that

squeezed and squeezed and squeezed until his cock jerked and he spurted long and

hard inside her. Straining against her until the last of him shot deep, he buried his head

against her shoulder, his chest heaving as he shuddered.

They stood there until his thigh muscles began to quiver and she unlocked her legs

from his waist and he allowed her to slide down, his arms still clasped around her.

He lifted his head. “Look at me, Lea,” he said.

She looked up into his golden eyes.

“These eyes may see another woman,” he said, “but these arms will never reach out

for her. This body will never hunger for her and this heart will never hold any save you

within it. Never question my love for you, Lea Walsh, for it is now the air I breathe and

the very blood coursing through my veins.” When she would have looked down, he put

a hand to her chin and held her face. “Do you understand what I am telling you?”

“Aye, milord,” she said, “but you understand this—I might die in the trying but if

any woman ever dared try to take you from me, I would do my gods-be-damned best to

tear her apart.”

His smile was slow but filled with pride for her. “I don’t doubt that for a minute,

milady,” he said.

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“She will try to lure you away, Bevyn,” she warned him.

“She can try but she’ll not succeed,” he vowed. “You—and only you—are the one I

want.”

* * * * *

Penthe watched the Reaper and his lady as they came out of the stable. She sniffed

the air and caught the scent of sex permeating the couple. Digging her fingernails into

her palms, she watched them coming toward her and knew before ere he spoke what

the Reaper’s words would be.

“This is my lady,” he told her. “I guard her with my life.”

The Blackwind forced herself to shrug as though it mattered little to her although

she was raging inside, wanting something she knew she’d never possess but coveting it

anyway.

“Do we have an understanding, Amazeen?” he pressed.

“We do, Reaper,” Penthe replied. She got to her feet. “Now tell me more of this

place you call the Citadel and the Shadowlords who rule it.”

* * * * *

Cornelia joined them on the back porch after she had finished the last of the

cleaning in the kitchen. Lea had helped her with supper and offered to wash the dishes

but the older woman had shaken her head.

“Don’t leave him out there with that woman warrior,” Cornelia had said. “I don’t

trust that woman any farther than I can see her.”

Sitting in the swing with his lady, Bevyn had his left arm stretched out along the