Son of a bitch. Cole didn’t want to accept Jones in Addy’s life.
Reese’s voice echoed in his mind. Like it or not, she loves him. So why don’t you give him a chance? Cole shook his head. Didn’t look like he was going to have a choice.
“You ready to listen?” Isaiah asked.
“It depends on whether you’re ready to talk,” Cole answered.
“I’d rather kick your ass out of here and get back to my life.”
That was honest enough. Cole took out fresh makings. “If any ass kicking’s going to be going on, I’m going to be the one doing it.”
Isaiah’s attention was on the makings. “Uh-huh.”
“From the way you’re looking, I’m guessing you haven’t had a smoke in a while.”
Isaiah shrugged. “It pisses Addy off.”
Cole passed over his makings.
Isaiah’s lips quirked and took them. He set about rolling the cigarette with his usual efficiency. “You don’t know your cousin too well if you think being mad at me is her foot out the door.”
Cole sighed. “Used to know her.” He passed Isaiah a sulfur. “It seems she’s changed some, though.”
“For the better.”
Cole looked at him and took a drag of his cigarette. “Yeah, well, that would be according to you, and you’ve got an interest in me seeing her as happy.”
Isaiah lit his smoke. “She is happy.”
“But she’s not safe.” Cole hazarded a guess.
Isaiah took a drag of his own cigarette and blew the smoke out, looking up at the hills and the ridges as if he could see what was coming in the landscape.
“No, she’s not.”
“And why would that be?”
“Reapers have laws.”
“And one of these laws affects my cousin?”
Jones nodded again, took another drag of his cigarette. “One of the laws is, Reapers are forbidden to take up with human women.”
That sounded serious.
“What’s the penalty for breaking that law?”
“Death.”
“To you?”
“To both.”
“Shit. And they sent somebody out after you?”
“There’ve been a few.”
“But that’s not the biggest problem?” Cole hazarded another guess, looking at Isaiah’s expression. Smoke curled around his face casting an air of mystery. As he narrowed his eyes, Cole could see what Addy saw in him. The man radiated strength and power.
“There are those that think that Reapers are in a position to take over this country now that it’s in such disarray after the war.”
“Fuck, they want to go into politics?”
Isaiah shook his head. “No. They want power. A lot of power. They see themselves as superior, but the hitch in the giddyup is Reaper law.
“So how does Addy play into this?”
Jones shook his head. “Shit. We need whiskey for this.”
“I don’t have any more, do you?”
Jones shrugged. “Just one of the many things on the to-do list.”
“Setting up a bar?”
“At this point we’d settle for the sufficient contents for the bar, but yeah. Liquor is scarce.”
“Then I guess we’ll have to make due with cigarettes. So spill it.”
“Reapers are different. You’ve seen it yourself.”
Monsters whispered through his mind.
“Make your point.”
“It’s not an easy one to make to a human.”
“I’m getting damn tired of people calling me human with a sneer in their voice.”
Isaiah took another drag on his cigarette, shook his head, and flicked off the ash. “Anyone ever tell you for a man who is living on borrowed time, you’ve got a lot of attitude?”
“I’ve been told a lot of things.”
Isaiah looked at him from the corner of his eye. “In this case, you ought to listen.”
Cole knew what Isaiah meant, what he was trying to tell him. He was in charge of this band, but his control was not absolute. At any time Cole could find himself under attack. As if he didn’t know it. The energy humming under his skin was a constant warning.
“Noted. Now, get on to telling me what’s going on with Addy.”
“She’s making her home here.”
“So I noticed.”
“You don’t approve.”
“No.”
“She can’t go back with you.”
“So you say.”
“It’s the way it is.”
“Why?”
“She’s Reaper now.”
“Even if that marriage you held is legal, she can be un-Reapered in the time it takes for a judge to hit his gavel on the stand.”
Isaiah’s lip lifted in a snarl, and his eyes took on a strange glow. The energy that pulsed out from him pummeled Cole with hard, invisible blows.
“You will not take her from me.”
Cole was beginning to get that impression. “And you can’t keep what’s not yours.”
“She’s my mate. There is no part of Addy that doesn’t belong to me.”
Cole didn’t like the images that came with that. “Being with you will only get her hurt—”
“You saw her,” Isaiah cut in. “Does she look hurt?”
“No.” Dammit, she didn’t. She looked like Addy, yet different somehow. “Not yet.”
In a wink the other man’s energy disappeared, and his face became a flat, expressionless mask. Cole wasn’t impressed.
“You’d do well not to rouse the beast in us.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to get answers.”
Isaiah took another drag on his cigarette, the tip glowed bright orange in the deepening gloom. Around them the crickets stilled. His energy seethed.
“Even if those answers don’t exist?”
“They exist. It’s just a matter of hunting them down.”
“Addy said you were persistent.”
“I showed up here, didn’t I?”
“I told her you would. She wasn’t happy about it.”
“Why?”
Isaiah stubbed out his cigarette on the sole of his boot. “She worries you’ll judge her.”
If she’d worried about that, she wouldn’t have left him with just a note. She would have told him personally rather than running. “What does it matter if I do or don’t?”
Isaiah looked at Cole from under the brim of his hat as he straightened. “You matter to her.”
Bullshit. Before the word could follow the thought, he heard familiar footsteps behind him. Addy.
He turned around, and she was standing there. He wanted to hold on to his anger, but she kept walking right on up to him, slid her arms around his waist, and made mincemeat of his intentions.
She looked up at Cole, those big blue eyes so familiar and full of love. “Why is it so hard for you to understand, Cole? You’re both my family.”
Jones’s energy snapped aggressively as he hugged her back; he couldn’t help it. “It’s more a matter of accepting, not understanding.” He shrugged. “Jones is not the man I would have chosen for you.”
“But he’s my choice.”
This close Cole couldn’t miss the contentment in his cousin. “So you keep telling me.”
But she was more than telling him. She was showing him. In ways he couldn’t ignore.
Isaiah growled again and caught Addy’s hand, tugging her back to his side. She went easily, sighing as she melted into Isaiah’s side as if she belonged there.
“Cole, you’ve treated me like I don’t know my own mind ever since you brought me home when I was eleven,” Addy said in that soft, controlled voice she used when she was about to lay down the law.
&n
bsp; Cole cut her off before she could finish. “You were fragile.”
“And you made me strong,” she countered just as quickly.
He didn’t like the way she was standing up to him. He didn’t like the sting of truth in her words, and he really didn’t like the way Isaiah wrapped her hand in his as if Cole was a threat from which she needed protection.
“And now you’re both my family,” Addy finished.
Addy and Isaiah stood there united, their energy so blended, their contentment so strong, Cole couldn’t even fire back. They were a couple. Whatever else was going on, that was the truth. And Addy was happy. Another truth. And he was going to have to like it. Fuck. That was the worst truth of all.
Cole took the last drag on his cigarette, the acrid smoke burning his lungs, before throwing it on the ground and grinding it out with the toe of his boot.
“You sure can pick ’em, Addy.” A Reaper. A goddamn Reaper.
“Yes, I can, and if you’d stop being so mad at yourself, you’d probably figure out there’s a lot to like in Isaiah.”
That was asking too much. “I’m never going to like that son of a bitch, and he’s never going to like me.”
Addy looked between Cole and Isaiah, and Isaiah shrugged. Her face fell and then took on that stubborn look Cole knew so well. He’d seen it in the mirror often enough.
“You could at least try.”
Cole didn’t want to notice the way Isaiah’s fingers stroked down Addy’s cheek in a comforting gesture. He didn’t want to see how it seemed to settle the distress within her. He didn’t want to see any of this. He wanted Addy back where she was safe.
As if she read his mind, she said, “Cole, you can’t protect me anymore.”
“The hell I can’t.”
“That scared woman is never who I wanted to be and not who I am now.” She hesitated, glanced at Isaiah, and ventured cautiously, “And there are complications.”
That snapped his head up. “That’s the third time someone’s suggested you’re in danger. Don’t you think it’s about time somebody told me what’s going on here?”
“There are people that want me dead.”
“Dammit, Addy,” Isaiah swore. “I told you we’d ease into that.”
Addy patted Isaiah’s hand. “Cole doesn’t need protecting, either. It drives him crazy not to know the way of things.”
That was the truth.
“Who wants to kill you?”
“Other Reapers.”
“There are more of you? How many?”
“We don’t know.”
“What do you mean ‘you don’t know’?”
“Ten, twenty, could be a thousand. We don’t know.”
“That’s one of the problems,” Addy said.
“One of what problems?”
“It’s not something Isaiah likes to talk about.”
“Tough.” If others were trying to kill Addy, Cole wanted to know about it.
She sighed. “Cole. You don’t need to know everything tonight.”
“I’ve been on your damn trail for two months, Addy. You think I want to wait one more minute for the answers to my questions?”
“I think you need to,” Isaiah interrupted.
“Why?”
“Because we need to discuss it.”
“You and I?”
“No.” Isaiah stated calmly. “The council and I.”
“Discuss what?”
“How much to tell an outsider.”
Son of a bitch. “I’ve got to wait on a bunch of Reapers to come to agreement?”
“Yes.”
“Is that as impossible as it sounds?”
A smile quirked Isaiah’s lips. “Pretty much.”
“Then someone better get me a drink.”
4
He had to wait for the whiskey in the small cabin they’d assigned to him. It took only twenty strides to get from one end to the other. He knew because he’d done it seven times now. He was about to measure off the other directions when a knock on the door interrupted his plans. He opened the door.
“That’d better be my whiskey.”
It was, though it was only half a bottle and was thrust at him with disgruntled charity by a scowling Gaelen.
“You’d damn well better savor that.”
Cole took the bottle. Liquid sloshed inside the container. “I intend to.”
Gaelen let it go reluctantly. Cole could understand. Sometimes the only thing standing between a man and pure loco was the balancing burn of whiskey. He stepped back and motioned to the dark interior. “Care for a shot?”
Gaelen pushed past him, heading straight for the mantel. When he turned, he had two tin cups in his hand. Clearly, he’d been here before.
“Damn nice of you to offer me my own whiskey.”
The cups clanked together as he set them on the too short, wobbly table.
Cole pulled the cork and poured a double measure in each cup. “I’m feeling downright charitable.”
Gaelen tossed back the whiskey and slammed the cup on the table. “I don’t care how you feel as long as you don’t get comfortable.”
Cole sipped his whiskey more slowly. And not only because it had the raw taste of liquor rushed to the bottle, but because Gaelen was a man who had the answers Cole wanted. It was just a matter of prying them out of him. Cole favored the philosophy that all he needed to get the right answers was the right prod. From the way Gaelen was guzzling that whiskey, Cole might have already found it.
“Not much chance of that.”
He poured the man another glass. Gaelen took it without a thanks. “I’ve heard you’re a stubborn son of a bitch.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
Gaelen cocked an eyebrow at him. And Cole realized under the shaggy hair and beard the man wasn’t as old as he’d assumed.
“What would you call it?” Gaelen prodded.
“Doing right.”
“You think it’s right to chase down your cousin and drag her home whether she wants to go or not?”
Cole placed his cup on the table and let his energy whip out. “Yes. Addy’s a Cameron.”
Gaelen didn’t even flinch. “We just fought a war over that issue. One soul can’t own another.”
Interesting phrasing. Cole swirled the whiskey in his cup. “Addy’s family.”
“Mine, too.”
“She didn’t even know you until three months ago.”
“She’s Reaper now.”
“So are the guys that tried to kill you back on the trail.”
Gaelen tossed back his drink. “Every family has its bad apples.”
Cole poured him another and probed carefully. “Seems like your whole tree’s plum bad.”
“Uh-huh.” Gaelen tossed back that drink, too, and held out the cup. Cole filled it with the last of the bottle. As the last drop hit the cup, Gaelen smiled. “Things are not always as they appear.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
The other man stood and tossed back the last shot of the whiskey as steadily as he had the first. “It would appear you’re not only not getting my whiskey, you’re also not getting any answers.” He turned. Right before he got to the door, he threw over his shoulder, “Reapers don’t get drunk.”
Cole watched the door close behind him and looked at his near-empty cup. “Well, hell.”
He could have mentioned that earlier.
* * *
Cole took the empty whiskey bottle and spun it on the table. Addy was a Reaper. He shook his head. His sweet, shy, scared-to-the-toes-inside, completely-composed-on-the-outside cousin a Reaper. Whatever the hell that meant. He stopped the spinning bottle with the flat of his hand.
What had Addy gotten them into? Christ, he was beginning to believe e
ven the Reapers themselves didn’t know what being Reaper meant. If that were the case, how was he supposed to protect her? How could Isaiah protect her? How could anyone protect her?
Fuck. Cole grabbed his cup and pushed back from the table. He needed air and space in which to think. He needed to release the energy whipping around inside him. He needed to ride hard until exhaustion gave him peace. He opened the door. Short of that, he needed a good brawl.
No guard challenged his exit. A gust of wind charging before the upcoming storm whipped his hat to the side. He caught it, resettling it with a wry smile. Clearly, Isaiah wasn’t set on preventing his leaving. Hell, the man was probably hoping Cole would hightail it out of here before the storm blew over. That wasn’t going to happen. Cole closed the door behind himself. Until he knew Addy was safe, Cole wasn’t going anywhere.
Raindrops hit his hat in fat plops. Energy pulsed on the breeze, and a sense of foreboding peppered him along with the rain. A ride was out, but might be he could pay Rage a visit if the Reapers had brought him here. Only one way to know.
Cole headed for the barn. Large and well built, it was clearly the first thing they’d put together. That was interesting. Apparently for Reapers as well as humans, a good horse meant survival.
The barn door swung silently open on well-oiled hinges. The scent of grain and horse wrapped Cole in a familiar hug. As a boy, he’d always gone to the barn to think, and as an adult, he still found the familiar scents and sounds soothing. He looked up and debated the empty hayloft, but he didn’t want to be stuck up in a loft if trouble came calling.
He whistled for Rage. A horse nickered. Another stomped its foot, but Rage’s familiar snort was nowhere to be heard. Damn.
To the right there was a wooden box up against the wall, probably for tack. Wandering over, he took a seat. Leaning back against the wall, stretching out his legs, he let the day’s weariness seep out. He wished it was as easy to relax his mind. When he’d left the ranch, his goal had been simple: to find Addy and bring her home. He’d found Addy, but simple was long past gone.
He lifted the cup to his lips, listening to the rain. Such a calm, peaceful sound in the middle of chaos. He tried to concentrate on it. And failed. The whiskey hit his tongue in a smooth flow of flavor, the bite coming on the back end as he swallowed, reminding him that with all things in life, you had to take the good with the bad.
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