A Reaper's Love (WindWorld)

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  The Exchange

  Taylor had never been so enraged in his entire thirty-four years. His mind was seething with brutal, vicious things he’d like to do to Cree and Sorn but the worst punishment he reserved for the man he knew was the one responsible for his predicament.

  “Fucking asshole,” he said through clenched teeth.

  He was locked inside a containment cell at the Exchange. The titanium-steel bed upon which he lay was hard beneath his back but he had ripped the mattress from it and the stuffing now lay scattered over the titanium-steel floor. What remained of the food they had passed through to him was splattered on the titanium walls dented with his repeated punches.

  “Let me out of here!” he shouted.

  He knew someone was watching him. There was a camera in the corner of the cell but he couldn’t get to it. He glared at it then lifted his hand to salute the watcher in the time-honored greeting in which men engaged.

  Doubling his fists, he pressed them savagely to his eyes and slammed his heels against the bed. To the watcher he knew his actions were childish but the frustration he was feeling had to be vented in some fashion else he’d go mad.

  “Let your mind be at ease, Reaper.”

  The soft voice that broke into his self-pitying startled him and he sat up as though he were a marionette whose strings had been jerked.

  She was sitting suspended midway up the wall with Her long legs crossed, slender white hands resting on Her knees. Her long red hair flowed down to Her hips and the bodice of her pale-green gown clung to Her bosoms like a second skin.

  “Mo Regina!” he said, shooting to his feet. He went to one knee before Her, his right fist doubled against his heart, his head bowed.

  “Get up, My Reaper,” She said.

  He raised his head. She was so incredibly beautiful with her piercing blue eyes and lush lips that he was suddenly as hard as a rock. He didn’t dare get to his feet for She would see the evidence of what She was doing to him.

  “I have seen erections many times,” She said with a lilting laugh. “I have enjoyed them more times than that.” She lifted a hand and waved him to his feet.

  Slowly he pushed up from the floor, covering the painful bulge in his black cotton pants with his cupped hands.

  “Sit,” She ordered.

  “My apologies if I offend you, Mo Regina,” he mumbled as he returned to the bunk.

  “The day a Reaper’s stalwart erection offends Me will never come, Taylor,” She told him.

  It was painful to look at Her, and as long as he did, the erection remained. It was only by lowering his eyes to the floor that the hardness began to leave him.

  “How may I serve you, Mo Regina?” he asked.

  Morrigunia—the Triune Goddess—sighed deeply. “It is how I may serve you, sweet Taylor,” She replied.

  “I have no right to ask Your help, Your Grace,” he said. “I am not one of Yours.”

  “No, but I am extending My protection and help to you. You have every right to be angry that your life-mate has been taken from you.”

  He flinched. The agony of Her words was like a burning brand thrust against his heart. “She is lost to me?” he whispered.

  “I will set it to rights.”

  He looked up and instantly the erection returned as strong as before but he ignored it. “You will give her back to me?”

  “I did not take her from you in the first place,” She stated. “That was—as Viraiden Cree surmised—the doing of the Storm God Raphian. It was His plan to begin making Rogues for My enemies to use.” Her smile was vindictive. “But His plan did not go as He wished for it to. There is a problem with transferring Panthera hellions into human males.”

  Taylor frowned. “I am not following, Your Grace.”

  “There is a reason female life-mates who are given their mate’s fledgling have psi powers. It is imperative. The women may not know they have the powers, the Reaper may not sense them—though that is rare—but they are there nevertheless. Lupine and Hell-hound hellions are vastly different from a Panthera’s. They can be transferred to a human male without consequence. Not so the Panthera hellion. When a Panthera hellion is transferred into a human male madness ensues. Unless there are psychic abilities within the male the creature cannot communicate with the host. It tries and it is in the trying that the human male loses his mind. The abilities with which he was born kept that from happening to Coulter.”

  “They hear a voice and can’t understand where that voice is coming from,” he said.

  “Precisely so. It drives them insane.”

  “Hassan didn’t know that.”

  “Nor did Raphian. Unfortunately He does now,” She said. “The next time He will direct his minions to look for males with psi powers. When that happens, the new Alpha Reaper at the Exchange will be there to put a cog in Raphian’s wheel.”

  “Coulter will be the new Alpha?” he asked.

  “He will and you will work closely with him to see the job done.” She held up Her hand when he started to protest. “The hellion inside you will be transferred to him and you will get your own back. I intend to see that happen. Regrettably, it won’t be for a while yet.”

  “He has my woman now!” he protested.

  “He does but he will not be allowed to keep her. Until the fledgling inside you comes to maturity, the Transference cannot take place. You must wait—”

  “He has my woman!” he repeated.

  “And she will be returned to you. I will erase all memory of him from her mind when the time comes. Have no fear of that.”

  “But he’s with her now,” he said.

  “Do not belabor the point, Reaper,” She chastised him. “When the time comes, I will take your life-mate from him. The Gravelord will do as I bid. Have no fear of that. Let him have his moment of freedom before I rein him in.”

  When he would have argued again about his life-mate, the goddess shot out Her hand to silence him. His eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped on the bed in deep slumber.

  “Your woman will be safe with the Gravelord. I will see to it, Reaper,” She said softly as She floated down to the floor and walked over to look down at him.

  Among all the Reapers Taylor was perhaps the most handsome in Her eyes. Not the sexiest—that designation lay with a man as yet to be brought to Terra—but the sleeping Reaper ran a close second to Owen Tohre.

  She reached down to smooth a lock of hair from his forehead. “I will take care of you, sweet Taylor. Sleep easy and deep.”

  She took one last look at Taylor Reynaud and slowly faded away.

  * * * * *

  “He was talking to someone,” the guard reported to the Supervisor. “I couldn’t see who but at one point, he got off the bunk and knelt with his fist to his heart.”

  The Supervisor nodded. “So he had company. That is not surprising. Thank you, Carlson. You may go.”

  When the guard left, the Supervisor got up from his desk and turned to the windows. He liked looking out over the grounds of the Exchange. It calmed him, reinforced the position he held there for he viewed what he surveyed as his realm. It had been entrusted into his care and he had dedicated his life to it. It was the wife and child—the family—he had never had nor would have. It was everything to him and he watched over it as a father.

  “You were here, Mo Regina,” he said. “I did not sense You but You were here. Did You get what You came for from our young Reaper?”

  He wasn’t surprised when the goddess did not reply. She rarely did. Her words were generally reserved for Her beloved Reapers. She merely tolerated Her Shadowlords. When She interacted with them, it was generally to cast a punishment of some kind upon them.

  “So are You sending me a new Alpha? Perhaps one with strings attached? One with powers to rival my own?”

  That thought did not sit well with him. He had enough trouble trying to keep Misha Fallon in line.

  The phone rang and he turned. He knew it was his brother at Tearmann. H
e’d been expecting the call and dreaded having to answer. He picked it up and put it to his ear as though it were a rattlesnake. “Aye?” he said.

  “Neal is here with me,” his eldest brother said without preamble. “Get your ass over here. Now!”

  The phone went dead with a loud click.

  He had always been afraid of his older brother. That brother was a Ridge Lord—had to be in order to be in charge of Tearmann—and though he could be a charming, funny man, he was also a lethal weapon in his own right. He had terrorized the childhoods of his younger siblings although Neal got less of the punishment since he did not have the psi powers of his older brothers.

  “Neal is entirely human,” the elder had once said. “We must be careful not to damage him too greatly.”

  But that compassion did not extend to the middle child. He might be the Supervisor of the Exchange and wield tremendous authority in his own right but his eldest brother considered him gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe at times and treated him with almost the same regard.

  The Supervisor informed Cobb he would be out of the office for a while then willed himself to the facility at Tearmann.

  The Supervisor of Tearmann snarled as his brother appeared at the end of the room. There had never been any love to be lost between the two and the elder had little patience with a man he considered one step above a bully.

  “Sit down, Constantine,” he commanded.

  Pursing his lips tightly together to keep from saying something he knew he’d regret, the man most people knew as John Doe took a seat beside his youngest brother—giving Neal Hesar a faint smile.

  “He’s in a very bad mood. Tread carefully, Costin,” he said, using his brother’s Romanian nickname as had the Rogue.

  “You have a problem,” Alexandru Hesar told his middle brother. “What do you intend to do about it?”

  “I-I—”

  “Speak up. I don’t have all day to listen to you stammer!”

  “Give him a chance to answer, Sandu,” Neal said quietly. He had always been the peacemaker between his volatile brothers.

  Alexandru folded his arms. “I’m waiting!”

  “I have an agent with the Rogue. She will be bringing him to the Exchange.”

  “No,” the elder Hesar brother said. “He will be bringing her to the Exchange. Obviously he is the one in charge and not Albright.”

  “We will question him and if it is decided he is a threat, we will…”

  “You will what?” Alexandru demanded. “How will you handle him, Constantine?”

  “We will control him.”

  Alexandru’s upper lip quirked. “How do you propose to do that when the man is a Superlord?”

  Constantine swallowed hard. “A Ridge Lord?” he inquired. If anyone would know, it would be Sandu.

  “No,” his eldest brother replied. “Something entirely different. His hellion has given him the designation of Gravelord—for whatever conceited purpose. He has very powerful abilities that rival my own. You will have great difficulty controlling him, Costin. If you think Fallon was a problem, you have yet to experience real trouble.”

  “All right,” Constantine said. “Tell me what I should do. Obviously you have the answer where I don’t.”

  “Of course I do,” Alexandru replied. “Not of my own accord, I must admit. We have Mo Regina to thank for the solution.”

  “Which is?”

  “As soon as Reynaud’s hellion has reached full maturity, we will exchange it with his rightful one—the one nestled inside Coulter.”

  “I’d already planned to do that,” Constantine acknowledged.

  “Here’s something I wonder if you have considered,” Alexandru snapped. “A Panthera hellion is ten times more potent than either Lupine or Hell-hound.”

  “Yes, I know this, but do you think it will be an easy task to make such an exchange?”

  “We will be able to utilize Albright to remedy the situation,” Alexandru told him.

  “She has great command over him,” Neal put in. “He considers her his life-mate and for the moment we are sure he has convinced—”

  “Influenced,” Alexandru corrected. “He is mentally taken her over, using her body against her.”

  “Women are so easily swayed by the use of sexual pleasure,” Neal said. “At least I have found that to be the case with mine.”

  “Who has no psi powers,” Constantine said. “Women with such abilities are harder to influence, Nealson.”

  “True,” their elder brother agreed. “Coulter will use up vast amounts of his power to keep Albright under his control. Her heart—and mind—belongs to and with Reynaud so manipulating her will not be as easy as he thinks. He is obsessed with her, is trying hard to make her forget her true life-mate. He doesn’t realize that keeping her under his influence is going to be a drain on his psi powers and that is to our advantage. Thankfully he will lose a tenth of his powers once the hellion is removed. When the time comes, the goddess will intercede.”

  “Why is She allowing this in the first place?” Neal asked. “Why not put a stop to it before it happens? If Coulter compromises Albright…”

  “He won’t. Mo Regina is keeping a careful eye on the situation and will prevent anything untoward happening,” Alexandru told him. “She’s giving Coulter false hope that he will eventually make Albright his own. I suspect it is all in Her plan to bring Coulter to his knees and keep him there at Her command.”

  “Surely the hellion knows it cannot win in a battle with Morrigunia,” Neal said.

  “The hellion inside Coulter is male and arrogant as all Panthera hellions are but you must remember, it is being influenced by Raphian and that one has always thought He could best Mo Regina.”

  “Ah,” Neal said. “I hadn’t considered that into the equation.”

  “Raphian has offered Albright to Coulter as a reward. You believe women are easily swayed by sexual pleasure. Men are controlled by it,” Constantine said. “It is a driving force that makes even the strongest and most intelligent men vulnerable. When a man is rutting, he isn’t thinking of protecting himself or commanding a situation. All he is thinking is to satisfy the itch in his cock.”

  “And that is when we will overpower him,” Alexandru stated. “When his mind is on the woman.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Dixon opened the hotel door and ushered her inside. He had her physical body completely under his control but she was fighting him mentally. He had to put a stop to that as soon as possible.

  Closing the door behind them, he engaged the lock and deadbolt then turned to her. She had her back to him and he went to her, put his hands up to cup her shoulders. His touch put a dent in the shield she’d thrown up around her mind. The moment he placed his lips to that sensitive plane where neck met shoulder, she let her head fall to one side. As he nibbled at her neck, he ran his palms up and down her slender arms, pressed his heavy erection against her sweet little ass.

  “I want you,” he whispered.

  He felt the surge of resistance flow through her. She was fighting him hard. Though she trembled at his touch, she kept that wall firmly in place though it was beginning to buckle.

  “You want me too.”

  “No,” she mumbled.

  His voice was more breath than sound. “Yes, you do.”

  He turned her to face him, crooked a finger under her chin to tilt her face up to him.

  “You want me as desperately as I want you.”

  “Please,” she whimpered.

  He smiled. He had her eyes locked on him—unable to look away—and he watched them flare in desperation as he lowered his mouth to hers.

  “Give in, little one,” he said against her lips. “You know you want to.”

  “No,” she said but he could feel her struggle dwindling.

  He tilted his head to one side. “Do you see his face?”

  “Yes,” she said and swallowed hard, tears forming in her eyes.

  “Then let’s do thi
s,” he said. He encircled her with his free arm though he kept possession of her chin. “I want you to picture his hair. Can you see it?”

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “Now, I want you to replace that straight dark-brown hair with curly black hair.”

  “I—”

  “Curly black hair,” he repeated, nodding to make her do as he willed. “Do you see that curly black hair now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now let the features beneath that hair fade completely so what you see is just a soft blurry oval.”

  In his mind he willed the face of Taylor Reynaud to vanish.

  “Are the features gone?”

  A single tear eased down her cheek. “Yes,” she murmured.

  “Okay, let’s give that soft blurry oval a harder edge,” he instructed. “Make the parameters of that face square-jawed with a bold, defined chin.”

  Her brow furrowed.

  “Do it, Laci,” he insisted, using the power of his voice to drive the command deep into her subconscious. “Change the structure of that face.”

  The moment the image congealed in her mind he saw her chin quiver and wasted no time.

  “Eyes are beginning to form in that blank face now. Do you see them?”

  She nodded.

  “Deep-set dark-brown eyes beneath a strong slash of eyebrow and above a strong aquiline nose. Do you see the brows and eyes and nose?” He wanted her to see him as he had been, his eyes the color he preferred.

  “Yes.” The word was a reluctant sigh.

  “And the lips? Those lips are full and smiling. Can you see the smile? Can you feel it?”

  Once more she nodded and another tear tracked down her face.

  “That smile creates twin dimples in the cheeks and when you look harder, you will see a deep cleft is beginning to appear in the chin.” He waited a few ticks of the clock. “Is the cleft there?”

  “Yes.” Her gaze was on his chin.

  “Can you see the entire face now?”

  Her eyes lifted and once more melded with his. She was losing the hold she had on her mind. He could feel it, sense it in the way her shoulders drooped and her eyelids flickered.