As dawn lightened the sky, the hoard shrank back along with the departing shadows, flowing back into the craggy crevices and beneath the rocks and seeped into the parched ground where nothing would ever grow again. It left behind a malevolent stench that no amount of rain or snow or wind could eliminate.
When the sun set on this new day, hosts must be found to carry the seed of the hoard.
A new place would be found from which to harvest those hosts, a place that did not know what would be slinking toward it.
* * * * *
Owen was dreaming as he soared through the night sky. The wind was flowing through his hair, caressing his face, and the stars flashing by around him were spectacular to behold in their cold brilliance. His fingers were threaded between Rachel’s and as they sped against the backdrop of the ebony velvet heavens, her long blonde hair whirled around her like delicate tendrils. Clothed in a long white dress that cupped her silken shoulders so lovingly, the material molded to her shapely body and the bodice dipped low, barely concealing the dusky rose of her nipples.
He looked down to the black silk pants that clung to his own body. His chest and feet bare, a sheen of starlight reflected off the crisp hairs between his pecs.
Pulling his lady to him, he wrapped her with his body, her slender legs locking around his waist, his arms enveloping her in a gentle embrace. Together they moved through the midnight air in perfect harmony, her cheek pressed to his chest.
He had no idea toward where they were moving. One moment the sky around them was as black as pitch and then it began to lighten to a deep midnight blue, then navy then dark slate, dark blue, until the heavens surrounding them were a beguiling steel blue. They passed no clouds as they dropped from color to color to color but the air was a bit warmer there in that enticing hue.
They drifted down like weightless feathers onto a lush carpet of forest green velvet with spectacular sienna brown hills in the background and the sound of surf crashing rhythmically to shore somewhere nearby. The wind held the scent of jasmine with just a touch of pearly moisture clinging to the blades of grass.
“Where are we, my Owen?” Rachel asked.
“I don’t know, milady,” he answered as their bodies sank into the sweet texture of the grass. “Does it matter?”
He was stretched out on his back and she still clung to him, her long legs laying alongside his, her breasts crushed against his chest.
“All that matters is we are together,” she whispered. She pushed herself up and ran her hands over the muscles of his chest. “I love touching you.”
“I love you touching me,” he replied.
As it will in dreams, the scene changed abruptly and they were lying in a huge bed with soaring brass headboards and footboards of intricate swirls and knots and vines entwined with fanciful flowers. The brass posters were as big around in width as his muscled forearm and were so tall they disappeared into the heavens. From them floated wisps of gauzy white material like a canopy that snapped lazily in the breeze. Satins sheets stretched across a mattress made of a soft down material that made it feel as though they were still floating.
“Let me truly love you, my Owen,” she said to him, and in the next instant her lovely gown was gone and her lush body was there for him to behold.
“Do whatever you want to me, y chree,” he said huskily. In the twinkle of an amber eye, his black silk pants were gone.
A mischievous smile stretched across her full lips and she moved so she was sitting between his legs, nudging them farther apart until his growing erection flexed for her attention.
“Ah, my Owen,” she said. “Your companion looks cold.”
“Perhaps you could warm him.”
Her cool fingers closed around him and Owen sighed contentedly. He couldn’t have moved if his life had depended upon him doing so. He was completely at her mercy—willingly so—and life was surely good.
Wet warmth replaced her fingers and he lifted his head to find her gazing at him through the sweep of her pale eyelashes. There was such wicked devilishness in the look she gave him that he could not keep from trembling. Her little tongue was lapping at him, parting the cleft at the tip of his staff to gently probe inside. Her left hand was wrapped around the broad base of his cock while the right was kneading his balls, sliding a finger behind them to tease his anus.
“I’ll give you an eternity to stop that, wench,” he said in a throaty growl.
She smiled around his steely erection and took him deep into her mouth, her lips going almost all the way down it as she relaxed her throat. Her tongue constricted around him and drew upon his flesh. The sensation sent waves of acute pleasure rippling through his groin.
He buried his hands in her lovely hair and his fingernails grazed her scalp as he held her head. His eyes were closed, his breathing deep and slow as wave after wave of wondrous delight ebbed and flowed in his shaft. He was as hard as the titanium mined on his home world of Draíoct and he could feel the building pressure that ached to be relieved high in his groin.
Reaching down for his lady, he pulled her up and over him then turned so he was pressed between her silken thighs, pushing them wide with his knees. He ached to be inside her, needed to be inside her. He took hold of his cock and placed it against the opening of her cunt.
Rachel put a staying hand to his chest. “I am willing, my Owen, but remember I have never known a man.”
He had been about to plunge into her velvety sheath without thinking and he stilled, his body going as rigid as his cock. His amber eyes widened at the mistake he had almost made.
“Gently, my Owen,” she asked, her lovely face beaming. “Gently.”
With a groan, he lowered his lips to hers and claimed her mouth, needing the feel of her, the taste of her. It was a deep, plundering kiss and it left them both breathless when he lifted his head.
“I would cut off my cock myself before I would ever deliberately hurt you,” he swore.
Her nose wrinkled. “Aye, but it would grow back.”
He grinned. “Lucky for you. I am an expert with my staff, wench,” he teased, and kissed her again, grinding his erection against her nether curls.
“Braggart,” she allowed when he finally released her lips.
Owen arched one dark brow. “Not brag, milady. Fact.” He pressed the tip of himself between her wet folds—she was ready for him.
“Then show me, Lord Reaper,” she said, snaking her arms around his neck.
He pressed a little more, feeling the obstruction of the membrane that heralded her virgin.
“I won’t break, you know,” she said, wriggling her hips beneath him. She ran her bare foot up and down his calf like a kitten rubbing against its master.
Biting his lip, he pushed deeper into her channel and felt the release as her maidenhead gave way. He stilled, drawing in a breath.
“All the way,” she said, her hands sliding over his shoulders, down his arms to grip his hips. “All the way, my Owen!”
He settled into her, stretching her, filling her with his heat and hardness and the oozing juices that seeped from his head. He was breathing hard, striving not to let loose the climax that was beating at his groin with fiery fists.
She lifted her legs, wrapped them around his waist and arched up, taking him into her as far as he would go. “Like that, Reaper,” she hissed. “Like that!”
Sweat was gleaming on Owen’s face as he began to move inside her sweet body. He had never felt such intense pleasure as that which undulated over his shaft. Her sheath was warm and slick and her inner muscles were gripping him in hard little squeezes that both surprised and shocked him. There was no way he could prolong the roaring desire that was galloping up from the very core of him.
“My Owen!” she cried out, and he felt the quickening within her rippling. He increased his thrusts until they were both grunting with the sensations rocketing through them.
Her fingernails were digging into his back, spurring him on. His hands shot unde
r her to bring her up to him. He lifted her higher. She arched up to meet his thrust and when she did, it triggered another, more prolonged orgasm that had her trilling her release. Her legs tightened painfully around his waist. He felt her teeth grazing his shoulder. Her entire body trembled and he came so hard, so thickly, that he let his head drop back and he roared, spilling into her over and over again until he was spent, drained, milked of every last drop of cum. Gasping for breath, he lowered his body carefully atop hers and turned so she was snuggled in his arms, their flesh melded from forehead to forehead, breastbone to pubic bone, knee to toe.
Rachel clung to him, her body such a blessing to him. They were slick with sweat, scented of sex, and their blood was pumping wildly through their veins as they lay there unable to move.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you, my Owen,” she whispered back to him.
The sky around them darkened from steel blue to slate to midnight blue to black and the night breeze wafted warmly over them as they sank down beneath the gently flowing waves along the shoreline of dreamland.
Watching over them, a smile on Her lovely face, Morrigunia nodded Her pleasure. She had given Her beloved Reaper his wedding night though neither he nor his bride would remember it when they woke.
But the deed surely had been done and Rachel Lawrence was now well sown with her husband’s seed.
Chapter Eight
While Rachel was still asleep beneath the influence of whatever drug Glyn had given her, the Reapers sat at a table that had been laden down with more food than any three men should have been able to consume. Now, platters of bacon, ham, fried potatoes, toast, eggs and stewed apples were all empty. What was left of the gargantuan meal was on the plates of the diners and they were on their third pot of coffee. The dining room of the hotel—normally full of patrons for the morning meal—was empty except for the Reapers. Earlier Owen had gone to Glyn and Iden’s room, knowing they’d have the Sustenance the three of them would need to start the day.
“Here’s my question,” Iden said, munching on a strip of crispy bacon. “If there have been other humans infected with this and they are lying in graves somewhere in Manontaque Province, how the hell will we find them all? We can’t dig up every new grave between New Towne and Vardar.”
Glyn dredged his toast through the bright yellow of an over-easy egg yolk. “That’s a gods-be-damned good question. We have no way of knowing how many of those things there are up there, how many settlements and colonies have been tainted.”
Owen was sitting at an angle to the table with his long legs thrust out in front of him. His hands were clasped around a steaming cup of coffee. He had been the first to finish his huge breakfast and his plate was so clean it didn’t look as though it would need washing. “Remember the ghorets out on the prairie?” he asked, looking out the front window at the people standing across the street from the hotel and pointing that way.
“Which time?” Iden asked.
“When the drones were sent to take them out,” Owen replied, before taking a sip of his black coffee.
“Aye, what of it?” Iden inquired.
“He’s thinking about asking the Shadowlords to send the drones up there to incinerate the graves,” Glyn speculated. “Right?”
Owen nodded.
“The Bastion would never agree to that,” Iden said. “Taking out hundreds, maybe even thousands of graves would be…”
“The new graves don’t have the look of old ones,” Owen cut him off. “We would target only those graves that aren’t grown over with grass.”
“Even so, Owen…” Iden said.
“The graves of those up in New Towne all had the same look about them, Iden,” Owen interrupted again. “Not one blade of grass was growing anywhere near those graves and the first victim to die had been in the summer.”
“So you think those affected by the Drochtáirs will have barren land around their resting sites,” Glyn said.
“I don’t think it,” Owen replied. “I know it.”
“Then we first need to contact Lord Kheelan to see if he can send the drones up there,” Iden said. “He’ll have to contact the Bastion and give them a heads-up. What if they don’t agree to allow us to do what you are suggesting?”
“We’ll have to do it anyway and handle the repercussions later,” Owen replied. “We sure as hell don’t want the Drochtáirs crossing the border and infecting our people.”
“I hope to all that is holy the Ceannus don’t know about this new threat to humankind,” Glyn said.
“Who says they don’t?” Owen asked, and when his companions turned a shocked face to him, he shrugged. “They got here somehow. If the Drochtáir is the seed from which Raphian sprang, you’d best believe the Ceannus have something to do with them being on Terra. Hell, they could have arrived with the first ship Morrigunia destroyed for all we know and escaped up into the Provinces.”
“Or they could have been sent up there where we have no jurisdiction,” Glyn suggested.
“Aye, that’s most likely the way of it,” Owen said. “They were sent to infect the Northmen who the Ceannus knew would eventually slip across the border to infect our people.”
“And their Míliste can’t handle something like this,” Iden said.
Owen finished the last of his coffee and put the cup down on the table. “I’m going up to check on my lady,” he said, and stood. He dug into the pockets of his pants before he realized he had no money.
“Go on,” Glyn said. “We’ll take care of it.”
“I’ll pay you back,” Owen promised.
After he was gone, Iden and Glyn sat quietly for a few moments then Glyn exhaled a long, hard sigh.
“This could get ugly,” he said.
Iden scooped up the last of his fried potatoes before shoving the plate away. “You mean with the woman?”
“Aye,” Glyn answered. “You remember what happened to Cynyr when he took Aingeal to mate?”
“Owen already knows he’s going into the con cell when he gets back to the Citadel.”
“Something tells me he’s going to be in there a long, long time if things go the way I suspect they will,” Glyn said. “Abusing the tenerse already has the Shadowlords pissed at him. I suggest we make him ask the High Council’s permission before taking Rachel to mate because you and I both know he’s going to go after her father before this is over and done and he won’t ask permission for that.”
“Don’t you think they know what he’ll do, Kullen?” Iden asked. “I know gods-be-damned well they know every move we make before we even make it.”
“Aye, I know it too. We’ve been given free will to act as we see fit but there are guidelines we were meant to follow. We all know the rules and are expected to uphold those rules, not break them. When we step outside the guidelines and take matters into our own hands as Cynyr did with Aingeal, they won’t stop us. Neither will they turn a blind eye to our sins. They gave us that free will so we can fuck ourselves over and suffer the consequences.”
“Owen’s a big boy,” Iden said. “It’s his life, his mistakes and his consequences to suffer. If you want to remind him to ask permission first, then do it, but what happens if the High Council forbids it? He’ll do it anyway.”
“You’re right, but he’s my best friend, Iden. I have to at least try.”
* * * * *
Rachel was awake and sitting on the edge of the bed when Owen came into their room. Her hands were clutching the mattress in a death grip, a fine sheen of perspiration covering her exquisite features. She looked up at Owen with those lovely violet eyes and his heart did a merciless squeeze in his chest.
“You’re going to have to help me, milord,” she said. “I have to… I need to…” A dark blush appeared on her high cheekbones.
Owen managed to smile as he walked over to the bed and leaned over to put his hands on her upper arms and lift her from the bed. “Do you want me to carry you into the bathing chamber?”
/> “I can walk,” she said, afraid he’d hurt her more if he lifted her in his arms.
With him bracing her, he walked her slowly into the little room. She’d never seen a toilet before for they only had outhouses at the Colony. When he explained what it was and how it worked, she was so fascinated she didn’t think before hiking up the skirt of her gown and sitting down.
Owen left the room to give her privacy. After leaving Iden and Glyn, he’d stopped in the kitchen to order breakfast brought up to her. He had also spoken with the desk clerk about sending someone to fetch the priest. He had no intention of leaving Rachel in Saint Marie without the protection of his name. When the knock came at the door, he thought it would be her breakfast. Instead, it was the priest, looking nervous.
“Milord,” the priest said, and Owen noticed the man’s hands were shaking as he clutched the Good Book.
“I am Owen Tohre,” Owen said, stepping aside to allow the man in.
“I’m Father O’Connell,” the priest said. They shook hands and the priest glanced around the room. “Where is the lady?” When he heard the toilet flush, his face infused with color. He glanced up at Owen. “You will need witnesses for this to be legal.”
Owen nodded and silently sent a mental call down to his fellow Reapers. “They’ll be here in a minute,” he told the priest.
“Milord?” Rachel called out to him.
“Have a seat, Father,” Owen said. “I’m sure she’ll want to freshen up before we do this.”
Rachel hurt so badly she could not lever herself up from the toilet and was silently crying when Owen came into the bathing chamber. She looked up at him with such misery, he wanted to find her father and tear the bastard’s head off.
“Will you wet a rag so I can wash my face?” she asked.
“I can,” he replied, and did just that, waiting until she was finished then told her the priest had arrived.
Rachel looked down at the coarse black dress she was wearing and sighed. “It is bad luck to marry in black,” she said in a low voice.
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