Tears of the Reaper

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  She put the thought into his head and he balked.

  “There is no need for me…”

  “On your knees,” She stressed. “There is no other way to do this.”

  He stared at Her for a long moment then obeyed, sinking to his knees before Her, a muscle grinding in his lean jaw.

  “Since you are being so biddable, beg me,” She said. “Beg me to impose the payment on you, Reaper.”

  His pride felt the sting of Her words. He hated to be humbled. The thought of being at Her mercy, being forced to do Her bidding rankled and he hesitated.

  “What is gained without effort is lost without thought—but what is gained through difficulty…” She began.

  “Is kept with care,” he finished. “I know.”

  “Do you?” She countered. “Not yet you don’t, but you will.”

  He wanted to get it over with. “Tell me what I need to do, mo Regina.”

  She clasped his cheeks between Her hands. “You can do better than that. Try again.”

  His eyes narrowed with shame. “Mo Regina, I am asking you.”

  She tilted Her chin.

  He swallowed hard, refusing to look away from Her steady scrutiny. “I am begging you, mo Regina.”

  “You will do as I ask?”

  “Aye, mo Regina,” he agreed, feeling a chill run down his spine.

  “When I ask it?”

  “Aye, mo Regina,” he said.

  “You will make no protest at what I will demand of you?”

  “No, mo Regina. I will not protest what you ask of me.”

  “You swear it?”

  “I swear it.”

  “Your oath is unbreakable?”

  “Aye, mo Regina. I will not renege on my vow to you.”

  Her slow smile made his blood run cold.

  “Then from this day forward you will be designated as my consort,” She said.

  Owen blinked. “Your consort?” he whispered, terrified of the implication of that term. “What does that…?”

  “My consort,” She stated. “My mate. The one who is to service me when I desire it, where I desire it and for as long as I desire it.” She ran her finger across his forehead. “When I call, you will come, Reaper.”

  The repercussions of what he had sworn to hit him like a sledgehammer between the eyes and he scrambled to his feet, backing away from Her with a hand out as though to ward Her off. He shook his head. “No, I can not…”

  “You have already sworn,” She said. “You made your pledge to Me and I have accepted. There will be no denial, my Reaper.”

  He staggered away from Her, turning his back. He came up short as he looked into the she-wolf’s violet gaze looking up at him with such devotion, such trust, he wanted to scream.

  “I could take her from you,” Morrigunia said, “but I will allow you to keep her. After all, I put her in your path, Owen.”

  “So she can hate me for breaking my vows to her?” he challenged, tears flooding his eyes.

  “She will share you with me,” the goddess said. “It will bruise her tender heart each time you come to me but she will accept it. What other choice will she have?”

  Owen was looking into the little she-wolf’s sweet face. He wanted to bury his face in her golden fur and hold on to her.

  “I will share you with her, Reaper,” he heard Morrigunia say.

  In a flash of coppery light, She was gone and the harsh winter wind swirled around him. He remained where he was, standing there feeling helpless and hopeless and lost. When the little she-wolf came to him—sliding forward on her belly, her tail low in submission to him—his heart felt as though it would break.

  He hunkered down in front of her. “I don’t deserve you, mo filliu bwoirryn,” he said, calling her his she-wolf. He scratched her behind her pretty ear. “I truly don’t deserve you.”

  The she-wolf whimpered and licked his hand. She turned over to present her belly to him and he realized as he looked down at her head, the brand that had marred her fur was gone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  He had shifted back into his lupine form and led her across the open ground, keeping his stronger pace slower to accommodate her. He had brought down two more rabbits, proud to bring one back to her and to drop it at her feet before going after his own. It made his heart soar to provide for his mate and he had scampered off feeling like the warrior he knew himself to be.

  Nudging her as they neared the town of New Junction, he sat down on the ground and she sat beside him. They were at the end of the street leading into the town and only a few hundred yards from the hotel where cheerful light shone from the windows. He had yet to try to communicate with her but he could sense her budding awareness and her eagerness to learn. With each female—or so Arawn had told him—the Transition was different. Aingeal, Cynyr Cree’s mate, had taken hers in stride, but Arawn’s woman Danielle had fought it every step of the way. He turned his head toward her.

  “How are you, milady?” he sent.

  Her head cocked from side to side as though she were trying to understand his words. He repeated them and she yipped at him, her tail swishing from side to side.

  “Owen?” she whispered as though afraid to let anyone hear.

  “I am here, my love,” he said.

  Her tail swished even faster and she pounced playfully at him, butting him with her head.

  “You are liking this, aren’t you?” he asked aloud as he shifted to human shape, his black uniform in place.

  She reared up on her hind legs, her front paws on his chest and lapped at his whiskered chin then she sneezed as if she didn’t like the rough feel of his unshaven skin.

  “We need to go into town and into the hotel,” he told her. “Can you shift yet?”

  Once more her head shifted from side to side in query.

  “Just think of what you looked like when we first met,” he said. “Hold that image in your mind and…”

  Poof! Just like that she changed and was standing there in the all-together, her eyes wide, hands crossing over her bare breasts and golden triangle. She bent one knee, her face flaming. “Owen!” she complained.

  He fanned his hand over her and as the black silk shirt and black leather pants clung to her shapely frame, her face turned redder still.

  “I can’t wear these!” she gasped.

  He reached out to take her into his arms, one hand to the back of her head to cradle her cheek against his chest. “You are a Reaper now, milady. It is what we wear.”

  She looked down at the form-fitting clothing and he could feel her embarrassment as the coolness of the leather caressed her rump and the silk of the shirt abraded her bare nipples. She gave him an admonishing look.

  “You’ll get used to it,” he told her.

  “Reaper?” she said then gave him a startled look as though everything had suddenly settled into place. “Owen? What happened to me? How was I able to…? I was a wolf!”

  “We’ll discuss it later, sweeting,” he said. “Where it’s warmer.”

  She shuddered hard then nearly fell, sagging against him so he had to fumble to keep her erect. Her face had become ghastly pale and her eyes shockingly wide. “Owen?” she questioned.

  Owen flinched as something cold and hard suddenly settled in his hand and he looked down to see a filled vac-syringe.

  “Give it to her,” whispered the voice in his head.

  “Milady,” he said. “Sit.”

  He helped her to the cold ground and hunkered down beside her. She was shivering uncontrollably now, her lips trembling and blue and she was looking at him with such bewilderment it cut him to the quick.

  “This is tenerse, Rachel, and each of us must have it.” He pushed aside her hair.

  She nodded and before she could speak, he had plunged the wickedly fiery potion into her neck. Though he heard her suck in a breath, she did not cry out. He hastily massaged the injection site, the vac-syringe disappearing as quickly as it had come.

  �
�Can you stand?” he asked. It didn’t take long for the drug to work, to speed through her system.

  “Aye, my Owen,” she said, wincing only a little as she held on to him to get to her feet.

  The wind whirled around them, sending slivers of ice into their faces. He draped his arm over her shoulder and urged her toward the town. The sun had long since set and most of the town had shut down. Only the hotel and saloon lights blazed as well as a single lamp glowing from the sheriff’s office.

  As soon as they walked into the hotel, Rachel pressed up against him so tightly it seemed as though she were trying to crawl inside his skin. Brother Edward and Healer Benjamin were the only two people sitting in the lobby and their presence had unnerved her.

  “It’s all right,” Owen said. “They are friends.”

  Glyn was coming down the stairs and stopped in mid-stride when he saw Owen. A look of relief came over the Reaper’s face and he called up to Iden. “The wandering troublemaker is home, Belial,” he said.

  Iden came to the balcony and peered over. “You okay, Tohre?” he asked.

  “Aye.”

  “Your lady okay?” Iden pressed.

  “Aye.”

  “See you in the morning then,” Iden said then turned away from the balcony.

  Glyn came off the stairs and hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “He has company,” he quipped, “so I’ll be bunking with Benjie tonight.”

  “I hope he doesn’t snore,” the healer commented.

  “He does,” Owen replied.

  Glyn smiled at Rachel. “It is good to see you again, milady.”

  Rachel burrowed her face against Owen’s shoulder.

  “She’s a bit shy,” Owen said.

  Glyn nodded. “Lord Kheelan has been in contact,” he told Owen. “He’s sent the train and we are to meet it, Arawn and Cynyr and their ladies in New City by tomorrow.” He thrust his hands into the pockets of his pants. “I told him we’d be there.”

  “You will, but I’ve business to see to,” Owen said. “I’ll join you when I can.”

  “Owen…” Glyn began.

  “I doubt the train will leave without me since I’m the main fare on Lord Kheelan’s menu,” Owen said.

  “Well, I’ve got three months coming too,” Glyn grumbled, “so I’ll be right there beside you.”

  “Three months?” Owen asked, his face pale. “Why so long?”

  “Two months for asking him to have the drone shoot down the fucking wall and a month for my part in…” He shrugged. “You know.” He glanced at Rachel.

  “He’s going to punish you for that?” Owen said. He shook his head. “Hell no. Hell no! That ain’t gonna happen, Kullen.”

  “It’s either me or a month tacked on to yours,” Glyn warned.

  “I’ll take the month then,” Owen said. “I’m not going to allow you to be punished for something I ordered you to do.”

  “Well, you didn’t rightly order me…” Glyn said.

  Rachel pushed back from her mate. “You are to be punished?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  “It’s nothing,” Owen was quick to say, hiding the truth of it from her. “Five, six months in prison. It’ll be a piece of cake.”

  Glyn pursed his lips and made no comment.

  “Punished for coming after me?” she asked, searching his eyes.

  “Punished for back-talking a Shadowlord,” he admitted. “They don’t like to be shown disrespect. This has nothing to do with you, dearling.”

  She stared into his eyes and somehow gleaned the truth of it. Moisture gathered in her pretty eyes. “You are being punished for taking me to wife without permission.”

  Owen’s jaw clenched. “Rachel, no. I…”

  “You are,” she said. “I see it in your mind.”

  Owen looked helplessly to Glyn.

  “You shared your blood and two parasites with her, Tohre. She can read you like a book now,” Glyn reminded him.

  “What else will you have to pay for?” she asked.

  He shut down his thoughts as though he’d turned a spigot, hiding them from her. He’d have to be careful from here on out for her perception was far too keen for his comfort. “Nothing,” he told her. “That’s all.”

  Rachel stepped out of his arms. “Don’t lie to me, my Owen,” she said. “Never lie to me.”

  “I am not lying, wench,” he said. “They will punish me for Joining with you without getting their permission first and possibly for ordering Glyn to help me with the Transference but that’s all. I’ve not committed any other crimes.”

  Yet, he thought, but kept that to himself.

  “Will they take me from you?” she asked, her bottom lip quivering.

  “I’d die before I’d let them,” he vowed. “No, they will not do that.”

  She looked at Glyn.

  “No, wench,” Glyn told her. “The Joining will stand.”

  Owen held out his hand and was a bit surprised when she readily took it in hers. “I am starving, milady,” he said, “and I can hear your stomach growling. Let’s get something to eat then go to bed early. I am beat.”

  “We need to be up early in the morning to make it to New City by noon,” Glyn insisted.

  “I’ll be out of here at first light,” Owen said.

  “Going where?” Rachel asked, but she’d already seen the thought in his mind before he could cloak it.

  He looked down at her. “It has to be done, milady,” he said.

  There was no love for her father in Rachel Lawrence’s heart—only worry for her husband. She feared for his safety but she knew no amount of talk would sway him from what he planned. All she could do was trust in his ability to make his way back to her unscathed. He was—after all—a Reaper and her father deserved whatever was going to be meted out to him.

  “I am hungry,” she said, lowering her head, her fingers gripping Owen’s tightly. She had been taught to be a submissive woman and though it terrified her and every womanly instinct screamed at her to argue with him about this, she would show that acquiescence to Owen. She would be the meek and mild, dutiful and docile, and obedient wife.

  “Have you eaten?” Owen asked Glyn.

  “Aye, we have. You should have seen Eddie and Benjie packing away the grub,” Glyn said. “And that boy of Eddie’s?” He shook his head. “All he talked about was being saved from drowning by the big, bad Reaper. You’ve got a hero-worshipper on your hands, Tohre.”

  “No wonder your eyes are brown, Kullen,” Owen said. “You’re so full of it.”

  “You should talk!” Glyn snapped. “You with your…”

  Rachel smiled as she listened to the Reapers exchanging insults. She glanced at Brother Edward and Healer Benjamin and when they smiled shyly at her for the first time in her life, she finally began to relax.

  Though the others had eaten, they joined Owen and Rachel in the hotel dining room and kept up a constant stream of lively conversation. Edward’s wife Betsey came down to fetch a glass of warm milk for their little daughter who was having trouble sleeping in this unfamiliar environment. She greeted Rachel and gave her such a look of gratitude, Rachel knew everything would be all right from there on out. By the time they all went up to bed, Rachel was at ease and looking forward to lying in her husband’s arms.

  “I asked the maid to draw you a bath,” Owen said as they climbed the stairs behind the Edward and Glyn. Benjamin had stayed behind to engage in a game of chess with the desk clerk.

  “That will be heavenly,” she said, leaning into him.

  They bid Glyn and Edward good night and kept walking down to the room to which Glyn had given Owen the key. After he unlocked the door then opened it, he bent to swoop her up in his arms.

  “What are you doing?” she said, laughing.

  “Taking my woman over the threshold so the beasties won’t be plaguing her,” he said, carrying her inside.

  “What beasties?” she asked, her hand toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.


  “Those you trip over when you know nothing was in your path or hide things from you or cause the cake to fall or…”

  “No cake of mine will ever fall, my Owen,” she said.

  He stood there holding her, looking down into the remarkable color of her lovely eyes. “Why do you call me that?” he asked gently.

  “My Owen?” she asked, and at his nod, she lifted one slender shoulder. “Because that is what you are.”

  “But did you hear it somewhere?” A look of pain crossed his face. “Did someone tell you to say it?”

  “I dreamt I called you that,” she admitted. “Is that what you mean?”

  He feared Morrigunia had whispered the endearment into her susceptible mind but what did it really matter? He was hers just as she was his. He eased his arm from beneath her legs and let her slide down his body.

  “I know this isn’t much but I swear to you I’ll build you a home of your own with my own hands just as you want it when we return to Saint Marie,” he said huskily.

  The room wasn’t as nice as the one Owen and Rachel had shared in Saint Marie but it was clean and warm and comfortable. The hotelman had gone out of his way to cater to them since he had rented out five rooms—two that adjoined for the Dayton family and their two children. With meals and tips, it had made the man’s month and he could well afford to be generous to them. There was a vase of hothouse flowers on the table by the door.

  Rachel placed her palms on his chest for he still had an arm around her back, holding her to him. She looked up into his handsome face. “Will you share my bath with me, my Owen?”

  That he knew gods-be-damned well came straight from Morrigunia for there was no way this innocent, naïve woman would ever think of such a thing much less voice the request. His jaw tightened.

  “Not from me, Reaper, but from her need for you. You give me far too much credit.” The stern words shot through his mind like quicksilver.

  She plucked at a button on his shirt, lowering her gaze, her cheeks blooming with color. “Have I been too bold?” she whispered, and he heard a tremor in her tone.

  “No, y chree,” he answered, and crooked a finger under her chin to tilt her face up. “Whatever your wish, it is my honor to fulfill it. All you need do is ask.” His words were low, tender, and yet his eyes blazed with an emotion that almost frightened her.