Tears of the Reaper

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  She nibbled on her lower lip and his groin tightened painfully. He wanted to suck that sweet little flesh between his own teeth and nibble on it. “On our wedding night…” she began, but he lowered his head and claimed her lips in a chaste, lingering kiss. When he released her, he held her gaze.

  “Do you remember anything of that night?” he asked.

  Her cheeks flamed. “There was blood on the sheets,” she said. “I believe we must have…we…” She swallowed hard. “We must have but I don’t remember it.”

  “Neither do I,” he admitted, and at her look of surprise, he shook his head. “My goddess was playing with us, y chree. She does that sometimes.”

  “Tell her of your vow to Me!” Morrigunia hissed in his ear so loudly he winced.

  “Milord?” she questioned.

  “Tell her and get it over with, you dolt!” Morrigunia snapped, flicking a finger against his temple. “Dont start your Joining on a lie!” She flicked him again.

  “Stop thumping me!” he sent to Her.

  “Owen?” she inquired, sensing his attention was elsewhere.

  “We’ll talk after the bath,” he said.

  She squeezed him gently through the leather. “I don’t really need a bath.”

  “There is something we need to discuss,” he said. “And a bath would help to…”

  “Tell me,” she said.

  Owen drew in a long breath, searching for something else to tell her other than the vow to Morrigunia. “On our wedding night, when we…” He ran a hand over his face. “After we…”

  “After we made love?” she pressed. She absorbed his memories quickly—too quickly for his comfort—and he saw them swirling through her mind.

  “Aye,” he said. “Well, we… I mean to say, I…” He swallowed. “I got you pregnant!”

  She smiled. “See? We didn’t need a bath for you to tell me that.” She took his hand and pulled him toward the bed. “Now, let’s discuss the matter that was left dangling.”

  “Reaper,” Morrigunia growled at him. “Tell her now or I will tell her!”

  He knew there was no way past it. He had to tell her so he dug in his heels, refused to go any closer to the bed. “Sweeting, there is something I must tell you.”

  “Tell me later,” she said, tugging at his hand.

  “No, Rachel,” he said, his face now solemn, his heart pounding in his chest. “I promised no lies and no lies means I need to tell you only truth.”

  Her forehead crinkled. She tried to slip into his mind with her fledgling power but his was a closed door, firmly locked against her. For a reason she could not fathom, that frightened her. “Is it about the punishment?”

  “Come,” he told her and drew her toward the settee.

  Reluctantly she went with him, fear bringing an iron taste to her mouth. When he pulled her down to sit beside him, he covered their joined hands with his free one and turned so he was looking into her eyes.

  “I want you to know I love you more than anything in this life,” he said. “I love you with all my heart, my soul, all that I am and I will love you for all time.”

  Rachel shivered. “Owen, you are scaring me.”

  He took a deep breath. “You died,” he said. “In my arms you were dead and there was nothing on this earth that has ever hurt me more.” He searched her eyes. “I would have done anything to bring you back to me. Nothing I would not have agreed to so you could be whole and unscarred, so the memory of the…of the…”

  “Pain,” she said, catching that word as it settled in his thoughts.

  “Aye, milady, the pain,” he repeated. “So the memory would not be so intense for you. I would have done anything to completely wipe the memories from your mind but…”

  Something evil wriggled down her spine. “What did you do, my Owen?”

  He put a hand to her face to cup her cheek. “Morrigunia was the only recourse I had, Rachel. As She once reminded me, there is nothing She can not do. If you were to live, it had to be through Her.”

  “And She made me a Reaper,” Rachel said.

  “Aye, but at a price,” he said.

  That evil slithering along her backbone turned icy cold. “What did She ask of you?”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, believing when he told her, there would be no more love shining in her eyes, only disgust.

  “Tell her!” came the demand from the goddess.

  Opening his eyes, he saw the fear building in Rachel’s gaze. “I am to be Her consort,” he said then looked away. “Her lover. Available at Her command when She wishes.”

  Rachel’s eyes widened. “I must share you with her?”

  He nodded, flinching at her words.

  “For how long?”

  He could not look at her. “For as long as She desires.”

  Rachel was stunned at the news and as she sat there unable to speak, anger and jealousy rose up like twin serpents to strike at her heart. For the first time in her life she knew hatred and that hatred was aimed at the woman who would demand such a thing of Owen. There was no anger toward Owen, no hurt at knowing he would be required to cheat on his wife, no self-pity, only cold fury at the female who would have a right to the use of his body.

  Owen raised his head and when he saw the rage smoldering in Rachel’s eyes, groaned. He had lost her. She was a good woman, a woman unaccustomed to the sordidness of life and…

  “This is something over which you have no control,” Rachel said.

  “No,” he told her, “but…”

  “Then the evil is entirely her own,” she stated. “You have paid a high price for my life, milord, and I will not forget it nor who is responsible for the misery I see on your face.”

  “Not that there is anything you can do about it,” a voice cooed in Rachel’s ear, and the young woman knew Owen had not heard that boast.

  “You may have forced him into this, but you do not own his heart nor will you ever!” Rachel sent to the goddess, the harshness of her thoughts meant to sting.

  Owen sensed something he had not been able to intercept flowing between the two women but when he would have questioned his lady, Rachel put her fingers to his mouth.

  “Not now, my Owen,” she said, and reached down to take his hand. She got to her feet and pulled him with her. “We have something more important to do.”

  “Rachel…” he began as she tugged him toward the bed.

  She stopped and looked up at him, her chin high, her eyes locking with his. “She’ll forever be like a skunk we encounter on the path with its tail lifted in the air. I refuse to just stand here all aquiver and wonder when she’ll release her spray on us. I may not be able to do anything about her demands on you but I can surely give you what she will never be able to!” She pulled hard on his hand.

  Owen stumbled along behind her, marveling at the strength she now possessed. Her hand around his was like an iron band and he had glimpsed the steely determination blazing in her pretty eyes.

  She turned to him and her hands went to the buckle of his belt. When he would have stopped her, she looked up at him with one fine brow raised in challenge and he dropped his hands to his side.

  “You belong to me,” she said as she pulled the belt end from the keeper and peeled the tang back to draw it through the hole. “Only me and no one else.” The belt came free of the buckle and she jerked it none too gently from the leather loops at his waist. “She can own your soul and your allegiance as I suppose is her right but she does not own your heart and she never will.”

  “No, She…”

  “Shush, my Owen!” she said. “I am speaking here!”

  Owen clamped his lips together, amusement making them twitch as she tugged the shirttail from his black uniform pants.

  “I am your wife,” she said, and her fingers went to the button at his throat. “I am your mate. She is merely your boss and you must do as she says although most workers do not like or respect their bosses.”

  “That’s true enough,�
�� he mumbled, and when she shot him a warning look, he bit his lip to keep from saying more.

  Her fingers ran the course of the buttons and then she reached for his cuffs, making quick work of undoing the three buttons that held each cuff closed at his wrist. “I never thought to have a husband, a home of my own.” She glanced up at him. “Children. Now that I have two of those things and the third within reach, I will fight to the death to keep them.”

  He stood still as she peeled the shirt from his body and then watched as she folded it neatly then laid it aside. A hastily drawn-in breath was all he was allowed as her hands moved to the clasp at the waistband of his pants and her knuckles grazed his bellybutton.

  “I intend to have all that other wives and mothers have had for generations and I intend to enjoy every moment of it.”

  His cock leapt each time she undid a button at his fly until he was so hard it sprang free of the opening of its own accord as she peeled the leather away.

  “Sit down, my Owen,” she said, “so I can remove your boots.”

  With his face red-hot with embarrassment, his cock jutting from his opened pants, he all but crashed onto the edge of the mattress behind him and had to swallow hard as she knelt at his feet to tug off his boots and remove his socks.

  “You have uncommonly pretty feet for a man,” she commented as she sat the boots aside neatly and rolled the socks into a tight ball.

  Owen could feel the blood racing through his veins as he stared down at her bent head. She was stroking the top of his foot, her fingers trailing along the instep as she caressed him.

  “Beautiful feet actually,” she said then stood gracefully. “Most men have such ugly, crooked toes and dirty, jagged nails. Your feet are just right, almost feminine in their softness.” She held out her hand to help him to stand.

  He groaned for his cock was poking toward her with such lively intent—the tip glistening with a bead of pre-cum—that he could feel the heat pulsing in his cheeks. He saw her cock her head to one side as though in deep thought.

  “Will you teach me how to wave my hand and do away with your clothing, my Owen?” she asked as she looked avidly at his swollen shaft.

  “It’s more fun this way,” he said huskily.

  She lifted her gaze to his and smiled slowly. “Aye, you’re right. It is.”

  He swallowed. “But I will teach you.”

  She put her hands on his bare waist then wedged her fingertips beneath the waistband of his pants when he stood for her, began to slowly push them down over his hips. “And how to fashion them again?”

  “Aye,” he said, his heart pounding furiously.

  The leather seemed to have shrunk on his body, refusing to leave it easily. He knew that was in part because he was sweating with desire and the material was sticking to his flesh but he also had a suspicion other—more extra-worldly—forces were at work, making them work for what was coming. Rachel must have surmised the same thing for he heard her muttering beneath her breath.

  “He’s mine and I am going to claim him so stop interfering!”

  She managed to work the leather down his long legs and as he braced a hand on her shoulder to lift his foot free of the garment, she felt his fingers tense and looked up.

  “I am yours,” he stated.

  “Of course you are,” she agreed.

  The pants were folded neatly like the silk shirt and put aside. He stood there before her as naked as the day he had come from his mother’s womb, heat suffusing his cheeks, his cock throbbing wildly.

  “Wave your hand and make these clothes depart,” she ordered him, running a tongue over her upper lip.

  “No,” Owen said, and his entire body clenched at the sight of that slick tongue. “Turnaround is fair play, wench. You undressed me now I will undress you.”

  She made a little moue with her lips but sat on the bed so he could take off her boots. That done, slowly and with great care he undid the black shirt as she sat there looking up at him with such calm acceptance. He held out his hand to draw her to her feet then slid the opened shirt from her slender shoulders. The black leather pants she told him were beginning to grow on her he unbuttoned with extra care then peeled them down her beautiful legs. Unlike his lady-wife, Owen cast the garments aside carelessly, never noticing the prim press of her lips at his cavalier treatment of the garments.

  “We will discuss your slovenly habits later, my Owen,” she commented.

  The only discussion Owen wanted to have was with the delectable body that was now revealed to him. Scars that would have marred the perfection of that sweet body had all been removed by Morrigunia’s hand.

  “You paid a high price that they were,” she said, easily reading his thoughts.

  “Shush, my Rachel,” he said sternly, but his eyes belied the reprimand as he drew her to him, pressing her full-length against his own naked flesh. He ground his erection against her. “Let him do all the talking.”

  “I’m listening,” she said, giggling.

  He bent his head to claim her mouth and thrust a possessive tongue between her lips. For just a split second he realized he was going too fast, being too worldly for her, and would have withdrawn, but she lightly caught his tongue between her teeth and held it, staring into his eyes with a challenge he found drove straight to his loins.

  Rachel knew nothing of men or of what excited them but she was more than willing to learn. She wanted Owen’s body to crave hers in a way that would never allow his eye to wander. Though it was extremely uncommon for men of the Colony to stray, some had and she had no intention of allowing her man to ever feel the need to do so. She vowed to give him whatever he wanted to keep him satisfied.

  Owen intercepted that wayward thought and pulled back from her, smiling as she released his tongue. “I have in my arms what will satisfy me, sweeting.”

  “Aye, but I am not a porcelain figurine, my Owen. I will not break if you handle me a bit roughly.” She gazed at him from beneath her long eyelashes. “Truth be told, I would welcome a firm hold.”

  The Reaper’s eyes flared at her words. He ached to know the sweeping passion he suspected Cynyr and Aingeal shared, the all-encompassing desire he often glimpsed in Arawn’s eyes when the Prime watched Danielle. He wanted to experience the same building lust he saw mirrored in Bevyn’s gaze when Lea entered a room. He knew those men did not treat their mates like hothouse plants nor fragile glass statues that would break with a bit of hard handling. Yet he also knew the mates of his fellow Reapers had not been brought up as Rachel had in a restrictive environment where sex was a taboo subject and not meant to be enjoyed by the female in the equation.

  “My Owen,” Rachel said with an exasperated sigh, “you think entirely too much!”

  That said, she reached down and cupped his staff, wrapping her slender fingers around it tightly, giving it a slight tug as she maneuvered him so that the backs of his thighs touched the mattress edge.

  “Lie down and let’s get on with the business at hand!” she said, and her fingers tightened even more around his cock.

  His arms were still around her and he fell backward, putting a bare heel to the bed to slide them farther up into the center of the mattress. She had hold of him and seemed to have no intention of releasing that firm grip. Her arms were trapped between them and he reveled in the pressure that position brought to his lower belly. Lifting his legs, he wrapped them around her calves, imprisoning her against him.

  “Wench, I think…”

  “Please, stop thinking!” she hissed at him. “Stop talking. Stop everything but this!”

  She was milking his shaft with her fingers, caressing him so firmly it seemed to him he was growing harder and longer in her grasp. Her fingertips were grazing his balls each time she loosened and tightened her grip, the short nails scratching delicately against his flesh. That action was sending wave after wave of sensuous delight down his legs.

  Wiggling against him, she let him know she wanted to move freely and he reluctan
tly slid his legs from hers. She pushed up in the bed to kneel between his spread thighs, gazing down at his bare chest at her hands smoothed over the wiry hair growing there.

  “I want to touch you all over,” she said, running her tongue over her upper lip. “I want to know every inch of you.” Her gaze grew hot. “Every mole, every freckle, every scar, everything.” She trailed her fingers down his side.

  He felt like a sacrifice as he lay there while she studied his body. Where her gaze touched upon him, it felt as though heat were pouring from her eyes. He wanted to writhe beneath that fervent inspection but he held himself still as she started at his face and moved downward, her close scrutiny of every inch of his upper body making him pant with need. By the time she was staring avidly at his engorged cock, he began to sweat.

  “Are all men as large as you, my Owen?” she asked, and stroked him, running the tip of her finger over the tip where pearly liquid had formed.

  “I don’t…” He blushed to the roots of his hair. “I guess.”

  “How long are you?” she asked. It was an innocent question but it was one he could answer with pride.

  “Ten inches,” he said, remembering the day he had measured his fully erect cock and been punished for daring to touch himself.

  She continued to stroke him, unaware he was gritting his teeth and that perspiration was dripping down his temples as he strove to keep from coming under her gentle touch.

  “Does this please you?” she asked, lightly scratching her short nails under his scrotum.

  “Aye,” he breathed. “Very much.” His body was beginning to quiver and he longed to wrap his arms around her, flip her over and drive into her mercilessly.

  As though she had caught that intoxicating thought, she smiled slyly and lightly raked her fingernails down his taut thigh. “And this?”

  “Wench, please!” he whimpered. “I am dying here!”

  Rachel was becoming good at reading his mind and she slipped past his defenses to see what carnal thoughts were invading him to cause him to tremble so at her touch. In his mind she saw a faceless woman bending over him, her mouth wrapped around his shaft, her actions making it plain that she was drawing on his flesh. From Owen’s memories she surmised he enjoyed such a thing and bent over him, bringing his flesh to her mouth and before he could stop her, taking him between her lips.