to point out something he considered might be of interest to her.
“Am I taking too much of your time?” she asked, fearful the Shadowlords would
grow irritated and punish Bevyn for her tardiness in meeting with them.
“Not at all,” Giles assured her. “We want you to feel at ease here.”
He opened the door for her, allowing her to precede him, then took her toward a
long desk at which sat three indescribably beautiful women. “Lady Lea, may I
introduce Argent,” he said, indicating the woman in the middle.
“Hello,” Lea said, feeling very insecure in the presence of three such gorgeous
ladies.
“Welcome to the Citadel, Lady Lea,” Argent said with a lovely smile. She had gray
eyes a shade darker than Lea’s and silver hair that fell in soft waves to her shoulders.
“These are my sisters Corallin.” She indicated the woman on her right who had an
abundance of thick red hair and then the stunning blonde on her left. “And Aureolin.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Lea said.
“The pleasure is ours,” Corallin replied.
“Lords Arawn and Bevyn are in with the Shadowlords at the moment so please
have a seat and make yourself comfortable.” Argent indicated comfortable-looking
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chairs ranged along one wall. “May we get you anything?” she inquired. “Something
warm to drink to chase away the rain perhaps?”
“No thank you,” Lea replied. “I’m fine.” She glanced around as the man in the
brown uniform ushered Penthe into the anteroom.
“Ah, the Blackwind,” Argent said, and the smile slide from her beautiful face.
Penthe took one look at the women behind the desk and stopped dead in her tracks.
Her eyes widened. “You are of the Multitude!” she said.
Argent lifted her head. “Aye, Amazeen, we are Breitheamhtái for the Daughters.”
Penthe lowered her head. “I am unworthy to stand before you.”
“That you are,” Argent replied in a hard tone. “So sit and be silent. Your presence is
disturbing to us.”
Without another word the Amazeen scurried to a chair and sat down, not even
glancing Lea’s way.
Surprised by Penthe’s behavior, Lea barely acknowledged Giles’ goodbye as he left.
She looked to the trio of women and smiled tentatively at Argent. She was relieved
when the silver-haired woman gave her a bright, friendly grin.
* * * * *
Bevyn stood at attention before the lords of the High Council with the Prime
Reaper—Arawn Gehdrin—at his side. For the last half-hour he had been standing
rigidly as he was chewed out first by Lord Kheelan and then by his immediate boss
Gehdrin. He was tired. He was hungry. His need for Sustenance was overpowering and
the itching, burning, aching sensation caused from his lack of the daily dosage of
tenerse was making it hard for him to hold still for it felt as though a million biting ants
were crawling all over his body.
“We will be offering the Amazeen a chance to aid in our mission here on Terra but
we will not allow her to ever leave this fortress,” Lord Naois Belvoir was saying. “If she
refuses our offer, she will be permanently incarcerated here. We’ll have no loose
cannons at the Citadel.”
“Bringing her here was not the wisest move you’ve ever made, Lord Bevyn, but it is
reasonable under the circumstances,” Lord Dunham Tarnes remarked. “We certainly
could not have allowed her to run loose among the general population, not with her
abilities.”
“I understand she aided you on the train?” Lord Naois inquired.
“Aye, Your Grace,” Bevyn agreed, taking the Prime Reaper’s warning to heart that
he speak as little as possible while before the High Council.
“And you saw her dematerialize?”
“Aye, Your Grace.”
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“Fascinating,” Lord Naois observed. “That is a trick she must teach our men if
possible.”
His skin was on fire and itching so badly he had to dig his fingernails into his palms
to keep from moving. Though he kept his eyes straight ahead—at a point just above the
High Lord’s head—his eyelids were flickering as he tried to maintain his control.
“You are hurting, aren’t you?” Lord Kheelan asked.
“Aye, Your Grace,” Bevyn replied.
Lord Kheelan nodded and the Prime Reaper reached into his pocket and extracted a
vac-syringe, the contents of which he injected quickly and efficiently into Bevyn’s neck.
A long sigh of relief followed the hiss of pain the thick med brought to the Reaper.
“We can not have you greeting your lady in a state of severe discomfort,” Lord
Dunham said. “That would not be fair to her.”
“And she is the innocent one in this,” Lord Naois added.
Bevyn wanted to ask if he would be allowed to keep her but Arawn had already
cautioned him not to.
“More than likely they will not take her from you but let them be the ones to give
you the decision on their own terms and in their own time. If you piss them off, they’re
as liable to deny your keeping her as not,” the Prime Reaper had warned. “Don’t bring
it up.”
“Look at me, Lord Bevyn,” Lord Kheelan ordered.
Bevyn lowered his gaze and met the eyes of the High Lord.
“Do you love this woman?”
“With all my heart, Your Grace.”
“Will you be her friend as well as her lover, a faithful partner who will honor and
support her, respect her as your mate and cherish her as the only mate you will ever
have?”
“I will, Your Grace,” Bevyn said.
“Will you protect her in good times and in bad, through joy as well as sorrow, see
to her comfort in sickness and in health?”
Bevyn’s heart did a strange little jump in his chest for he realized these were closely
akin to Joining vows he was making yet he did not hesitate.
“Aye, Your Grace. I swear before all that is holy that I will,” he said, tears blurring
his vision.
“Then we entreat you never to leave her or to return from following after her for
where you go so will she go, and where you stay she will stay. Your people will be her
people and your goddess will be her goddess. Should you break even one of these vows
to us, we will remove her from your care. Do you understand?” Lord Kheelan asked.
“I do, Your Grace,” Bevyn said, his heart now pounding in his chest.
“At ease, Reaper.”
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Bevyn shifted his feet apart and put his hands behind him, his right hand gripping
his left wrist at the small of his back.
“Lord Arawn, escort Lady Lea into our presence,” the High Lord bid.
The Prime Reaper nodded and took one step back, pivoting gracefully on the ball of
his foot before striding to the door. He opened it with a smile. “Lady Lea, would you
join us please?” he asked.
Lea stared at the handsome man who stood in the doorway as she got to her feet.
He had dark hair and amber eyes like Bevyn’s, but appeared to be a few years older
than her Reaper. In his left ear was a small gold hoop and the tattoo on the left side of
his face was d
ifferent from Bevyn’s, but he wore the same black silk shirt and black
leather uniform pants as did Bevyn. He was tall and muscular—another version of
Bevyn with a smile just as white and even.
“I am Arawn,” he said as she came to him.
“It is a pleasure, Lord Arawn,” she said, looking up in his gentle eyes.
“Just Arawn, Lea,” he said, and shut the door behind her. He walked beside her to
the front of the room.
Lea was intimidated by the three older men who sat on a dais in front of which
Bevyn was standing, his back to her. Clothed in dark gray robes, they were sitting so
still she might well have thought them statues had not the one in the middle blinked.
“There is no need to be afraid of us, Lady Lea,” the man said. “We won’t bite unless
you ask us to.” He—like his fellow Shadowlords—was sitting forward in his chair, his
hands clasped on the top of the desk.
“And then only very gently,” said the one on the right.
“And neatly,” the other agreed.
Lea couldn’t keep from smiling. “I am grateful then, Your Graces, for I believe I will
pass on being bitten.”
“She is a very lovely lady, Lord Bevyn,” the man on the left said. “I can see why
you would give your heart into her keeping.”
“I am Lord Kheelan,” the man in the middle said. “The man on my right is Lord
Naois and on the left is Lord Dunham. We are the High Council.”
“Your Graces,” she acknowledged with a clumsy curtsy.
“First, let us put your mind at ease,” Lord Kheelan said. “Since Lord Bevyn has
sworn to protect you and honor you as his mate, we will not remove you from his care
unless he proves himself unworthy of you.”
“A situation we do not feel will happen,” Lord Dunham stated.
Relief flooded through Lea’s body. The blood was rushing through her head and
she felt faint at such wonderful news.
“Nevertheless,” Lord Kheelan said. “Your mate acted without the sanction of the
High Council and because he did, he must atone for his transgression.”
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Lea lifted her chin. “I understand that, Your Grace, and I am prepared to stand
beside him and undergo whatever punishment you see fit to extend to me.”
Lord Kheelan blinked again then sat back in his chair. “Milady, you are not the one
at fault here,” he said.
“I beg to disagree, Your Grace,” she said. “I am a firm believer that if a woman
stays in her place, the man will be forced to. I opened the door for Lord Bevyn and he
walked through. I am as much at fault as is he.”
Bevyn’s pride in his woman soared. He could feel Arawn’s respect as well and
though he dared not turn his head to look at either one—Lea on his right and the Prime
Reaper on his left—he could not stop the smile from twitching at his lips.
“I see,” Lord Kheelan said. He folded his arms over his chest. “You are far wiser
than your stubborn Reaper, milady. He believes he instigated the entire situation.”
“Not so, Your Grace,” Lea stated. “I desired him as much as he desired me.”
Lord Kheelan tilted his head to one side. “And why is that, milady, other than the
fact that he is a prime specimen of maleness?”
Lea relaxed under the High Lord’s steady gaze for she sensed an ally in this man
despite the fact that he was not smiling. His eyes were kind.
“Because I saw his loneliness, Your Grace, and it echoed my own,” she said softly.
There was complete silence in the room for a long time. The three men on the dais
were looking at her with unwavering attention and she could have sworn she saw
moisture glinting in Lord Kheelan’s gaze. When he spoke to her, he had to clear his
throat before he could begin for it seemed he was finding it difficult to speak.
“Milady, you have our deepest admiration and our fondest wishes that your life
with Lord Bevyn will be a long and fruitful one. We pray that happiness will ever be a
guest in your home,” Lord Kheelan said in a gruff voice.
Bevyn’s lips were trembling when the High Lord shifted his attention to the Reaper
2-I-C.
“Lord Bevyn?” Lord Kheelan queried.
Bevyn snapped to attention at the tone.
“You are to take your lady to your quarters and make sure she is comfortable. We
will give you one hour in which to say your goodbyes to her before you are to report to
Level One,” the High Lord ordered. “Do not waste a moment of that time in showing
your lady what a true treasure she is. You are dismissed. Send in that annoying
Amazeen.”
“Aye, Your Grace!” Bevyn said. “Thank you, Your Grace!” He saluted then reached
out for Lea’s hand, tugging her with him as he started for the door.
“Reaper?” Penthe questioned as Bevyn and Lea came out.
“They want you in there,” was all Bevyn said. “Hop to, wench, or you’ll be sorry!”
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Bevyn kept up a running commentary as he pulled Lea with him up the stairs to the
fourth floor. He was like a little boy showing off his proudest possessions.
“There are ten suites on this floor. We each have our own suite and it’s huge!” he
said. “If you don’t like the way it’s painted or the furniture, just tell Giles and he’ll get it
changed.”
“I’m sure I’ll love it, milord,” she said, stumbling along behind him, her skirt hiked
up to keep from stepping on it.
“There’s a big marble tub and a thing they call a shower,” he said as he let go of her
hand to press his palm against a strange-looking black glass panel to the side of the
door. “It’s like a mini waterfall and I’ve spent hours under it.”
“Hours?” she questioned, not believing that for a moment.
“Reapers can’t swim but they love water,” he said as the door swung open as if by
unseen hands.
The room into which he led her was the most wondrous thing she had ever seen. A
large sitting room was illuminated at one end by a long bank of windows that
overlooked the scorched plain, but beyond was the North Sea and the view took her
breath away.
“Oh Sweet Merciful Alel,” she whispered as she stared at the view. “Is that the
sea?”
“Aye,” he said. “And you can sit on the settee and stare at it all you like!”
There were three large settees, each of which had to be at least six feet long, that
had been placed before the windows—one to either side and the other sitting at one end
between the other two. A huge square table loaded with candlesticks both fat and tall
covered the glass-topped table.
“I like to light them at night and just sit and watch the light reflected in the
window,” he told her.
Lea looked at him and recognized the loneliness in his tone. “We’ll sit and watch
the light together, milord,” she said.
A grand piano sat in one corner of the room.
“I don’t play,” he said. “Do you?”
“As a matter of fact I do,” she said. “Not well, but I do play.”
“That’s wonderful!” he said, and hugged her. “I can’t wait to hear you.”
“Well—”
He didn’t give her a chance to finish for he was sho
wing her the rest of the parlor.
There were no curtains on the window, but curious things he called blinds that could be
drawn across to conceal the glass. Finishing out the room in one corner was a tableau of
two very comfortable-looking chairs with footrests flanking a small table with a lamp
where he told her he spent many an hour reading. Behind the chairs on the two
adjacent walls were floor-to-ceiling bookshelves groaning beneath the weight of many
tomes.
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“Most of them came from the lowest level,” he told her, running a hand gently and
respectfully across the spine of a large book. “They’re not mine but I think of them as
belonging to me.”
Before Lea could comment on that, he had grabbed her hand to show her what he
called the galley.
It was a kitchen complete with large stove, an icebox, huge sink and so many
cabinets and so much countertop space it would have done a hotel proud.
Next he took her past the formal dining room with its table large enough to seat
twelve diners, down a short hall to the first bedroom.
“It’s one of two guest rooms but no one’s ever slept there,” he said, tugging her
toward the last room he wanted to show her. “And this is our room.”
Lea’s mouth dropped open. The room was larger than the parlor and in the very
center of one long wall sat the largest bed she’d ever seen.
“It could sleep three people comfortably,” he told her with a wicked gleam in his
eye.
Made of brass, the bed’s headboard and footboard posts had to be as large—or
larger—than her thigh. It was massive with swirls that caught the faint light from the
rainy day. She knew it would be stunning in the full light of the sun.
Though the walls were a pale shade of green she found very pleasing, the rustcolored coverlet on the bed clashed horribly with the green-and-wine-plaid drapes at
the window. The carpeting was a deep burgundy and so plush under the foot she felt as
though she were sinking into it. She knew the only thing she’d change would be the
horrendous coverlet.
“And in here’s the bathing room!” he said, his eyes bright.
Nothing could have prepared her for the opulence of the bathing chamber. As large
as her mother’s parlor had been when Lea still lived at home, the room was tiled in a
paler shade of green than the bedchamber walls, and the floor was tiled in dark green
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