Reaper's Revenge (27 page)

“Get the shirt off,
mo shearc
. You need to rest.”

The Reaper sighed. “That’s all I’ve been doing for weeks,” he complained, but finished unbuttoning his shirt. He shrugged out of it.

His lady came and took the garment from him, folding it neatly, and laying it aside. She arched a brow. “Now the britches.”

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“You’re always trying to get me out of my britches,” he said, his lips twitching as he bent down to remove his boots.

“Perhaps it’s because I like what’s in them?” she countered, and laughed at the blush that spread quickly over her husband’s face.

Cynyr ducked his head and unbuttoned the top button on his black britches. He stood up—wavering a bit, having to clutch the headboard post of the bed for a moment.

“Need help shucking them britches, Reaper?” Aingeal asked as she came toward him.

“Aye, wench,” he said. His head was back to swimming again.

“You got up too quickly,” she chastised him.

He stood there as she wriggled his britches down his hips—squatting to pull them all the way off—and jumped when she bent forward and kissed his cock. “You are wicked,” he said.

On her knees, Aingeal slid her hands over his hips and pulled him to her, her mouth opening to take him inside. She drew on him, chuckling low in her throat when his shaft grew thick and throbbing beneath her ministrations. Cynyr buried his free hand in her hair. The other still clutched the bedpost. He let his head fall back, his eyes close, as his wife ran her tongue around the tip of him then suckled him as though she were dying of thirst.

“Wench,” he warned, feeling himself galloping toward fulfillment. “Get up and get in bed.”

Aingeal drew back, looking up at him. As he lowered his head, opened his eyes and their gazes met, she smiled slowly. “Feeling better are you?”

“Get on the bed,” he repeated, his tone gruff and husky. He released her hair and held out his hand to help her up.

Sliding her hand into his, she got to her feet, but before she could put a hand to her blouse, her clothing was gone, her husband using his waning strength to divest her of what he’d dressed her in earlier. He snaked his arm around her and pulled her to him, their naked bodies meeting with a slap of eager flesh.

His mouth swooped down to claim hers—tasting himself on her lips—and he let go of his hold on the bedpost, falling back to lie on the bed, taking her with him. His other arm came around her and the kiss deepened until their tongues were dueling. Aingeal urged him up farther on the bed and slid with him as he brought his foot up to the edge of the mattress and scooted them to the center of the bed, dragging the sheet with them. Her hands were on his rib cage and when he flipped them over so that she was beneath him, she embraced him, locking their bodies together. Her legs came up to imprison his hips and she could feel the stab of his cock straining to find her entrance. She rotated her hips under him, pleading silently for him to take her. Cynyr’s hands were on her rump, pulling her against him so he drew one hand from beneath her to grasp his cock and position it between her legs. Still retaining 147

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possession of her mouth, he thrust himself deep into his lady’s channel, ramming his hand once more beneath her to lift her for his penetration. Grunting with the sheer pleasure of the feel of her husband buried within her, Aingeal tightened her scissors hold on his hips and arched up to meet his now frenzied thrusts. A slick sheen of sweat glistened on their bodies and their mouths ground against one another.

The itch was building deep with his body. Cynyr was lost in the pistoning of his hips. The sound of their bodies meeting spurred him on. His balls were slapping against the sweet curves of her ass and the scent of her juices mingling with his was a heady aphrodisiac that drove him mad with lust. Beneath him, the bedsprings creaked from the power of his thrusts. When the fire in his loins erupted into a surging burst of flame that took hold and kindled and burned bright, his grunt of release was lost in the sweet folds of his mate’s mouth.

Aingeal went with him into that land of supreme pleasure. The muscles of her cunt rippled around him—squeezed and released with tiny little tugs—as his cock leapt and pulsed deep with her. Her fingernails were digging into his back, her hips nearly compressing the air from his body so tight was she gripping him. His fingers clutched her shapely rump with such need there would be bruises there for days after. Collapsing atop his lady, Cynyr pulled his mouth free of hers and lay there gasping, dragging harsh breaths into his depleted lungs. He was slick, sticky with sweat and his heart was pounding so furiously, he thought it might well crash through the chest wall. Depleted, he lay with his cheek pressed to his wife’s chest, quivering like a leaf on the breeze.

Aingeal too was completely devoid of strength. She gloried in the weight of his muscular body pinning her to the mattress. Slowly, she unhooked her legs from around him and lay splayed, completely sated. Her fingers threaded through his hair to hold his head to her and she smiled when his lips moved against the swell of her breast. Within a few moments, they were both sound asleep.

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Reaper’s Revenge

Chapter Sixteen

Reapers had been trained to do without sleep and as Cynyr’s brothers kept vigil on the rooftops of Haines City, not a one of them felt the need to close his eyes and rest. Their eyes swept the prairie around them in search of the Jakotai. Each of them sensed the brave close by but none could read his thoughts, for they had not shared blood with the rogue. As the Prime Reaper hunkered down on the roof of the dry goods store, he called out to the high lord.

“There is actually something you can’t do, Gehdrin?”
Lord Kheelan replied to the call.

“Funny,”
Arawn sent back.
“Can you read the savage?”

“Unfortunately I cannot.”

Arawn laughed.
“There is actually something
you
can’t do?”
he countered.

“When you bring your lady for us to meet, you and I will have a very long and detailed
discussion about this sudden propensity of yours for inappropriate humor,”
the high lord stated.

Sobering, Arawn stood up to ease the cramping in his legs.
“I was hoping you had a
way to intercept his thoughts. I’d like to know what the bastard is planning. He seems to just be
sitting out there.”

“Lady Aingeal can read his thoughts for she has taken his blood. When she awakes, I will
seek her help.”

“Have you been able to track the other? I assume you can’t read him either, but can you tell
where he is?”

“He has turned tail and run,”
Lord Kheelan replied
. “He no longer poses a threat.”

Arawn breathed a sigh of relief. He had no doubt they could eliminate the other and one day would, but he wanted to concentrate on one problem at a time, and the savage was the most important part of the equation at the present time.

“He isn’t your problem,”
Lord Kheelan reminded him.
“Just make sure he does not harm
Cree’s people.”

“Will Cynyr be able to defeat the brave?”

Each Reaper standing on the roofs of the town felt the mental shrug that came from the Citadel. They’d been listening in on the conversation—it hadn’t been a private one between their leader and the high lord—and were just as curious to have the answer to Arawn’s question as he was in asking it.

“He has drained his strength in the body of his lady but we felt we should allow this,”
Lord Kheelan responded.
“He is sleeping, regaining that strength, and when he wakes, let us hope
he will be up to the task at hand.”

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Both Arawn and Bevyn felt uncomfortable knowing the Shadowlords were aware of the times they lay with their mates. The condescending way in which Lord Kheelan said he and his fellow lords had
allowed
Cynyr to find relief in his wife’s body bothered them even more. Both men stared across the street into one another’s eyes, careful of their individual thoughts but not needing to express them, for each understood the other’s concern.

“No, Lord Arawn,”
came Lord Dunham’s denial from the Citadel
. “We do not spy on
what you do in the privacy of your bedchamber. Contrary to what you and Lord Bevyn believe,
we are not voyeurs.”

“We must—because of the obvious necessity,”
Lord Naois joined in
, “keep tabs on Lord
Cynyr until such time as we believe him to be fully recovered. We do not wish to lose him or any
of you.”

“We could—if need be—keep Cynyr down a bit longer but I don’t think it is necessary,”

Lord Kheelan added
. “When he awakes, we believe he will be mended enough to take on the
savage.”

“If he falters, we will intervene,”
Lord Dunham stated.

“Intervene in what way?”
Arawn asked, but received no answer. Whatever the Shadowlords were capable of doing from so great a distance would be handy to know, and as for keeping Cynyr down? That sent shivers down the Prime Reaper’s spine. Nothing further came from the high lords at the Citadel. The communication was broken, though every Reaper there knew the Shadowlords were aware of everything that was going on.

* * * * *

Aingeal woke before her husband. She could feel fury being flung her way and lay there quietly, sending her mind out to fuse with Otaktay’s. It was like stepping into a twisting, seething nest of vipers. Vicious, brutal imaginings were coiling inside the Jakotai’s fevered brain. Anger had gotten the better of him and he was dancing wildly, slashing his forearms with his knife, allowing the blood to flow freely—he was preparing for war.

For twenty minutes she lay as still as death, reading the violent thoughts of the brave. She knew what he planned and how he thought to accomplish his goal. When she had learned all she could, she gently nudged her husband. Cynyr grunted as he opened his eyes. It was nearly dawn and he had slept like the dead for more hours than he cared to admit. Turning his head, he realized he was lying across the bed instead of in it in the normal way. He frowned—trying to remember why, and when he did, he grinned.

“
Mo shearc
,” his lady called out quietly to him, and he turned his head the other way to meet her welcoming eyes.

“I think you broke my pecker, wench,” he said, reaching down to rub himself. 150

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“If I did, I’ll fix it later,” she said. “Right now, you need to take my blood.”

“They’ll bring us Sustenance, Aingeal,” he said.

“You need to take
my
blood so you will know what I know about Otaktay’s plans,”

she insisted.

Cynyr’s eyes narrowed. “You can read his thoughts? Why is that?”

Aingeal knew she was about to say something that would infuriate her mate but there was no getting around it. “He fed me his blood.” Before Cynyr could erupt into the berserker she saw forming in his hot gaze, she laid a land over his mouth. “I also have the blood of the
balgair
Kasid Jaborn within me. Such information will be useful,
mo shearc
.”

Unbearable jealousy ripped at the Reaper’s male ego and he sat up, pushing himself up on his elbows, so enraged he could hear his blood pounding through his temples.

“Another man gave you his blood?” he demanded.

“Would you have had me suffer?” she asked, knowing the question would calm him as much as anything could. “I would have been without aid.”

The Reaper thought about that for a moment then unclenched his jaw. “For that I suppose I should be grateful,” he conceded.

“Take my blood and let’s be about ridding the world of the savage,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone that was all business.

“Let’s?” he questioned with narrowed eyes. “You make it sound as though it will be a joint venture, wench.”

“It will be once my blood is flowing in your veins,” she said.

“You’ll keep your sweet little ass in this town while I am seeing to the red man,” he said, his tone brooking no argument.

Aingeal rolled her eyes. “Of course. Think you Arawn and the others would allow it to be any other way?”

He thought about that for a moment as well then shrugged. “No, I know not.” He bent over her and flicked his tongue along the side of her neck. Cynyr was reminded that a single drop of blood from each of the Reaper’s had been given to Aingeal while he was deep in his punishment at the Citadel. Had he been there to prevent it, he would have, but it had been the decree of the Shadowlords and he’d had no say in it.

“The Reapers will now be able to protect your lady should the need arise,” Lord Naois had told him.

“You will need my blood, as well,” Cynyr stressed as his fangs extended, “since mine perished and I have Arawn’s first queen inside me.”

Aingeal nodded, shivering delicately at the slight feel of those lethal incisors. “Aye, that I will.”

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Cynyr sank his fangs gently into her neck and took a small amount of her blood. It was all he would need to find her anywhere she went and more than enough for him to share with her the thoughts of the insane Jakotai. He was stunned at the chaos flitting through the savage’s brain.

“It’s a wonder he can put one foot ahead of the other he is so crazed,” the Reaper marveled.

“His only thought is to kill you and that we will not allow,” she said, and almost immediately her own fangs descended. She ran her tongue across the sharp points then took the sweet offering of the wrist her husband held out to her. She frowned for the taste of his blood carried with it a stinging bite she realized must be the remains of the ghoret poisoning.

“For that alone I have a great need to turn him to pulp,” Cynyr growled. There was a light tap at their door. “Are you awake?” Moira asked quietly.