WesternWind 4 - Tears of the Reaper (14 page)

“You have everything I could have ever wanted, y chree,” he declared. “The goddess Herself sent you to me. I’ve no doubt of that. She would not have sent a woman to one of Her Reapers if She thought that woman was not meant for him.”

“What does that mean?” she asked. “Y chree?”

“My heart,” he answered, and took the cup of tea from Iden.

“Will you turn me over please?” she questioned.

“I don’t know, Rachel,” Owen said, his eyes filled with uncertainty.

“I need to know how bad it is,” she said.

Iden and Owen looked at one another and Iden shrugged. He bid them both a good night and left, knowing he was no longer needed in the room.

Very carefully, Owen helped Rachel to turn in the bed so she was sitting up. He could see sweat glistening on her sweet face as she sat there, breathing shallowly. He knew it would be a long time before she could take a deep breath. With his arm behind her neck, he helped her to take a sip of the fragrant tea.

“It’s not so bad,” she said, grimacing.

“I’ve had a few of Glyn’s infusions and if you can swallow that one, it isn’t as bad as most,” he replied.

After a few more sips she asked him to lower her to the mattress. As she held her breath, he did and when her back touched the soft sheets, she squeezed her eyes shut.

“No,” she said, unable to bear the pain.

“I didn’t think so,” he said, and eased her back over to her stomach. “Let’s give it a bit more time, sweeting.”

She looked at the tray of food. “You need to eat,” she said.

“I will when…”

“Now, Owen,” she insisted. “You will grow weak if you don’t. Sit and eat.”

The Reaper felt a tremor shimmy down his body at her words and the very heart inside his body seemed to swell. It wasn’t just that she had accepted him without much of a protest, but that she was looking at him with something akin to hero worship in her lovely gaze. That look made him feel invincible.

Making quick work of his food, for he figured Glyn would be arriving any minute to dose him with the tenerse, he made sure Rachel was as comfortable as possible, that she didn’t want anything save a goodly drink of water, and then sat down once more in the chair to wait for his teammate. He didn’t have long to wait.

Glyn tapped lightly at the door and Owen told him to come in. The Reaper smiled at Rachel. “I’m Glyn Kullen,” he said.

“Thank you for your help, Lord Glyn,” she said.

“It was my honor, milady,” Glyn replied. He looked to Owen. “You ready?”

“Aye.”

Rachel watched as the contents of the vac-syringe were injected into Owen’s neck, flinching as he flinched. “That looked painful,” she said.

“It’s not so bad,” Owen lied. He knew Glyn had given him a larger amount than he expected and glanced up at his friend.

“You need to sleep,” Glyn explained.

“I’ll make a pallet on the floor and…”

“No, you will not,” Rachel disagreed. “You will sleep beside your betrothed.”

Glyn’s handsome face crinkled with amusement. “You heard the lady, Reaper. Get your rump in bed where you belong.”

Owen gave Glyn a narrowed look. “What did you put in the wench’s tea?”

“A bit of backbone,” Glyn said with a chuckle. “See you in the morning.” He saluted his team leader then left, still laughing.

“Don’t you want to sleep beside me?” Rachel asked.

Owen wanted nothing more than to do just that. He chewed on his lower lip for a moment, watching her, and when a gentle smile eased over her beautiful face, he decided not to fight his desires.

“I sleep naked, wench,” he said.

Rachel sighed. “Shirtless, maybe, but until we are man and wife, you’ll have to make do with wearing pants and being outside the covers.”

“He put more than backbone in that gods-be-damned tea,” Owen mumbled under his breath as his fingers tripped down the buttons of his shirt. He peeled it off then draped it over the back of the chair.

“I feel funny, Owen,” she said.

“Aye, wench, I bet you do,” he said with a sigh, making a mental note to have a long talk with Kullen come morning.

“Come to bed,” she said.

Knowing full well Rachel would be filled with embarrassment at her actions in the daylight when Kullen’s pharmacopeia of drugs wore off, Owen went around to the other side of the bed and sat down. He stared at the far wall for a long moment before swinging his legs up on the bed and stretching out as far from Rachel as the space would allow.

“I will make you a good wife, Owen,” he heard Rachel say, her voice groggy.

“I know you will, Rachel,” he said, and turned his head on the pillow to look at her. The ragged cap of ash blonde curls looked cute on her instead of shameful as the cut was no doubt intended. With all his heart, he wished he could rake his fingers through those soft curls.

“Thank you for wanting me.”

For the longest time he lay there with his head turned toward her until his eyelids grew heavy. The last thought he had before a much-needed sleep claimed him was sent winging through the ether to listening ears he knew would hear. “Thank you for sending her to me,” he whispered.

“You are welcome, my Reaper.”

* * * * *

Under the deep cover of night something old as time slithered among the fields of New Towne. Where it passed, the winter crops withered and the ground became barren. A thick, slimy substance was left behind to mark its passing. Wildlife fled the advancing horror on frightened wings and alarmed paws and skittish hoofs so that the animals caged in pens that could not escape fell victim to the ravenous hunger. Wild shrieks of terror rang out in the night as that hunger was appeased. Though no human met death and damnation at the fangs of the creatures, the destruction and devastation left in the wake was vast. Splintered bones lay scattered about like fluff from a dandelion. No blood, no flesh, no marrow—nothing that could be consumed—remained of what had once been thriving herds and flocks.

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.