WesternWind 4 - Tears of the Reaper (30 page)

“I don’t think it’s as much them as it is Morrigunia,” Glyn replied. “She wants to keep it there as a reminder of what happens when man oversteps himself and ventures into the realms of the gods.”

Rachel glanced at her husband but he seemed to be lost in thought and she hated to intrude. His fingers were gripping hers so tightly it was almost painful but she would not complain. He seemed to need the comfort of touching her.

There were guards with laser rifles ringing the portico as the coaches pulled up to discharge the passengers. The Gehdrins and Crees ran beneath the sweeping concrete porch for the mist had suddenly become a drenching downpour.

“Even the heavens are crying for him,” Aingeal remarked to Danielle.

The four of them stood there as first Iden then Glyn scampered from the coach, leaving the door open for Owen and Rachel.

Owen turned away from the window and used his free hand to cup her cheek. “As soon as I’m in the building, they’ll arrest me,” Owen told his lady. “I won’t see you again until the sentence is over.”

She knew she had to be brave for him. She could not allow him to leave her with tears streaming down her cheek or fear lurking in her eyes. As Aingeal had reminded her only that morning, she was not just a Reaper’s woman, she was a Reaper in her own right and she had to be strong for her mate.

“I will be here waiting with our son when you return,” she said, and leaned toward him, briefly touching his lips with hers. Though she ached to deepen the kiss, she knew it would only make it harder on the both of them. She pulled back, smiled and then made to get out of the coach.

“Rachel?” he said, keeping hold of her hand.

She turned back to him. “Aye, my Owen.”

“I love you,” he said.

“You’d better, milord Reaper,” she replied, “because I love you right back.”

Before he could stop her, she used her budding strength to pull free of his grip and was out of the coach, streaking up the steps to the porch. Only Aingeal caught a glimpse of the devastating pain lurking in Rachel’s violet eyes.

“Take me to our quarters, Lord Arawn,” Rachel said, her voice breaking. “Now, please!”

Arawn understood and took hold of her arm, leading her into the Citadel before Owen was out of the coach. He stood in the downpour and looked up at the boiling heavens for a long time, mindless of the drenching rain soaking him. It would be his last glimpse of freedom for a long time. At last, he walked slowly up the steps, past the two female and three male Reapers and into the Citadel where guards flanked him immediately and led him into the bowels of the mighty stronghold.

“Son of a bitch,” Aingeal snapped as she stood there bouncing her baby son. She turned to Danielle and handed her the child then jerked away from Cynyr who tried to grab her and stop her from marching toward the place she knew the High Lord would be.

“Don’t,” Danielle said, reaching out to keep Cynyr from following his wife. She thrust his son into his arms. “Stay out of it, Cyn.”

Cynyr’s jaw was rigid. “You really think she can change Lord Kheelan’s mind?”

“I know she can,” Danielle said. She hooked her arm through his. “Come on. From the smell of your bairn, he needs his diaper changed.”

Cynyr moaned, glancing down at his infant. “Ah, Danni, I’m not good at…”

“Then it’s high time you learned,” she insisted.

* * * * *

Lord Kheelan Ben-Alkazar of Rysalia was the High Lord, the High Commissioner of the Shadowlords and by right the most influential of the three men. He was feared by his fellow Shadowlords because he had far more power than did they and he was more ruthless, more determined. His word was law and no one dared to question his words. It was said the man had ice water flowing through his veins and a soul forged in hell, a heart as black as pitch and twice as hard as obsidian.

That was until Aingeal Cree had bulldozed her way into the High Lord’s carefully kept, orderly life.

Argent, the gatekeeper, looked up from her desk and smiled. “How are things in Haines City, Lady Aingeal?” she asked politely, her two sisters—Aureolin, the blonde, and Corallin, the redhead—pausing in their tasks to greet the female Reaper.

“Where is that cold-blooded bastard?” Aingeal demanded, nodding at the three women to let them know her fury did not extend to them.

“I believe the High Lord is in the solarium,” Argent replied. “Through there.”

Aingeal nodded again and stormed over to the door, flinging it open with no care for the noise or the distraction she caused.

Lord Kheelan jumped, unprepared for the sudden intrusion though his expression said he’d been expecting it. “Now, Lady Aingeal…” he began, holding up a hand to ward off her anger.

“Don’t ‘Lady Aingeal’ me! Who the hell do you think you are, Ben-Alkazar?” she demanded, slamming the door shut in her wake. “Who died and made you a god?”

A muscle working in his jaw, the look he had used to quell hundreds of lesser men settled on his finely honed features and his eyes glared into hers. “You know, wench, I am getting a bit fed up with you insulting me,” he snapped. His gaze flicked to the door. She never heard the lock snick closed.

“Live with it,” she threw back at him. “Are you aware Rachel Tohre is with child?”

He lifted his head. “I am aware of a lot of things.” He narrowed his gaze. “That included.”

“And you really expect to keep that poor man in the con cell while his wife gives birth to their firstborn?” she questioned, coming to stand toe to toe with him.

“He knew there would be consequences to his actions and…”

“Get over yourself, Ben-Alkazar,” she interrupted. “You might be able to intimidate men who don’t know you’re nothing but a scared little boy who wishes he were still at home in the arms of his nanny on Serenia, but I know better.”

His eyes became thin slits of fury. “Be careful of how you speak to me, wench.”

“You are a man,” she said.

“I am a Shadowlord,” he stated. “And the most powerful of my kind.”

Aingeal flung out a dismissive hand. “That and twenty coppers might get you a cup of coffee but it cuts no marble with me!”

“Ice,” he said, his jaw clenched, teeth grinding. “The term is ‘cuts no ice’.”

“Whatever,” she snapped. “Are you going to do what’s right or am I going to have to make you do it?”

Lord Kheelan growled like a wounded bear. “You backed me into a corner once before, wench, and I stupidly allowed it because Reaper honor was involved,” he told her. “I don’t think you want to back me into another corner again. I might come out of that corner in a way you wouldn’t enjoy.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said. “I’ve been beaten and sold to a raping bastard for a brace of horses and raped repeatedly by men that bastard loaned me to for a drink or two of firewater. I’ve been kidnapped, thrown over a horse—the outcome of which was a miscarriage—and raped again.” She glared at him. “Do you really think you hold any threat for me?”

Lord Kheelan stared down into her angry eyes—seeing the images she meant for him to see flittering through her mind—and he dug his fingernails into his palms. “Don’t, Aingeal,” he said, his heart aching at those images.

“Cut his sentence in half,” she said.

“I can’t,” he told her. “I won’t. If I did that, the men would lose respect for me and…”

“If you don’t, I’ll lose respect for you,” she warned.

He snorted to cover up the pain that caused him. “You say that as though you have respect for me now! I know better.”

She searched his eyes. “You are not the son of a bitch you want people to believe you are. Your heart may be as black as a Reaper’s but there has to be some warmth inside it.”

“It’s as cold as the far reaches of the megaverse,” he insisted.

“I don’t believe that,” she said, lowering her voice.

“It doesn’t matter what you believe. It’s true.”

She shook her head. “What can I do to help change your mind about this, Kheelan?”

His name on her lips made his body ache with feelings he knew he should not be having, feelings that were more dangerous for her than they were for him.

“Don’t put this on a personal level unless you are willing to deal with the results, Aingeal,” he cautioned her.

Her chin came up. “Name your price.”

His eyes narrowed. “And if the price is too high? If it’s one you’re unwilling to pay?”

She did not respond to his goading. She simply held his hot stare with her cool one, daring him to do his worst.

Minutes ticked by and neither blinked. Neither of them moved away from the other though the toes of their boots were actually touching. Each could feel the other’s breath on their face. At last it was the Shadowlord who gave in to the silent contest of wills.

“All right, Aingeal,” he said in a low, husky voice. “Here’s the deal—I want a kiss from you. Not some perfunctory bussing, no fleeting press of your lips to mine, no simpering touch of mouth to mouth but an honest to goodness, solid, sensual kiss—your honeyed tongue halfway down my gods-be-damned throat—your body jammed so hard against mine I’ll feel the imprint of your nipples and, baby, you’d better put everything you’ve got into that kiss if you want me to even think about changing my mind.”

Aingeal stepped back from him, her heart pounding in her chest, her blood racing through her veins. He was glaring at her with such heat, with such hunger, she thought he would attack her, throw her to the floor and ram his rigid body into hers. She could see the heavy erection pressing at the front of his robe and the fists he kept clenching and unclenching as he stood there. Sweat was clinging to his upper lip, his eyes were flint hard, his breathing harsh and ragged as though he’d just run a race. There was no doubt in her mind she had finally pushed the man too far.

His smile was slow and hated and infuriating.

“I didn’t think so,” he said with a snort, and turned to walk away.

She didn’t consider the consequences of her actions but reached for him, grabbing his arm to jerk him back around. She pulled him to her and her arms went around his neck, her body slammed into his and her mouth was on his before his arms slid around her to mold her to him as though they were one entity. Her tongue thrust between his lips and dueled with his until she heard him groan low and deep, and knew the sound had come from his very soul.

Kheelan Ben-Alkazar poured his soul into that kiss. He gave more than he took from her for this was something he had wanted desperately from the first moment he had seen Aingeal Cree. His love for her was so overpowering, so overwhelming, he spent hours prowling the halls of the Citadel at night to cool the throbbing ache in his heart and the lustful need in his groin. He had never wanted another woman and he knew down to the depths of his soul that he would never want any other than Aingeal.

His hands spanned over her back, her rump, he thrust his tongue deep into the wet warmth of her mouth. He pressed her so tightly to him he could barely breathe but the lush curves of her body, her breasts, her hips fit his so perfectly he felt he could crawl inside her skin. He wanted nothing more than to lay her down and enter that sweet body. He longed to lie naked with her in the moonlight, claim her as his own. He hurt for the want of her. He had to have her. He had to!

Neither one of them realized how brutal that kiss was going to be until he finally broke away from her, putting distance between them. He was trembling from head to toe, his chest heaving and one hand out as though to keep her at bay. He was gasping for breath, straining to get himself under control, and she staggered away from him, coming up against the wall behind her and wanting to slide down it and crumble into a fetal position.

“Great god almighty,” she heard him whisper raggedly. She heard the audible swallow that came from his throat as he stumbled to a bench and sat down heavily, shoving a shaky hand through his hair. There was sweat on his forehead, trickling down his right temple.

She recovered first, knowing she had to press her advantage with him while she could. She cleared her throat, her voice sounding strange even to her own ears. “Six months.”

He shook his head. “Eight.”

“Not good enough,” she said, wiping a hand over her mouth, surprised to see it shaking. “Seven.”

“Eight,” he stated. He met her stare and she knew his word was final.

“I want your word he’ll be out in time to be there when his son is delivered.”

He nodded.

“Just so you know,” she said, edging toward the door. “I will tell Cynyr about this.”

He shook his head. “No, you won’t.”

“Oh but I will,” she said. “I won’t keep something like this from him. I…”

“You’ll forget it the moment you leave this room,” he said, holding her glower.

“Oh no…”

“This whole thing will be wiped from your mind the instant you walk out the door.”

She knew he meant it. “You have that much power?” she asked.

“More than you can possibly imagine,” he responded. He got shakily to his feet. “And just so you’ll know, if I had wanted more than a kiss, I would have taken it, Aingeal. If I had been a less honorable man, I would have demanded your body to seal the deal, not just your lips, and I would have gotten that too. Now get the hell out of here while I’m still an honorable man because that gods-be-damned honor is dissolving fast!”