Reaper's Vow
Page 9
Memories pushed at her mind. Snarls leaping out of the darkness, tearing her from her husband’s arms, tearing at her skin, tearing her from her hopes and dreams. And now they were trying to tear at her daughter. Leaning over, she pulled the covers up over Wendy’s shoulders and kissed her hair.
“I won’t let them have you, baby. I promise you.” She just wouldn’t. And as hard as it was to accept, keeping that promise was going to require a strong man to keep the predators away from her daughter. But it was also going to take a man Miranda could control. Because when she came of age, Wendy was going to have options. No one was going to force her into a life she didn’t want.
Rain lashed the windows. Lightning crackled in an earsplitting cacophony. Miranda jumped. The energy she felt from Cole stayed steady. She clung to it. Just because it felt good—even for a second—to have something to anchor her panic.
Wendy stirred. “Shhh, baby. Everything is fine. You’re fine.”
With a murmur Wendy settled. So sweet and innocent to believe Miranda saying something made it so. Miranda remembered Clark drawing back his fist. The helpless moment when she’d known she couldn’t get to her daughter in time. And the overwhelming relief when Cole had stepped in. Another burst of wind and rain pounded the roof. Her conscience slammed her with equal force. Whoever he was, Cole had saved her baby, and she’d repaid him by letting him sit out in a storm getting soaked.
She might be Reaper now, but she’d been raised better. Grabbing her shawl to wrap around her nightgown, she stood and headed for the door.
Being raised right didn’t make it any easier to open that door. There was something about Cole Cameron that both drew her and scared her. As if there was more to him than met the eye. She didn’t like secrets. She lifted the bar. It felt so much heavier than it was. As if lifting that bar changed everything.
She opened the door slowly so it wouldn’t squeak. Light from the interior spread out over the wet ground, highlighting the ripples of raindrops in the puddles. Cole looked at her from the stoop. Water dripped off his hat. Shadows caught on his whiskers and haunted his eyes. He looked like anything but a safe place. She clutched the doorjamb. It took two tries to find her voice.
“You’ll catch your death sitting there.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Men always said that, human or Reaper. It didn’t make it true. “You’re not Reaper.”
He looked at her. A cold, steady stare from beneath the brim of his hat. It heated her from the inside out.
“No, I’m not.”
“You’ll catch cold.”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve sat in the rain.”
She glanced over her shoulder. Wendy still slept.
“Close the door. You’re letting the heat out.”
And be on what side of it? She wasn’t dressed for the rain. And she still owed him.
“You don’t know what you’re doing here.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.”
She tried again “There are things you don’t understand happening here.”
He cut her off. “Maybe. But I recognize a bully when I see one. And that man you’re stuck on is one miserable son of a bitch.”
What could she say? Clark was a bully. “I’m not stuck on him.”
“Set on him, then. Same difference.”
No, it wasn’t. But that wasn’t the point. She tightened her grip on the doorknob. “If you tell Isaiah what just happened, things will get worse.”
“Are you saying Isaiah would sanction Clark hitting a little kid?”
“No. It’s just—”
Again he cut her off. This time she didn’t mind, because she had no idea how she was going to finish that sentence.
“I have my share of problems with Isaiah,” Cole growled, “but there’s no way he’d countenance anyone beating on a child.”
Pain in her fingers warned Miranda that she was clutching the door latch too tightly. She forced herself to relax. First her fingers, then her arms, and lastly her voice.
“It’s not as simple as that.”
“It’s not?” Wind blew the rain, splattering the front of her nightgown, the little droplets hitting it here and there, creating specks of transparency. One landed just to the right of her nipple. His gaze dropped. His mouth thinned, and the air between them thickened with tension as her gaze followed his to where her shawl had slid down. That wet clinging spot was almost, almost big enough to show the color of her nipple.
Miranda crossed her arms over her chest and jerked the shawl back up. Heat crept up her cheeks. She wanted to slam the door shut. She didn’t. His gaze met hers. She never knew hazel eyes could burn so.
“You need to go inside.”
Prudence agreed. Pride kept her feet planted as she asked, “You’re determined to do this?”
“I’m not leaving you unprotected.”
That’s what she’d figured. Sighing, she stepped back and opened the door wide. “Then come inside.”
He didn’t move. “That’s not going to do your reputation any good.”
“No worse than having you stand guard in front of my house.”
“If I’m sitting in front of your door, people will know I’m not sleeping with you.”
He wasn’t Reaper. He wouldn’t understand the drive for a mate. She shook her head. “A claim is a claim is a claim.”
He got to his feet, shaking the water off his shoulders. “Interesting way of putting things.”
“As I said, there’s a lot here you don’t understand.
“Uh-huh.”
More raindrops hit her nightgown. At this rate she’d be all but naked in a few minutes. She stepped back. “For the love of Pete, come in.”
“I’ll get your floor wet.”
She rolled her eyes. “As if that’s the problem I’m going to be worrying about right now.”
She motioned him in. This time he went. A few steps past the door, he stopped.
“You made coffee?” He kept his voice as low as hers as he took off his hat.
It was the last of her small stash, but he didn’t need to know that. She shrugged and held out her hand. “You’ll be needing something warm in your stomach.”
He handed the Stetson to her before cocking an eyebrow at her. “I hear an accent. Irish?”
She shook her head. “Scottish.”
“Nice.”
The way he said “nice” sent a totally unexpected shiver down her spine. It’d been so long since she’d felt such emotion it took her a second to recognize it for what it was. Desire.
“I’m not going to jump you, ma’am.”
Thank goodness he thought she was just nervous. “Thank you.”
He cocked that eyebrow at her again. She took his coat, holding it away from her. “A man who was planning on assaulting me wouldn’t be sitting out in the cold on a miserable night, guarding me from another one who feels it’s his right to do just that.”
What was it about his look that made her feel like a bug in the open?
“Which brings us back to my question: why does he feel it’s his right?”
She draped the coat over the chair by the fire. Water dripped onto the rough wood floor, slipping between the cracks and disappearing like she wanted to. How was it possible to be jealous of water? “According to some, we’re to be mated.”
He didn’t look shocked. He just grabbed the towel hanging on the hearth and took the plain enameled pot off the fire. “How about according to you?”
She shrugged. “It’s complicated.”
He poured a cup of coffee. “I’ve got nothing but time.”
She supposed he did. She rubbed her hands down her nightgown. “There are not many women who are suitable. The law says when there is a match, it has to be honored, no matter what.”
“That hasn’t happened before.”
“So they’re experimenting with you.”
“Yes.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “And you’re fine with this?”
“I have been discussing it with him.”
“Discussing, huh? He doesn’t seem the talkative type.”
“I have to think of my daughter.”
“How does Wendy play into this?”
She tugged her shawl around her, vividly aware of how worn it was, how worn out she was, as those too-knowing eyes of his traveled from her head to her stockinged feet.
“Clark is a bully and a brute.”
How dare he sit there in front of her fire, drink her coffee, and pick apart her life? She glared at him. “But strong enough to hold what’s his.”
He stared at her for the longest time before responding. “You’re afraid of him.”
“I am not.”
It was a lie. Clark scared her witless. The whole Reaper community scared her. Especially her position within it.
He took another measured sip of the hot coffee. “He was going to hit Wendy tonight.”
She would have killed him if he had. “She provokes him.”
“Even I don’t believe that’s justification, and I’m human.”
Was that a touch of amusement in his tone? It caught on her frustration and pulled it to the front of her control. Her fingers tightened on the voluminous folds of her nightgown. Memories she wanted buried chased the frustration.
“You have no idea what you’re up against. You don’t know what they can do to you with just a lift of a finger, how it can change everything. Ruin everything.”
“I’ve had a taste. But”—he stood—“Camerons don’t go down easy.”
She couldn’t even remember feeling that invulnerable. Certainly not after that awful night her life had divided into two parts. Pre-Reaper and post-Reaper. “Camerons will go down just like everyone else. And when you do, there won’t be anything left of you but the blood soaking the earth, and they’ll laugh, and they’ll go on as if nothing happened. But you won’t.” She felt again the claws ripping her face, the teeth tearing at her throat. She’d prayed so hard in those moments to live, which only proved panic made people foolish.
He took a step forward. The table was behind her. She couldn’t take a step back. He reached out. She braced herself. She felt the beast rage as the memories howled. Her talons bit into the wooden surface. And all he did was run the back of his fingers down her scarred cheek. She wanted to duck and hide.
“Is that what they did to you?”
She shook her head. “I’m not going to talk about that.”
“Why?”
She took a step back. “Because it doesn’t matter.”
His eyes narrowed. She felt his concern like a touch, wrapping around her in a firm, invisible hug, pressing her, demanding . . . something. She didn’t have anything to give anyone, let alone someone like him who would demand everything.
His gaze cut to her daughter. “Wendy’s human, isn’t she?”
How had he known that? “Yes.”
“Reapers hate humans.” He didn’t make it a question.
“Not all of them.”
“How about the ones here?”
She licked her lips again. “They, for the most part, like her.”
The look he gave her let her know he heard the evasion and didn’t appreciate it. “For the most part. A human among Reapers. What’s going to happen when she grows up?”
That was the big question. One she didn’t want to answer. Taking a deep breath, she forced her beast back. Stepping past him, she took the cloth and grabbed the pot. He caught her arm. She wanted to lash out but held herself together. One glance and he let her go. Slowly. The sensation of his touch lingered.
“Not a place you want to go, huh?”
“No.”
Grabbing a cloth at the fireplace, she poured a cup for herself and then refilled his. The only betrayal of her nervousness was the rattle of the pot when she put it back. She quickly squashed it. This was a man to whom one didn’t give the advantage. When she turned, he was sitting at the table. She licked her lips.
“I have a little honey if you need it sweetened.”
He shook his head. “It’d be a waste of honey to try and sweeten me up.”
She didn’t smile at the joke, but she did hand him the cup, being careful to keep her fingers out of contact with his. She didn’t want to feel that jolt of desire. She couldn’t afford to be weak.
“Take the chair by the fire, please.”
He didn’t argue. Just sat on one chair and put his feet up on the other. She pulled the third out but didn’t sit.
“I have some milk.”
Again, he shook his head. “Save it for Wendy.”
It irked her that he knew how dear milk was and he thought of her daughter. She didn’t want to like him. Liking him could go nowhere.
He caught her look. “I’m not a monster, you know.”
“They said you took on four Reapers and defeated them.”
“I had help.”
“So you didn’t do it?”
He shrugged. “There was a fight. I won.”
He said that as if it were nothing.
“But you’re human.”
“I got lucky.”
“You defeated four Reapers.”
“Yes.”
He had to be lying. Four. She studied him from under her lashes. He was big boned and lean, with well-honed muscles that flexed beneath his shirt. No doubt he was something in a fight with humans, but with Reapers? It just wasn’t possible.
He set his cup on the table. “What do you want from me?”
She shook her head. “I just wanted to thank you for the favor you did me earlier.”
He said something under his breath.
“What?”
“You can’t negotiate and win with that man.”
“I’m not trying to win. I’m just trying to—”
Cole knew what she was trying to do. It was written in every nervous stroke of her fingers over her arms. Telegraphed in the way they tangled in the wrap. The woman was between a rock and a hard place.
“Negotiate a better position?”
She nodded.
“Have you talked to Isaiah about it?”
Her eyes flashed to his. Her “no” wasn’t a surprise. She’d already said she didn’t think Isaiah could help. And Clark was too confident to feel threatened.
He sighed and wrapped his hands around the cup. The heat from the coffee spread to his hands, warming them. He looked at the black liquid, the lamplight glinted off the surface, and he shook his head.
A cup of coffee in payment for risking his life. Damn. Even he didn’t hold it that cheap. He took a sip.
“You can’t do this alone.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
No, he supposed from where she sat she didn’t. “You need help.”
Anger flashed in her eyes. A hint of red heated the deep brown. Reaper.
“I’m fine.”
He’d heard Addy speak those words in that same cold, flatly determined yet hopeless tone too many times not to know it for the lie it was. She wasn’t fine. Without help she was, quite simply, fucked.
“Saying it doesn’t make it so.”
She jumped, and coffee spilled from her cup. She grabbed the cloth and dabbed at the back of her hand. He watched, feeling the frantic flick of her energy.
“Miranda . . .”
Across the room Wendy whimpered. Miranda latched onto the slight sound like a cat on a June bug, hurrying to the bed, whispering soothingly, pulling the blanket up over the child’
s shoulders the way mothers did. As if the weave were a magic shield that nothing could penetrate.
Cole pushed his coffee away, watching them both, frustration battling with disbelief. What had he been going to say? That he’d help her? He had no position here. Hell, Miranda was right. He didn’t even have a clue as to what was going on, and he was going to get in the middle of it? He had enough problems without borrowing a stranger’s.
Wendy’s whimpers grew stronger. Fear, pure and simple, spread through the room. Cole gritted his teeth. There was something seriously wrong when a little girl’s dreams held that much terror. Little girls should dream about sunny days braiding daisy chains and skipping through fields and Christmas and puppies and kittens and all the things that fascinated children. Wendy cried out.
“Leave my mommy alone!”
Anger lashed through the fear. Miranda cast him a glance. Hopeless. Desperate. She didn’t want him to see this, but it was far too late. Energy pummeled him in relentless waves. Hers. Wendy’s. And all of it was filled with the bite of horror. What in hell had happened to these two?
Wendy thrashed and cried out again. Her fist caught Miranda on the cheek. She flinched and whispered faster. Cole slowly brought the cup of coffee to his mouth and watched as the tension in him tightened. No amount of fast talk could halt memories that strong. Someone had hurt that little girl. Deeply.
In a routine that bordered on ritual, Miranda managed to get Wendy settled back into a quiet sleep. The energy in the room eased but didn’t totally calm. Cole nursed his coffee as Miranda hovered by the bed. He knew from Addy’s nightmares Wendy would sleep now. Miranda had to know it, too. Which meant she was stalling. No big surprise why.
“Your coffee’s getting cold,” he told her.
She shrugged and looked over her shoulder. Instead of flashing fire, her gaze just telegraphed defeat. He knew that feeling, too. Nothing like holding someone you love as they relive a horror to make a body doubt everything.
“I don’t feel like it anymore.”
No, for sure she didn’t need coffee. What she needed was sleep.
“Why don’t you go lie down and get some sleep, too, while I stand guard?”
She looked at him and the door. Outside the rain still poured.