A Reaper’s Love
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Part of the WindWorld series.
Laci Albright’s world has ground to a screeching halt. She’s no longer a field agent for the Exchange—the super-secret agency for handling non-human criminals. Laci lost her partner Taylor Reynaud and now is simply existing, her life empty until the day they tell her he is still alive.
For three horrific years Reynaud—a Reaper panther shifter—has been the prisoner of Shiek Hassan, the world’s most sadistic terrorist. Horribly disfigured and unable to heal himself, Taylor is already dead in his own mind when the SEAL unit rescues him.
Ex-Navy SEAL Dixon Coulter grew up with psychic powers. When he is captured by Hassan he becomes something far more than Reaper. He is the world’s first Gravelord—a being so powerful that not even a Reaper can defeat him.
Now Coulter wants the woman who belongs to Taylor and he will do anything to win her.
A Romantica® paranormal erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
A Reaper’s Love
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Dedication
To my Tommy. The only man I will ever love; the only husband I will ever have. You’ll never lose me, doll. I will always be your girl.
Chapter One
Laci Albright flinched as lightning stitched a fiery seam across the dark-gray corduroy of the heavens. The boom that followed shook the building, making the glass roof above her creak. Head down, shoulders hunched, she walked faster, wanting to get to the safety of the main concourse. The curved sweep of the new skyway made entirely of glass—even down to the tempered floor over which she hurried—made her feel exposed, open to the dangers of the vicious Iowa storm. Her trip from the dormitory had been bad enough. The horror of the power going out had made her palms sweat so she had avoided the monorail.
It was a long walk from the dorms to the main building.
Another harsh glare lit the skyway and she all but ran the last twenty feet into the protection of windowless walls devoid of glass ceilings. Gasping for air, hands shaking, she swallowed the nausea that threatened to incapacitate her.
The woman behind the guard desk greeted her quietly. “Good morning, Laci.”
“No offense, Joy, but it isn’t,” Laci mumbled as she headed for the restricted-access elevator off to the right. She had been called to a meeting on the third floor. “Far from it.”
“I’m sorry,” Joy McCarty said. “I’d forgotten how much you dislike storms.”
“I don’t dislike them, sweetie. I fricking hate them,” Laci said as she slapped her palm against the reader panel to the right of the elevator door. The green light behind the panel traveled from her fingertips to the base of her palm then up again. The doors slid silently apart.
“Hope your day improves,” Joy called out as Laci entered the elevator.
“Thanks. So do I,” Laci replied, trying to force a smile for the woman who was watching her and continued to watch her until the doors shushed together.
Sweat dampened Laci’s palms and she ran them down her dark slacks. She’d wakened as the storm began at four a.m.—burrowing beneath the covers as the lightning pulsed outside her window. But it was more than the storm that had her nerves on edge. A sense of foreboding sat on her shoulders like a cold, clammy washcloth. It had settled there before her seven o’clock shower and still clung to her despite the long walk over from the dorms. Glancing at her watch, she winced. She was five minutes late getting to the meeting and there would be censure because of her tardiness.
The elevator engaged and the cage climbed two floors before settling gently. It took longer than she liked for the panels to slide back—eating up more precious time she didn’t have—and as soon as they opened she was out of the elevator.
She barely glanced at the big oaken desk and the man who sat behind it.
“Everyone is already in the briefing room,” Jonas Cobb, the Supervisor’s Executive Assistant informed her curtly. “They are waiting on you. Punctuality is a virtue, Director Albright.”
Frowning at the prissy attitude of the Supervisor’s pet asshole, Laci didn’t bother to speak to Cobb. They had a strong dislike of each other and pleasantries weren’t expected or accepted. She walked past him to the briefing room, rapped twice on the mahogany panel then opened the door.
“You’re late,” were the first words out of the Supervisor’s mouth.
“Slow elevator. Dawdling pedestrians on the skywalk,” she said, going to her designated seat midway down the long conference table where twelve other people sat—the Supervisor at the head and six along each side. The chair at the opposite end of the table was empty as it had been for over three years.
“Excuses,” the Supervisor said. “Neither of which are acceptable.”
Laci nodded. She knew better than to argue with the man at the head of the table. It wasn’t wise and could result in suspension or demotion. It didn’t pay to get on his bad side.
“Now that Miss Albright has seen fit to grace us with her presence, we may begin,” the Supervisor pronounced.
For those so inclined, notebooks were opened and pens picked up, the nibs paused over paper. Compu-pads—having previously been activated by those who preferred electronic note-taking—were made ready. One woman flicked on a recording device.
The Supervisor cleared his throat. “We have been advised—”
A firm double-knock at the door signaled its opening and Cobb entered without apology. He walked rapidly to the Supervisor’s chair, leaned down and whispered urgently in his employer’s ear.
Laci watched the blood drain from the Supervisor’s face before he whipped his head around to stare up at the officious little man. “This has been confirmed?” he asked.
At Cobb’s curt nod, the Supervisor slowly turned his attention to Laci. He stared at her without speaking for several seconds and she felt her heart rate speed up.
“Has something happened, sir?” one of the other Directors inquired.
“Come with me, Albright,” the Supervisor said, pushing back his chair. He marched through the door and was gone before anyone could react.
Wondering what she could have done to warrant the look from hell, Laci stood and followed him from the room. She had to run to catch up with him for his long strides were outdistancing her. He was headed for the elevator. Joining him, she knew better than to speak unless he spoke to her. She risked a sidelong glance at his set face and wished she hadn’t. His expression sent a cold chill down her back.
He slammed his palm to the reader, the elevator panels shushed open, and then he entered before her, barely giving her time to clear the threshold before he spoke.
“Brace yourself. We’re going to the helipad,” he snapped.
Laci blinked. She had to bite her tongue to refrain from asking where they were going. That she would be airborne during the vicious storm made her heart speed up.
“Was it the storm that waylaid you or the avoidance of the monorail?” he asked without looking at her.
She flinched. “Both,” she admitted. Lying to the Supervisor was not a career-enhancing move.
“I thought as much.”
The elevator took them up to the roof level. That level extended from the main building all the way over to the fourth floor of the dormitory. The doors slid silently apart to reveal a short corridor at the end of which was a metal door. Once more the Supervisor ignored common courtesy and left the cage ahead of her. He strode quickly to the door, reached into his pocket for a keycard and swiped it down the card reader beside the door. Shoving the bar handle, he exited the building, allowing the door to hit her as it started to close.
“Asshole
,” she mumbled under her breath.
Rain slanted down in a torrent as she stood holding the door open. The rotors of the chopper were flinging the water against the side of the building and it pebbled her face with icy shards.
The Supervisor climbed into the helo then turned to motion her to it. Taking a deep breath for lightning still slashed across the firmament and she had no desire to be lifted into the maw of the storm, she nevertheless ran for the helicopter. Not in the least surprised her employer made no move to help her into the chopper, she managed to hoist herself through the opening. Her blouse and the legs of her slacks were soaked through.
She gave the attendant sitting in the aft-facing jump seat a disapproving look but the man seemed impervious to the glower. “Sit down. We don’t have all day,” he snapped at her.
“You heard him, Albright,” the Supervisor ordered.
“Buckle up, ma’am,” the pilot shouted unnecessarily from the cockpit. “We’re going to be in for a bumpy flight.”
“Terrific,” Laci said under her breath as she clicked the safety harness round her. She put on the headphones the Supervisor shoved at her.
The bird rose, banked sharply starboard and headed out across the countryside.
“The G4 is fueled and ready, sir,” the pilot informed them over the headphones.
Laci glanced at the Supervisor. He nodded but said nothing as he stared out the window. Even more curious to know what was going on, she kept her eyes on the floor at her feet rather than watch the flashes of lightning that lit the helo cabin. The bird was being pummeled by the storm and the flight was more than bumpy. It was like being inside the steel drum of a cement mixer. Thankfully the ride to the private airstrip near Oakland Acres was short else she thought she might well start hyperventilating.
“You must get over this astraphobia,” the Supervisor barked through the mouthpiece.
Her fear of thunder and lightning went back to her childhood. She doubted anything could be done about it. In college, she’d paid a hypnotist to help her rid herself of the phobia but it hadn’t worked. She’d tried again after coming to work for the Network, but it hadn’t worked that time, either. There was no magic pill she could take to eliminate the fear that gripped her when the weather turned bad.
“When we return to the Exchange, I intend to send you down to psych to see it done once and for all,” the Supervisor said as he read her mind. He turned his face toward her. “Are we clear?”
“Perfectly, sir,” she agreed, holding his steely stare.
“You want to know where we’re going,” he said.
“I do,” she said. The man liked succinct answers and when he was doling out the kind of look with which he was bombarding her, the shorter the words the better.
He searched her eyes. “To the Island.”
Laci frowned. She wanted to ask for what purpose but she figured if he wanted her to know, he’d tell her. Otherwise, questioning him would only provoke the nasty side of his personality and that was a side no one wanted to see. When he looked away, she clenched her teeth.
Mercifully, the flight took a little less time than it normally did thanks to a brutal tailwind, and the chopper settled down on the tarmac as close to the G4 jet as weather and safety allowed. Two men with opened umbrellas were waiting at the steps to the plane and once the attendant got out of his seat and opened the door, they came hurrying over.
As was his habit, the Supervisor preceded Laci from the chopper, huddling under the umbrella as he headed for the jet. Since the attendant made no move to help her out of the helo, Laci was relieved the other man with an umbrella reached out a hand to help her down.
“Thank you,” she told him. He gave her a curt nod.
As she climbed the steps to the jet, lightning sliced across the sky and a loud pop sounded as the spear struck the ground nearby. She jumped, missed a step and felt the metal edge scrape down her shin.
“Son of a bitch!” she groaned, bending forward over the pain lancing up her leg.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” the man with the umbrella inquired. He was standing on the rung just below hers, tilting the umbrella over her for protection.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m okay.”
Drawing in a breath, she scrambled up the steps, wincing as she went.
“Please stop dawdling, Albright,” the Supervisor grumbled as she came to take her seat. “Time is of the essence.” He waved his hand at the male flight attendant. “Tell Bradley to get this plane in the air, now!”
Settling in her seat beside the Supervisor—since he didn’t like anyone facing him—Laci dragged the seatbelt around her and buckled it. With every passing minute she wished she weren’t on the Director’s board so she didn’t have to bear the burden of the Supervisor’s unpredictable nature. While she no longer worked in the field, she alone among the Directors could be called to active duty at her employer’s whim. Not for the first time did she wish her Extension—the Alpha Operative whose empty chair opposite the Supervisor’s was a mute reminder that theirs was an unpredictable profession—was there to help her.
“Would you like a movie shown during the flight, sir?” the flight attendant inquired.
“No,” the Supervisor snapped.
Laci sighed. It was going to be a long flight with nothing to relieve the silence she expected.
“We went through this once before,” she heard the Supervisor say. “I never wanted to again.”
“Excuse me?” she said.
“With Mikhail Fallon,” he said. He laid his head on the back of his seat. “He and his wife Keenan are on the Island. They work there now.”
She’d heard of the legendary Alpha and his Extension, Keenan McCullough. They had bonded and now were Joined. Their marriage had been the talk of the Network. Having a pair of formidable agents working at the Network’s medical facility seemed a huge waste of ability. She wondered what had precipitated such an assignment.
The Supervisor was a Shadowlord, a powerful mage who could read minds as easily as a newspaper. His words to her came as no surprise.
“When they retired, they went to the Island to help other operatives who have been injured in the line of duty.”
“I heard Agent Fallon had PTSD after his encounter with the Martiya,” she said.
The Supervisor sighed. “Yes. He was crippled mentally and physically by that evil thing. It took him a good long while to get over it and I’m not really sure he has.”
“That was how long ago?” she asked.
“Ten years or so,” he answered. He closed his eyes. “When Misha left, Taylor assumed the role of Alpha. I need to assign a new man but I kept hesitating.”
At the mention of the Extension she had lost three years earlier to a bomb he was trying to defuse, Taylor Reynaud’s smiling face flitted across her mind. She clenched her hands into tight fists and looked away. It had taken her months to come to terms with losing Tay for they too had bonded. She missed him so deeply the pain felt fresh and raw when she opened her eyes each morning. She had loved him with every fiber of her being and he had loved her just as much.
The Supervisor scrubbed a hand over his face. “He’s alive, Laci.”
Her world suddenly spun off its axis. She slowly turned her face toward him. “Sir?”
“Taylor,” he said. “They found him. He’s alive.”
Laci stared at him. “Where?” she asked.
“Outside Mogadishu at a Dhaween camp.”
Her blood ran cold. “Sharif? Sheik Sharif Hassan had him?”
“A team of Navy SEALS got word from a Burundian informer that there was a Westerner being held at the camp. They thought it was Jack Donnelson, the missing news reporter. They had no idea who it was they rescued. Once he was identified, the CIA contacted us. The Network sent a retrieval team on a medevac transport to Ramstein yesterday.”
“Is he…?” She swallowed. “How long was he held by Sharif?”
“We won’t know until he wakes u
p. The medics put him in an induced coma to relieve the swelling in his brain.”
“My God,” Laci whispered. She put a hand to her mouth. “How badly is he hurt?”
“They excised his hellion,” he hedged. “As you well know Pantheras have only one hellion. Thankfully we have lupine and canine fledglings in the vault on the Island to replace his. He is scheduled for Transference tomorrow.”
“Why not now?” she asked, twisting around in the seat to face him. “For that matter, why didn’t they do it as soon as he landed on the Island?”
“They weren’t sure he would survive the Conversion,” he replied. “Him being a Reaper is a moot point under the circumstances. Without the revenant worm to protect him, heal him, he is as vulnerable as a human male. In his weakened condition, the trauma of shifting would put a massive strain on his system.”
“How badly is he hurt?” she repeated.
“Bad enough that he may not survive if we wait much longer to transfer the fledgling.”
The flight was the longest four hours of Laci’s life. By the time the wheels touched down on the Island airstrip, she had a brutal headache that was fast becoming a migraine. Nausea lurked at the back of her throat and she was strung as tight as an eighty-pound compound bow. When the Supervisor reached over to lay his hand atop her clenched fist, she flinched, surprised by his compassion.
“Don’t beat yourself up over this, Laci,” he said softly. “You couldn’t have known he survived the blast. I didn’t.”
“How did I not know he was alive?” she asked. “Why didn’t I know?”
“My guess?” he said. “He didn’t want you to know so he blocked you. Like Fallon, he has the capability of throwing up a mental block as tight as the hatch on a submarine. You wouldn’t be able to read or sense him unless he allowed it.”
“But the bomb,” she said. “We thought…”
“Obviously he wasn’t in the building when it detonated,” he told her. “They could have tranqed him full of triso—you know what that does to Pantheras—maybe even trastacáin or pairilis. He would have gone down without a fight. They extracted him, set the bomb off and expected us to come to the conclusions we did.”
A Reaper's Love (WindWorld) Page 1
