Morrigunia smiled. “It took you long enough to realize that, Reaper,” She said. Her green eyes shifted to the sleeping woman who lay a few feet away on a bed of silk and lace.
Skylar McQueen had been the life-mate of Wyndom Coure. The two had been as deeply in love as any Reaper-life-mate pairing She had created but there had been a problem. The pairing had been the first of its kind and had not worked out as Morrigunia had planned. Trouble began brewing the second year the two were together and would have only gotten worse had She allowed them to remain mated.
She studied the woman who was shifting restlessly upon the bed and frowned.
As lovely as any of the mates She had bestowed upon Her beloved Reapers, Skylar had set Coure’s blood ablaze with instant desire the moment he laid eyes on her.
Just as Morrigunia intended.
It had taken a while longer for Skylar to realize the Reaper was her fated mate.
But placing them together had been a foolish mistake on Her part. Coure was a Prime Reaper on Fanntagh. A general in the Fanntaghian Military, his assignment had been to end a war that had been going on for decades. Skylar was the youngest daughter of the rival faction in that war.
Skylar’s mother, Queen Maeve of the Banshee, was as bloodthirsty and cruel as any warrioress to ever draw breath. Her all-female fighting force was fierce, vicious and any male who fell into their spiteful clutches rued the day his mother had given birth to him. A hundred times more murderous and misandric—male-hating—as any Amazeen ever dreamed of being, the Banshees were a brutal force with which to reckon. They fought with savagery and won every skirmish. Rarely taking prisoners, those who were snatched from the battlefield were harvested of their male essence then ritualistically and horribly butchered. The essence was used to make more Banshees. As a Reaper only produced male offspring with any species other than a Banshee, the Banshee only produced female offspring.
Coure lost thousands of men to the night-flying wraiths that swooped in to annihilate his troops. His men were mortal and the Banshee were immortal. They could not be killed nor could they be vanquished. Men were dying at an alarming rate and Morrigunia had been tasked by Her husband Jee An Ayr, the Father-God, to put an end to the butchery.
“How?” She demanded.
“You’ll find a way,” He told her.
After days of trying to do just that, the Triune Goddess had come up with a bold plan—kidnap one of Queen Maeve’s seven daughters and pair her with the Prime Reaper.
The Banshee queen loved her daughters with a ferocity that bordered on insanity but of all her children, she loved Skylar the most. Finding her, spiriting her away from the eagle eyes of her innumerable bodyguards had been the hardest thing the goddess had ever done—and the bloodiest—but She had whisked Skylar to the barren planetoid in No Man’s Land known as the Sinisters and left her there.
Then She had brought Coure there, as well. What had started out as a nasty brawl between the two when first they met became a dual effort to remain alive while waiting for rescue. Within three days, the Reaper and the Banshee were sharing the same blanket to stay warm in the ice cave where She had put them. A day later, they were sharing their bodies. At the end of a month, they were deeply, passionately in love and ready to be taken back to Fanntagh.
Queen Maeve had been horrified at learning her beloved daughter was now the willing property of a male. And not just any male but the despised Prime Reaper. Ordering Coure’s death had brought about a rift between mother and daughter that had ended in Skylar being cast out of her tribe. The fighting between the Banshee and the men of Fanntagh had continued but now the main focus of Banshee wrath had shifted. Maeve declared war on Reapers throughout the Megaverse and issued a million credit bounty on the head of each—fifty million to the one who brought her Wyndom Coure alive.
In order to protect Her Reaper, Morrigunia brought him and his life-mate to Terra but that had not protected the star-crossed lovers from their collective fates.
It was an experiment in pairing that went tragically awry for Skylar when she became pregnant with Coure’s child. To Morrigunia’s horror, the child had not been the male She was expecting, a new generation of Reaper. The arrival of the girl child had stunned the goddess. What should not have happened, had happened.
Again.
It was a grave mistake and the situation needed to be resolved quickly.
The only way to do that was to sunder the bond between the lovers with the deaths of Reaper and mate.
Unfortunately, Skylar was already dead and could not suffer that fate again. The lovely woman was immortal, of a species that Morrigunia realized She should have left alone. Whisking the infant away only moments after her birth, the Triune Goddess set into motion a scenario She hoped would remedy the matter once and for all.
Staging Skylar’s death had been easy enough. Using Her powers to put the young woman into a deep, breathless sleep from which only She could rouse her, Morrigunia then carried Skylar to the mountain near the home she shared with Coure. There—atop the highest peak—the goddess had let go of Skylar and the woman’s body had plunged tens of thousands of feet into a rocky crevice. Coure had searched for hours until he found his love. Believing her gone from him forever, grieving inconsolably, he had carried her back to their cabin and had lain with her still body in his arms for two days before finally getting up to set fire to the cabin. He had doused himself and Skylar with an accelerant then lay down to let the fire claim them.
And claim him it did though Skylar survived the conflagration. The Reaper was burned to ash, his remains blown away by a brisk north wind. Skylar was taken to Jeeoil, the home of the gods with all memory of her Reaper wiped from her mind as she lay in deep slumber.
The fledgling hellion of Wyndom Coure the healers on the Island had taken from him years before the Reaper claimed Skylar as his life-mate, had rested in stasis until it had been transferred to Taylor Reynaud. Now—deeply surprising the Triune Goddess—it called for its mate and Skylar was beginning to come out of her enforced sleep.
“You will have a new mate,” Morrigunia told the restless woman. “One who I will make sure will never seed you with his child.”
She turned Her gaze from Skylar and looked out over the rippling waters of Her home world and sighed.
She had made only three mistakes in Her long existence. She intended to make sure She made no others.
Taking a deep breath, She launched Her body into space, shifting into Her dragon form as She soared over the turquoise water, copper scales glinting in the sun. Within seconds She was digging Her talons into the soil on Guirrlan, where She kept her girt, the hatchery and nursery for Her Reaper offspring. There, in a land beyond time and space, were the first two mistakes She’d made.
Once more in humanoid form, She made Her way to the nursery where two little girls were sitting on the marble floor playing with jackstones. They looked up at Her and smiled.
“Who is winning?” She asked.
“Pearl,” the little red-haired beauty said with a pout. “She always wins.”
“Not always,” Morrigunia said to the child with hair so like Her own. She sat down and folded Her legs beneath Her tailor fashion.
“Garnet isn’t as good a player as me,” Pearl said. She shook her long white hair behind her.
“Did You come to play with us, Grandmother?” Garnet inquired with her little face tilted to one side.
“Not today, love,” Morrigunia said. “I came to tell you there will soon be an addition to our little family.”
“Another girl?” Garnet asked, excitement lighting her green eyes.
Morrigunia nodded. “Aye. Her name will be Topaz.”
“Is her daddy a Reaper, too?” Garnet inquired.
The goddess smiled. “No, her father is something different but she will be a sister to you just as Pearl is sister to you.”
“Is her mother Amazeen?” Garnet asked, proud that her mother was a female warrior.
“Banshee like my m
other?” Pearl queried.
Morrigunia looked at the child of Wyndom Coure and tried not to shudder. “No, her mother is of the lineage of the Witches of Bandar.”
“A hell-hag,” Pearl said with a twist of her cupid-bow lips.
“You will welcome her as Garnet welcomed you, Pearl,” the goddess said sternly. “You will not hold her heritage against her.”
Pearl shrugged. “I’ll try,” she said, her lower lip thrust out in a pout.
“You will do more than try, young lady,” Morrigunia told her in a tone that left no room for disagreement. “Do you understand?”
“Aye, Mo Regina,” Pearl said. Fear flashed through her silver eyes and she lowered them.
“You will be sisters,” the goddess stressed. “You will love one another for each of you is an entity unlike any other. Do you understand?”
“Aye, Mo Regina,” the little girls said in unison.
“Splendid. Now play nicely,” Morrigunia said, getting to her feet. “I will bring your little sister to you soon.” She leaned over to kiss each of them goodbye.
Winging Her way back to Jeeoil, She breathed a sigh of relief. The way had been paved for the new addition to Her arsenal of warrioresses. The little girls She had visited on Guirrlan were the ancestors of a woman to be named Aurora who would give birth to three other little girls named Aureolin, Argent, and Corallin by three different, very powerful Ridge Lords.
“All is good,” She said as She alighted on the balcony of Her palace on Jeeoil. “All is very, very good.”
She had the female in mind who would birth Topaz. Now all She had to do was put her together with the Gravelord and convince him to accept her as his life-mate instead of Laci Albright.
She liked manipulating human lives.
* * * * *
The hellion was making him dream but he didn’t think the beast realized the dream was not of the woman who had been life-mate to its host. He was dreaming of Laci, could actually feel her in his arms.
He had the tenerse to thank for that.
His headache had become so intense he began to throw up and the moment he did that, the watcher sent a healer to his cell with a dosage of the powerful drug.
“I can’t take that,” he mumbled when he asked what was in the vac-syringe the healer placed in the compartment inside the door. “All it does is make me high.”
“The triso does not have the same effect on you now as it would have if you still had your Panthera hellion,” the healer said. “It will work, will do its job because you have a Lupine hellion inside you.” He shut the compartment door. “Take the med, Lord Taylor.”
Agonizing pain was ripping through his head from temple to temple and the nausea only made the pain worse. He heaved a sigh and left the bunk, stumbling to the cell door to retrieve the vac-syringe. He pulled down the door on his side of the compartment and plucked the med from the drawer. Not giving himself time to think, he put the bore of the vac-syringe to the side of his neck and released the plunger.
“Mother of Alel!” he gasped. The burning sensation traveling through his jugular vein was worse than the pain ricocheting through his head.
Mercifully, the drug took immediate effect and his pain vanished to be replaced by rapid disorientation.
“Whoa!” he mumbled. The vac-syringe dropped from his hand. He turned and zigzagged his way back to the mattress-less bunk before he went to his knees. Falling onto the bunk, he managed to get his numb legs onto the platform before his world began to shut down.
“Sleep well, Lord Taylor,” the healer said with a soft laugh.
The dream came as rapidly as had the onset of the drug. As he sank into it, he realized it wasn’t a dream but a memory from his very first interlude with the woman he knew was his life-mate. The beast within him had no control over his memories and it was the memory that flooded him with the sweetest relief he had experienced in weeks.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“N’orleans, huh?” she asked.
“Metairie, actually,” he said. “But I was raised in the bayou.”
“I like your accent.”
“I like yours,” he replied.
“I think we’re gonna get along just fine.”
“Me too, but do you know why?”
She nodded. “Yeah. You’re my other half,” she said. “Knew it the minute I laid eyes on you.”
“Smart woman,” he said and put his arm around her shoulder. “So, grits. Cheese or not?”
“Not,” she said as they began walking toward the cafeteria. “Why ruin a perfectly good thing with mold?”
“A gal after my own heart,” he agreed. “Pattie or link?”
“Pattie,” she replied. “Scrambled?”
“Indeed. Hash browns or cottage fries?”
“Fries, naturally. White or wheat?”
“Wheat,” he answered. “Apple or grape?”
“Grape but if they got it, mayhaw jelly would be better.”
“They got it,” he said. “I found them a place in Georgia where they can order cases.”
“Kewl beans,” she said.
Breakfast in the cafeteria then a stroll to the monorail. Sitting hand in hand in the railcar then walking hand in hand to the door to her apartment.
“He knew,” he said as she punched in the security code.
“Oh yeah,” she agreed. “He always does.”
Once inside, he had taken her into his arms and kissed her for the first time. The kiss had gone on and on—lasting longer than any kiss he’d ever bestowed or been given—and then she’d looked up at him with that look. It would become the look that had sealed the bargain between them.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied.
She led him into the bedroom as unselfconsciously as though they’d been lovers for years. Her cheeks were not flushed—not then at any rate—and her smile had not been hesitant. It was a thousand watts of pure pleasure as she put her hands to the bottom of his polo shirt. He raised his arms and she pulled the garment over his head.
“Oh yeah,” she said of his chest and put her palms on his pecs, smoothing them over his chest hair.
“Not into manscaping, huh?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I like a nice field for my girls to romp through,” she said with a sniff.
“I prefer a nice thatch for my boys to play in, too,” he said with an arch of his brow.
She took one hand from his chest and measured about an inch between thumb and index finger. “Is that enough thatch?”
“We’ll see, won’t we?” he asked, putting his fingers to the buttons of her white blouse.
He’d unbuttoned her blouse and peeled it from her slowly.
She had unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his fly and tugged down the zipper. She lifted her gaze. “Commando?”
“You betcha,” he said. “I’m Reaper.”
Her smile was slow and oh so seductive as he unbuttoned the waistband of her skirt, unzipped it and let it fall to the floor.
“Oh, mama,” he whispered when all that stood between her and where he wanted to be was a miniscule thong.
“Boots?” she queried, glancing down. She kicked off her sandals.
“Huh? Oh yeah.” He’d sat down on the edge of her bed and tugged off the scuffed cowboy boots that were badly in need of polishing. He tossed them aside then stood, wiggling out of his tight jeans as she watched him.
He almost laughed when he saw her eyes widen then gradually raise to his.
“It’ll fit,” he said with pride.
“Might be a tight fit,” she said. “But I’m good in tight places.”
“Me too,” he’d bragged and made a circling motion with his index finger.
She turned obediently and he unhooked her bra, pushed it over her shoulders and down her arms. Insinuating his hands under her arms, he molded her bare flesh with his hands, pulling her back against his chest.
“I could spend a lifetime caressing these,” he sa
id of her lush breasts. He thumbed her nipples and grinned when she wriggled her ass against his groin.
“Do whatever you like with them,” she replied, her voice husky and so sultry he almost dropped to his knees behind her.
He slid his hands from her breasts to her hips to ease the straps of her thong down her thighs though he wanted to rip the slip of a garment off with his teeth.
“Next time,” she said as she read his thoughts.
“Count on it,” he stated then turned her around in his arms. He cupped her cheeks then slanted his mouth gently over hers, drawing from her a kiss as gossamer soft and sweet as it was intoxicating.
“Is it true what they say about Cajun men?” she asked as he walked her backward toward the bed, her face still pressed tenderly between his palms.
“What is it you’ve heard?” he asked.
“They make the best lovers.”
“Chere, you’re about to find out.”
“Oh goody,” she giggled.
And he had shown her what she’d heard had been the truth. He had learned early from an older Creole cousin how to use his body to pleasure a woman, to keep her on the edge of satiation for a long time before finally allowing her release. He did things to Laci’s body that made her toes curl and her heart stutter. Her fingernails had raked furrows down his back and over his ass but the pain—and blood—had been worth it. The orgasm he gave her had been so strong he flinched from the tight constriction of the ripples milking him. But as he withdrew—when the soft barbs at the end of his penis raked across her still enflamed clit—she screamed with ultimate pleasure.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” she cried out as wave after wave of intense enjoyment undulated through her body.
He left no doubt in her mind who she needed to be with or to whom it was she belonged. He had staked his claim on her body as well as her heart.
“You really know how to show a girl a good time, don’t you, Tater Tot?”
He had grinned at her nickname for him. “Baby, I ain’t no tot. What you just got was all man.”
“Indeed it was,” she said. “Tater.”
From that moment on they had been inseparable. They had bonded in mind, body and soul. She was no longer just his Extension. She was his life-mate.
A Reaper's Love (WindWorld) Page 15
