A Reaper's Love (WindWorld) (23 page)

“I missed this,” he said. “Feeling the heat
of you, the way my touch makes your honey flow.”

“Honey. Is that what it tastes like to
you?”

He removed his hand from her and brought it
to his mouth. Sweeping out his tongue, he licked his palm. “Yeah,” he replied.
“Honey and cream.” He returned his hand to her core but this time slipped his
middle finger between the slick folds. He pressed deep then slowly withdrew.

“I used to dream of this,” he said so
quietly she barely heard him. “When I hurt so badly.”

She said nothing. If he was ready to talk
to her about his imprisonment and years of torture, she’d listen but—truth be
told—she didn’t want to know the horrible things they’d done to him. It made
her soul ache to think of the man she so dearly loved being in pain. She wasn’t
sure she could live with the knowledge.

He slid his finger deep once more. “I think
they wanted to see how much I could take before I snapped but I had a talisman
they knew nothing about.”

“A talisman?” she asked.

“You,” he replied. “I had you there with
me.”

“As I will always be with you,” she vowed.

“I know that, Laci.”

Out again—slowly—then in with a slight
twist of his finger before easing back and inserting a second then third.

Laci closed her eyes to the sweet torment
he was exacting between her legs. He was readying her for him. Taylor’s shaft
was long and thick and despite the many times they had made love before he’d
been taken from her, she was still tight. His entering her bordered on
uncomfortable unless her juices were flowing freely.

He leaned down so his lips were at her ear.
“I dreamed of being inside you,” he whispered. “Of staying there. It was only
then I could endure what I was facing. You kept me sane.”

She reached up to thread her fingers
through his hair, to bring his mouth to hers. Her kiss was as passionate as she
could make it. She needed him inside her as much as she knew he wanted to be.

Taylor pulled his hand free and moved over
her, settling his hips between her thighs. The hard jut of his cock pushed at
the nether curls to smear a few drops of pre-cum in the golden spikelets.

“I love you,” he said against her lips.

Her hand in his hair, her tongue darting
into his mouth to duel with his, she ran her free hand between them to grip his
cock. She lifted her hips and pressed the broad mushroom head to her entrance.

“I love you,” she told him.

Sliding his hands beneath her firm rump, he
hefted her to him and thrust slowly, possessively into her slick heat until he
was tight against her womb. He held himself there—staring into her eyes—for a
few beats of their hearts, then began to glide in and out in a rhythm that
brought her legs up to clamp around his waist.

He lowered his mouth to hers and slipped
his tongue past her lips in and out in the same measured tempo as his shaft
penetrating her body. Beneath him, Laci ground her hips against his and a low
groan deep in her throat told him the soft barb on the tip of his cock was
dragging across her sweet spot.

His kiss became more demanding.

The speed of his thrusts increased.

Fingers sinking into the taut muscles of
her ass brought her as tight to his body as he could get her.

He braced himself on the tips of his toes,
digging into the mattress of their bed and pushed harder, quickening his
insertions.

Sweat began to bead on his forehead as he
strove to keep the release that was burning his cock to cinders from erupting.
The glorious slide of her hot flesh across him, the tight little squeezes of
her inner muscles plying around him, taking a toll on his control. He wanted to
push into her with wild, frenzied plunges that would shake the bed under them.
It was all he could do to continue the unrushed thrusts.

Laci groaned. Her thighs tightened around
him and the muscles of her cunt grabbed him hard. Her fingers dug into the
muscles of his arms as she pulled him to her. He knew she was on the verge of
coming and increased the snap of his hips against her. He hefted her higher,
his knees pressing into the mattress now.

She stiffened for a fraction of a second
then came so hard stars spun at the periphery of her vision. Her inner muscles
compressed with strong, hard ripples around her life-mate’s cock and she heard
him hiss. He threw his head back—coming as hard as she was.

Looking up at the underside of his chin,
watching the cords stand out in his neck, deep-crimson color wash over his
face, she knew his orgasm was doing to him what hers was doing to her. His seed
was scalding her, spurting deep and in that instant she knew that seed would
take root inside her womb.

Absolute joy spread over Laci Albright and
she clawed at his shoulders—wanting to pull him inside her and keep him there
where nothing and no one would ever hurt her man again.

Taylor clamped his jaw tight to keep from
bellowing as his release went on and on. It felt to him as though he had a pint
of cum pouring into his woman. As glorious as the release was, it was draining
him as no other ever had. His entire body was beginning to shake and he jerked
his hips, pulling out of her before he thought.

“
Taylor
!” she shrieked as the
flexible barb raked over her clit and another orgasm tightened around him to
pull him back inside her, milking him of every last drop, the slightest speck
of seed.

Staring wide-eyed at him, he knew she
understood what had just happened. For a long time they simply looked at one
another then Taylor drew in a deep breath. When he exhaled, he gave her a
command that brooked no resistance, no opposition and offered no way out.

“You
will
marry me before the day is
out.”

Laci nodded. “Yes, Reaper. I will.”

The plane landed at the regional airfield
in Watertown at ten p.m. Central Daylight Time. While the engines were cycling
down, Coulter went to the cockpit and told the captain to radio the Exchange
they had landed though he was sure the Ridge Lord already knew.

“Headlights,” the co-pilot said, pointing
to starboard.

Coulter ducked down to see out the
windshield. He narrowed his eyes and sent his powers streaking for the van
headed their way. Before four seconds passed he knew the three men inside were
the ones they were supposed to meet.

“And let them know the other half of our
team has arrived,” he told the captain.

“Roger,” the captain replied.

Straightening, Coulter left the cockpit.
“Our ride is here,” he announced. “Gear up.”

The steward opened the hatch and lowered
the stairs as the black van rolled to a stop twenty feet away. The driver door
opened and a tall, lanky man unfolded himself from the van. Two other men—each
of them dressed in the black uniforms of their cadre—got out and came to stand
in the beams of the headlights.

“I know that guy on the right,” Fallon said
as he looked out the porthole. “He’ll be the dude from Buenos Aires.”

“Saur, isn’t it?” Sorn asked. “Rom Saur?”

“Yeah, that’s Romao,” Cree provided. “I
think the shorter one is Lucan Wynth but I don’t know the driver.”

“Well, we’re gonna find out,” Coulter said.
He swung his backpack over his left arm and moved to the hatch.

“That bastard has an uncanny talent of
stating the obvious, don’t he?” Fallon grumbled.

“Would you mind moving out of the way?”
Skylar asked.

Fallon turned with a scowl. “Would you mind
going to hell?” he asked sweetly.

“Let the lady pass,” Cree said though he
was giving her the same frown Fallon was.

“Why do you wear all white?” Sorn asked.
He’d been mulling over her white blouse and skirt since she’d boarded.

“Why do you wear all black?” she countered.

“It’s the Reaper uniform,” he replied.

“Well, there you go,” she said.

“Okay, but why not slacks?” he asked,
following behind her.

“Banshees don’t wear slacks,” she said.

“Why not?” he pressed but she ignored him.
He looked around at Cree. “Why not?”

Cree shrugged. “How the hell would I know,
Sorn?” he queried.

Sorn hurried after her for she was already
descending the stairs. “Hey, Banshee! Why not?” he called out. “Huh? Why not?”

“The smart part of that boy is still
running down his old man’s leg,” Fallon with a shake of his head.

Cree sighed. Sometimes Fallon annoyed him
so much he was tempted to pull the little bastard’s head off.

And it didn’t matter which one at that
point.

“Hit the stairs, pup,” Cree said, waving
his hand irritably at his fellow Reaper. “We don’t have all night.”

When Cree and Fallon joined the Banshee and
the other five Reapers, Coulter was shaking hands with the unknown warrior. He
glanced at Fallon. “We’ve got another Hell-hound here.”

Fallon narrowed his eyes as he came
forward. “I wasn’t aware there was another Hell-hound.”

“Nor was I,” the man said. He didn’t offer
to shake Fallon’s hand and Fallon didn’t offer to shake his. He stared back at
Fallon without acknowledging the other Reaper.

“Maybe you two should just sniff each
other’s butts,” Skylar said and when the men gave her raised eyebrow looks, she
shrugged. “Isn’t that what you hounds do?”

“I’ll pass,” the man said, his lips
twitching.

Fallon grunted.

“Mikhail Fallon,” Coulter said. “Bastian
Belial.”

The two Hell-hounds nodded curtly to one
another but didn’t speak.

“There’s a tree over there,” Skylar said
and once again each of the men looked at her. “Curious to see which one of you
is going to whip it out and pee on it first.”

“Fuck off, Banshee,” Fallon snapped and
when she grinned malevolently at him, he growled.

“Alrighty then,” Coulter said. He reached
into his backpack and pulled out the remaining three boxes. “Here’s your rings.
Read the instructions.”

Saur, Wynth and Belial took the boxes then
Belial jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “If you’re ready, I’ll take us to the
motel we’re using as ops. It’s only two clicks from the estate where the target
has taken up residency.”

“Let’s roll out,” Coulter agreed.

The van was a Mercedes Benz Sprinter with
twelve-passenger capacity. After their gear was stored in the rear compartment,
Sorn and Skylar took the last seat and the others filed into the middle seats
with Belial once more driving and Coulter sitting shotgun.

“Where are you stationed?” Coulter asked
Belial.

“Madrid, where I’m Alpha Prime. I have nine
Reapers under my jurisdiction in Europe. You?”

“Iowa.”

“The Heartland,” Belial said. “The others?”

“Iowa but Fallon is permanently assigned to
the Island,” Coulter replied.

Belial glanced at him as he started the
van. “As what?”

“Agent liaison,” Coulter said. “He deals
with PTSD patients.”

“Why do you need three Reapers in Iowa?”

“I’m the Alpha at the Exchange and Sorn is
the Alpha at Tearmann. Cree is our Alpha Prime and is assigned to the Baybridge
Institute.”

“Ah, yes,” Belial said with a nod. “I’ve
sent a few miscreants there.” He glanced in the mirror. “Wynth was just
transferred to the Jahan Residentia as the Alpha Prime there. He has Russia as
his bailiwick. I believe he has nine Reapers also.”

“And Saur?”

“He’s Alpha Prime in Buenos Aires. He has
fourteen Reapers patrolling South America and the Leeward Islands.”

“What’s it like being an A.P.?” Coulter
inquired.

“Like herding cats,” Belial said with a
grin. “Actually, most of my cadre are Panthera.”

“And you’re the top dog,” Coulter said,
returning the grin.

Fallon’s snort drew Belial’s eyes to the
rearview mirror. He sighed. “I’m going to have trouble with him, aren’t I?” he
asked softly.

“Don’t feel bad. Everyone has trouble with
him,” Coulter replied.

* * * * *

“We fly,” Skylar said with exasperation.

“So?” Sorn pressed.

She blew out an annoyed breath. “When we
fly, the skirt billows out like a shroud. We look like ghosts streaking through
the air and we skirl.”

“You what?”

“Skirl, Panthera. Skirl!”

“What the hell is that?”

Digging her fingernails into the gauzy
material of her white skirt, she twisted in the seat to face him.

“You ever get your tail stepped on when you
Convert?” she demanded.

“No.”

She pursed her lips. “Ever heard a bagpipe
played very badly?”

“How the hell would you know?”

“That’s skirling,” she said. “A loud,
shrill, wailing tone—prolonged to grate on the nerves. When a Banshee wails, it
scares the shit out of the ones who hear it. It’s part of our arsenal of
weapons.”

He stared at her for a few seconds then his
eyebrows shot up. “Okay, I get it. The sound unnerves your target.”

“Precisely,” she said. “Now shut the fuck
up and leave me alone.”

Sorn could see her nipples pressed against
the bodice of her white dress and he felt his cock stir. The material was
nearly transparent but her body was so pale he could see nothing more than the
shadowy outline of her curves. With her silvery eyes and long white hair, he
could see why those she went after would think ghostling. He wondered what it
would be like to have her long slender arms and legs wrapped around him.

“You’ll never know,” she said as she stuck
the ear buds into her ears.

He shook himself to rid his mind of carnal
thoughts of her. “What are you listening to?” he asked.

“The iPod,” she said then shifted her body
so her back was to him.

Turning around in his seat, Cree ordered
Sorn to leave her alone.

“Just trying to be friendly,” Sorn stated.

“I don’t need any fucking friends,” she
mumbled.

Cree faced forward again, exhaling sharply.

“Not likely to get any, either,” Fallon—who
was seated beside him—chuckled meanly.

* * * * *

Coulter lowered the binoculars. “Quite an
extensive compound for a former general don’t you think?” he asked Cree.

“If he’s on the North Koreans’ payroll,
they’ll have provided well for him.” He pointed at a large outbuilding east of
the mansion. “
Balgair
dorm?”

“That would be my guess,” Coulter agreed.

The one-story building had guards both in
front and at the rear.

“How many you got showing, Wynth?” Cree
asked.

Wynth looked up from the heat-signature
device in his hand. “Thirty life forms inside that building and two on each
side of it. Thirty-eight in all.”

“What about inside the mansion?” Coulter
inquired.

Adjusting the range of the device, Wynth
reported another twenty-two people inside the huge mansion. “All but seven of
them are
balgair
,” he told them.

“The general, his wife and the five
servants I’m thinking,” Coulter surmised. “No visitors at this time of night.”

“He’s certainly well-guarded,” Cree
observed. “Thirty-eight in the dorm and fifteen in the mansion. Fifty-three
balgairs
.
That’s a lot of hellions to have gotten from somewhere.”

“No Terran-assigned Reapers are missing for
their hellions to have been harvested,” Coulter said. “Taylor’s hellion is
within him again and couldn’t have provided offspring for them anyway so where
the hell did the North Koreans get them?”

“Gods-be-damned good question,” Cree said
with a sharp frown. He rolled over to his back and stared up through the trees.
“Could the Ceannus be in contact with the North Koreans?”

“Gods, I hope not,” Wynth mumbled. “Where
you have Ceannus, you usually have ghorets.”

At the mention of the most poisonous
creatures in the Megaverse, Cree shuddered. Though Coulter had no personal
knowledge of the vipers, both Cree and Wynth did.

“Okay, so how do we go about getting to the
rogues inside the dorm without raising alarm?” Fallon asked. He, Sorn, Saur and
Belial were hunkered down behind Cree and Coulter with Skylar having been left
behind in the surveillance van until needed.

“We take out those guards first,” Belial
said, stating the obvious.

“Would be nice if we had some kind of
airborne knockout agent to toss down their chimney,” Saur remarked. “Take them
all out at once before they could raise an alarm then we could go in and
dispatch them to
balgair
hell. Nice and easy.”

“True that,” Sorn agreed. “Wonder why TPTB
didn’t think of that?”

“TPTB?” Cree asked.

“The Powers That Be,” Sorn supplied. He was
chewing bubble gum and blew a bubble, popped it then grinned as he drew the
pink glob back into his mouth.

“Here’s a thought,” Fallon said. “Why not
send the Banshee to Tearmann and have her pick us up a canister or two of
trastacáin
?
Get some use out of her.”

“She’s going to be needed here when we get
inside the mansion,” Coulter said. He glanced around at the other Reapers.
“There are only four of us who have flight capability. Cree and I need to stay
so that means either you, Saur or Wynth.”

“It was my idea,” Saur said. “I’ll go but
it’ll take me at least four hours to get there and back. It’ll be morning by
then.”

“Then we’ll wait to go in tomorrow night,”
Cree said. “I doubt one day will make a difference.”

“Will this
trastacáin
harm humans
?”
Coulter asked.

“No but it will give them one helluva
headache and some severe disorientation when you wake,” Fallon answered.

“That might work in our favor,” Coulter
said. “General Dexter will be more susceptible to the Banshee’s interrogation.”

“I don’t know why we needed her along
anyway,” Fallon grumbled. “We all read minds. We could interrogate him just as
well if not better than her.”

“Are you on the rag, Fallon?” Cree snapped.
“If you don’t stop that incessant whining and complaining, I’m going to knock those
pearly white fangs down your throat. Knock. It. Off.”

Fallon clamped his lips together.

“I don’t think he wants to be here,” Wynth
said softly to Sorn.

“He has a problem with Coulter and the
Banshee,” Sorn replied.

“Truth told, I have a problem with the
Banshee too,” Belial stated. “Wynd was a friend of mine.”

“Fallon’s as well and he doesn’t have many
friends,” Sorn reported. “Taylor Reynaud is one.”

“Ah,” Belial said. “Now I see why he
doesn’t like Coulter.” He frowned. “But nothing happened between him and Tay’s
woman. Did it?”

“Not really but Fallon can hold a grudge
longer than anyone I know,” Sorn replied. “I—” He looked around as the Banshee
suddenly appeared behind them.

“I told you to stay in the van,” Cree said.

“I want to say something and I want you to
hear me and hear me well,” Skylar said. “I loved Wyndom Coure. I did not fake
my leaving. Morrigunia did that because I had given Wynd a child.” She raised
her head. “A little girl.”

“Who the fuck was the father?” Fallon
demanded, eyes mean.

“Wynd.”

“Bullshit,” Fallon said. “No Reaper can
give his woman a girl child!”

“I could,” Sorn said. “Taylor could.” He
shrugged. “Any Panthera could.”

“Aye, well Wynd wasn’t a fucking cat!”
Fallon said. “He was Lupine.”

“And that’s why She took our daughter,”
Skylar said. “Took her away from us the moment she was born.”

“Why?” Belial asked and when Fallon and
Cree both would have protested, he held up his hand. “Let the woman speak. I
want to hear her explanation.”

“She took our daughter because she wasn’t a
male,” Skylar said. “No Reaper of hers was going to produce a female. That is
part of the geasa Morrigunia placed on you men. We should have known the baby
was a female because from the moment I conceived until the babe slid from my
thighs Wynd’s hellion gave him nothing but pain for hours—days—on end! It hated
me and it hated our child.”