A Reaper's Love (WindWorld) (24 page)

“For what reason?” Belial asked.

“Because I was responsible for the baby’s
creation,” she said, biting back a sob.

“The male determines a baby’s sex,” Cree
reminded her.

“Banshees can only produce female
children,” Wynth said and all eyes turned to him. “My brother Kasin was
captured by the Banshee. They held him four years before he managed to escape.
In that time he fathered dozens of children—all females. He was told the reason
was because Banshees have the ability to change the sex of the child in the
womb.” He cocked a shoulder. “They didn’t tell him how but Kasin was one of
nine brothers. Our father was one of fourteen. What are the odds that out of
that many children he sired there would not be a single boy?”

“Surely Morrigunia would have known that,”
Fallon said. “Why mate such a being with a Reaper if She wanted only a male
child?”

“Banshees are known for their savagery, for
their lack of compassion and remorselessness” Wynth said. “I imagine She
thought She could breed a Reaper warrior who was even fiercer than we already
are.”

“It didn’t work,” Skylar said. “What She
got was anathema to Her. She took our child and then She took me from Wynd.”

“Punishing him for not producing a male
child and punishing you for the same reason,” Belial said.

“That sounds like Her,” Cree mumbled.

“I would never have left Wynd if I had been
given the chance,” Skylar said, lifting her chin. “I loved him. He was my
heart. She could not kill me so She put me in limbo with no intention of ever
bringing me out.” She looked at Coulter. “She didn’t count on Wynd’s hellion
being given to another.”

“And even though that hellion never knew
you, it somehow knew you were its host’s life-mate,” Belial said. “It wanted
you.”

“So it woke me,” she said. “It brought me
out of the deep slumber into which She’d placed me. She was ordered to bring me
here to the man hosting Wynd’s hellion.”

“Ordered by whom?” Cree asked.

“My guess is Her husband, the Father-God,”
Wynth said. “He who created the Shadowlords.” He looked at Coulter. “And
Coulter is a Shadowlord.”

Skylar’s lip rose. “If it was His thought
to make me this man’s life-mate, He miscalculated. There will be no pairing
between us.”

“So you say,” Belial says. “If the
Father-God wishes it, I doubt what you think and say will matter much.”

“I will not mate with any man!” she hissed.
As angry as she was at that statement at least she had the presence of mind not
to shout for the noise would bring men from the compound down on their heads.

“Lady, I’m not going to foist myself off on
you,” Coulter said. “If that’s what you think I’ll disabuse you of that notion
right now. I’m not that hard up that I have to rape a woman.”

Fallon snorted. He opened his mouth but
Cree clamped a hand on Fallon’s shoulder and dug his fingers in hard enough to
make Fallon wince.

“Don’t say it,” Cree warned.

“Well, I’ve said what I needed to,” Skylar
said. “I do not want any of you men…” She gave Fallon a brutal look. “Thinking
I betrayed my Wyndom. I did not. If it were possible, I would have followed him
in death but my punishment was in having him taken from me. If you were his
friends, honor his memory by honoring the woman he loved.”

That said, she turned her back on them and
headed back to the van. For a long moment no one spoke then Coulter spiked his
hand through his hair.

“We can’t do anything here tonight. Let’s
get back to the motel and come back tomorrow night when Saur has brought the
trastacáin.”

“I could use a good night’s rest,” Belial
said.

“We all could,” Wynth agreed.

Wynth, Sorn and Belial left Cree, Coulter
and Fallon standing together in the clearing.

“Do we give her a chance or not?” Cree
asked.

“I’m willing to,” Coulter replied. “She and
I haven’t been given a choice about whether or not to work together. If she’s
good at her job—and I doubt we’d have been paired if she wasn’t—that’s all that
counts.”

Cree and Coulter looked to Fallon.

“Whatever,” the Hell-hound said and turned
on his heel, stomping back down the trail to the van.

Cree put his hands on his hips, hung his
head and sighed audibly.

“That man doesn’t have a stick up his ass,”
Coulter said with a sigh. “He has a fucking redwood tree.”

“He’s never going to forgive you,” Cree
said. “That’s the Hell-hound way.”

“I can live with that but if he keeps on
pushing, he and I are going to have words,” Coulter warned.

“Works for me,” Cree said. He too turned
and headed back.

* * * * *

Jee An Ayr
,
the Father-God, hovered over the room Coulter shared with Belial and watched
the Gravelord sleeping fitfully. No Reaper ever slept peacefully and sleep was
always sporadic for them. They did not sleep well because the hellion never
rested. It was always on alert, guarding its host. When it moved, the Reaper
stirred to wakefulness—if only momentarily—and it made for a restless slumber.

Though He could not interfere with His
lady-wife’s creations, He could manipulate His own. He floated down to
Coulter’s bed and reached out to lay a calming hand on the young man’s head.
Instantly, Coulter quietened and fell into a deep sleep from which he would
awaken refreshed.

Smoothing His hand over Coulter’s head, the
Father-God drew into Himself all the memories of Coulter’s impoverished,
soul-deadening childhood. There had never been love in the young man’s short
life and those who took him to their bodies only did so because he was handsome
and virile—not because they wanted a relationship with him.

“Sad,”
Jee An Ayr
said. “So sad.” He
eased back a lock of tumbled hair. “You deserve so much more, My Gravelord.”

And the Father-God would see he received
it. He might not be able to influence the nasty little hellion glaring up at
him through the young man’s flesh, but He could sway the other faction in the
arrangement. After one last look at Coulter,
Jee An Ayr
floated up
through the ceiling and down five rooms before sinking through that ceiling to
stand beside the bed of the Banshee.

The girl was lovely, He thought. She lay on
her back with her long polished-silver hair fanned over her pillow like silk
and cascading off the side of the bed to just touch the floor. Though her
silver eyes were closed,
Jee An Ayr
could imagine their bright sheen
that could turn flame-red when she was angry. The paleness of her skin—even the
light color of her full lips—made her body almost fade into the whiteness of
the sheets. He cast His eyes to the white gauzy dress—the uniform of her
species—laying draped over a chair and smiled. The woman slept naked in her bed
and He was curious about what lay under the mound of the sheet.

That sheet drifted down her tall body to
pool at the foot of the bed.
Jee An Ayr
sighed. Even the patch of hair
at her thighs was so pale it blended in with her flesh. She had a lush,
beautiful body with shapely legs, a flat belly and large breasts with
protruding nipples—pale as they were—that any man would love to suckle. The
tiny waist that gave way to the generous flare of her hips could be circled in
the scope of a man’s hands. All in all, Skylar McQueen was an astonishingly
beautiful and seductive woman.

The sheet flowed gently from the foot of
the bed to just below the Banshee’s underarms and settled upon her body. She
moaned but did not wake. Nor did she move when the Father-God laid a hand upon
her brow. He stroked His thumb along her forehead.

“You loved your life-mate Coure and I
understand this, Banshee, but that warrior is gone,” He said.

The Banshee moaned again and her pale lips
parted.

“It is time to move on. You have much to
give and there is one who is in need of that giving.”

She shifted under His hand as though in
pain.

“Work with him,”
Jee An Ayr
said.
“Get to know him. Be kind to him and he will, in turn, be kind to you. Not all
men are as evil as you have been taught. My Gravelord will give you the peace
you seek and you will give him the companionship he needs.”

He continued to stroke her head—putting
thoughts there that He knew would infuriate Morrigunia. He was meddling in the
life of one of Her Reapers but it wasn’t the first time.

Nor would it be the last.

He would do nothing to influence them but
the exterior forces that worked upon those stalwart warriors was another
matter.

And His lady-wife needed a punishment or
two of Her own for doing harm to lovers who had not deserved Her foolish, mad
vendetta. To foil Her plans would be an exacting retribution. He intended to
teach Her a much-deserved lesson in not interfering with the warriors They had
chosen to protect this planet.

When He was finished, He eased His hand
from the Banshee’s brow and floated away, a satisfied grin on His ageless face.

They all broke their fasts together the
next morning, sitting at a large table in the center of the restaurant dining
room in Watertown. Copious amounts of hot coffee had been poured into almost
every cup on the table. A sleep-eyed Romao Saur kept yawning as he polished off
the corned beef hash on his plate and took another sip of the strong black tea
that was his preference.

“What was their reaction about the
trastacáin?”
Wynth asked.

“A bit put out that they hadn’t thought of
it,” Saur replied. “They were quick to provide it, though, but with the clear
command that no
balgair
was to be left alive.”

“That’s a given,” Fallon said in between
bites of toast and egg.

“How are we supposed to hide fifty-plus
dead bodies on the general’s estate?” Sorn inquired of Coulter. He ladled a big
glob of cottage fries into his mouth.

Coulter wiped his mouth on his napkin
before answering. “A massive gas explosion that will destroy the house once we
have the general and his servants out safely. We’ll need to transport the
bodies from the dormitory to the house.”

“I’ll implant the notion in the general’s
mind that those who were not guarding the front and rear doors of the mansion
were having a briefing session inside. The cook and her assistant will have
gone to town—driven by the general’s driver—and the maids were out cleaning the
dormitory.”

“And the general and his wife?”

“The wife will have had the butler drive
her to a friend’s house. That leaves only the general’s assistant who will be
out walking with him and the two remaining bodyguards.”

“When those bodyguards come up missing and
it’s learned the gas explosion had been rigged, there will be a massive manhunt
set into motion to find them,” Coulter explained.

“Which will never happen since the general
will give the authorities descriptions of those guards from among the dead
balgairs.”

“Then we’ll need to hold back two bodies,”
Belial reminded them. “Can’t have fifty-three bodies found inside if two are
supposedly missing.”

“Good catch,” Coulter said. He smiled at
Cree and Cree smiled back at him for the first time.

“Shouldn’t there have been a secret service
agent or two with the general’s wife?” Skylar asked.

“Another good catch!” Coulter said. “We’ll
have to keep out two more bodies and add them to the conspiracy to kill the
general.”

Fallon gave Skylar a begrudging look of
respect then scooped up more over-easy egg onto another piece of toast.

“Anything else we’re missing?” Cree
inquired.

“I think that covers it,” Coulter said.
“Sorn, as we planned, you’ll take the guards on the east side of the dorm.
Fallon will remove the ones on the west, Wynth the north, and Belial the south.
Saur, how ‘bout you dropping the
trastacáin
down the chimney? Cree and I
willbe up at the house getting ready to drop the other canister into
the heat vent. Since the drug takes only moments to work, everyone inside
should be out before you guys are finished at the dorm.”

“And I’ll be waiting for you to call me in to
handle Dexter,” Skylar said.

“Correct,” Coulter acknowledged. “Listen
up, guys. I want to be in there and out in less than an hour. So let’s get ’er
done!”

Walking back to their rooms, Skylar put out
a hand to halt Coulter. She gave him a worried look. “Can I talk to you?”

Coulter nodded. “Shoot.”

The others passed them, giving Coulter a
few questioning glances. When it was only she and Coulter, Skylar nudged her
chin toward a play area to the side of the motel.

“Okay,” he agreed, falling into step beside
her. “What’s up?”

“Did you have a visitor last eve?” she
asked.

“Visitor?” he asked, his brow furrowing.
“Who do you mean?”

“My opinion of you has changed,” she said
as she took a seat in one of the four children’s swings. She set the swing in
motion. “I find I am feeling more receptive to the life-mate thing.”

Coulter’s eyebrows shot up. “What do you
mean?” he asked again.

“That’s just it,” she answered, pulling
back on the swing chains to propel it higher. “I think someone visited me last
eve and put suggestions in my mind.”

Coulter crossed his arms over his chest.
“Like who?”

“Well, it wouldn’t have been the Triune,”
she said, going higher. “I’m thinking perhaps Her husband?”

“
Jee An Ayr?”

Skylar twisted her head to look at him as
she swung. “Has She more than one?” she asked.

“Not that I read but you and the others
would be more familiar with the arcana than I,” he admitted. “I’m new to this.”

“The Father-God,
Jee An Ayr,
created
the Shadowlords,” she said.

“Yeah, I know that much.”

“Which means you are one of His. He has you
under His protection as She has the Reapers under Hers.”

“So?”

“I wasn’t pleasant to you on the flight
here,” she reminded him.

“Downright hostile actually,” he said.

“I believe
Jee An Ayr
wants that to
change and thus I am no longer feeling animosity and anger toward you. There is
only one reason that would be so. He intervened.”

“If that were the case, don’t you think He
would have made it so you wouldn’t suspect He had?”

“He is not as underhanded and duplicitous
as His Lady-wife,” she said. “Not like human men at all.”

Coulter chuckled. “Couldn’t just be my sexy
good looks and adorable smile that has wrought a better tolerance of me?”

“Highly doubtful,” she said drily.

“Or my sensual nature and killer bod?”

“Again, doubtful.”

“Then it must be my sharp-as-a-tack
intellect,” he suggested.

“I’ve yet to see evidence of that,” she
said.

“So how do you feel about this supposed
manipulation of your feelings, Banshee?”

She leaned back as far as she could go and
stared up at the bright blue sky. He noticed her skin was pinking in the
sunlight.

“I should detest it. I should fight it but
I find I am weary of the whole thing and I believe Wynd has put his stamp of
approval on me loosening up.”

“Why would you think that?”

She turned her head toward him. “If he were
here, he would want his own revenge upon the goddess for Her meddling. He was
angry at Her for stealing our child. Imagine how angry he must be in the
Afterlife at knowing She orchestrated his death for Her own selfish motives.”

“So you believe he is accepting of our
pairing.”

She flinched. “I would not go that far,”
she said. “But I think he does not mind us working together and perhaps he
wishes me not to hurt you.”

“I wish for you not to too.”

“And I can forego my personal
geasa
about
you fucking other women.” She shrugged. “You have my permission to fuck as many
as you like as long as it does not interfere with the missions we do together.”

“Huh,” he said with a grunt.

He unfolded his arms and sat down in the
swing beside her. He walked backward as far as he could go then kicked his feet
out from under him, pulling back hard on the chains, soaring in counterpoint to
her then somehow managing to get them in sync. He said nothing but took joy in
the feeling of the rushing wind striking his face. As strong as they were, they
were both soon flying high enough to be even with the top crossbar of the
swing. After a few circuits reaching that goal, they turned to look at one
another and in perfect synchronization let go of the chains and did double
backflips, landing on their feet at the same time.

“Fucking A!” she said and high-fived him.
The sound of their palms slapping together was loud.

She grinned.

He grinned then cleared his throat as he
braced his hands on his hips and tilted his head to one side to study her.

“What?” she asked, nose crinkling.

“We’re gonna work well together, Banshee,”
he said.

“Yeah, I think that was the idea,
Gravelord,” she replied.

He put out a hand. “Here’s to a good
Extension ship.”

She hesitated a second or two then clapped
her hand to his, warrior-style.

They started back to the motel.

“I still think it’s my killer bod,” he
said, casting her a quick glance.

“Could be,” she agreed. Her silver eyes
raked down his tall, lean frame. “Could very well be. Tell me. How many sit-ups
can you do in an hour’s time?”

* * * * *

“Fuck me if she isn’t being nice to the
bastard,” Fallon grumbled as he and Sorn set off for the dormitory that night.
“Had their heads together at lunch. Had their heads together at supper. She even
laughed at that stupid joke he told us on the way here.”

“And this concerns you because?” Sorn
queried.

“Ain’t right,” Fallon stated. “She went
from wanting to eviscerate him to nudging him in the ribs with her scrawny
elbow? What the hell’s up with that?” He shook his head. “Ain’t natural, I’m
telling you. Banshees and Reapers are natural enemies.”

“Like cats and dogs?” Sorn prodded. “Such
as me and you?”

“Fuck you, Sorn,” Fallon snapped. “That’s
not what I mean and you know it.” He ran the sleeve of his black uniform shirt
under his nose. “You don’t think she’s going to wind up in the sack with him,
do you?”

“Not likely,” Sorn said. “That woman is
loyal to her true life-mate even though he’s long gone and then there’s the
geasa
concerning Lupine Reapers not having sex with any female other than his
life-mate.”

“So there’s no way of getting ’round that,”
Fallon said with a smirk.

“Not since the
geasa
is laid upon
the hellion, not the man,” Sorn replied. “Glad that isn’t a problem for
Pantheras.”

“Yeah, well you try fooling around on your
life-mate when she arrives and see what happens,” Fallon said. “We Hell-hounds
don’t have that
geasa
, either, but if I tried screwing around on Kiki,
she’d cut me off and that is a fate to be avoided, bro.”

“I won’t want to fool around on my woman
anyway,” Sorn said.

“Aye, well, Coulter will,” Fallon said.
“And the fucking bastard won’t be able to!”

From above them the Father-God smiled. “
That’s
what you think, Reaper
,” He said with amusement.

* * * * *

General Blaine Dexter stared fearfully at
the group of black-clad men surrounding him and shuddered. He knew
what
they were if not who and he knew why they had come.

“I’m not telling you anything!” he said,
trying not to look at the scores of dead men piled like raked autumn leaves in
the center of the room. His wife was sitting calmly in a chair, her mind gone.

“Oh, I believe you will,” the Reaper who
was obviously the leader said.

“I won’t. I am immune to mind control,” the
general said. “My handlers saw to that.”

The leader simply smiled and turned his
head toward the door through which a stunningly beautiful woman with long white
hair drifted—not walked but
drifted
—into the room.

Pale as moonlight, wearing an ankle-length
gauzy white gown with a handkerchief hem, the woman moved so seductively he
became instantly stiff beneath his silk robe. He could see the very faint
outline of a sumptuous figure beneath the gown for her skin was so white it
almost blended into the fabric. Her silver eyes were locked on him and he found
he could not move. It felt as though he were snared in a tight web that
constricted even his breath.

“Good evening, General,” she said in a
smoky, sultry voice that made his cock leap. “Saur, give the gentleman a chair
in which to sit, would you?”

One of the Reapers nodded and swung a chair
from the table, plopping it down behind Dexter. “Sit,” he ordered, a hard hand
to the general’s shoulder to make sure he obeyed the command.

He sat down heavily—unable to resist—and
stared up at the seductive woman. “What are you?” he whispered.

“I, dear one, am a Banshee,” she said and
leaning over him, her slender hands gripping the arms of the chair. “And I am
your worst nightmare come to unlife.”

Coulter watched his new Extension as she
set about draining all the information she sought from the general’s mind. It
took less than five minutes for her to find out who the foreign national was
who had recruited Dexter and where to find him. It took a minute or so more of
intense probing to discover the remainder of what the traitor knew.

“A facility outside Pyongyang where
hellions are being bred,” Cree said, his forehead creased. “That image boggles
the mind. How the hell is that possible? Hellions don’t multiply outside a
Reaper’s body.”

“I can hazard a guess,” Sorn said.
“Panthera hellions are male. Lupine and Hell-hound hellions are female. If the
North Koreans have managed to get their hands on a few Panthera kings, that’s
how they are doing it.”

“Lupine-Panthera hybrids,” Cree said. “Or
worse yet Hell-hound-Panthera hybrids.”

“Shit,” Fallon said. “That is one fucking
scary thought.”

“This makes it imperative that we go to
North Korea,” Belial said. “We have to shut down that facility.”

Wynth turned his head to look at the pile
of dead bodies. “That means every one of those men were hybrids,” he said.
“Panthera-Lupine Reapers.”

“Another scary thought,” Fallon said.

“All right,” Coulter said. “Let’s wrap this
up. Sky, do your mind-wipe thing with the general then plant the info we need
him to deliver. Also make sure he decides to get out of the race for senate and
stays out of politics altogether. We have enough corrupt SOBs in the government
already.”

“Roger that,” she said and gleefully went
to work erasing all memories of Reapers and
balgairs
from Dexter’s dazed
mind.