Phelan felt an instant stab of wild jealousy rip through him. He wanted to smash
the gunman’s face, rip him to shreds. His fury was so raw it choked him. Unaware his
amber eyes took on a reddish glint as they narrowed, he glared at the gunman.
“You slept with her?” he challenged. “I thought your tastes ran elsewhere.”
Fontabeau cocked an eyebrow. “You jealous, wolf boy?” he inquired. “Or
complaining?”
“Stay away from her,” Phelan said. “You touch her again and you’ll have me to
deal with.”
Lucy looked from one Reaper to the other. There was danger flitting through the air
and she could feel it so keenly it made the hairs on her arm stir.
“I’m yours only for as long as you want me, Lord Phelan,” Lucy said, hoping to
defuse the situation. She turned and raised her voice. “Calvin, bring me the coffee pot
and two cups.”
Fontabeau grinned. “Don’t share your toys well, do you?” he asked Phelan.
“No,” Phelan snapped, one side of his upper lip quirking. “I don’t.”
The gunman spread his hands. “That’s okay. I can respect a man’s territorial
rights.”
“Calvin?” Lucy called again, her tone nervous. “Did you hear me?”
“I heard you!”
She rolled her eyes. “The man is as lazy as the day is long.”
“You still having trouble with your employees, Lucy?” Fontabeau inquired.
“Won’t do any more than the absolute necessities and even then it’s done
begrudgingly,” she complained. “Backtalk me every chance they get. Even my girls are
starting to sass me and that’s something I’m not going to allow. I’ll fire their wide-load
asses in a heartbeat if this keeps up.”
The cook sidled out with the coffee pot and cups and put all three on the table
before turning and walking off without so much as a glance at the Reapers or his boss.
“See what I mean?” she said. She picked up the pot—careful to keep the potholder
on the handle—and poured coffee for her and Fontabeau, topped off Phelan’s at his
nod.
“How long’s that been going on?” Phelan asked. He had to struggle not to reach
over and take her hand in his. He put his palm to his thigh instead and rubbed until the
need passed.
“Three, four months,” she said. “Gets worse every week it seems.” She blew across
the rim of her steaming cup. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d be inclined to think some
Nightwind succubus came in the middle of the night and sucked the soul out of every
last one of them.”
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Charlotte Boyett-Compo
The Reapers exchanged a pointed look.
“What about Rossman?” Fontabeau asked. “How’s he behaving?”
“Who’s Rossman?” Phelan queried. He was starting to settle down but was
fingering the fork as though he might use it as a weapon at any moment.
“Ollie Rossman. He’s the man I hired to run the casino,” Lucy replied. She sighed.
“Two days ago he up and left without a word. So did Bret, my bodyguard. Now I’ve
got to find someone to replace the both of them.” She looked around the room with
disdain. “And that’s not going to be easy to do. There’s not a one of these yahoos I’d
even consider for the job.”
An old man came staggering through the saloon doors, weaving his way to the bar.
His clothing was dusty, his hat and boots had seen much better days—both worn
through with holes—and his scruffy white beard looked alive with vermin. He hooked
a foot on the bar’s brass rail and pounded a grubby fist on the bar.
“Whiskey!” he said then swiveled his head toward the lovely woman sitting with
the two men. He whisked off his hat. “How do, ma’am.”
“Hello,” Lucy replied as graciously as if he were nobility coming to call. “New in
town?”
“My mule Betsy and me rode in just this morn,” the old coot replied then narrowed
his eyes as his watery gaze fell on the Reaper. He nodded then shifted his attention to
Fontabeau. The rheumy look narrowed even more. “Here now, boy. Don’t you be
looking at me in that way. There ain’t no kink in this man’s rope!”
Fontabeau’s eyebrows shot up into the thick darkness of his hair and his lips parted
in shock.
“He’s got you pegged, Cajun,” Lucy laughed. “Stop ogling him.”
“I wasn’t… I didn’t…” Fontabeau’s mouth snapped shut and his own eyes
narrowed. “Like I’d want to get next to any of that!”
Phelan snorted. “Then stop mentally undressing the poor old man,” he teased,
surprising himself. A moment earlier he wanted to rip the gunman’s head off and now
he was ragging him. He shook his head, not understanding the conflicting emotions
running through him.
Fontabeau shuddered. He looked at Phelan. “I’ll do my best,” he mumbled,
shuddering again.
“Well, I’m gonna leave you two gentlemen to your important discussions,” Lucy
said, pushing her chair back. She waved the Reapers back into their seats when they
would have stood.
“Don’t get all bent out of shape about what I’m gonna say because I’ve already said
it won’t happen again, but I had her like I’d never had another woman,” Fontabeau said
as they watched her sashaying away, “and I’m willing to bet so did you.”
Phelan stiffened. Once again he wanted to plow his fist into the gunman’s
handsome face. It was all he could do to refrain from doing so. “I didn’t fuck her,” he
34
BlackMoon Reaper
said then at Fontabeau’s grin, narrowed his eyes again—dangerously so this time. “Did
you?”
“Sure I did. I’m a hound, wolf boy. We can do what you lupes can’t. There’s no
geis
against us fucking as many women or men as we want.”
Dark crimson color flooded Phelan’s face. “You’ve got to be kidding!” he hissed. He
realized it wasn’t so much anger he felt at that moment as shock that such a thing was
possible among his kind.
“I don’t joke about sex, brother,” Fontabeau said. “Made my living at it before I
died. I like women well enough, but it’s men I enjoy the most.” He batted his eyes like a
coy woman at Phelan. “Wouldn’t mind tasting you, wolfie.”
Phelan shoved his chair back and got to his feet, snatching his hat from the table.
He leaned over to retrieve his gear. “I’m not going to listen to this.”
Fontabeau chuckled.
“Don’t blame you,” the old man said from the bar. “That’s one sick puppy you got
there, Lord Reaper.”
Phelan jammed the hat on his head, pulled out a gold piece and slapped it on the
table. “That should cover it.”
Fontabeau heaved a long sigh then scraped his chair back.
“Best leave that one alone, son,” the old man said. “Them Reapers are dangerous
when riled.” He grinned, showing stumps of rotten teeth. “Aye, he’s right pretty on the
eyes but you’d best get over him. He ain’t for you.”
“Mind your own business,” Fontabeau shot back. He rocked his hat on his head and
followed Phelan out the door.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” the old man called out with a cackle.
* * * * *
Phelan’s long stride ate up the distance between the saloon and the livery at the end
of the street. He was hot under the collar and castigating himself for the wild thoughts
that refused to be swept aside. It was all he could do to keep from broadcasting them,
and they were thoughts he sure as hell didn’t want Fontabeau knowing.
His first sexual experience had been with the magistrate’s pretty daughter—a
young woman seven years older than him and far beyond her first boy. Though she
wouldn’t let him enter her, her hands and mouth had given him such pleasure he
thought he might die from it. His second encounter had been with the same man’s
handsome son, five years older than Phelan, and his hands and mouth had been almost
as experienced as his sister’s. The two had been jealous of one another and had used
Phelan as a living chess piece in their ongoing war with one another. They tried to
outdo each other in pleasuring Phelan but neither would allow Phelan to enter them
nor did the brother ever enter Phelan.
35
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Truian had been one of them and Phelan had loved them both, though Truian he
had loved the most. That he couldn’t and wouldn’t choose between them had set the
fateful events of his ultimate destruction into motion.
“Never again,” he said.
“Stay away from her,”
he’d told the gunman
. “You touch her again and you’ll have me to
deal with.”
What the hell was wrong with him? he wondered. He found he couldn’t get Lucy
out of his mind. Her shapely body and sultry voice had followed him every step he’d
taken from the saloon to the stable.
There was a reason a Reaper was allowed only one mate.
“What about Eanan?”
“Leave me alone,
Mo Regina
!” Phelan snapped.
“Be careful how you speak to me, My Reaper,”
came the immediate warning.
“I don’t want nor do I need a mate!”
“Every Reaper needs a mate,”
the goddess whispered.
“Even you.”
Phelan stumbled to a halt at the suggestion. The thought of Lucy’s ripe body beside
his every night sent a shiver of delight racing through his body. He could see himself
loving her, spending time with her.
“
Lucy-Lou, I need you
,” the goddess said then drifted out of Phelan’s mind.
Stopping in the opened doorway of the stable, Phelan stared at the blacksmith who
was pounding a red-hot rod of iron into submission. That was exactly what he felt like
most of the time when Morrigunia interfered in his life. The Triune Goddess would
pound him with Her velvety fists until She had him just as She wanted him. He’d had
no say over his own life since the moment he’d awakened in Her arms all those
centuries before.
The blacksmith twisted his head around, looked at Phelan for a moment then
returned to his work.
“You need something, milord?” he asked.
Shaking his head to rid himself of the desire to pulverize the goddess, the Reaper
flung out an irritated hand. “My horse!” Phelan barked. “I need my gods-be-damned
horse!”
Without so much as a flinch, the blacksmith set aside his hammer, wiped his hands
on the leather apron he wore then walked between the rows of stalls to fetch
Ulchabhán
.
He took the horse’s halter from where it hung on a post, opened the gate and slung the
halter over the mount’s head and led him from the stall. Not one word did he say to
Phelan as he saddled the beast nor did he cast his glance toward the Reaper.
“What the hell is wrong with you people?” Phelan demanded.
The smithy pivoted his head toward the Reaper. “There’s nothing wrong with us,”
he replied. “We are as we should be.”
36
BlackMoon Reaper
His answer surprised Phelan, and when the Reaper stared deep into the other
man’s eyes, tried to delve into his thoughts, he was shocked to find there were no
thoughts to be examined. The man’s mind was a complete blank, concealing nothing,
revealing nothing. It was a barren canvas upon which nothing seemed to have been
written. He stared back at Phelan with no expression whatsoever, extending the reins
without a word.
“Get my mount while you’re at it.”
Phelan turned to find Fontabeau a few feet away. Had the gunman been his enemy,
Phelan would have had little time to protect against him had Fontabeau’s purpose been
deadly.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” he growled.
“Didn’t,” Fontabeau said. “You were otherwise too engaged to hear me.” He
cocked his chin toward the smithy. “Tell me that isn’t bizarre behavior,” he said as the
smithy ventured down the row of stalls again.
“He said he was as he should be,” Phelan said as he slung his saddlebags onto his
horse and began tying the bedroll in place.
“Aye, I heard him. What do you suppose that means?”
“I don’t know, but I need to contact Lord Kheelan. There’s something not right
about all this,” Phelan said. He moved past Fontabeau. “Are you headed up to the
mines?”
“Thought I’d ride with you,” the gunman replied. “Unless you’re afraid I’ll pull you
off your horse and rape your virgin ass before we get there.”
Phelan growled in warning and Fontabeau chuckled, causing the younger man to
curse.
Phelan stomped away to lead his horse out into the daylight. He stuck his foot in
the stirrup and swung atop his mount, allowing the animal to prance as he waited for
his fellow Reaper to join him. When Fontabeau came out, he arched an eyebrow at the
thunderous look on the other man’s face.
“What happened?”
Fontabeau’s upper lip arched. “Nothing. It was just the look he gave me that pissed
me off, that’s all.”
“What kind of look?”
“Like he knows something I don’t.”
“Well, he most likely does, although I probed his mind and there wasn’t a gods-be-
damned thing in it.”
“That you or I could detect,” Fontabeau reminded him.
“Aye,” Phelan said, frowning. “That we could detect.”
37
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Putting knees to the steeds, the two men struck out down the dusty street, missing
running over a couple of miners who walked right in front of them as though the
Reapers weren’t even there.
About a mile up the narrow, winding road that led to the mines, Phelan reined in,
holding his hand up for Fontabeau to do the same.