Reaper's Revenge (22 page)

“Such is not likely,” Jaborn told him. He watched the savage massaging his ankle and wondered if Otaktay knew the parasite would heal the sprain in a moment or two unless it was annoyed with its host. When the brave continued to rub his throbbing ankle, the Akhkharulian had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing aloud. Apparently the savage’s revenant worm was punishing him.

“She is my woman,” Otaktay mumbled.

“The Reaper believes she belongs to him,” Jaborn reminded the red man.

“She is mine!” Otaktay thundered, his eyes gleaming crimson fire.

“Not until Cynyr Cree has given up his life,” Jaborn disagreed. The brave’s jaw tightened. “That is but a matter of time.”

* * * * *

The wind rushing through her fur drove Aingeal faster as she loped over the cool sand of the desert. Her speed thrilled her but the sheer ability to do what she was doing spurred her on until her stride barely touched the ground. Freedom beckoned and the moon sailing along above her called to the beast within her breast, making her feel more alive than she had been in nearly two weeks.

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Behind her was the mountain cave from which she had fled. Ahead of her were more mountains to the north, flatlands in front of her, stretching as far as the eye, beckoning, whispering to her in a soft, soothing voice locked away in what was left of her human brain. Night creatures scurried out of her path but they held no allure for Aingeal. A part of her had homed in on a scent, a sound, far to the east of where she ran and it was toward that beacon she moved.

Somewhere in the distance she heard a coyote howling to its mate and her insides clenched with need. Her blood was racing, her heart pumping, enjoying the exercise that pushed it to its limits. As she began to pant from the exertion, she slowed her pace—her tongue lolling to one side—her tail like a flag flying in her wake. He was there, her senses told her. Her mate was beyond the dry riverbed over which she leapt. He was beyond the rolling sagebrush and twisted cottonwoods. She picked up speed as she raced up a sand dune, growling deep in her throat in satisfaction as she scampered down the other side, skidding on her shapely rump until she regained the steadiness of her powerful legs. Digging her paws into the cool sand, her muscles flexed and stretched, flexed and stretched, rippling beneath her silky coat. Flecks of foam escaped her grinning jaws yet she kept up her grueling race toward home.

Home, she thought, slowing down as she neared a bubbling stream nestled within a stand of cottonwoods. Her sides heaved as she padded to the edge and lowered her head, lapping at the cool mountain water that wound down from the higher elevations. She drank until she could drink no more then stretched out for a moment’s respite, craning her head to look back behind her, searching for anyone, anything that might be following. She sniffed the air and found nothing to alarm her. She rested for only a little while then got to her feet, shook her body from head to tail, studied the flow of the running water for a moment, felt no fear then stepped through it, the fur beneath her belly dragging in the coolness, lowering her body temperature a bit. She resumed her all-out run—darting aside strangely twisted cactus, a surprised sidewinder who lashed out but missed as she passed. Up the dunes she streaked. Down the dunes she skidded, laughter bubbling in her lupine brain. It was the lights of a farmhouse that drew her eye as she climbed one of the dunes and she slowed down, stopped. She sniffed the air.

Humans. One male, three females, two much younger than the third. A dog. Two cats. Chickens, pigs, a lone cow, a team of sturdy plow horses, another older mount. Aingeal sat down for a moment, her tail sweeping behind her, fanning the sand. A farmhouse meant clothing and something to protect her feet from the sand come morning. She had no idea how long her change would last but a naked woman running across the desert was bound to draw unwanted eyes. Though she was incapable of human speech, her thought patterns were dual—one set lupine, the other human. She could reason in both worlds and decided it would be to her advantage to head for the 119

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farmhouse, perhaps hide in a barn if there was one until she could steal something to wear, take one of the horses.

Getting up, she shook herself again—liking the way it felt—and loped slowly toward the farm. The scent of wood smoke wafted in the air along with the ripe stink of animal manure.

The dog began to bark and Aingeal knew even though she was downwind of him, he had somehow picked up her scent. She stopped a hundred yards away for she heard a door creak open.

“Hush up, Blue!” a male shouted.

“What is it, Liam?” a female voice asked from inside the sod house.

“Don’t know. Old Blue thinks he smells a varmint, I reckon.”

“Be careful.”

“Goldarn it, Blue! I said shut up!” the male yelled as the dog continued to bark. A strong scent of urine filled the night air and the she-wolf grinned. With her acute hearing, she could hear the patter of the stream hitting the ground and knew the farmer was relieving himself.

How she knew she could communicate with the dog Aingeal didn’t know, but a strong urge to do so filled her head and she sent a soothing wave of peace to the canine.

“I mean neither you nor your master or mistress any harm,”
she whispered into the dog’s mind.
“I am in need, brother.”

The dog ceased barking but growled low in its throat. She could picture it standing there—ears back, tail down, teeth exposed.

“I am in need,”
Aingeal repeated.

“Where the hell you going, Blue?” the man called out. “Get your scrawny ass back here!”

Aingeal held perfectly still. The dog was running toward her and, even from a distance, she could see its hackles raised. Even though she knew the beast had gained her female scent, it was primed to protect its owners and was rushing toward her, more than willing to gauge her intent.

Stretching out on the ground, Aingeal waited until the male dog was twenty feet away then turned to her back, her belly exposed in the ancient posture of surrender. She doubted the beast would attack her since she was female, but she was prepared to give him a nasty bite if he tended to be the misogynist sort.

Old Blue came to a halt at the she-wolf’s side. Her wild, gamey smell irritated him, frightened him, yet she was on her back, her paws in the air, whimpering softly. He strutted around her, sniffing her fur, growling a warning deep in his throat. He nipped at her, feigned an attack, jumped back. She whimpered again. He moved in once more to sniff between her back legs, nosed her, backed off, came back to sniff again. The shewolf’s paw flexed until it touched the dog’s haunches and he let it stay there.

“I’m in need, brother,”
she whispered in his mind once more. 120

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The dog backed off, circled her again then sat down to stare at her. He ignored the call of his master, the piercing loud whistle.

“Don’t worry your human,”
she warned the dog
. “He’ll come looking and he might hurt
me.”

Old Blue glanced back toward the farmhouse, got to his feet and, after giving her a long look, began to trot back to his owner. He stopped, looked at her again and when she rolled over to her feet and stood, he continued on, expecting her to follow him at a safe distance.

“Didn’t find no varmint, huh, Blue?” the man asked, chuckling. “Just another false alarm.”

Aingeal stopped, watching the man bend down to ruffle the dog’s ears. She waited until the male was back in the farmhouse, the door closed, before she trotted to the dog’s side. She nuzzled him, her head bumping into his shoulder. In the rickety corral, the horses neighed, catching her lupine scent, but she spoke to them quietly in their minds, assuring them she meant no harm. The cow mooed once then became still. The cats were nowhere in sight, no doubt thinking hiding the better part of valor.

Old Blue led her to the barn and to the nest of soft rags that was his bed. Like a gentleman, he allowed her to lie down first then stretched out beside her.

“Thank you, brother,”
she said, and hoped the dog had no amorous desires in mind. As she lay there in the darkness—her eyes adjusting to the low light—she saw a pair of bib overalls thrown over a horse stall but even from a distance she could smell the ripe odor of unwashed male body and her nostrils quivered in distaste. Come morning, she had to find a way to take her human shape and pilfer a set of clothing and one of the horses, but right then, she closed her eyes and fell asleep, Old Blue’s body curled protectively around hers.

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Chapter Thirteen

“What in the blue blazes is this?”

Aingeal opened her eyes to see a tall, red-haired man staring wide-eyed at her. His mouth was ajar and his face nearly as red as his flaming hair. She sat up, covering her naked breasts with her arms, her thigh drawn up to hide her nest of curls from the man’s shocked sight.

“Jakotai,” she whispered.

“Sweet, merciful Alel!” the man said, and spun around, crashing back through the barn, yelling for his wife.

It took only a moment or two for the farmer and his wife to return—she with a blanket clutched in her hand, he with his rifle at the ready. Between the wife’s low murmurs of support and her work-worn hands gently helping Aingeal to stand and the farmer’s narrowed gaze as he stood guard, Aingeal knew she was among friends.

“You poor thing,” the wife said, shaking her head as she led Aingeal to their house.

“Don’t you worry about nothing. Liam and I will see to you.”

“I have to get to my man,” Aingeal said, her voice quivering. The farmer stood at the door, his rifle across his chest, his narrowed gaze searching the land for strangers as his wife settled Aingeal down in a chair and told her they’d get a bath drawn for her.

“Please don’t put yourselves out,” Aingeal asked. “I—”

“No trouble at all,” the woman, whose name turned out to be Peg O’Rourke, insisted. “I’ll find you something to wear. Liam, fetch me some water to heat up!”

The two little girls were peeking down from the loft overhead, their eyes wide and curious. They stayed where they were through the filling of the tin tub, Aingeal dressing and their mother preparing breakfast for them all. Sitting beside the fireplace, Aingeal was in agony. She needed the tenerse that kept the parasite lulled and at bay. She was shivering uncontrollably, the withdrawal from the powerful drug driving like steel spikes into her body. Her mouth was dry and she was desperate for Sustenance, but there was no way she could take it from these kind people. She thought of the dog and realized that would be the easiest way for her to feed. The smell of the food Peg was placing on the table sickened her and it was all she could do not to gag.

“Where are you from, lass?” Liam asked. He stood at the window, looking out as he hastily ate his plate of bacon, eggs and fried potatoes.

“I can’t remember,” Aingeal admitted, putting a hand to her head and rubbing.

“The Jakotai hit me in the head. My memories are scattered.”

“Do you remember anything at all?” the woman asked.

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“My man’s name is Cynyr Cree,” Aingeal said.

Liam’s head swiveled around as though jerked about by a rope. “The bounty hunter?” he asked, his voice abnormally high.

Aingeal nodded, but she was immediately leery for the farmer and his wife exchanged a look between them. Quickly, she delved into their minds and was relieved to find no hatred of Cree. “You know of him?” she asked.

“Aye, lass,” Liam said. “The whole territory knows of him. Peg’s family lives in Dyersville. We was visiting them when Lord Cree took out Caspar Hull.”

“Hull killed my nephew Conor,” Peg said, her eyes filling with tears. “I’ll bless Lord Cree ‘til the day I die for ridding the world of that monster.”

Aingeal relaxed as much as the pain would allow. She clenched her jaw to keep her lips from trembling.

“Are you like him?” Peg asked in a low voice, her eyes flicking to her two young children who were coming down the ladder to sit at the table.

“I am,” Aingeal replied, and lightly searched the O’Rourke’s minds for loathing. What she found was sympathy.

“You need what the Reapers need to calm that shaking, don’t you, lass?” Liam asked. He was rolling up his shirtsleeve as he spoke.

Aingeal’s heart did a funny little flip for she realized the man meant to offer his blood to her. She shook her head. “I can get what I need from Blue. He—”

“Won’t hear of it!” Peg said. She too was rolling up the sleeve of her blouse. “Let’s the three of us go out to the barn and take care of what’s needed.”

“Whatcha doing, Ma?” the older of the two little girls asked. “What’s the lady need?”

“You never mind, missy!” Liam chastised his daughter. “Get your fanny to the table and I don’t want to come back and find a single piece of spud on your plate!”

Helping Aingeal to her feet, Peg escorted her to the door Liam already had open.

“Thank you,” Aingeal said. “I don’t know how to repay you.”

“Ain’t asking for payment,” Liam declared. “It’s an honor to help out.”

Blue stood in the yard, wagging his tail. He followed them into the barn and sat down, watching the curious things the humans were doing.

“If’n I remember right,” Peg said, “Reapers need something that helps the pain. Do you reckon I have it, lass?”

Aingeal shook her head. “It’s called tenerse and I wouldn’t think so, Peg,” she said, her teeth chattering. She licked her lips as the woman offered her arm in a matter-of-fact way.

“Reckon I could find it in town?” Liam asked. “Over to Haines City?”

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The name of the town sent a shudder of recognition through Aingeal and she paused with Peg’s arm almost to her mouth. “That’s where he is!” she said. “I know that’s where he is!”

“Haines City is about an hour’s ride east of here,” Peg said. “Looks like they may be getting rain over that way again.”