BlackMoon Reaper (22 page)

Again and again the dream pulsed from one change to another.

She put her hands on him.

She put her mouth on him.

Not one inch of his body was left untouched and untasted. Still he could not let go. He hurt

so bad with the need to spill his seed he was panting. Sweat was glistening on his flesh. His

stomach spasmed, quivered, shook. His hips ached with the grinding, the arching. His legs

splayed open, knees falling wide apart, heels digging into the quilt.

“Please!” he bellowed.

He squirmed. He writhed.

He began to cry.

“Hush, Reaper,” a soothing voice whispered to him. “Hush now. It is almost over.”

Soft arms—arms he recognized—cradled him against lush breasts he knew he had

once tasted. A familiar scent filled his nostrils. He looked up past a beautiful chin and

into sultry green eyes. He blinked.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

She smiled. The needle-sharp fangs glinted. A firm hand slid down his body to his

wrap around his cock.

“Don’t you know?”

She fondled his genitals and in that moment he realized who—or rather what it

was—that held him.

“
Mo Regina
,” he said on a sigh. “You are my mistress.”

“Aye, Reaper. That I am.”

He relaxed. Once more She had saved him. With despair he wondered what price

he would be required to pay Her this time.

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BlackMoon Reaper

Lords Kheelan, Naois and Dunham stood at the tempered glass window of the

quarantine room watching the goddess deposit an unconscious Phelan upon the bed.

The Reaper’s naked flesh was mottled with red splotches, dried black specks. In a few

places his body oozed a bluish substance the Shadowlords knew was ghoret fluid.

Morrigunia stepped back to allow the healers in the thick white suits to come

forward. Attired in a copper gown that swept to the floor—it was hard to look away

from Her beauty.

When She appeared to be satisfied with what the healers were doing, She exited the

quarantine room and came to stand with the Shadowlords.

“It was touch and go with him,” She said. “The ghoret bitch was not quite

incapacitated when I drew her out. She bit him on the shoulder, punishing me for

having destroyed her young.” She shrugged Her elegant shoulders. “As a mother, I

could overlook that. As Phelan’s protector, I could not. The bitch suffered before I fried

her to a crisp. Thankfully I managed to get the hellion inside him before the venom

could spread. The little fledging was safely removed and is nestled within me. I have

just the future Reaper to which to give my brave little warrioress.”

“Phelan will survive though?” the High Lord inquired. His tone made it clear he

cared nothing about any Reapers beyond his own.

“Aye, Kheelan, he will,” She replied, putting a tired hand to Her temple. “Now I

must rest, but before I do, what is the status of my other Reapers?”

“We’ve contacted all but Iden. They’re on their way home,” Lord Dunham

answered. “We have not been able to raise the young one.”

The Triune Goddess nodded. “I feared that might be the case. We may have lost

him.”

“We could send—” Lord Kheelan began, but the goddess hissed like a cornered

viper.

“My people stay here where it is safe, Ben-Alkazar!” She yelled at him. “When I

said lockdown that is what I meant!”

“What is it You fear,
Mo Regina
?” Lord Kheelan asked. “What has come to Terra

that has You so worried?”

“The
Nikkeson
,” She said, locking eyes with him. “Know you of it, Kheelan?”

Lord Kheelan’s face turned white. “The
Fadeyrys
?” he questioned. “The Prophecy

has come to pass?”

Morrigunia nodded then held up a hand before the High Lord could question Her

further. “Call a meeting of the High Council as soon as the others have arrived,” She

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

ordered him. “It distresses me to speak of this evil and I would do so but once before

you all. Say nothing of the
Fadeyrys
to the others. I will explain then I will see to Iden’s

plight.”

“As you will,” Lord Kheelan mumbled. His dark eyes were filled with terrible hurt.

He did not feel Lord Dunham’s hand cupping his shoulder in sympathy.

* * * * *

“Why are you crying, MOM?”

The High Lord heaved a great sigh. He knew what MOM meant yet he could not

berate the child who insisted on addressing him by the title. No matter how many times

he explained to Valda that he wasn’t a Mean Old Man the mini-Reaper ignored his

statement.

“I had something in my eye,” he said.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” the six-year-old chanted, wagging a finger at him. “You’re

gonna get your mouth washed out for telling a fib. Isn’t he, Precious?”

Kheelan flinched, looking up to see the Worldly One staring at him with unblinking

eyes. The Elfinish was regarding him solemnly, her little tuft of fur atop the otherwise

hairless head tilted to one side.

“Allow me to speak with MOM in private for a few moments, Lady Valda,” the

Elfinish told the child.

“All right,” Valda said, and skipped off, her dolly tucked lovingly under her arm.

“He’s an old stick in the mud anyway!”

Padding down the steps to perch beside the High Lord, the Elfinish continued to

regard him with gravity.

“What ails you, Lord Kheelan?” the feline inquired.

He had agreed not to tell anyone of the
Fadeyrys,
but he had not vowed to not let

the word drift through his mind.

“Ah,” the Worldly One whose name was Bumble Bee but who preferred to be

called Precious said, drawing the word out. “Bad times are ahead for the humans.”

“Aye,” Kheelan agreed. “I fear that is so.”

The feline lifted a paw to place it on the Shadowlord’s thigh.

“You have experience of
Yn Drogh Spyrryd
,” she said.

“I do,” he admitted. “It was through me my world was destroyed. I was the first to

unleash the
Nikkeson
. I was tried; I failed. Now Glyn Kullen has set in motion the same

on this world what I did on Rysalia Prime, except now the Prophecy has been called

into play.”

“Correct me if I am wrong—and I am never wrong—but in order for the
Fadeyrys
to

commence, many lives and much blood had to be sacrificed beforehand to
Yn Drogh

Spyrryd
by General Spiosyn and his
Flaiee
?”

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BlackMoon Reaper

“That is what they say,” Kheelan replied. “Which means Lesh Spiosyn and his

demon troopers were turned loose on another world as they were turned loose on

Rysalia Prime and now that world is dead. How many others they have destroyed, only

the goddess knows.” He ran a hand over his face. “But because Kullen was tested and

failed, the
Nikkeson
has once again been set free from his megaversial prison and is now

here on Terra to fulfill the Prophecy.”

Precious patted Kheelan’s thigh. “You lost much in your war with General Spiosyn,

didn’t you?”

Kheelan bowed his head. “I lost everything, Worldly One,” he answered.

“Everything and everyone.”

“Not this time,” the Elfinish told him, and when he raised his head and looked at

the feline, she shook her head, the little tuft quivering. “It will not happen here under

my watch. This I swear to you.”

“There is a woman—”

“One you love more than life itself,” Precious said, cutting him off. “Aye, I know.

Nothing will happen to her but, Kheelan…” She removed the paw from the High

Lord’s leg. “You must put her from your mind. She belongs to another. There will be a

woman for you one day.”

“When?” he asked with a sardonic snort. “A year from now? A decade? Another

century or two?”

“Sooner than you think,” the Elfinish said as she hiked her hairless tail and pranced

down the stairs.

“But I am lonely now!” he called after the feline, but the Elfinish did not look back

at him. He bowed his head, covered his face with his hands and spoke words that were

filled with self-pity. “I am so gods-be-damned lonely.”

* * * * *

Two trains from the western territories arrived at the station below the Citadel

within a half-hour of one another. One train carried Arawn Gehdrin and his lady-wife

Danielle as well as Cynyr Cree and his lady-wife Aingeal. Also onboard were Cree’s

steward Harold Warrington and Gehdrin’s steward Ashton Rhys-Norbert. The Crees’

nannies, Moira McDermott and her daughter-in-law Annie, were also onboard along

with two jet black stallions—Gehdrin’s
Corr
and Cree’s
Fiach
—riding in the livestock

car.

“Pray sit still, old woman,” Harold was heard to chastise Moira as the saucy

septuagenarian rushed from window to window getting a look at the grounds

surrounding the train station.

“
Póg mo thóin!
“ Moira snapped, bidding the prissy little steward kiss her ass.

Cynyr gave his wife a look that made Aingeal snicker. She knew her husband was

worn out from the constant bickering between Harry and Moira.

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“Go ahead and laugh,” Cynyr grumbled. “I’m glad you think it’s funny.”

“I think it’s funny too,” Danielle Gehdrin said. “They’re like children.”

“Mean, hateful old children intent on making my life miserable,” Cynyr said with a

sniff. “Why can’t Harry be more like Ash and Moira more like Annie?” He glanced at

the young woman sitting by the window. When she looked back at him and smiled, he

winked at her. Annie blushed.

“Because Ash doesn’t have a stick up his ass,” Arawn said as he snapped closed the

newspaper he’d been reading then laid it aside. He stood, leaned over his wife to peer

out the window. “I think that must be Bev and Owen’s train.”

“Aye, I believe so,” Cynyr agreed.

That meant Bevyn Coure, Arawn’s second in command, and his lady Lea as well as

Owen Tohre and his wife Rachel, their twin sons and nanny along with their two

stewards would soon be filing out of the train to await a carriage that would take them

up the mountain to the Citadel.

“Hopefully the train carrying Eanan and the others will be arriving later today,”

Arawn commented as he plucked his hat from the seat behind them and settled it on his

dark head. He adjusted the brim. “I’m sensing Glyn and Kasid are here already and of

course Phelan, but I’m not getting anything on Iden.”

“I tried reaching out to him to tell him about Phelan, but he’s not answering,”

Cynyr said, and both men frowned.

“That can’t be good,” Aingeal told them.

“Aye, well, we know there has been trouble with contacting one another,” Arawn

reminded them. “Let’s hope this is something we can remedy.”

“I’ve never known the Citadel to go into lockdown before,” Cynyr said. “Have

you?”

Arawn shook his head.

The Reapers and their mates exited the train to greet the others leaving theirs. Three

carriages awaited the arrivals. Once everyone was seated, the black vehicles began the

steep climb to the imposing building at the top of the mountain.

“I heard Lord Naois is going to be putting in what he calls a cable car next spring. It

would hold twenty at a time,” Arawn told Cynyr, Bevyn and Owen who were riding

with him in the first carriage. Their wives and children were in the second carriage and

the stewards and nannies in the third.

“Do you think they’ll install the BlackMoon?” Cynyr asked.

“What’s a BlackMoon?” Owen asked. When Cynyr explained, Tohre whistled.

“That sounds like a helluva machine. I can’t wait to experience it.”

“I’ve been in something similar,” Bevyn said. “Gives you a bitch of a headache.”

The shrill sound of a train whistle signaled a third train was pulling into the station.

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BlackMoon Reaper

Arawn closed his eyes to send his thoughts to the approaching train. He opened

them. “Other than Iden, looks like we’re all here now,” he said.

“Did Eanan think to bring his mount?” Owen asked.

“I reminded him,” Arawn said, probed the train again then nodded. “He did.”

“Little bastard would lose his head if someone didn’t remind him to keep it

attached,” Eanan’s twin mumbled.

“Remember, Owen,” Bevyn said, “your brother has three women to satisfy. I think

we can forgive him any momentary lapses in memory.”

The Reapers laughed at Eanan’s predicament then began discussing assignments

they’d been on when summoned by the Shadowlords. By the time the carriage pulled

up to the portico of the Citadel, the warriors were more relaxed from their trip, ready to

get down to whatever matter had brought them home. The first thing on their agenda

was going to the quarantine section of the building to check on their teammate.

“His mate will want to look in on him too,” Arawn said.

“Mate?” Bevyn queried. “He’s got a mate?”

“I’m told the woman’s name is Lucy,” Arawn answered.

Bevyn looked at Owen, eyebrows elevated.

Owen shrugged. “What can I say? Our speculations about the boy have been laid to

rest.”

“It’s none of our business anyway,” Arawn told his men. “And the hell hound, by