BlackMoon Reaper (29 page)

have no redeeming qualities within them at all.”

“I was going to suggest we ask Aingeal to join us for tea, but from the looks of

things, she’s going to be soothing her Reaper’s ruffled feathers for a while yet,” Danni

said. “So what do you say, ladies? Shall we go find us a place where we’re not

drowning in testosterone?”

“Would you like to come too, Penthe?” Lea asked the Amazeen who seemed

surprised to be included in the invitation.

The tall warrior woman almost—though not quite—smiled. “Aye, I would.”

* * * * *

“Are you not seeing your lady now, Kasid?” Phelan asked Jaborn.

The dark man shook his head. “No, that ended rather badly and I’d rather not go

into it,” he admitted.

“So you’re looking again, huh?” Bevyn inquired.

“Aye, I’m looking again.” There was sadness on Jaborn’s handsome face.

* * * * *

Arawn and Glyn were off to one side quietly discussing Glyn’s plans to transfer a

hellion to his lady-wife Mystery. The lady in question was eager to join her husband as

well as the ranks of the other women who had embraced her so lovingly into their fold.

“You have the permission of the High Council?” Arawn inquired.

“Aye, I have both Lord Naois’ and Lord Dunham’s. They said they thought it

would be okay with the High Lord.”

“I’m worried about him,” Arawn said. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look of

shame on his face when She told us about him.”

“She shouldn’t have done that,” Glyn said. “It really served no purpose that I could

see.”

“She wanted to hurt him, to humiliate him for whatever reason, and she did,”

Arawn said.

“It may be that She did more harm than She could have ever imagined. This isn’t

like him to tuck his tail between his legs and hide out in his quarters.”

“Well, let’s hope our baby Reaper will be able to put things to right,” Arawn said.

* * * * *

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Whatever was said between the High Lord and the little Reaper was never made

known to the inhabitants of the Citadel, but from that day forward a not uncommon

sight was seen within the hallowed walls of the fortress. It was not unusual to see the

child—dolly under her arm—fall into step beside the mighty sorcerer as he went about

his duties. Nor was it unusual to see a tiny hand slip into a larger one. And if a keen

observer was watching this rather surprising behavior, that watcher would always see

the two hands clench for just a moment before releasing—man and surrogate daughter

parting to go his or her own way.

* * * * *

Owen caught up with Phelan as his fellow Reaper was coming out of the solarium

where he had left his new bride dozing in the sunlight.

“Do you have time to discuss that matter you asked me to look into?” Owen

inquired.

Phelan nodded, glancing back toward the solarium door. “Let’s take this

somewhere more private.”

The warriors found a small conference room where they would not be disturbed

and went inside, locking the door behind them. Phelan rested his hip on the long oak

table, folded his arms and waited while Owen took a seat in one of the thick padded

chairs.

“What did you learn?” Phelan inquired.

“Well, for one thing,” Owen began, sitting forward with his elbows braced on his

knees and his fingers threaded together, “the dead man was a very important

personage in the Wismin territory. His son is the territorial governor.”

Phelan frowned. “That’s not good.”

“No, it isn’t.” Owen searched Phelan’s face. “You know there’s no statute of

limitations on murder, Phe.” At Phelan’s slow nod, Tohre licked his lips. “The arrest

warrant for Susan Patricia Bardsley is still in force. Getting it put aside is not going to be

an easy task.”

“The bastard was a pedophile.”

Owen locked eyes with his teammate. “Don’t take what I’m about to say the wrong

way, Phe, but we only have Lucy’s word that he was.”

White-hot anger shifted over Phelan’s face. “I believe my wife.”

“I believe her too,” Owen was quick to assure him, “but it’s still her word against a

whole shit-pot full of character witnesses for Barker who swear he was a fine,

upstanding family man who gave regularly to the local orphanage. Proving otherwise is

going to be hard.”

“Because?” Phelan questioned, a muscle working in his lean jaw.

“If Lucy remembers any of the other girls’ names and if we can find them—and

that’s a big if—we’ve got to convince them to testify against Barker. Like I said, his

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family is very powerful. They have long arms and deep pockets. They could buy

testimony easily.”

“He was a pedophile!” Phelan repeated then held up a hand before Owen could

speak. “Is that brothel still open?”

“It’s still on the tax rolls,” Owen said. “But as soon as we’re out of lockdown, I’ll

close the doors on it, and if I find they’ve been pimping children, I’ll hang every last one

of them.”

“I promised Lucy I would clear her,” Phelan said, pushing away from the table to

pace.

“And we will,” Owen told him. “You know we’ll close ranks around her, Phe. No

one is going to come after your lady.”

Phelan stopped, looked around. “Have you talked to the Shadowlords?”

“I had to report to them,” Owen replied. “I couldn’t start going through records

without their okay.”

“And what did they say?”

“That we have to prove Barker was what Lucy said he was. Until then, Lucy must

stay here. With the lockdown, that’s a moot point right now, but Lord Kheelan said if

we can’t find the proof we need, Lucy won’t be allowed to leave the Citadel. We’ll not

take a chance of the Wismin court finding out she’s here.”

“Not leave?” Phelan asked, shocked. “What about my duties? What am I supposed

to—?”

Owen cut him off.

“Lord Kheelan had another suggestion and it’s one I think you should consider.

What would you say to exchanging territories with Kasid?” Owen asked.

“Kasid?”

“Since he broke up with the wench he was seeing, Jaborn has been chomping at the

bit to get out of here and kick somebody’s ass. I don’t think he’s particular whose. He

seems to think he can find a mate out there…” Owen flung out a hand. “You know how

the men of his race are. They think women were put on this world to serve them.

Kasid’s gonna have a hard time finding a wench who’ll put up with that kind of

attitude.” His grin was reckless. “I know mine sure as hell wouldn’t.”

Phelan laughed. “Mine either. You know, if I had this territory I’d be home almost

every night,” he said. “I’ll discuss it with Lucy. She likes it here so maybe it wouldn’t be

a bad exchange at all.” He frowned. “I’d rather you not mention any problems with this

Barker thing to her.”

“My lips are sealed,” Owen promised. He stood, walked over to Phelan and put a

hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Phe. We’ll fix this somehow.”

“By the gods, I hope so,” Phelan said on a long sigh.

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Panting after having chased his playful wife through the twisting, turning corridors

of the Catacombs, Phelan sat down on his haunches, tongue lolling.

Transitioning back into his human form, fashioning the customary black uniform,

he thrust out his long legs, crossed his booted ankles, leaned his back against the wall

and lowered his head to take a well-earned nap. He yawned, put up a hand to scratch at

his jaw then folded his arms over his chest. He was bone-tired—in more ways than one.

“It is not unusual for a pregnant Lady-Reaper to want sex three or four times a

day,” Healer Dresden had explained to a stunned Phelan. “Just humor your mate.

Otherwise, things might get a tad—shall we say—disruptive in your household.”

The three or four times a day had nearly doubled it seemed. Whenever Lucy got

that gleam in her pretty green eyes, Phelan groaned.

Hearing the scurrying of claws on cement, Phelan sighed. She was running back

this way. He lifted his head, turned his face toward the sound and saw her running full-

out toward him.

She barked.

He sighed again, shook his head.

She barked once more.

He shook his head and watched her change shape in mid-run, coming at him like a

freight train—bare breasts jiggling, red hair flying behind her.

“You’re no fun, Phe!” she accused as she dropped down beside him. Before her

head hit his lap, she waved her hand and his clothing was gone.

“Lucy-Lou, I am tuckered out,” he complained, “and I wish I’d never taught you

how to do that.”

“I’m horny,” Lucy said as she straddled his lap.

Writhing on his jutting shaft, Lucy reached under her and grabbed what she

wanted, rubbing her thumb over the tip.

“Lucy,” Phelan warned. He tried to pull out of her grasp but she held him tighter.

“Phelan,” she countered, drawing the name out. “In. Me. Now!”

Shooting his mate an exasperated look, Phelan dug his fingers into her hips until

she released him then with one expert move—having perfected that move in just the

short time they’d been lovers—he entered her, going deep.

“That’s more like it!” she chirped.

“You’re a bad woman, Lucy,” he admonished.

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She gave him a saucy grin. “Would you have me any other way?”

“No,” he said. “I wouldn’t. You are perfect for me, wench. Just what I didn’t know I

needed.”

* * * * *

Sitting at the long dining table in the room reserved for the Reapers, Arawn

Gehdrin had just sat down, having given the blessing over the food he and his

teammates and their mates were about to consume.

They were all there—Danni beside her Ari; Bevyn and Lea; Cynyr and Aingeal;

Owen and Rachel; Phelan, Lucy and Fontabeau; Glyn, Mystery and Valda; Kasid Jaborn

and Eanan with his three Gatekeepers, and Penthe Aracnea who was fast becoming one

of the Reaper Force and who had asked to be given a hellion as soon as it could be

arranged. The only one of their team not there was the youngest—Iden Belial.

As second in command, Bevyn raised his glass. “
Shoh slaynt as shee as eash dy yea, as

maynrys son dy bragh
,” he toasted.

“
Myr shen dy row eh!
” the others replied in response.

Phelan leaned down to translate for his lady. “Bev said here’s health and peace and

length of life and happiness for ever. We answered so mote it be.”

“Teach me to say it?” she asked. He nodded, took her hand in his to bring it to his

lips.

Suddenly there was a flash that startled everyone. The Reapers were on their feet

immediately, turning to the intrusion, but it was only the goddess and at her side was

Iden Belial—looking much the worse for wear.

“Your young one is home, My Reapers,” Morrigunia proclaimed. “Leave him be

until he is ready to tell you the tale of where he’s been and why.”

Iden looked about him as though he were in a daze. His black silk uniform shirt

looked rumpled and there was a rent in the knee of his black leather pants. His guns

and hat and boots were missing.

“I will fetch the Ridge Lord and we will be on our way. Pray for us, My Reapers, for

we will need all the help we can get!” the Triune Goddess declared.

“
Go raibh an choir Ghaoithe I gcónai leat
,” everyone save Lucy and Valda called out as

the goddess disappeared in a puff of orange smoke.

“What did you say?” Lucy asked.

“May the Wind be always at your back,” Phelan answered. “It is the Reaper

blessing.”

“I’ve so much to learn,” she said.

Arawn and Bevyn walked over to where Iden still stood. The young warrior

appeared dazed, lethargic and he looked at them with empty, glazed eyes as they

advanced on him.

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“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said in a voice everyone thought sounded hollow.

“You don’t have to until you’re ready,” Arawn said. He swept a hand toward the

table. “We were just about to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” Iden mumbled. He backed away from his Prime and 2-I-C then

turned and walked out of the dining room.

“Something is very wrong, Ari,” Bevyn said.

“Aye,” Arawn agreed, his eyes shadowed with concern. “That man is not the Iden

we know.”

Trudging up the stairs to his quarters, Iden nodded at those who greeted him. He

made note of the happiness on their faces that said they were glad he was home. He

said nothing in passing to them but rather seemed to look right through them.

He felt dirty as he opened the door to his quarters. No, he corrected, he felt unclean.

He doubted even an hour-long shower would rid him of the slimy feel that had been all

over his body for the last few weeks.

Too tired to use his powers, he stripped the clothing from his body and threw it into

the fireplace. He knew he would take great delight in burning the wretched things for

they had a scent on them that made him sick to his stomach.

Going into the bathroom, he turned the water on as hot as it would go then stepped

under the flow. He braced his hands on the wall and lowered his head so the stream