Reaper's Vow (17 page)

She gasped. Her fingers pressed against his chest. Her eyes opened wide. Awareness flared between them.

Hell, no wonder he was hard every time he was around her. The woman made love to him just by looking at him.

“You've got no business marrying that man or even thinking about it. Not when you look at me like that.”

She turned away. “I don't have an option.”

He turned her back. “I'm your option.”

Taking a step forward, forcing her back up against the barn wall, he saw the memories flare in her soft brown eyes as her palms pressed against his chest, but she didn't need to worry. He was nothing like Clark. He didn't want to take. He wanted to give. Everything she wanted. Everything she needed. Everything he had. Her energy embraced him. Her lips softened. Beckoned.

Cupping her wrists in his hand, he slid her palms up. “Put your arms around my neck.”

She did, her protest token at best. “We're in plain view, and everyone—”

“Good.” He wanted everyone to see him stake this claim.

He leaned in, and her breath caught. Her lips parted. He smiled. Hell yeah, she wanted him. He slid his knee forward and kicked her feet apart. She sighed, a slight expulsion of breath.

“Yes,” he answered the unasked question in her eyes. “I want this.”

Another tug on her braid tilted her head back farther; her nails bit into his chest. Desire bit deeper still. His cock throbbed. Invisible lightning flashed around them. Her energy, his energy, all blended together. The world faded until there was only this moment, this woman, this kiss. This damn kiss.

He leaned forward, or maybe she stood on tiptoe, or, hell, maybe they just met in the middle. Who knew? Who cared? Her mouth was under his, and it was sweet, powerful. Unmistakable.

Mine
. The word whispered through his conscience, through his mind, stronger now, blending with their energy, wrapping around it, pulling her toward him. He slid his knuckles down her spine, dragging her head back a little more, arching her into him so her hips rode his thigh and her breasts pressed into his chest.

He expected her to object, but instead her arms slipped farther around his neck, pulling him even closer, as she, too, felt the need to taste and to touch, the drive to be one. As if this kiss wasn't a beginning but a confirmation.

He hadn't meant for the kiss to get out of hand. He'd meant for it just to be a taste, a sampling. Just a little something to make her see
them
. Or, hell, maybe he'd just been fooling himself. There was nothing light or casual about the touch of his lips to hers. Nothing simple in the complexity of her taste. Nothing calm about the response of his senses. Where her fingers stroked his neck, his skin took fire.

She made a sound in her throat that went straight to his cock. He lifted her higher. She rose with him, her calf sliding up the back of his leg. Fuck yes, he wanted her legs around his waist, her body locked to his. She bit at his lips. Grabbing the folds of material, he dragged the skirt out of the way. She moaned and twisted against him, working her pussy against his shaft. Even through the layers of clothes, she burned him.

This is a mistake.

The warning whispered through his mind. His lust drove it back. He didn't care. Right, wrong, whatever. This is what had to be. This is what was. This is what he wanted, what he'd been searching for, only he hadn't known what it was. But now that he had it, he wasn't letting it go.

He pinned her harder into the wall, pressing every inch of her against him. This time she whimpered.

Too hard.

“Damn, I'm sorry,” he groaned into her mouth, relaxing his grip a little, easing back—just a little, just enough so he wasn't crushing her but not enough to interrupt the pleasure.

“Kiss me again,” she whispered back.

Hell, he hadn't stopped. He'd breathed the words into her mouth the same way she'd breathed them into his.

“Open for me.”

“I am.”

“Wider. I want all of you.”

Her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck. Hitching herself up, she did as he demanded. Total and complete surrender. Shit.

Reaper.
The thought whispered through the last bit of his remaining reason, but this time it wasn't a curse. It was an endearment.

She took all he had to give, taking his passion, his lust, his kiss; making it hers; giving it back in a way no woman ever had been able to. Wildly. Without inhibition. Matching him. Her energy blending with his to a level he'd never experienced with anyone else. It was as if she'd been made for him.

Mate.
A foreign concept, but it lingered. Somehow so much more than a wife, so much deeper, and she was his.

He drew back just far enough to growl, “You're not going to marry Clark.”

She didn't answer, just bit at his lower lip, begging him for more.

His hand went to the buttons on her blouse. He had five undone before a tickle of awareness snapped him to his senses. Now was not the time. This was not the place. For Pete's sake, they were in plain view of everyone.

He lifted his head. Her teeth scraped his shoulder, sank through the cloth into his skin. He felt the sting, the pressure, the utter perfection. He pressed her closer. The euphoria spread outward from the bite.

So right.

Another trickle of awareness. People
were
watching. And the energy wasn't positive.

“Fuck.” He gave her head a tug, separating her teeth from his shoulder. She growled in her throat, a threateningly sexy sound.

“You can growl all you want in private. This is a bit too public for what I'm going to do to you.”

She opened her eyes, stared at him uncomprehendingly for a few seconds. And then he watched horror replace passion. Instead of digging into his chest, her fingers pushed.

After claiming him so thoroughly, it'd be a cold day in hell before he'd allow her to pretend it was a mistake. Sheer perversity made him hold her close so that she slid down his body. As soon as her feet hit the ground, she ducked to the left. He slammed his hand into the wall, making a barricade with his arm, stopping her cold. They needed to get something straight.

“You're not marrying Clark.”

“I'm not?”

“No.” Catching her chin on his finger, he tipped her face up to his. He kissed her again, a hard, quick press of his lips to hers, tasting her again. Letting her taste him. Because he needed it. “You're marrying me.”

* * *

Dinner at Addy's that night was by command. The table was set with mismatched plates, but everything was properly aligned, and everything was in its place.

The hut was impeccable, more so than usual. Spotless. Not surprising. Addy was always at her most precise when she was most distressed.

Leaning back in his chair, Cole broke the ice. “I see you heard what happened this afternoon.”

“Heard? There was a stampede to my door,” Addy huffed, checking the meal.

“What's the verdict?”

“Nobody's reached a verdict. Right now it's just a lot of ‘can this be, will it be allowed, what will the repercussions be?' Nobody's gotten around to what are they going to do with you.”

He looked at Isaiah at the head of the rough plank table. “And on your side?”

“Same place I was this morning when we talked about it.”

That didn't tell him anything. “She's not marrying Clark.”

“She can't mate with you,” Addy exclaimed, ladling stew into a bowl.

“Who says?” Cole asked, taking the bowl and handing her another.

“The law.”

Cole brought the bowls over to the table. “Seems to me, based on what you've said, you've got two laws working here. One that says mating law takes precedence over everything, and the other that says Reaper men can't associate with human women.” He placed one bowl before Isaiah and the other in the spot to his left. “But there's no law that says a Reaper woman can't associate with a human man.”

Addy brought her own bowl over. “That's because no one even considered it a possibility.”

“Doesn't change the fact that mating law still fits her and I better than her and Clark.”

Isaiah took a roll from the basket before passing it around. “That has occurred to us.”

“Miranda has never been formally promised to this man, has she?”

“No. The council was scheduled to discuss it next week before the wedding.”

“That's cutting it close, huh?”

Isaiah shrugged. “There wasn't much chance of it being disapproved. There are so few women that are compatible with a Reaper, some things are just assumed.”

“I bet that causes a lot less chaos.”

Isaiah shrugged. “You've got a lot of men with a lot of appetites and very few outlets.”

“And Clark laying claim to two didn't cause a bit of jealousy?”

“That is another issue that needs to be dealt with.”

Addy poured coffee into the mugs. “This talk can wait until after dinner.”

“Or it can take place during dinner, Cole countered.”

Addy shot him a warning glance. “It'll upset your digestion.”

“My digestion isn't that easily upset.” Cole took the coffee. “Especially when I'm looking at a home-cooked meal.” Taking a roll, he passed the basket to Addy. “So what are you going to do?”

“I don't have an answer for you.”

“Why not?”

Isaiah caught Addy's hand and kissed the back. “Because Addy doesn't want you dead, I don't want insurrection, and no one wants to see Miranda unhappy.”

“So give her to me. I'll make her happy.”

“She'll be a widow in a day.”

Cole looked at him over the rim of his cup. “I don't think so.”

“Be that as it may, whatever my preference, this is a council decision.”

“Is Clark a member of this council?”

“He is. He won't have a vote, but he'll have a say.”

“I want to be present.”

“I don't think that can be arranged.”

“Then Clark can't be there.”

Isaiah hesitated. Addy stroked his cheek. It always surprised Cole to see the big Reaper soften at Addy's touch. He'd always thought of Addy as practical and cold, like fine porcelain. But to Isaiah, she was the heat to his soul. At Addy's “That's only fair,” Isaiah grunted.

“I suppose that could be arranged.”

“When will the council have this meeting?”

“A couple of them are out on patrol, so in a couple days.”

“And in the meantime?”

“A smart man might see it as time to convince Miranda he's a better bet.”

“Does she have a say?”

“She'd better,” Addy cut in.

Isaiah glanced at her. She folded her arms across her chest. This was clearly a long-standing argument. Isaiah sighed.

“There are some pushing for that.”

“Who has a final say on that?”

“I will.”

“How?”

Isaiah grabbed his cup. Addy squeezed his shoulder. It was a fleeting gesture, casual to anyone else, but in that moment she wasn't shielded, and the amount of love contained within her energy made Cole blink. He remembered his kiss that afternoon with Miranda. He was beginning to understand why Addy had given up everything to be with the Reaper.

“I formed this pack to give Reapers a home. Not to turn it into another prison.”

“Blade won't be happy,” Addie muttered.

“Blade will have to change his plans.”

Cole perked up at the mysterious Reaper's name. “What plans?”

Isaiah answered. “On the surface, to unify Reaper law with the better understanding that we now have of what we are.”

Addy asked the question that was on Cole's lips. “On the surface?”

“Blade has his own agenda. I'm not sure what it is or how much it involves us, but I don't trust it.”

“Or him?”

“I'd trust Blade with my life, but with my pack?” Isaiah shook his head. “I'm not sure.”

That was honest. “And until you are?” Cole prodded.

Isaiah held out one hand to Addy and the other to him. “Until then I'll let him enjoy our hospitality and I'll enjoy this nice meal.”

Praying before a meal was one of Addy's rituals. Cole was surprised Isaiah had adopted it. The Reaper hadn't struck Cole as the religious sort, but he guessed if anybody had reason to be in contact with God, it would be a man who didn't know what he was, where he was going, or what he was doing. Cole completed the circle with a resigned acceptance. Like it or not, the Reaper was family now.

The prayer was a reflection of the man making it, straightforward and honest and to the point. At the end Addy added, “And dear God, thank you for answering my personal prayer and sending Miranda to Cole. Please guide them through the rough days to come.”

Well, Cole thought, looking at Addy. At least one Reaper was on his side.

“Amen.”

10

The calm from dinner didn't last long. Halfway back to the barn, pleasantly full and itching with a restless energy, Cole paused to roll a smoke. He needed something to take the edge off. A stiff drink or—Clark stepped out from between two buildings and into Cole's path—a good fight.

Cole smiled. “Evening.”

Clark didn't return the smile.

Cole struck his sulfur on his boot. “Not indulging in the pleasantries?”

Clark's energy cracked like a whip. “I heard you paid a visit to Miranda today?”

Cole lit the smoke and took a draw. “Is that what you heard?”

“I don't want you around her.”

He blew out the smoke. “That and two bits won't get you shit.”

Addy would say he was playing with fire. He didn't care.

“She's going to be my wife.”

“I heard you were whining for that.”

A snarl rumbled deep in the Reaper's chest. Cole took the punch of energy without flinching. Clark's hands balled into fists. He had big hands. Cole remembered them lifted against Wendy, grabbing Miranda. It took everything he had not to release the rage burning in his blood.

“She's mine,” Clark snarled.

“Seems to me you're supposed to be leaving her alone until the council convenes.”

“What the fuck do you know?”

“Enough to know you're courting a shitload of trouble right now.”

Clark's head lowered like a bull before the charge. “The council has no right to come between me and my wife.”

Cole took another draw on his smoke, letting the acrid fumes smooth through him, balancing him. “You've already got a wife.”

“Miranda will be my mate.”

“Funny, I thought she was going to be mine.”

Clark spat. “A Reaper married to a human? I don't think so. How could someone like you protect her?”

Cole smiled. “I'll endeavor to come up with something.”

Like ripping off the bastard's head or cutting off his balls and shoving them down his throat. There were a whole lot of ways Cole wanted to settle this one.

The hair on the back of Cole's neck lifted. He stilled, searching for the cause. Clark snarled and looked around.

Dirk strode out from between the buildings.

“If I were the enemy, you'd both be dead.”

Clark snarled again. Cole flicked his cigarette into the dirt.

“Maybe.”

Dirk ground it out beneath his boot. “There's no maybe about it. The pack can't afford the distraction of you two.”

“I've been nothing but downright civil.” Cole motioned to Clark. “Just ask your council member.”

“Fuck you.”

Cole palmed his knife. Dirk stepped between them.

“Fighting here in the street isn't going to solve anything.”

Clark drew his lips back, exposing some impressive canines. “I have a right to challenge.”

Dirk didn't even blink. “Then you take it before the council,” he snapped back.

“The council is stalling.”

“The council has a lot of things to do other than settling your petty disputes.”

“Especially for a man who already has a wife,” Cole interjected.

Clark took a step in. “There's no law saying I can't have two.”

Cole followed suit. “There is no law saying you can, either.”

Dirk slammed his hands on both their chests, holding them apart. “Both of you shut the fuck up.”

“The hell I will,” Cole growled.

“The hell you won't,” Dirk countered.

“Miranda is Reaper,” Clark reiterated. “She belongs with a Reaper.”

Cole pushed Dirk's hand off him. “She belongs with me.”

Dirk stepped back but not away. “Both of you stay away from her until the council makes its decision.”

Cole met Clark's eyes over Dirk's shoulder. “I'm not going to leave her helpless.”

“Well, I'm not going to leave her. Period. She's mine,” Clark snapped before spinning on his heel and heading down the street. Toward Miranda's house.

Grabbing Dirk's wrist, Cole spun him. “Get out of the way.”

The Reaper kept turning with the momentum, spinning them both around. “No.”

“He's going to Miranda's.”

“He won't get there.”

The anger in Cole didn't subside, but the tension did.

Dirk met his gaze calmly. “Miranda is one of us. She enjoys the same protection as all.”

Understanding came slowly. They'd put a guard on Miranda. “It'd better be a damn good guard.”

“Gaelen considers Miranda family.”

If it came to a fight between Clark and Gaelen, Cole's money was on Gaelen. Cole stepped back and spat the bad taste from his mouth. “Where were you when she needed you with him?”

Dirk didn't flinch. “Waiting for her to ask for help.”

Only Miranda hadn't asked for it. Because she had a plan. Cole sighed. The woman had no trust.

“Does Clark know the pack is against him?” he asked Dirk.

Dirk didn't smile or otherwise change his expression. “There are some things it's better one find out for oneself.”

In other words, no. Cole didn't get the impression Dirk liked Clark too much, but there was such a thing as loyalty among thieves, or Reapers, as the case may be.

“And if Clark kicks up a fuss?”

That twitch of the other man's lips might just be humor. “He is, of course, free to take it up with the council.”

Cole started back toward the barn. “When they convene.”

Dirk fell into step beside him. “Yes. But between now and then, you'd better watch your back, human. You won't always have somebody around to protect you.”

Cole rolled his eyes. “Who said I needed protection?”

Dirk sighed. “I'm talking to a dead man.”

“Everyone's always informing me it's my turn to die, yet I'm still standing here.” He reached for Miranda's energy. He couldn't find it. “I'm not as weak as you all assume.”

“No, but neither is Clark.”

“He's welcome to fight me any time he wants.”

“Clark knows the rules. If it's not a sanctioned fight, the prize can't be won.”

“Sanctioned?” Cole tried again. Nothing. No sense of Miranda permeated the evening calm. His shoulder heated and burned where she'd bitten him. “What the hell is that?”

“If two Reapers wish to fight over a possession, the council has to rule that the dispute is valid and sanction the prize.”

Fuck. They were barbarians. “We're talking about a woman here, not a piece of property. Our country just fought a war to settle matters of that nature.”

“Human law is not Reaper law. And we're very aware of that war.”

Cole remembered the conversation with Isaiah. “Didn't Isaiah say something about you all being part of that conflict?”

“Another reason others might want you dead is you know too much. With that in mind you might want to talk less and listen more.”

Cole rubbed his shoulder, remembering Miranda's passion. Her fear. He needed to see her. He headed to the left, toward her house. “If you send an assassin, send more than one.”

Dirk fell into step beside him. “You are a stubborn man, Cameron. And where are we going?”

Cole pointed to Miranda's house as the came around the slight curve. “There.”

Dirk stopped. Cole didn't. “Why? There's nothing for you there.”

Miranda was there.

“There's answers,” he told Dirk.

“To what?”

“Whether I'm gonna be held accountable for breaking Reaper law.”

He expected Dirk to try to stop him as he had Clark, but he didn't. And when he looked back, the man was just watching him, arms folded across his chest, a speculative expression on his face. Cole didn't know if Dirk was friend or foe. And he didn't care. Right now, he was just grateful to him for stepping aside. Clark he would have killed easily, but he had no beef with Dirk.

He rubbed his shoulder again. The spot itched and burned with a subtle irritating heat. Despite the fact it'd been hours since he'd seen her, the memory of Miranda's kiss lingered. Running his tongue over his bruised lower lip, he imagined he could still taste her kiss, addictively sweet yet spicy. His palms tingled with the urge to curve around her back, to press her close. The woman did drive him crazy. By the time he reached her house, his cock was hard, and his breath was coming harder. Of Gaelen there was no sign.

He knocked on her door. He felt the leap in her energy, excitement, and fear. And then a gathering pause.

“Who is it?” Miranda asked.

“You know who it is.”

She opened the door, just a crack. Enough that he could see the creaminess of her skin, the deep brown of her eyes. As if her thoughts mirrored his, her tongue peeked out to moisten her lower lip.

Cole put his palm against the door. It was cool from the night air. The wood heated as his hand rested against it. The same way she'd heat if his hand rested on hers, but the heat in her wouldn't come from him. It would be in response to him and, damn, if that didn't make his cock jerk in his pants.

“Why are you so jumpy?”

“Clark was here.”

Fuck. “Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head. “Gaelen talked to him.”

As Dirk had promised. “Did you open the door for him?”

“No.”

“But you did for me.” The knowledge sank deep, satisfaction spreading outward, blending with his lust. The spot on his shoulder where she'd bitten him tingled.

She sighed and rested her forehead against the edge of the door, frowning at him. “Would you just go away?”

“Apparently not.”

“You're ruining everything.”

“Doesn't look that way to me.”

“Of course it doesn't. It never looks that way to men. They get in their head what they want, and it's the only thing they can see.”

He caught her chin in the edge of his finger and lifted her face up, bringing her gaze to his.

“Don't go lumping me in with everybody else you know.”

Her eyes were dark with worry. “Why not? You're acting just like them. Only concerned with what you want, paying no attention to what I want.”

“I'm paying attention to what you want. But more than that, I'm paying attention to what you need.”

He drew his thumb across her bottom lip, taking that touch of moisture for himself. Letting go of her chin, he rubbed his fingers together, working that bit of her into his skin. He wanted to lick the woman from head to toe, drink in her kiss, her pleasure. Take her so hard, so deep, he'd breathe her scent on his deathbed.

Passion spiked between them. Miranda's breath caught. Her energy twined with his, blending in perfect harmony. His cock strained his pants. His breath strained his lungs. Miranda moaned and leaned against the door. Fuck, he wanted her. Now.

“No.” Her voice was so sultry he didn't even hear her denial for what it was. It took the slamming of the door to do that. And even then he couldn't quite absorb it.

He blinked and breathed deeply, inhaling her lingering scent.

Through the door, she said, “If you want to give me what I need, go hunting. I'm out of meat.”

The bar dropped down with a thunk. Cole didn't think he'd ever had a woman slam a door in his face before. Especially not one he'd been in the middle of seducing. Miranda had hidden depths. Strengths. He smiled. He liked it. Resting his shoulder against the door, he offered a bit of logic.

“It's evening.”

“So?” The thickness of the wood did nothing to dull the soft stroke of her voice over his senses.

“Damn tough to hunt in the dark.”

“I'll ask Clark.”

The hell she would. “You do that, and you're going to find yourself over my knee.”

That got a quick, “Hush. Wendy will hear.”

He smiled because that jump in her energy had been excitement, not fear. “She sure will if I get to tanning that ass.”