Reaper's Vow (21 page)

“I don't want to be.”

He grabbed his hat up and headed for the door. He didn't want to be a Reaper, but it was what it was. He opened the door. Dirk stood there, whether to keep him in or others out he didn't care. Looking over his shoulder at Miranda, Cole jammed his hat on his head.

“Tough shit.”

13

Cole didn't have to wonder where to find Jones. The Reaper was exactly where Cole would have been, doing exactly what he would have been doing had the events been the same at the Circle C. Cole walked up to the burned-out remains of the barn. The stench of burned wood hung in the air. Smoke still spiraled off some of the beams. Not much of the barn was standing, just one corner and part of the frame. The corner in which he'd huddled with Wendy, he realized. Son of a bitch. Reaching up, he touched the spot on his shoulder.

We don't know what you are.

Well, there was one thing he knew. He wasn't dead. Whether that was a blessing or a curse had yet to be determined. But he was still breathing and sane. Men called to each other over the bang of wood as timbers were pulled way. Jones looked up as Cole approached. Cole felt the touch of the Reaper's energy. He blocked it.

“I haven't gone loco yet.”

Isaiah straightened and took off his right glove, then his left. “There's nothing saying you have to.”

“Nothing saying I won't, either, is there?”

“No.”

“So there's a chance.”

Isaiah tucked his gloves in his back pocket.

“Without a full-fledged conversion, there's always a chance.”

That was news to him. “From the way Miranda's jumping around, I thought it was a certainty.”

Isaiah leveled Cole a look as he stretched his back. “Did you hurt her?”

“No.”

Again Cole felt the touch of the other man's energy, and again he pushed it back.

“And if I ever do, you have my permission to put my sorry ass six feet under.”

Isaiah cocked an eyebrow at him. “You think I need your permission for that?”

“Yeah.”

Someone hollered a warning. Men scrambled to get out of the way as a timber fell. Everyone watched as it hit the ground, bounced slightly, and lay still.

“Hell of a mess,” Cole said.

“Could have been worse.”

Cole thought of Wendy. “Yeah. How many men did you lose in that attack?”

“None but three are badly injured.”

“And the attackers?”

“Five. One of those was on the outskirts.” Isaiah looked at Cole out of the corner of his eye. “Your doing?”

“Yeah.” Grabbing a set of gloves off the end of the timber in front of them, Cole put them on. “You moving this?”

Isaiah took the other end. “You helping?”

“Beats the hell out of standing around. And I figure we can talk while we work.”

“Got some questions, huh?”

“A lot of them. Like number one, why does everybody keep asking me if I'm feeling all right?”

“I told you, some people don't take well to the change.”

“But Miranda didn't give 'em that final bite.”

Isaiah grabbed one end of the charred beam; Cole grabbed the other. They lifted. It didn't feel nearly as heavy as it should have been. Some of that Reaper energy coming his way, maybe.

“So just what exactly can I expect?”

“I don't know.”

“When can I expect it?”

“I don't know.”

Cole swung the timber to the left to put it on the pile to the side. He let go of his end, catching Jones off guard. Cole had the satisfaction of hearing Isaiah grunt before he was forced to release his end, too.

“You don't know a hell of a lot, do you?”

“Nope.”

“Do you even know what the hell you might have made me?”

“Believe it or not, we don't know that, either.”

“How the fuck is that even possible?”

“Because we don't know what we were made into.”

And that was a hell of a note. Cole slapped his hand against his thigh, resisting the urge to haul back and punch Isaiah in the face. Cole lifted his hat and ran his hands through his hair before settling the hat back on his head. “How long do I have?”

“I don't know; there have been cases where it's been a slow descent into madness instead of an immediate change.”

“So you're saying that the danger isn't over? That if I don't agree to a third bite, I could marry Miranda, take on being a father to Wendy, and then this time next month suddenly be loonier than a rabid dog?”

“Possibly.”

“But not likely,” an unfamiliar voice added.

Cole turned to face the stranger. He was big, bigger than even Isaiah. He was dressed all in black. The darkness carried to his skin and hair. His eyes were darker still. His features sharp. His energy just . . . blank.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Have some respect when you speak to the enforcer,” Isaiah snapped.

“Pardon me, but right now I don't have much respect for any of you. And until I get some answers, I'm not in the mood to develop any.”

“The name's Blade.”

The lethal edge to the man's attitude more than the knives tucked into his boots made it clear why he was called Blade.

“I've heard about you.”

“And I you.”

“So what makes you an expert on my sanity?”

“My nose.”

“Pardon?”

“To be more exact, your scent.”

“My scent?”

“You're not full Reaper, but I'm guessing somewhere back in your bloodline there was a Reaper. It's in your scent.”

From the way Isaiah's head snapped around, this was news.

“Reapers are made, not born.”

Blade took a smoke out of his pocket. “You can't think it was happenstance that those men who made you were able to create their weapons, Isaiah. The source had to come from somewhere.”

“You're saying that somewhere there are born Reapers?”

Striking a sulfur on his boot, Blade nodded. “Yes.”

Isaiah swore. Not as hard as Cole wanted to.

“And you think I'm part of that source?”

Blade shook his head. “No, but I think the blood runs in your veins. You've always been faster than other humans, more mentally attuned than them.” He blew out a stream of smoke. “And there's that minor detail of you taking out four Reapers. That just doesn't ‘happen.'”

“I could just be that good.”

Blade smiled. “You could be.”

Cole sighed. “But you don't believe it.”

“I already told you what I believe.”

“Are you part of this bloodline, Blade?” Isaiah asked.

“What I am isn't important. What is important is what he's going to do with what he's becoming.”

The sun was shining; the air was warm. His gloves were still hot from the burnt timber, but a chill went down Cole's spine.

Isaiah pushed his hat back and took a step forward. Blade didn't step back. The man had balls; Cole had to give him that. He had to be feeling the anger lashing out from Isaiah, the unsteadiness of his energy.

“These are my people, Enforcer. What do you know that we don't?”

“I'm not at liberty to say.”

Isaiah took another step forward. His energy lashed out. “Find it.”

Sometimes Cole wondered if Jones had ever been sane. Addy's presence in his life had stabilized him the way he stabilized her, but, right now, Isaiah was one inch from going for Blade's throat. Cole sighed. If anything happened to Isaiah, Addy would take it personally. Talk petered off as men noticed the building confrontation. Cole stepped up and slapped Isaiah on the shoulder as if it were all in good fun. He forced a smile at Blade while keeping his hand clamped down on Isaiah.

“I think you'd better talk, Enforcer.”

Blade looked between the two of them and sent back an equally false smile. Stubbing out his smoke on the sole of his boot, he said, “Not here.”

Isaiah snarled. “Here works for me.”

Blade just looked at him.

“This might be a conversation better served by privacy,” Cole pointed out.

With another snarl Isaiah shook off Cole's hand, barked out a few orders to the men, and turned back. With a wave of his hand he motioned them on. “Let's go.”

Blade started out down the path to the river, but as soon as they were out of sight, he veered into the woods. They walked into the trees, making a path where there was none.

The scents of rotting leaves, wood, and summer surrounded Cole. It smelled good and natural, and on any other day, the combination would have soothed him, but today all he could focus on was the relentless waves of anger coming off Isaiah and the tension coming off Blade. Whatever they were going to say, it wasn't going to be good.

They reached a small spot between three trees. Camouflage, he realized. He swept the area with his senses and felt nothing.

“We're alone,” Blade confirmed.

So the other Reaper could sense energy, too.

“I can more than sense it; I can read your mind.”

Fuck. “A handy skill to have.”

Blade nodded. “If it helps, though, I can't always hear the words. Sometimes it's just images.”

Cole pictured himself squeezing Blade's neck between his hands, choking the life from him. He sent a thought,
Read that
.

Blade smiled. “You're going to have to do better than that if you want to top out Isaiah. He's got me gutted over a log.”

Cole looked over. “I thought he was one of yours?”

Isaiah shrugged and cut Blade another glare. “He's an irritating sort.”

“No argument there.”

Blade leaned back against a tree. “Nice to be appreciated.”

“If you want to be appreciated, tell us what you know,” Cole growled, not wanting to like the enforcer. “Why are your own kind attacking you?”

“We're not the only ones of our kind,” Blade answered quietly.

“No shit.”

“But we are the only ones of our kind over here.”

“Over here?”

“In Europe werewolves live in established clans.”

“Werewolves?” Isaiah repeated.

“Yeah. Werewolves. That's their name for us.”

Cole blinked. A cold, hard knot settled in his stomach. “That's just legend.”

Blade offered Cole his cigarette makings. Cole took them. There was the slightest tremor in his fingers. Werewolf? It made sense. Yet absolutely didn't.

“Well, legend or not, now you're part of it, whether you want to be or not,” Blade finished.

Cole pulled out a paper. He'd have rather poured a shot. Or two. Or three. “Because Miranda bit me?”

“Because you love your cousin and are mated to Miranda.”

The enforcer was right. Dammit. He poured tobacco onto the paper.

“How do you know there are others?” Isaiah demanded. Cole handed Isaiah the makings, which he almost snatched from Cole's hands. The smoke Isaiah started rolling was heavy on the tobacco.

Blade merely cocked an eyebrow at the rudeness and handed Cole a sulfur.

“A few years back I went to Europe. Sailed on one of those fucking oversize canoes they call ships.” He took the makings back and started rolling another smoke. “Thought I'd get away from here, and I found out the hard way that we are not unique.”

“Explain ‘the hard way.'”

“Werewolf culture in Europe is very well established. You belong to a pack. Packs have a hierarchy within a clan. Interlopers are not welcome.”

“Got your ass kicked, huh?” Isaiah growled, striking a sulfur on the heel of his boot.

Blade shrugged. “A time or two, but I kicked a few asses, too. Important asses, which kept me alive.” He lit his own cigarette, shaking out the sulfur when he was done. “There, as here, it comes down to strength, and if you've got the strength to make a place for yourself, you can have it.”

“You made a place for yourself?”

“Yes. For a while.”

“So why are you here?” Cole asked.

“Because an unfortunate result of my appearance in Europe was to alert those clans of Rogue Reapers here.”

Isaiah shook his own match out and tossed it to the ground. “Rogue? We're fucking Rogue?”

The wind changed directions, sweeping in the stench of burned wood and destruction.