Reaper's Vow (6 page)

“You could at least try.”

Cole didn't want to notice the way Isaiah's fingers stroked down Addy's cheek in a comforting gesture. He didn't want to see how it seemed to settle the distress within her. He didn't want to see any of this. He wanted Addy back where she was safe.

As if she read his mind, she said, “Cole, you can't protect me anymore.”

“The hell I can't.”

“That scared woman is never who I wanted to be and not who I am now.” She hesitated, glanced at Isaiah, and ventured cautiously, “And there are complications.”

That snapped his head up. “That's the third time someone's suggested you're in danger. Don't you think it's about time somebody told me what's going on here?”

“There are people that want me dead.”

“Dammit, Addy,” Isaiah swore. “I told you we'd ease into that.”

Addy patted Isaiah's hand. “Cole doesn't need protecting, either. It drives him crazy not to know the way of things.”

That was the truth.

“Who wants to kill you?”

“Other Reapers.”

“There are more of you? How many?”

“We don't know.”

“What do you mean ‘you don't know'?”

“Ten, twenty, could be a thousand. We don't know.”

“That's one of the problems,” Addy said.

“One of what problems?”

“It's not something Isaiah likes to talk about.”

“Tough.” If others were trying to kill Addy, Cole wanted to know about it.

She sighed. “Cole. You don't need to know everything tonight.”

“I've been on your damn trail for two months, Addy. You think I want to wait one more minute for the answers to my questions?”

“I think you need to,” Isaiah interrupted.

“Why?”

“Because we need to discuss it.”

“You and I?”

“No.” Isaiah stated calmly. “The council and I.”

“Discuss what?”

“How much to tell an outsider.”

Son of a bitch. “I've got to wait on a bunch of Reapers to come to agreement?”

“Yes.”

“Is that as impossible as it sounds?”

A smile quirked Isaiah's lips. “Pretty much.”

“Then someone better get me a drink.”

4

He had to wait for the whiskey in the small cabin they'd assigned to him. It took only twenty strides to get from one end to the other. He knew because he'd done it seven times now. He was about to measure off the other directions when a knock on the door interrupted his plans. He opened the door.

“That'd better be my whiskey.”

It was, though it was only half a bottle and was thrust at him with disgruntled charity by a scowling Gaelen.

“You'd damn well better savor that.”

Cole took the bottle. Liquid sloshed inside the container. “I intend to.”

Gaelen let it go reluctantly. Cole could understand. Sometimes the only thing standing between a man and pure loco was the balancing burn of whiskey. He stepped back and motioned to the dark interior. “Care for a shot?”

Gaelen pushed past him, heading straight for the mantel. When he turned, he had two tin cups in his hand. Clearly, he'd been here before.

“Damn nice of you to offer me my own whiskey.”

The cups clanked together as he set them on the too short, wobbly table.

Cole pulled the cork and poured a double measure in each cup. “I'm feeling downright charitable.”

Gaelen tossed back the whiskey and slammed the cup on the table. “I don't care how you feel as long as you don't get comfortable.”

Cole sipped his whiskey more slowly. And not only because it had the raw taste of liquor rushed to the bottle, but because Gaelen was a man who had the answers Cole wanted. It was just a matter of prying them out of him. Cole favored the philosophy that all he needed to get the right answers was the right prod. From the way Gaelen was guzzling that whiskey, Cole might have already found it.

“Not much chance of that.”

He poured the man another glass. Gaelen took it without a thanks. “I've heard you're a stubborn son of a bitch.”

“So everyone keeps telling me.”

Gaelen cocked an eyebrow at him. And Cole realized under the shaggy hair and beard the man wasn't as old as he'd assumed.

“What would you call it?” Gaelen prodded.

“Doing right.”

“You think it's right to chase down your cousin and drag her home whether she wants to go or not?”

Cole placed his cup on the table and let his energy whip out. “Yes. Addy's a Cameron.”

Gaelen didn't even flinch. “We just fought a war over that issue. One soul can't own another.”

Interesting phrasing. Cole swirled the whiskey in his cup. “Addy's family.”

“Mine, too.”

“She didn't even know you until three months ago.”

“She's Reaper now.”

“So are the guys that tried to kill you back on the trail.”

Gaelen tossed back his drink. “Every family has its bad apples.”

Cole poured him another and probed carefully. “Seems like your whole tree's plum bad.”

“Uh-huh.” Gaelen tossed back that drink, too, and held out the cup. Cole filled it with the last of the bottle. As the last drop hit the cup, Gaelen smiled. “Things are not always as they appear.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

The other man stood and tossed back the last shot of the whiskey as steadily as he had the first. “It would appear you're not only not getting my whiskey, you're also not getting any answers.” He turned. Right before he got to the door, he threw over his shoulder, “Reapers don't get drunk.”

Cole watched the door close behind him and looked at his near-empty cup. “Well, hell.”

He could have mentioned that earlier.

* * *

Cole took the empty whiskey bottle and spun it on the table. Addy was a Reaper. He shook his head. His sweet, shy, scared-to-the-toes-inside, completely-composed-on-the-outside cousin a Reaper. Whatever the hell that meant. He stopped the spinning bottle with the flat of his hand.

What had Addy gotten them into? Christ, he was beginning to believe even the Reapers themselves didn't know what being Reaper meant. If that were the case, how was he supposed to protect her? How could Isaiah protect her? How could anyone protect her?

Fuck. Cole grabbed his cup and pushed back from the table. He needed air and space in which to think. He needed to release the energy whipping around inside him. He needed to ride hard until exhaustion gave him peace. He opened the door. Short of that, he needed a good brawl.

No guard challenged his exit. A gust of wind charging before the upcoming storm whipped his hat to the side. He caught it, resettling it with a wry smile. Clearly, Isaiah wasn't set on preventing his leaving. Hell, the man was probably hoping Cole would hightail it out of here before the storm blew over. That wasn't going to happen. Cole closed the door behind himself. Until he knew Addy was safe, Cole wasn't going anywhere.

Raindrops hit his hat in fat plops. Energy pulsed on the breeze, and a sense of foreboding peppered him along with the rain. A ride was out, but might be he could pay Rage a visit if the Reapers had brought him here. Only one way to know.

Cole headed for the barn. Large and well built, it was clearly the first thing they'd put together. That was interesting. Apparently for Reapers as well as humans, a good horse meant survival.

The barn door swung silently open on well-oiled hinges. The scent of grain and horse wrapped Cole in a familiar hug. As a boy, he'd always gone to the barn to think, and as an adult, he still found the familiar scents and sounds soothing. He looked up and debated the empty hayloft, but he didn't want to be stuck up in a loft if trouble came calling.

He whistled for Rage. A horse nickered. Another stomped its foot, but Rage's familiar snort was nowhere to be heard. Damn.

To the right there was a wooden box up against the wall, probably for tack. Wandering over, he took a seat. Leaning back against the wall, stretching out his legs, he let the day's weariness seep out. He wished it was as easy to relax his mind. When he'd left the ranch, his goal had been simple: to find Addy and bring her home. He'd found Addy, but simple was long past gone.

He lifted the cup to his lips, listening to the rain. Such a calm, peaceful sound in the middle of chaos. He tried to concentrate on it. And failed. The whiskey hit his tongue in a smooth flow of flavor, the bite coming on the back end as he swallowed, reminding him that with all things in life, you had to take the good with the bad.

He stared through the crack in the boards at the falling night beyond. Addy had found happiness with a monster. How the hell was he supposed to make peace with that?

They'll hunt her.

They
could hunt all they wanted. They'd never get her. Even as he thought it, he knew that was a promise he couldn't keep. He'd fought Isaiah and lost. If ten Isaiahs came after her? They'd get her. Of all the unknowns, that was the one truth.

“Shit.” The word echoed softly. Outside raindrops fell harder, thundering on the roof, almost, but not quite, covering up the sound of a gasp. His senses snapped to attention. He wasn't alone. Somebody was hiding behind him, tucked away in the corner between the post and the building. There was a certain pitch to the exclamation and a shortness to the breath that made him suspect he was dealing with a child. He pretended to take another sip of the whiskey.

As a test, he said “shit” again. There was a rustling as if the person moved. He smiled.

“I shot an eavesdropper once. Bullet went in one ear and out the other.” He pretended to take another pull on his whiskey, listening for the response. “Can't abide people that sneak up on me to listen to what I say.”

There was a little thud as if something soft hit wood, another gasp, and he could feel the panic coming out of the corner. It served the kid right. The only reason he'd be out in the barn at suppertime would be because he'd been up to no good earlier. Cole smiled, remembering the few times he'd hidden out in the barn in the hope of escaping his father's wrath. Barns were friendly places with lots of hiding places. A good place to wait out a parent's anger. As long as the offense wasn't that bad.

Cole took another sip of his whiskey. The time he'd dipped little Tilly Taylor's pigtail in the inkwell, he'd gotten a licking all right, but it hadn't had much heat, and the lecture afterward about how to properly seduce a woman had been invaluable. Well, to be fair, at the time he hadn't realized his father was teaching him how to seduce a woman. He'd just been talking about how to treat her properly. But Cole had figured it out eventually. That had been the thing about his pa. Everything he said had layers. He'd been a good man, a good husband, and a good father. He'd taught Cole everything he knew. He'd died trying to protect his family. Cole drained the cup. That's how he wanted to go. Making a difference.

An “I was here first” cut through his reverie.

He arched his brow. Someone was packing a hell of a lot of belligerence.

“So?”

“You can't say bad words around me.”

Cole smiled a bit at that reprimand delivered in a high, sweet voice. His eavesdropper was a little girl. One that brought back memories of the days of sparring with Addy when she was little. She'd packed a lot of the same attitude.

“I can't?”

“No,” the voice said, and he could just imagine little arms folded across a small chest. He wondered if the girl was a blonde or brunette. For some reason his mind flashed back to Miranda. He'd bet she'd been a beautiful child. She was a stunning woman, mesmerizing in a way he still didn't understand. He added finding out about her to his list of things to do—right after he took care of his eavesdropper.

“Who's going to make me?”

“Mister Isaiah will.”

That was said with a great deal of satisfaction and confidence. “I don't see Mister Isaiah here.”

“He'll come if I tell him to.”

Cole bet he would. The big Reaper seemed to have some soft spots.

He decided to call her bluff. “Why don't we go get him?”

There was silence.

“Ahh, that kind of barn time, eh?”

That rustle could have been a nod.

“You want a drink of my whiskey?”

“I'm not allowed whiskey.” He heard the implied “you dolt” at the end.

Cole bit back a chuckle. “You're not, huh?”

“I'm too little.” As if he didn't already know that.

“I don't like it anyway,” she added.

Interesting. “How do you know you don't like it?”

“I tried it.”

Not when anyone was looking he'd bet.

“I see.” He bit back a smile. “Well, I like it.”

“Well, you're stupid.”

That brought his eyebrows up. He couldn't remember the last time someone had called him stupid.

“You're packing a lot of attitude for somebody hiding in a corner this hour of the night.”

“I'm mad.”

“Why?”

“I don't like Jenny Hastings.”

Ah, now they were getting to the root of the matter. “Jenny pis—” He caught himself just in time. “Jenny ticked you off, huh?”

“She's stupid.”

“Stupid” seemed to be her preferred insult.

“I see.”

He didn't, but it couldn't hurt to agree.

“And she wets the bed.”

“So, because Jenny Hastings wets the bed, you're hiding here in the barn?”

There was a rustling he took to mean she was nodding in agreement again.

“It's all because of him.”

“Who's ‘him'?”

“The bad man.”

She had his full attention now. He asked very casually, “Is someone hurting you, honey?”

He'd kill the son of a bitch, and fuck whatever that did to any Reaper law.

“I'm not going to let him hurt me.”

That was good. “Is he threatening to hurt you?”

Another rustling indicating another nod of her head. He tapped the whiskey cup on his knee and said, “I see,” when he really didn't.

There was a disgruntled huff and then, “Dolly and me have to sleep with Jenny Hastings because of him.”