WesternWind 4 - Tears of the Reaper (23 page)

“I want your seed, Owen Tohre,” She stated.

He opened his mouth to agree but She covered it with Her own and Her tongue sank between his lips and down his throat. Her thighs clamped around his and She slid Her hot, wet cunt down the rigidity of his cock and it was he who felt impaled.

Things were crawling inside him and bringing about an itch so intense, so all-invading, that he whimpered from it. His entire body was filled with some alien force that turned his blood to molten lava and the cum building in him to a raging stream striving to burst free of its banks.

The smell of Her juices mingling with his as She began undulating Her body upon his shaft was unbelievably arousing. It did things to him he knew were wrong, were immoral and should have been unbearable. He was sinning—it was as simple as that—and he was being damned beyond redemption. There would be no adequate accounting for the transgression he was committing.

“Evil, Owen,” he heard some distant voice caution. “This is evil!”

He didn’t care. The pain was worse than anything he had ever experienced before yet he could not go on without knowing the full extent of the agony. He had to taste the sin for himself. He had to know.

The muscles of Her hot vaginal muscles clamping down on his cock were more painful than the ripping of his manhood from his body at the hands of the Ceannus bitch had been yet he reveled in it. It was so acute, so severe, tears gathered in his eyes and trickled down his cheeks. Yet he craved it. He wanted more. He had to have more.

He lifted his hips for Her to slam down on him, welcoming the agony that movement caused.

“I need your get,” he heard Her hiss.

The cum that shot from his rigid shaft burned so badly he screamed. It came from him in long, hot spurts that pulsed into Her waiting flesh. The cream, the vital juices, seemed to spurt forever and when the last pulsing drop squirted from his spent flesh, Her womb lapped it up, absorbed it, sucked it up into Her very core where it attached to the egg waiting there and a Reaper get began to form. He shuddered violently and lay still, his body burning, aching and throbbing in every pore.

“Good, my Reaper,” She said, Her fingers trailing down his face. “You did well.”

Owen gasped as his body suddenly began to spin around and around and he felt brutally cold air dragging across his naked flesh. The movement made him violently ill and he squeezed his eyes shut, unable to bear the rushing lights streaking past him. When he came to rest, he cautiously opened one eye to find himself lying beside his mate, her warm fur pressing against his bare hip.

And still Rachel slept on peacefully, her little paws still running in place.

He sat up, the cold of the snow on his body piercing. He tried to fashion clothing but he could not. All his energy had evaporated and his thirst was once again ravenous, his mouth as dry as the desert sands. Wrapping his arms around himself, he moved closer to his mate’s warm body but nothing could penetrate the cold that enveloped him.

How long he lay like that, he would never know, but as soon as he realized the goddess had returned, he looked up with trepidation, with fear, that lurked inside the very soul of him.

She came striding toward him in a long green gown that shimmered as though it were made from iridescent scales. Her feet were bare but those feet did not touch the ground over which She walked. Her long, unbound hair floated around Her slender shoulders. Her green eyes were heavy with spent passion and Her lush lips were slightly pursed. Despite his tiredness, his drained condition, he wanted Her again as he had never wanted another.

She fanned Her hand and the black Reaper uniform suddenly clung to his flesh. His boots were in place to cover his stinging feet.

“Come, Reaper,” She said, crooking Her finger at him.

Though he was freezing from the cold, sweat formed in his palms yet he didn’t think to disobey Her. Obediently he got up and went to Her, standing before Her like the subservient servant he was.

“I will name him Carthach for he came from the loving,” She said. She reached out to cup his chin. “And his father loved me well.”

A bright infusion of blood stained Owen’s cheeks. He felt the weight of his sin pressing down on his heart, knowing he had betrayed his mate, had forsaken his Joining vows to keep himself only unto Rachel.

“With me it is different, Reaper,” She said and Her smile was purely wicked. “As it always will be.”

He flinched. His infidelity weighed heavily on his very soul.

“The sin has been committed, Owen,” She told him. “You willingly paid the price of what you asked of me, did you not?”

He hung his head and nodded, too ashamed of what he’d done to speak. His flesh crawled, feeling Her hands on him again, experiencing the invasion of those coppery strands sinking into him.

“I can do more than just breathe life back into her, Reaper,” Morrigunia said, Her black-velvet voice wrapping around him.

He looked up into those green eyes that were older than time, more wicked than sin itself. He searched those orbs for the understanding of Her words.

“I can take away the brand that mars her forehead,” Morrigunia whispered.

He tore his gaze from the goddess and looked to his mate. The sight of that scarlet W burned into the fur of his lady made his heart hurt.

“I can erase the scarring that covers the flesh of her back and make that flesh soft and supple and silken once more.”

It was an insidious whispering that came from Her sensual lips that wound its way into his soul.

“Would you not like that, Owen?” She asked. “Would she not like that?”

He thought of the way Rachel had felt about her body’s markings by the whip and the pain he knew she must have endured at the lashing. He tried not to think of the glowing red brand that had been pressed against the smooth perfection of her forehead and the ungodly agony that had to have accompanied it.

“I can take all that away, my Reaper,” the goddess suggested. “And banish the pain, the memory of it from her innocent mind.”

Owen squeezed his eyes shut for he knew there would be a penalty for Morrigunia doing those things. As much as he wanted Rachel’s hurt removed and the visible signs of that hurt erased, he knew the price he’d have to pay would be stiff.

“And then of course,” She said, “there remains the third punishment she endured. The punishment that was so vile, contemptible, not even the gods Themselves would wish it upon Their worst enemies.”

He had tried not to think about that punishment at all for fear he would slaughter the entire Communalist horde. His brain had refused to wrap itself around that unpardonable retribution. He had pushed it to the side, fearful of even letting a hint of it squeeze past his aching heart. He knew it had been done, knew she had suffered that inconceivable agony, yet the mere thought of it was almost more than he could bear.

“Will you have that wickedness be a lasting penalty with which she—and you—will have to live, Owen, or will you have me cloud her memory and heal her flesh?”

Still he wavered. The damage had been done but it was reversible. He had the power to turn back the clock, to return Rachel to the unmarked woman-child she had been before he’d come into her life.

“I can return to her what she lost, Reaper,” Morrigunia said so softly, Her words but mere movements of air. “I can make her whole again. I can override the parasite and repair Rachel’s wounds.”

“Can you take the memory of what she suffered from her?” he asked.

Morrigunia shook her head. “No, Reaper, that I can not do. There are too many who know what was done to her. It will be there in their minds for her see and see she will even though you try to hide it from her. What I can do is fog the memory, make it bearable for her. She will not dwell on it. That much I promise you.”

He felt the goddess’s hand on his cheek but his eyes were closed, his body trembling for he knew the price for such interference on Morrigunia’s part would be weighty.

“Only I can do it, Owen,” She reminded him. “It is up to you.”

For a long moment he stood there with his eyes shut, his hands clenched into tight fists at his side. He knew he had no choice. He would pay the price. He had to.

“What would you have me do?” She asked.

Talking a long, deep breath, he exhaled it slowly then opened his eyes a fraction at a time until he was looking into the Triune Goddess’ verdant gaze. “There are two conditions,” he said.

The dark green orbs narrowed. “You think to barter with me, Reaper?” She snapped.

“I want everyone who hurt her—the one who lashed her…”

“That was her father’s doing,” Morrigunia interrupted him in a stony voice.

“He, I will deal with on my own,” Owen said. “The others, I want punished. The ones who took her from Saint Marie, the ones who judged her, the woman who did that horrible thing to her, any man or woman who put their hands to her to hurt her—including those who cast the stones—I want them punished.”

“Punished how?” the goddess demanded.

He lifted his chin. “Like unto like.”

An evil smile stretched over Morrigunia’s lush mouth. “It will be as you wish, my Reaper.” She tilted her head to one side. “And the second thing?”

“I want the Communalists to forget all about Rachel and those who helped us free her. I don’t want any of us to be constantly looking over our shoulders waiting for those bastards to come after us.”

She snaked out a hand to cup his neck and jerked him to Her until his lips were but a breath from Hers. “I’ll go you one better, Reaper,” She said. “I’ll wipe them from the face of the earth. I had already decided that.”

He shook his head. “There are good men among them and the womenfolk…”

“The good will live and the bad will perish,” She said.

He started to protest but then he remembered the agony his woman had suffered at the Communalists’ hands. He remembered how the men treated their females. He thought of what the men must be teaching their male children. “I agree.”

She released him and stepped back. “It will be as you wish, my Reaper.” She arched a perfect red brow. “Anything else while you have me in a good mood?”

“No,” he stated.

“You have not asked the price to be paid for this,” She reminded him.

“Does it matter?” he asked. “You know I will pay it no matter what it is.”

“You will need to make sure she understands that, Reaper,” She said.

He frowned. “What is between You and me…”

“You must tell her of the payment,” Morrigunia cut him off. “She must know you do this of your own free will.”

He snorted. “As if I had free will,” he muttered. He met Her steady stare. “All right. What’s it to be?”

“First I must tell you that she carries your seed,” Morrigunia said.

He shook his head. “No, she doesn’t. I haven’t…”

“On your wedding night you breached her,” the goddess told him. “I saw to it.”

Owen groaned. “How can You play with our lives like this, mo Regina?”

“Because they belong to me in the first place,” She replied.

Her words finally sank in. “She will have my child?”

“In nine months, aye,” the goddess answered.

“How can that be since she died? Would not the babe have died when…?”

Morrigunia hissed at him. “All things are possible with me, Reaper! Why do you persist in questioning me? Your mate is with child. That is all you need to know!”

A part of him was thrilled at the news but another part—the part that did not remember making love to his mate—was angered at the news. “What is it you want me to do now?” he asked, none too respectful with his tone.

She put the thought into his head and he balked.

“There is no need for me…”

“On your knees,” She stressed. “There is no other way to do this.”

He stared at Her for a long moment then obeyed, sinking to his knees before Her, a muscle grinding in his lean jaw.

“Since you are being so biddable, beg me,” She said. “Beg me to impose the payment on you, Reaper.”

His pride felt the sting of Her words. He hated to be humbled. The thought of being at Her mercy, being forced to do Her bidding rankled and he hesitated.

“What is gained without effort is lost without thought—but what is gained through difficulty…” She began.

“Is kept with care,” he finished. “I know.”

“Do you?” She countered. “Not yet you don’t, but you will.”

He wanted to get it over with. “Tell me what I need to do, mo Regina.”

She clasped his cheeks between Her hands. “You can do better than that. Try again.”

His eyes narrowed with shame. “Mo Regina, I am asking you.”

She tilted Her chin.

He swallowed hard, refusing to look away from Her steady scrutiny. “I am begging you, mo Regina.”

“You will do as I ask?”

“Aye, mo Regina,” he agreed, feeling a chill run down his spine.

“When I ask it?”

“Aye, mo Regina,” he said.

“You will make no protest at what I will demand of you?”