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BOOK: WesternWind 4 - Tears of the Reaper
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Shifting uncomfortably for his cock was throbbing and as hard as an iron rod, he cursed beneath his breath. Now was no time for the gods-be-damned treacherous thing to remind him it was there. The knowledge that he could get erect again was a relief but it was totally inappropriate and had not only embarrassed Rachel, it had frightened her.

 

“I am a virgin, Lord Owen,” she had told him.

 

And no doubt had never seen a man’s shaft with an erection.

 

“Bastard,” he named himself again, but why did he have the feeling he had once tasted her sweet flesh?

 

When the door opened, he stiffened, opening his eyes to see Elder Barrow standing at the foot of his bed.

 

“Lord Owen, it seems we have a problem,” the elder said, his face devoid of the friendliness that had been there before.

 

“I know,” the Reaper said on a groan, and reached down for the blanket to cover his nakedness.

 

Elder Barrow blinked. “You do? Who came to tell you?”

 

“Who?” Owen repeated, his forehead crinkling.

 

“About the balgair,” the older man said. “Who told you about him?”

 

At the mention of a rogue Reaper, Owen sat up, striving to push aside the stabbing pain that flashed through his head. “What balgair? I thought you meant Rachel.”

 

Elder Barrow’s face filled with confusion. “Rachel?” He shook his head. “The woman has nothing to do with this but if she has caused you a problem…”

 

“No,” Owen said with a sense of relief that the man wasn’t there about Owen’s disrespectful treatment of Rachel. “What about the balgair?”

 

“Elder Carlton—he was the one who brought you to us from the Forbidden Zone—was found murdered in his field this morn. He had been drained of his blood. It was his eldest son who found him and Matthew came in to the village to tell us.”

 

“Drained of blood?” Owen echoed. “How do you know?”

 

“There were two puncture wounds on his neck, here,” Elder Barrow said, pointing to his jugular. “He was as white as parchment when Matthew discovered him and Elder Carlton was a man born with a dark complexion.”

 

Owen narrowed his eyes. “Balgairs usually don’t kill in that manner unless they have turned rabid and that’s rare.”

 

“What else could it be if not a balgair?” the Elder asked. “One of your kind would not do such a thing.”

 

“No, they wouldn’t, but our kind isn’t the only one who drinks blood to survive,” Owen said. He looked around the room. “Where are my clothes?”

 

Elder Barrow rushed to the side of the Reaper’s bed. “You are in no condition to be up and dressed, Lord Owen. You…”

 

“If you’ve got someone or something out there killing your people, I need to go after it.”

 

“Elder Dayton was leaving for the Bastion in the morning. He can ask that a member of the Míliste accompany him back to the Colony.”

 

“And how long will that take? A week to go and come?” Owen asked. “How many more of your people will be attacked while you wait for help?”

 

Chewing on his lower lip, Elder Barrow’s face puckered with apology. “We can not ask for you to leave your sickbed to give us aid.”

 

Owen wanted to ask why the man had even told him then, if that was the case, but he could see—and feel—the older man’s fear. “Get me my clothes and my weapons.”

 

At the mention of the weapons, Elder Barrow winced. “I had hoped you could give us instruction on what to do to protect ourselves until help arrives. I did not mean for you to involve yourself in our troubles, especially with you so ill.”

 

“It’s my duty to help,” Owen said. “Are your people spread out in the countryside?”

 

“Aye, we are a farming community,” was the reply.

 

Owen swung his legs off the side of the bed and sat there fighting a sudden dizziness that disturbed him more than the headache. “Then send word for everyone to come into town until I can find whoever killed your man. I’ll need to see the body.”

 

“The body?” Elder Barrow echoed. “May I ask why?”

 

“I need to see what kind of puncture wounds there are and hopefully get a sample of the killer’s DNA from the bite.” He held up his hands. “Where the hell are my clothes, Barrow? I don’t have the energy or strength to fashion new ones for myself right now.”

 

“Fashion new ones?” Elder Barrow repeated.

 

“Just get me my clothes!”

 

The elder went quickly to a large armoire and opened it, taking out the freshly laundered black silk shirt and the black leather pants that was the Reaper’s uniform. He brought it over to Owen. “We found no underwear except for your socks.”

 

“I don’t wear any,” Owen said. “What about my boots?”

 

“You don’t wear…” Elder Barrow blushed and turned away, going back to the armoire to fetch Owen’s boots.

 

Though he was having trouble sitting—the room kept wanting to canter off to one side—Owen managed to lift his legs high enough to thread his feet into the leather pants then stand up to drag them over his nakedness.

 

“What is DNA?” the elder asked.

 

“For lack of a better explanation, it is what makes up the life force of all living things. Reapers can track their targets through taking a sample of their DNA, sort of like a scout can track from signs. In this case, hopefully there will be a trace of saliva on Elder Carlton’s flesh that I can taste.”

 

Elder Barrow looked sick at that statement and had to sit down in the room’s only chair. “Such things are beyond my ability to understand,” he confessed.

 

Owen was buttoning his shirt. “About Rachel…” he began.

 

“If she offended you in any way, she will be chastised,” the older man stated firmly. “Our womenfolk are not permitted…”

 

“It was I who offended her,” Owen interrupted him. “I would be grateful if you would apologize to her for me. I can only think it was illness that made me do what I did.”

 

A strange look entered the Elder’s eyes. “What was it you did?”

 

“Ask her. If she wants to tell you, that’s up to her,” Owen said, tucking his shirt into his pants. “I need my weapons.”

 

Staring at the tall man in black, Elder Barrow could not suppress the shudder that ran through his lanky body. Reapers were killers, men bred for violence, but in the Lower Lands they were the law. “Come with me,” he said, and led the way out of the room.

 

Owen felt awful and nausea was lurking in the back of his throat. It had been days since he’d had Sustenance—his caretakers had not thought to offer him such—and he was so hungry he could feel his belly grumbling. But it was the hellion in his back who was buckling beneath his flesh to punish him for not feeding Her and Her nest. He staggered beneath the brutal onslaught of her wrath.

 

“Lord Owen?” Elder Barrow said, reaching out to steady the Reaper. “You should not be doing this. We will make do until the Míliste comes.”

 

“I’ll be all right. I just need Sustenance,” Owen told him, and could have kicked himself for his stupidity.

 

Elder Barrow let go of Owen’s arm as though he’d been burnt and jumped back, face pale and eyes huge in his craggy face. “I… We…”

 

“I can get it from my horse,” Owen said, although human blood would be best and it would go a long way in making him feel better.

 

Searching the Reaper’s eyes, there was no way Elder Barrow could miss the crimson spark in the amber depths. “Will that be enough?” he asked quietly, trembling.

 

“It would be better if it was human blood but I’ll not ask that of you or your people,” Owen replied.

 

“We can not ask you to aid us and then refuse to aid you,” Elder Barrow stated. “Tell me what needs to be done and we will do it.” He was no doubt unaware that he had put a shaky hand up to his throat.

 

Owen smiled. “Are you familiar with transfusions, Barrow?”

 

The elder nodded.

 

“That’s how it’s done.”

 

Relief spread like wildfire over the older man’s face. “Oh,” he said. “That we can do!” He frowned. “How much will you need?”

 

“As much as you can give me,” Owen admitted. “I’ve not fed for quite some time.”

 

Elder Barrow flinched. “Then let us be about it. I will take you to the infirmary. We can get your weapons later.”

 

Going out into the bright light of the late morning, Owen had to shield his eyes with his hand and not for the first time wished he’d take Lord Kheelan up on the offer of a pair of the dark spectacles that Glyn Kullen was known to wear on occasion. At that moment, he could see the wisdom in shading his sensitive eyes from the glare of the sun.

 

“It isn’t far,” the elder said, seeing how the brightness was affecting the man beside him.

 

Owen got a look at the compound as they walked across a cobblestone pathway from what Elder Barrow told him was the bachelor men’s barracks to the infirmary. He saw women gathered in front of another long building beside the infirmary and rightly surmised that was the bachelor women’s living area. Other buildings must be the school, the church and the meeting hall. At the far end of the compound he saw the stables and smith, which Edward owned.

 

The people of the Colony stopped what they were doing to stare at the Reaper as he walked beside the elder. He did not feel the same dislike and fear he felt from the people he was sworn to protect but rather a deep disapproval and perhaps a touch of pity. No one looked away from him when he met their eye but neither did they greet him with the feigned respect his own people did.

 

“They sure as hell don’t like having me here, do they?” he could not keep from asking Elder Barrow.

 

“You are an outsider, Lord Owen, and a Reaper. You are something completely unknown to them. They mean you no disrespect so please excuse their curiosity,” the older man replied.

 

He saw Rachel standing beside a well in the center of the compound. She glanced at him then quickly away, lowering her head as she cranked the handle to bring up a pail of water. He felt as though she’d slapped him and put a hand up to his cheek. He had to tear his mind from her as Elder Barrow ushered him into the infirmary.

 

The healer came toward them, bowing slightly. “I am Healer Benjamin Tate,” he introduced himself. “It is an honor to meet you, Lord Owen.”

 

Owen clenched his teeth at the title. Where it hadn’t bothered him on his home turf, it irritated the hell out of him here in Manontaque.

 

“He needs Sustenance,” Elder Barrow said. “Taken from the arms of volunteers.”

 

“Taken as you would a normal blood transfusion,” Owen was quick to say for the healer’s face had blanched.

 

“Ah!” Healer Benjamin said. “That we can do.”

 

“Male, preferably strong males such as Edward,” Owen insisted.

 

“I will gather the men while you get things ready,” Elder Barrow said, and didn’t wait for agreement from the healer before hurrying out of the infirmary.

 

“I wish we could have placed you here in the infirmary but we have two men who are dying and…”

 

“I was making too much noise,” Owen said. “I understand. Can you tell me where the body of Elder Carlton is?”

 

“Through there,” Healer Benjamin answered, pointing to a door at the end of the room. “Do you wish to see him?”

 

Owen nodded. “Are you the mortician as well?”

 

“We call that job Diener,” the healer replied as he began laying out the instruments necessary to transfuse blood. “It is assigned to my cousin Gilbreth.”

 

“Has he started preparing the body?”

 

“Not as yet.”

 

“Good, then perhaps I can find clues to track his murderer.”

 

Owen went through the door into the embalming room and wasn’t surprised that the healer followed him.

 

“He was found in his field?”

 

Healer Benjamin replied that he had. “His family are dairy farmers and he was out inspecting his herd. When he did not return for the morning meal, his five-year-old son went looking for him.”

 

“A bad way for your child to find you,” Owen observed as he stared down at the horrible pallor of the dead man’s face.

 

“Elder Carlton was not the first to die in this manner.”

 

Owen looked across the body to the healer. “Barrow didn’t tell me that.”

 

Deep creases formed in the healer’s forehead. “That surprises me for it was his nephew who was the first to die.”

 

“When was this?”

 

“Five months ago. There has been a death each month since.”

 

Owen blinked. “And your militia hasn’t been out to investigate?”

 

Healer Benjamin shrugged. “The other deaths appeared to be the work of wild animals. The bodies were mangled,” he replied. “This is the first where there are no deep scratches or ragged bite marks.”

 

“Were there puncture wounds like these on the other victims?”

 

“Aye and all the blood was gone. Gilbreth found not a drop when he prepared them for burial. The bodies had been savaged horribly.”

 

Putting his fingertips to the dual wounds on the dead man’s throat, Owen unconsciously swept his tongue over his own lateral incisors. “No animal did this,” he said.

 

“Perhaps not this one,” Healer Benjamin said. “Elder Barrow believes it to be the work of a balgair. I suppose…” He stopped for the Reaper had bent over and flicked out his tongue, dragging it across the puncture wounds. He slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from gagging.

BOOK: WesternWind 4 - Tears of the Reaper
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