My Reaper's Daughter (19 page)

“It will be on its way to you within the next few hours. We had to program it to recognize

human DNA. Actually your suggestion met with hardy approval here and my fellow

Shadowlords and I commend you for giving us a way to perform a census of sorts of the

inhabitants of this part of our world.”

“I don’t understand, Your Grace,”
the Prime Reaper said.

It was Lord Kheelan who explained.

“The question of how to collect DNA samples from the air caused Lord Naois a sleepless

night but he came up with a way to give the drone the capability to extract that DNA with a

flash probe completely undetected by human tactile response. Not to get too technical here, but

all the flash probe needs to do is touch human flesh and it sucks up a loose skin cell from which it

can extract the DNA sample we need. The probe can pass through any kind of obstruction—

wood, concrete, iron, steel—so it can find the human wherever he or she is. By using the drone to

map the DNA of the inhabitants of your territory, we will be able to catalogue each individual

and enter that person into a data bank located here in the vaults beneath the Citadel. We will

extend the drone’s mission to include the whole of the territories and send it out once a quarter to

scan for new inhabitants born. And if one of those people already mapped has gone on to the

arms of the Gatherer, we will know that as well. It will be a very efficient way to keep track of our

people.”

“And a surreptitious way of locating non-human visitors who will be scanned and then

eliminated if need be,”
Lord Dunham put in.
“If there are ’bots out there as you suspect, they

won’t know we’re coming.”

“May I make a suggestion to you, Your Graces?”
Gehdrin queried.

“By all means,”
Lord Naois agreed.

“My men and I have been discussing this. Wouldn’t it be better if the super rogues or ’bots

didn’t know we had the capability to scan the populace from the skies? If the drone discovers

such a being, wouldn’t it be best to give us its location and let us handle it so the drone remains

secret?”

“He’s got a valid point,” Dunham told his fellow Shadowlords.

“
Your suggestion is sound, Lord Arawn,”
Lord Kheelan said.
“As soon as the drone

gathers intel on the rogues or ‘bots or whatever this new threat is, you and your men will be

informed.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”
There was a moment of silence then Gehdrin asked if

there’d been any news of Phelan.

“I’m afraid not. Have you tried?”

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“We all have,”
Arawn admitted.

“Lords Kullen and Jaborn are on their way down there,”
the High Lord told him.
“Let’s

hope we don’t lose contact with them as well.”

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Chapter Nine

“Are you in my dream or am I in yours this time?”

He smiled. “We may be somewhere in between, wench.”

Night had fallen with the rain continuing to drench the landscape in torrents. A howling

wind pushed at the windowpanes and skirled beneath the eaves. Timbers and floor joists creaked

and popped. The door rattled in its hinges.

“Where is this place, Glynnie?”

His fingers were tracing a pattern on her bare arm as they lay together in the big brass bed

with its silky down comforter beneath them.

“I’ve no idea,” he told her. “Never been here before.”

The room smelled of pomegranates—a delicious scent. A single lantern lent its golden glow

to the walls that were papered in primrose and meandering ivy.

“Me neither,” she admitted, and snuggled closer to his warm body.

“Cold?” he asked, his fingertips pausing in their wandering.

“A little.”

He pushed up in the bed and leaned over her. “Then let’s warm you up.”

His lips were like velvet as he slanted them over hers. He nibbled at her bottom lip until she

opened her mouth to his tongue. Her arms went around his neck as he thrust that warm, wet

organ between her lips.

Lying beside her so his cock was hard and erect along her thigh, he ground himself against

her, heard her light moan and slipped a hand to the side of her high, rounded breast.

Mystery quivered as his thumb brushed over her nipple—fanning back and forth.

His kiss deepened and he moved over her, nudging her legs apart with his knees, pressing his

steely shaft to the junction of her thighs. His tongue drove deep into the moist recess of her

mouth as he slid his hands around her hips, beneath her ass, and lifted her toward him.

She lifted one slender leg and hooked it over his calf, arching her lower body in sacrifice to

the fleshy blade paused at the entrance to her sheath. Looking into his beautiful amber eyes, she

pressed her palms to his cheeks and eased his lips from hers.

“I am waiting for you,” she said, searching his eyes.

“And I am on my way to you, milady,” he replied. “Just a while longer.”

“Hurry,” she whispered, and his mouth returned to hers.

He slid into her hot channel and began to thrust slowly—in and out, almost withdrawing,

going as deep as his shaft would allow. He arched his hips in a lazy circle so his cock

circumnavigated the opening into which he pressed. Each slow circuit brought him in contact

with her clit and each time she sucked in a breath.

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With his tongue buried deep between her lips, his cock seated tight within her folds, his

rhythm increased, his thrusts became harder, more intense. His withdrawals were slow. He

pushed into her fast and powerful.

Slowly—in and out, in and out, circle and push, withdraw and thrust. Press deep and hold.

Pull out almost completely then shove hard, and with each thrust, her breath quickened even

more.

She broke the contact of their mouths, swirling a tongue over her swollen lips. “Glyn,” she

sighed as the tremors began high in her cunt then flowed like molten lava through her channel to

set her body afire.

“Myst,” he whispered back, increasing the speed of his movements.

Hard in. Soft out. Harder in. Less soft coming out. Harder still as he went deep and held.

“Glyn,” she breathed.

Her back arched and her hips shot toward him.

He reached down and grabbed her other leg, draping it over his waist. The one hooked over

his calf he pulled up and crooked so her knee was touching her shoulder. He turned her slightly

and pushed deep, rocking his body against hers, his toes digging into the mattress for leverage.

He kissed her lips, her cheeks, each eyelid and her nose. He nibbled his way to her chin and

down her neck as he continued to rock against her, his cock as far inside her velvety sheath as it

could go.

“Glyn!” she cried out, her fingernails clawing into his back, his shoulders, dragging down

to his waist.

“Aye, Myst?” he said against her lips.

Then he slammed his body into her and held himself perfectly still as her release shot

through her body to pulse around his hard cock. He blinked lazily as she screamed and bucked

beneath him, her orgasm so powerful it shook the bed beneath them.

“That’s what I’m talking about, wench,” he said, and withdrew to slam into her again. Once

more his lady screamed and her fingers arched into claws as she held him to her, the last spasms

of her enjoyment squeezing around him.

And then his pleasure took over. He poured himself into her hotly, filling her with his seed.

He tensed as wave after wave after wave of pure pleasure rocked him and he gasped…

“I don’t think you’d like falling off that saddle, Kullen,” Kasid told him.

Glyn sat up straight, his hands clenching the reins. He had obviously nodded off for

it was pitch black where they rode. The rain was still pelting him with heavy drops that

stung as they met his flesh. His hands were cold through his wet gloves and water was

running down his neck to press his shirt clammily to his back.

“Where the hell are we?” he asked.

“I’m not sure but I think we’re halfway to the old capitol of Columbia. It’s been

awhile since I saw a sign.” Kasid yawned. “I’m about done in, Kullen. We’ve ridden a

lot of miles since dawn.”

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“Find shelter and rest for a while.”

The order came from the Citadel but Kasid was so tired he didn’t try to recognize

which of the Shadowlords had spoken. “Let’s look for some place to get in out of this

muck,” he told Glyn.

“I heard buzzing. What did they say?”

“He told us to rest a while.”

“Damned white of them,” Glyn grumbled as he ran his arm under his dripping

nose.

“You’re not hearing them again?”

“Not a fucking word,” Glyn replied. “Just that gods-be-damned clicking sound like

a beetle.” He shook his head, rainwater flying off the brim of his black hat. “Fucking

beetle crap just snick, snick, snicking in my gods-be-damned ears.” He looked over at

Jaborn. “What the fuck are they saying now?”

Kasid shot his teammate a worried look. Kullen was wobbling in the saddle as

though he would tumble off any moment. They had to find a lean-to or a cave,

something into which they could go to get out of the rain. The constant barrage was

sapping their energies and their mounts were lagging, plodding along so slowly it

would take them a week at that pace to reach Charlestown.

“Nothing,” Kasid said. “They aren’t saying anything.”

“Well, somebody is!” Glyn snapped. “Else a fucking insect crawled into my ear

while I was snoozing! All I hear is that infernal click, click, click!”

Kasid’s forehead creased. There was silence from the Citadel. Whatever Kullen was

hearing, he alone was hearing it. The rain all but drowned any other sounds around

them and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was simply the noise of the water hitting the

crown and brim of Glyn’s hat that he was taking for a clicking sound.

In the flare of lightning, the men saw the cabin at the same time. Kicking their

mounts toward it, they were relieved to see smoke drifting up from the chimney, the

smell of burning wood drifting back to them. One of the windows showed a faint light

behind the shutters.

“Sense anything out of the ordinary?” Glyn asked Kasid as they rode up to the

cabin.

“No. You?”

“No.”

They dismounted, and as they were tying their horses to the hitching post, the door

opened and a man came out, cradling a shotgun in his arms.

“Bad night to be out riding, gents,” the man called out them. “Just stay right where

you are and introduce yourselves.”

“I’m Lord Glyn Kullen and this is Lord Kasid Jaborn. We are on official business

from the Citadel.”

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“This ain’t your territory, gents,” the man reminded them, and the sound of the gun

being cocked was loud even over the pounding rain.

Glyn’s hand moved like lightning as he flicked the laser whip from his left hip. The

handle pulsed in his hand and a lash of white fire shot from the weapon to curl around

the barrel of the shotgun, snapping it out of the man’s hands as easily as taking candy

from a baby.

“Milords!” the man gasped, going down on one knee. “My apologies.”

The deadly laser whips wielded by the men of the Reaper force could only be

activated by the hand of the one whose whip it was. That was common knowledge. The

fiery display could only have come from one of the shape-shifting lawmen.

“You can’t be faulted for being cautious,” Kasid said as he and Glyn stepped up on

the porch, Glyn retracting the tail of his whip and sheathing it with one hand while he

used his other hand to pluck the man’s shotgun from the air.

“We’ve had rogues in the area too many times,” the man said, getting to his feet as

Kasid motioned him up. “I’ve got a family to protect. I meant no disrespect.”

“None was taken,” Glyn said. “We’re just looking for shelter from the storm.”

“Please come in, milords,” the man offered eagerly. “May we offer you something

to eat?”

A tall, rawboned woman with two tow-headed children clinging to her skirt was

standing by the fireplace. She bobbed the Reapers a clumsy curtsy, hampered by the

clutching arms of her sons.

Kasid and Glyn removed their hats, nodded respectively at the woman.

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” Glyn said. “We haven’t eaten since noontime

and that was a few soggy biscuits and jerky.”

“I can ladle you out some beef barley soup and fix you a sandwich or two if it

would please you, milords,” the man’s wife suggested. “I’ve chocolate pie too.”

“Best chocolate pie in three counties,” her husband bragged.

“I’m all for that then,” Glyn laughed.