My Reaper's Daughter (7 page)

“But there’s no one special,” she stated, but it was really a question.

“A Reaper may mate with only one woman,” he said, “so he’d better be gods-bedamned sure he’s making a good match because the Joining is for life.”

“Oh,” she said, and that news both elated and worried her.

“How ’bout you?” he asked. “You’re still young. Are you going to be on the

lookout for a new father for Valda?”

“I really haven’t given it that much thought,” she answered truthfully. “I know she

needs a father figure in her life but I guess I just thought her uncles could fill that role.

Odell, my husband, had four brothers and I have seven. That’s a lot of menfolk.”

“What about
your
needs?” he asked, and realized his voice had gone huskier than

normal.

Mystery blushed and looked away. “I guess I thought that would work itself out

too.” When he made no comment to that, she looked back around to find him watching

her steadily.

“You’re a beautiful woman,” he said. “Any man would be proud to call you his

own.”

She became aware of her heart racing in her chest. Against all reason, all good,

common sense, she was deeply attracted to this man, had been from the moment he had

sat down across from her on the stage. She had slyly studied him while they traveled,

had watched him off and on all evening as he’d brooded by the fire, had dreamt that

wicked fantasy of him. Her hands itched to touch him, her body ached to know the

weight of his. The very thought made her tremble for it was so unlike her to even

contemplate such immoral things.

“There’s nothing wrong with what you are feeling,” he said, and she knew he’d

used his Reaper ability to sense her wayward imaginings. When his eyes widened, she

knew he’d discovered the illicit dream hovering in her subconscious.

“I’m a shameless bawd,” she said, lowering her head.

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Then he was right there in front of her, moving so silently, so quickly it shocked

her, but the moment he lifted his hand to cup her chin, she found herself lost in this

amber gaze.

“You’re nothing of the sort,” he said so softly she barely heard him.

“I should be ashamed of myself.”

“For what?” he asked. “For being human? For having needs that have gone

unattended for some time now?” His thumb caressed her bottom lip. “It’s not a sin to

dream, Myst.”

His use of the nickname made her want to wrap herself around him.

“I like the way you say that,” she told him.

The sensation of his flesh moving along hers sent spasms through Mystery’s womb.

She felt the gathering of heat and moistness between her thighs as she drew the warm,

masculine scent of him deep into her lungs. He towered above her, his face tilted

toward hers and she longed for the press of his lips to hers, the contact of his body

against hers.

“Be careful what you wish for,
mo chrói
,” he warned in that gravelly voice. He

moved closer still. “Some men can’t control themselves around a woman like you.”

She tipped her head back, surprised at her own brazenness as she asked, “Are you

one of them, milord?”

Their eyes were locked on one another, their bodies not quite touching but so close

each could feel the other’s heat. His palm slid around her neck and he lowered his head.

His mouth was but a breath away…

“Mama?”

The one word snapped them apart and the Reaper stepped back, jamming his

hands into the pockets of his leather pants like a little boy caught with his hand in the

cookie jar.

“What were you two doing, Mama?”

Valda was standing in the open doorway with one fist grinding into her eye. “I’ve

got to potty.”

Mystery could not look at Glyn as she hurried past him and to her daughter. She

reached down for Valda’s hand. “We were just talking, sweetie,” she said, drawing the

child back into the common room.

“Is his head better?”

“Yes, I believe it is.”

“No, hell it ain’t,” Glyn mumbled under his breath, feeling the weight of his

erection pressing at the front of his pants. He turned his back to the station and stared

out at the rain.

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My Reaper’s Daughter

The lightning and thunder had ceased, had moved on, but the edginess that had

claimed Glyn Kullen was increasing and he knew as long as he was near Mystery

Butler, it was only going to get worse.

“I’ve got to get away from her,” he thought. “I sure as hell don’t need to get

involved. She and the child don’t need a man like me.”

And he didn’t need a woman. He didn’t
want
a mate. Women were nothing but

trouble and why borrow trouble when it wasn’t needed? he questioned.

“Man was not meant to live alone.”

The soft, gentle voice slithered through his head and the aching started again. He

wished with all his being the goddess would leave him the hell alone. Every time She

intruded into his thoughts, the pain came back with a vengeance. He wondered—not

for the first time—why it was that way with him but not the other Reapers? Why did

She single him out to punish him in such a mean way?

“Because you have a way of not listening, My Reaper. It takes more to garner your attention

than it does the others of your kind.”

“Lucky me,” he growled.

Pain flared in his head and he knew She was issuing a warning he’d best not ignore.

The Triune Goddess would accept only so much disrespect from Her Reapers before

She retaliated.

“The young woman is perfect for you,”
She whispered as though to soothe the agony

She’d caused.

Suspicion shot through Glyn and he narrowed his golden eyes.

“Are you telling me I should have a mate,
Mo Regina
?” he asked aloud, somewhat

belligerently.

“I am merely granting you permission to have one if you so desire.”

“What about the Shadowlords?” he countered. “Don’t you think they’ll have

something to say about it? I’m in enough trouble with Lord Kheelan as it is. I don’t

fancy another prolonged stay in one of his gods-forsaken con cells.”

“Kheelan does not have the final say on such matters, My Reaper. Besides, he has troubles of

his own at the moment and about to have many more. If you want the woman, go after her.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You will.”

He made no reply and felt Her moving out of his mind as easily as She had entered

it.

“Nooo, I
won’t!
” he stated. He had every intention of clearing out as soon as it was

daylight, hitching his saddle over any nag he decided had enough strength to get him

to the Citadel.

Glyn was lonely but he couldn’t see how having a woman would really help that

situation. To his way of reasoning, his loneliness was actually more homesickness

stemming from the fact that he had been taken from life in a painful way and thrust into

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

another that was so alien, so beyond his experience, he’d had a hard time coping with it

at first. He would never see his world again nor what was left of his family, and

realizing that had nearly broken him.

It was homesickness, he decided as he headed back inside.

Homesickness and fear that he’d wind up like Cynyr and Arawn, Bev and Owen.

All four of his Reaper teammates had moved heaven and hell, had endured agonies

worse than the fires of hell to have their mates. He just didn’t see any advantages to it in

his situation.

“Love ’em and leave ’em,” he said as he entered the common room, his gaze

automatically going to the cots where Mystery and her daughter were lying. “Just love

’em and leave ’em, Kullen.”

It was the mantra of the unattached Reapers, and so far, it had held him, Phelan and

Iden—and Kasid, he supposed, although he knew next to nothing about the man from

Akhkharu—in good stead. They were free agents, unencumbered by a woman’s wiles

or at the mercy of her whims. They could go and come and as they pleased.

“With whomever they please,” he added nastily as he returned to his cot and lay

down.

Aye, he thought as he lay on his side with his knees drawn up, it was best to find a

woman to put her hand or mouth around his cock and work out his release than to

contemplate going through the same nerve-racking insecurities that the mated Reapers

endured. Who needed such travail?

“I can sleep in this place tonight and a hotel tomorrow night,” he mumbled to

himself. “Spread my blanket at a campsite the next. I can bunk in a jail cell or in

somebody’s stable if it rains. I can…”

The places where he could lay his head were as varied as the excuses he made to

maintain what he thought was his freedom.

Who needed a house with a picket fence like Cynyr’s? Who needed a house by a

stream like Bev’s—although the Reaper and his Lady Lea were rarely there, Lea

preferring the comforts of the Citadel? Owen would return north with Rachel when he

was released from the con cell and Arawn had his place with Danielle, that saucy

wench of his who sure baked a mean cake. But who needed all that shit to tie them

down?

But even as he settled down with his hand under the pillow, finger once more on

the trigger, back to the wall to keep vigil on the room, he knew he was lying to himself.

The loneliness that ate at him so ravenously was beginning to take its toll and in his

heart he knew it had gone deeper than homesickness. He was beginning to long for

things he knew he should not have.

Like a woman of his own. A real place to call home. A dinner table set at a certain

time. A bed where he could rest peacefully at night after making slow, passionate love

to his lady.

His eyes swung slowly to Valda.

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My Reaper’s Daughter

A child to hold and teach and love.

Tears pricked at his eyes and the dusty feeling that came with deep emotion settled

high in his nasal passages.

“Who needs it?” he asked.

“Who indeed?”
came the soft voice floating through his head.

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Chapter Three

The man in black was in a surly mood when he swung his feet off the cot and

snatched up his boot. With his lips pursed tightly together, his amber eyes hard, he

stomped into the kitchen and—ignoring a startled Alice DePalmer working at the

stove—jerked the coffeepot from the burner, a cup from the rack at the sink, and poured

a cup of the scalding brew. Slamming the pot back on the stove, he stomped out again,

his stern glare daring anyone to wish him a good morning. He carried his coffee out to

the porch and stood there drinking it, eyes narrowed against the rising steam.

“Hey, Glynnie.”

He sighed and looked down. “Hey yourself, Valda.”

“Don’t you want no breakfast?” she inquired, gazing up at him with her doe-like

brown eyes that were far too innocent and far too trusting for his peace of mind.

“Don’t you want any breakfast?” he corrected then shook his head. “I’m not

hungry. I need…” He stopped, realizing he couldn’t tell the child he needed Sustenance

and the painful injection that awaited him in his saddlebags.

“Whatcha need, Glynnie?” the child asked.

“A good morning would do,” he heard himself say.

Her little arms came up. “Okay.”

That annoying dusty feeling attacked his nose again and he hunkered down, heart

thumping hard as Valda encircled his neck, hugging him tightly.

“Good morning, Glynnie,” she said, and gave him a sloppy, wet kiss on his

bewhiskered cheek.

It was all he could do to get the words out. “Good morning, Valli.”

“Valli?” the child said then grinned so broadly her little brown face looked on the

verge of splitting in two. “I like that! Glynnie and Valli! Glynnie and Valli!” She

released him. “I’m gonna go tell Mama!”

She was like a tiny whirlwind as she ran back into the common room, calling at the

top of her squeaky voice.

“Mama, Glynnie gave me a scratch name!”

“Nickname,” Glyn automatically corrected. He realized he was smiling and the foul

mood to which he had awoken was quickly evaporating like the fog rolling back from

the corral beside the station.

He looked at the corral where a couple of serviceable-looking horses stood perfectly

still in the early morning mist. He looked back to the interior of the common room

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My Reaper’s Daughter

where the others were beginning to stir. He inhaled the scent of crisply cooked bacon,

the pungent odor of frying eggs and the comforting smell of brewed coffee.

He hesitated, heard Mystery laugh, and then shook his head slowly.

She didn’t need the trouble he could bring her. He didn’t need the added danger

she and the child could bring him. It was best he leave her the hell alone and head out,

put distance between them, though he was gods-be-damned sure he’d never get either

female out of his mind.

Or heart.

They had wiggled their way in, burrowed beneath the shield of indifference and

sarcasm that kept others at bay and made a nest for themselves there.

His gaze returned to the corral. The buckskin looked as if it would be a sturdy ride.

When it swiveled its head and looked right at him, he knew that would be the mount