Reaper's Revenge (8 page)

“How the hell did they get to Terra?” Arawn asked, realizing how stupid his question the moment it escaped his clenched teeth. Ghorets did not exist on Terra. Only the Ceannus could have brought them there.

Busy trying to keep out of the striking zone of the vipers, Cynyr didn’t bother to answer either of Arawn’s questions. Although it had been said the venom from the ghoret would not necessarily kill a Reaper, it was rumored to be so painful the victim would wish he could die. Cynyr didn’t think getting bit by a ghoret was something he’d care to have on his list of accomplishments in life.

Arawn realized they were in deep trouble for the vipers were boiling over one another to reach them. So far they had managed to slay a few of the malodorous mass but neither of them were quick enough with the whip to kill every viper slithering his way. He had only one choice and took it, shouting for Bevyn to join them. Hearing the Prime Reaper yelling in a mind-link for Bevyn didn’t help Cynyr’s confidence in overcoming the formidable odds aligned against them. He’d slain three more vipers but one had shimmied close enough to the Reaper to strike, sinking its fangs into Cynyr’s calf. He stumbled but kept his jaws firmly locked so as not to alert Arawn to his predicament as burning pain spiraled up his leg. 41

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“Bevyn! We need you!”
Arawn shouted again in his mind. Five miles to the south, Bevyn heard the voice of his leader and let out a piercing shriek of protest. He had the Jakotai in sight, was overtaking him. If he broke off now, they might not reach Aingeal before the brave harmed her.

“Bevyn! Help us!”

Torn between rescuing a fellow Reaper’s woman and a Prime Reaper’s undeniable command, Bevyn shrieked again but banked his wings and swung around in a wide arc, flapping the six feet wingspan rapidly as he raced back toward Arawn. Another viper snagged a single fang in Cynyr’s left wrist, injecting its fiery payload. Agony spread quickly up the Reaper’s arm and into his shoulder. He was rapidly losing his strength. His head swam unmercifully and there was a strong, metallic taste in his mouth. He was shivering badly as a third viper struck his ankle, sharp fangs burying themselves through his boot. He could not stop the grunt of pain. Arawn took out another two vipers before he realized Cynyr had been hit. His eyes widened as he risked a quick glance at the man beside him and saw shimmering blue venom oozing down Cree’s pant legs and his left hand. He cursed and snapped his laser whip toward another viper prepared to strike at Cynyr’s unprotected back. Even before he winged his way over the spot where he knew his fellow Reapers were fighting, Bevyn could smell the horrid stench permeating the air. He could make out the flares of the laser whips but it was the bright, glimmering pale blue glow running upon the sand that turned his blood cold. He knew only one thing that could cause such a sickening sight. Increasing his speed, he flew over the fighters and landed ten feet away.

Arawn barely noticed Bevyn shifting back into human form. At any other time, seeing Coure appear stark-naked would have amused him, but right then, his only thought was to throw his six-shooter to the best marksman in the Reaper squad and hope Bevyn could take out as many vipers as possible.

With one wave of his hand, Bevyn clothed himself, barely thinking of what he was fashioning upon his lanky frame. His hands were up—ready to catch the revolver Arawn was tossing his way. He didn’t waste any time in methodically taking the heads off six of the slithering creatures.

“Cynyr!” Arawn shouted. “Throw him your gun!”

Confusion was slicing a hot knife through Cynyr’s brain and Arawn’s words made no sense to him—the sound coming from far, far away. He was sweating profusely but so cold his teeth were chattering. He killed one last viper with his whip before he went down to one knee, yelping as a viper flung itself at him and sank its fangs into his side. He dropped his whip and clamped his hand to the agonizing bite under his rib cage. Kneeling on the ground, he stared with terrified eyes at the vipers coming at him. There were three remaining vipers wriggling toward Cynyr, their heads lifting as they prepared to strike the downed Reaper. Arawn took out the one that had bitten Cree in the side but the other two were almost to their target. Racing forward as quickly 42

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as he could, Bevyn dove for Cynyr’s whip, snatched it up and skidding along the ground on his side and hip, cracked the weapon with an expert overhead pop that snapped the head off the next to the last surviving snake. Cursing a blue streak, Arawn killed the last one, slicing it straight down the middle from horned head to snapping tail.

Breathing heavily, Arawn and Bevyn were so pumped with adrenaline, they couldn’t move for a moment. Their hearts were racing black blood that felt as thick as molasses as it pulsed through their veins. Their eyes sweeping back and forth over the ground, they were relieved to see no more moving bodies slithering on the ground. Everywhere they looked, pools of blue fluorescent venom splattered the ground. Off in the distance there came a strange, loud whomping sound that barely registered as the two men finally broke out of their fear-induced inertia and they rushed to Cynyr—Bevyn pushing up from the ground to scramble toward his fallen comrade.

“Cree!” Arawn cried out, reaching for Cynyr as the Reaper started to fall. Wrapping his arms around his injured man, the Prime Reaper felt the fiery heat pouring off Cynyr’s trembling body as he pitched forward. Convulsions were already beginning to rock Cynyr. His breathing was raspy, dragging into his lungs with effort. Bevyn helped Arawn lay Cynyr on his back and he forced the Reaper’s jaws open, laying the dragon-claw handle across his tongue to keep him from swallowing it. He was at Cree’s head, bracing it, bent over so he saw the wild stare that turned the amber eyes red as flame.

“I know nothing of ghoret bites,” Arawn said, striving to hold Cynyr’s arms down, straddling the Reaper’s legs to keep him from kicking.

“Neither do I,” Bevyn replied.

The whomping sound was growing louder and the force of the air was pushing against them, the sand swirling up to blow into their eyes.

“What the hell’s happening?” Bevyn yelled, his voice barely audible for the sound was directly overhead, beating at him. He couldn’t look up for the blowing sand would blind him.

Arawn was squinting against the invasion of the sand. His ears were popping and he was being buffeted with such powerful waves of air, he was having trouble holding onto Cynyr. Risking his eyesight, he let go of one of Cree’s arms and—shielding his face from the swirling wind with his bent arm—looked up into the face of his worst nightmares.

* * * * *

Otaktay took the horse deeper into the cavern—leading the animal by its bridle with one hand and lighting the way into the darkness with a burning brand. He had wrapped a torn piece of the woman’s silk wrapper around the mount’s eyes to blind it so it could be led without protest across the narrow bridge of stone that arched over an 43

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underground lake. Deeper and deeper still into the very belly of the mountain the Jakotai walked the horse. Upon the cave walls, the light from the torch elongated his silhouette and cast strange patterns upon the rocky surface. Aingeal had yet to awaken from the blow the brave had administered to the side of her head. She was draped over the horse’s back, her arms and legs dangling. Even when Otaktay reached his destination, she had yet to awaken. Grabbing her hips, he pulled her off the steed, allowing her to drop heavily to the pebble-strewn ground, uncaring of whether she was hurt by the fall or not.

Uncovering the horse’s eyes, the brave patted the stallion’s neck then watched it walk over to the water’s edge and lower its head to drink. Turning his attention back to Aingeal, Otaktay drew in a harsh breath.

The white woman he had claimed for his own was lying there like a wanton, her arms and legs splayed upon the ground. The hem of her torn nightgown had been dragged up so her thighs were exposed and the wrapper had parted to reveal the upthrust of her breasts.

Unaware he was doing so, the Jakotai licked his lips, wedging the brand between an outcropping. His focus was locked on the shadowy area between Aingeal’s creamy thighs as he worked to start a campfire from a stack of brush and branches some other travelers had left behind when they’d taken refuge in the cave. When the fire was crackling, he reached down to rub at the sudden tightening at his crotch. Without conscious thought, he began moving toward the woman lying so unprotected before his fevered gaze. Coming to stand over her, he went to his knees between her spread legs and reached out to touch the softness of her breast beneath the silken fabric. His cock turned rigid. His breathing increased to a shallow, fast rhythm. His fingers went to his breechclout and he pushed the front panel aside, reached inside the cup of the fabric to tug out his throbbing shaft. Massaging his steely erection with one hand, he pulled up the hem of Aingeal’s gown and fell upon her.

* * * * *

Bevyn was being staggered by the force of the wind pushing against him and it was all he could do to hold on to Cynyr’s face. His palms were burning from the extreme heat roiling off the Reaper’s cheeks and the oily substance oozing from the stricken man’s pores. He was aware of Arawn staring up at whatever was hovering over them but he had no desire to view the death carrier that was about to destroy the three of them.

Mindless of the pummeling hand that was beating at his chest, Arawn stared up at the awesome apparition that was at that moment settling down behind Bevyn Coure. He did not feel Cynyr’s fist hitting him, could barely breathe, for the sight before him was so terrifying. He believed the three of them were about to die in a flash of white-hot fire or have their flesh pulverized into mush. His mouth open, his eyes huge in his pale face, he could not look away from the sight staring at him. 44

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Suddenly the fierce wind was laid to rest, the sand settling down around them. Eerie silence descended like a heavy wool blanket—shutting out even the thundering heartbeats of the three Reapers. Risking his immortal soul, Bevyn craned his head around to see what had so frightened Arawn into complete immobility and the sight that greeted him sent a trickle of urine down the young Reaper’s thighs. The creature squatting not five feet away from them was immense. Roughly twenty feet in length with a wingspan that stretched nearly twice that from tip to membranous tip, it was covered in bright copper scales that glistened in the errant beams of the moon. Huge front paws with inch-thick curved talons gripped the sand. Sitting perched upon its massive forepaws and powerful haunches, the beast had a twelve foot long, six inch thick tail covered in curving barbed fins projecting upward with the tail tapering to a caudal process—a flanged boney spade—at the tip. But it was the enormous neck and head of the being that chilled the blood and threatened to loosen the Reapers’ bowels. A long neck rose from the commanding body of the creature. It was arched over the men so the triangular head with its great mandibles, flaring nostrils, glistening muzzle and large scalloped ears was slanted down toward those who were frozen where they knelt. Slit-pupil eyes glared at the Reapers with an eerie phosphorous green glow. A scaly eye ridge protruded over the large orbs and were arching—first one then the other—in a pulsating rhythm. Rising up from the gargantuan head and curving backward toward the body of the beast were two long spiny horns that ended in a needle-sharp point.

“Sweet merciful Alel,” Bevyn managed to croak. He felt another trickle of piss stream down his thigh when the beast grinned at him, immense incisors, sharp carnassials and jaggedly pointed canines glistening with strings of saliva within a firered cavern of a mouth. The giant spade-like head turned from side to side as though in query then vanished in a plume of smoke that set the conscious men to coughing, their eyes watering furiously. Fanning away the sulfurous cloud, Arawn and Bevyn could not believe what they next saw.

Striding toward them from where the creature’s massive body had perched but a moment before was the most beautiful woman either of them had ever seen. With flowing thick red hair that fell to her ankles, she was completely naked. Her shapely curves, abundant breasts and gleaming triangle of red curls at the juncture of her thighs made both Reapers instantly hard within the confines of their leather britches. They could not take their eyes from her as she came to squat down beside Cynyr’s thrashing body. The sweet scent of lavender flowed from her lush body and when she put a slim hand to both Arawn’s and Bevyn’s chests to push them away from their downed comrade, her touch was electric, shocking both men so that they jumped to their feet as though jerked back by a puppeteer’s strings.

“Cynyr,” the gorgeous woman said in a soft voice as she removed the whip handle from between his clenched teeth. “Lie easy. Be still.”

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Instantly the convulsing man calmed. Though sweat was pouring from his body and the strange oily substance continued seeping from his face, he went completely motionless, his gasping breath calming. Her slender hands to either side of his face, the woman knelt over him and placed her full lips to the Reaper’s and his wild, flaring eyes closed.

His groin thick and throbbing, Arawn could feel himself trembling. There was no mistaking who it was that knelt over Cynyr Cree. Although he had seen her but once in his life—and not in either of the two forms she’d shown this night—he could never have forgotten the mesmerizing black velvet of her voice.

“Be at ease, Arawn Gehdrin. I have blocked my presence from the vile Ceannus,”

the woman told Arawn.

“Will Cree live,
mo regina
?” Arawn asked, going to one knee before her, giving her the title of queen.

The woman turned her verdant green gaze to the Prime Reaper. “He is one of mine, is he not?” she asked.

If Bevyn had not known before that moment, he did then. He too went to one knee before the woman, his fist clutched over his heart in salute, his head lowered. As the men knelt before her, the woman slid her arms under Cynyr’s back and under his knees and hefted him easily against her as she stood. As she held him, she whistled softly and the two horses that belonged to Cree and Arawn came trotting over.