Her Reaper's Arms Charlotte Boyett-Compo (rainbow fish read aloud TXT) 📖

said boldly.

He snorted. “Won’t happen,” he stated. “I belong to her.”

The Blackwind blinked. “A Reaper would dare say such a thing?” she asked.

“I belong to her,” he repeated. “With my entire being and with every beat of my

heart.”

Sweeping Lea a hard look, Penthe asked her how she had managed to bewitch the

Reaper.

“With love,” Bevyn said softly.

Penthe rolled her eyes. “Love makes a warrior weak.”

Cornelia came over to them and stood glaring down at the Amazeen. “And hatred

won’t keep you warm on a cold winter night or fill your belly with food or child.”

“Food I want,” Penthe admitted. “A child?” She waved a dismissive hand. “That I

never want.”

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“Can’t say as I blame you,” Cornelia quipped. “They can be an ungrateful bunch.”

She turned her attention to Lea. “I need some help with supper.”

Lea didn’t want to leave her man with the statuesque beauty who was squatting

down beside him, but when he gave her a look that curled the toes in her slippers, she

got up and without a backward glance started toward Cornelia’s house with her.

“You’ve trained your pet well,” Penthe remarked. She lowered her rump to the

blanket, sitting tailor fashion, placing the Dóigra upon the ground.

“How did the rogue manage to get hold of one of your weapons?” Bevyn asked her.

“He attacked my partner, ravaged her in his insanity,” Penthe said. “He was rabid.”

“It happens to balgairs,” Bevyn said.

“But not to Reapers?” she asked, intrigued. “Why is that?”

“They don’t know. Our Prime was once bitten by a rabid fox. He was sick but not as

if it had been a ghoret bite.”

Penthe shuddered. “Even hearing that word disturbs me,” she said.

“You and me both,” he admitted.

“He lived? This Prime?” she inquired.

“Aye, but I’ve heard tell that rogues succumb to the disease in a matter of days

when bitten. Obviously their parasites aren’t as strong as ours,” he replied.

“Thankfully Artesia did not survive his mauling to contract the illness,” Penthe

said. “That would be a gruesome way to meet the Gatherer.”

“How was it he managed to kill her?”

Penthe swept her hand along her thigh to brush away pieces of hay. “We had

argued and she’d gone off on her own. In her state of mind, she wasn’t being careful

and he jumped her, tore her throat out before I could shoot him with my weapon. He

saw me and took off running with Artesia slung over his shoulder, her Dóigra in his

unworthy fist. I was amazed at how fast he could run.”

“Rogues aren’t as fast as Reapers in that department, but they can move when they

feel threatened,” he agreed.

“He took her to that hellhole where he had slaughtered the other women.”

“Did you know he was rabid?”

She nodded. “His face was already turning black and his tongue so swollen he

could not draw it back into his mouth. I knew it was but a matter of time before he

succumbed. There was nothing I could do for Artesia so I just waited, hoping he’d come

outside so I could shoot him and put him down. I never got the chance for he died a few

hours later, howling and snarling the likes I hope to never hear again.”

They were silent for a moment then Bevyn asked what she would do now.

“I have no idea,” Penthe said. “By rights, I suppose I should stake you to the

ground and avenge my grandmere.”

Bevyn smiled. “I don’t think I’m going to let you do that, wench,” he said.

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“Too bad,” Penthe said with a sigh. “Torture is so entertaining and…” She swept

him a sultry look. “I wouldn’t mind putting my hands to you, Reaper.”

“It was Kennocha who wronged me,” he told her. “Not the other way around.”

She waved a hand. “Aye, I realize that now, but at the time I accepted the Edikeõ, I

was young and somewhat foolish and—I will admit it—looking for adventure. Coming

to Terra to extract you seemed worthy.”

“And now you may be stuck here,” he reminded her.

“Aye,” she said, her lips twisted with irritation. “So what do I do, Reaper?”

He turned his head and looked up at the home he was helping to build. The

foundation, walls and rafters were in place, much of the roofing panels laid. Come

tomorrow, he and his crew would begin work on the inside.

“I will be journeying to the Citadel in the next several days,” he told the Blackwind.

“You are welcome to come with us and meet with the Shadowlords. Perhaps they can

find something worthy for you to do.”

Penthe sat up straighter. “The Shadowlords?” she repeated. “I have heard of them.

They are here on Terra?”

“Three of them are,” he replied.

“It would be entertaining to meet them,” she said then gave him a wicked look.

“Not as entertaining as putting my hands all over you but interesting, I would think.”

Bevyn threw back his head and laughed. “You don’t give up, do you, wench?” he

asked.

Penthe bent forward and put a hand on his thigh. “I believe I could keep at it all

night long, warrior. Your cock would be so sore, you wouldn’t be able to move come

morning.”

Bevyn glanced up to see Lea coming toward him. His lady was not smiling and

when her eyes flicked over the Blackwind, there was anger in them.

“What is it, milady?” he asked, getting to his feet.

“I need to speak to you,” Lea said, and snaked out a hand to grab his arm. “Now!”

She yanked him behind her, storming toward the stable.

“Be gentle with him, wench!” Penthe called out, and everyone still left at the

building site laughed.

Bevyn stumbled along behind his lady, his eyebrows drawn together. She was

furious and he could feel her anger snapping like lightning around him. “We were only

talking, sweeting,” he said, instinctively knowing it was the Blackwind who had caused

Lea’s fury.

“She wasn’t talking,” Lea snapped as she jerked the stable door open and pulled

him inside. “She was flirting with you!”

“Nah, wench,” he said. “Not really. She just—”

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Lea let go of his arm and shoved him hard to send him crashing into an upright. He

grunted as his back hit the wood.

“I won’t have it, Bevyn Coure!”