Her Reaper's Arms, Charlotte Boyett-Compo [world best books to read .TXT] 📗

there—sweating

and silently cursing his Reaper’s need for sweet food, holding the tablecloth close to his

stomach to hide himself.

“Son, what ails you?”

Bevyn jerked, his eyes going guiltily from the pie plate to Cornelia.

“You want another piece of pie, just ask for it,” the black woman said. “I got

another one in the icebox and—”

“No!” Bevyn stated emphatically. “No more sugar!”

Lea’s face turned bright red and her gaze snapped to the pie plate. Both she and

Cornelia had had small slices of the heavenly concoction but her Reaper had practically

inhaled the rest of it, gobbling it up as though there were no tomorrow. “Oh,” she

whispered.

“You got the diabetes or somethin’, son?” Cornelia demanded.

Bevyn gave Lea a pleading look.

“Why don’t we go into the parlor, Miss Cornelia,” Lea said, hooking her arm

through the older woman’s.

“What for?” Cornelia asked.

“He’s…the pie…well…” Lea shrugged. “Sugar does things to him.”

“Wench!” Bevyn hissed.

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Cornelia looked from one red face to the other then nodded. “Uh-huh,” she said.

“Guess I won’t be offering him none of my homemade lemonade then. It’s got two cups

of sugar in it too.”

“Best not,” Lea agreed.

“Humph,” Cornelia commented, and ushered Lea out of the kitchen with a lastminute order for the Reaper to get matters in hand then come join them.

Long after the two women had left him, Bevyn sat where he was, gritting his teeth

and willing his cock to behave—which it didn’t feel inclined to do. It stayed hard and

full and burning, so aroused he could feel every breath he took pressing against his

crotch. He was acutely embarrassed then confused, then annoyed and finally amused.

This was a situation he’d never run up against before and although it was nothing to

report back to the Citadel, he would bet his last pay credit that his fellow Reapers

would find it comical.

Not that he’d met any of his kind except for the Prime—Arawn Gehdrin—and he

was in awe of that man. He could imagine Gehdrin giving him a scowl for letting such a

thing happen.

Thoughts of the Prime brought thoughts of the Citadel and then of the

Shadowlords—one in particular, who was going to be more than unhappy with what

Bevyn had done.

“Reapers do not need mates,” Lord Kheelan had lectured. “Mates are a liability you men

can not afford.”

Well, he thought as he eased himself more comfortably in the chair, thoughts of the

High Lord very effectively diminishing his erection, he had fucked up royally and

would pay for it, but if he had it to do over again, he knew he’d make the same

decision. Lea was his and he was going to keep her—no matter what he had to do in

order for that to happen.

“Mistakes are paid for in blood, Lord Bevyn,” Lord Kheelan had once told him. “In blood

and sweat and pain.”

Aye, he figured he would be shelling out some of that coin once he returned to the

Citadel, and he had a fairly good guess what would happen to him, how he’d be forced

to pay for going against orders. The problem was, he was not willing to leave Lea

behind in Orson, not knowing how long he’d be forced to stay at the Citadel.

“Are you all right now?” Lea asked, peeking her head in the kitchen door.

Bevyn looked up. “I’ve got to report to the Citadel next week,” he told her. “I want

you to come with me.”

Lea came into the kitchen, her eyes worried. “I’m not a good horsewoman, milord.

I…”

“We’ll take the train from Clewiston,” he said.

Her face brightened. “The train? We’ll take the train?”

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“Aye,” he said. “They have sleeping cars and it’s a sight better than camping on the

ground or looking for hotels decent enough to stay in between here and there.”

She came to him and squatted down beside his chair. “I’ve never ridden on a train,”

she said.

He cupped her chin. “You’ll enjoy it, wench,” he said, leaning down to briefly touch

his lips to hers.

Lea glanced down at his lap. “Is everything back to normal?”

He laughed. “As much as it can get back to normal,” he said. He released her and

pushed the chair back, extending his hand to help her up. “We’d best go socialize with

our new landlady before she changes her mind about us staying here.”

“I don’t think we have anything to worry about there,” she said. She slipped her

arm around his waist. “She thinks you’re one delectable white man.”

“Did she say that?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.

“She did, but don’t let it go to your head, son,” Cornelia said as she came into the

kitchen. “Now get gone while I see to supper.”

“Can I help you?” Lea asked.

“No, you most certainly can not,” Cornelia said. “Don’t want no skinny white gals

getting in the way of my serious cooking. Take that boy and go off somewhere before

you get him all worked up again.”

“Come on, Bev,” Lea said, pulling on his arm.

“‘That boy’?” Bevyn repeated as Lea ushered him out the back door and into

Cornelia’s immaculate yard. “Did she really call me a ‘boy’?”

“I don’t think she meant it as an insult, milord,” she was quick to appease him.

“I didn’t take it as one,” he said, looking back at the kitchen door. “It’s just that no

one has ever called me a ‘boy’ before.”

“Even when you were a child?” she asked, leaning into him as they walked.

He turned his head back around, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants.

“Not even then. And no one ever called me ‘son’ either.”

Lea looked up at him. “What did your parents call you?”

Bevyn was staring at the creek to which they were walking for it ran across the far

end of Cornelia’s property, curving back toward the plot of land where he would build

their home.

“I didn’t have any,” he said quietly.

“No parents?” she queried. “What were you? Hatched?”

He glanced down at her. “No parents I knew of,” he corrected.

“Oh I see. You were orphaned,” she said.

“No, I was thrown away,” he said.

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They stopped on a rise that overlooked the shimmering waters of Willow Glen

Creek. Around them were