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

he felt a piercing pain in his shoulder as the third

rogue fired at him. Swiveling his gun toward the man standing by the bar, the Reaper’s

fourth bullet hit the rogue in the heart but not before the bastard fired again, his next

bullet catching Bevyn in the right bicep, making him drop his gun.

Scrambling to his feet, ignoring the pain in his right shoulder and arm, the Reaper

drew his laser whip and took the third rogue’s head off cleanly, grinning at the

surprised look on the dead man’s face. It took less time to flick the laser to the necks of

the other rogues, whose parasites were trying in vain to heal their hosts, and dispatch

them, a bit more time to wait for the hellions to wriggle out in order to turn them into

crispy ash on the barroom floor.

“Three down,” Bevyn sent to the Citadel just as he felt the strange humming around

him and the pull against his flesh.

“They are trying to draw you up!” Lord Kheelan’s voice shrilled in Bevyn’s ear.

There was no need for him to ask who. It was the Amazeen and they had latched on

to him in an attempt to pluck him from Terra. The pull against his flesh was sharp but

he felt as though his feet were nailed to the floor. It was an exacting sensation and it

hurt like hell.

“Morrigunia!” he cried out in agony, feeling as though he were being pulled apart

at the seams.

The Amazeens’ ploy might well have worked had not the Triune Goddess

interceded. Her fury vast as She suddenly appeared in the saloon, green eyes blazing

with rage, long red hair floating like seaweed on a turbulent tide.

“No one fucks with my Reaper!” the goddess shrieked. She lifted Her arm, fingers

splayed wide, and inscribed a large circle in the air and then crushed Her fingers

together as though snatching something from the air, jerking Her arm downward

quickly.

Under Bevyn’s feet, the floor of the saloon shook as a loud explosion rent the early

afternoon sky and he felt whatever had been drawing him cease. He dropped to all

fours, panting with the brutal pain that had been squeezing his insides, elongating them

like taffy at a pull. Falling over to his side, he drew his legs up in a fetal position and lay

there as the debilitating pain slowly faded from his muscles and joints.

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Her Reaper’s Arms

“The gods-be-damned!” Morrigunia hissed. “There is another!”

The entire room trembled as though it were about to collapse. As suddenly as She

had appeared, the goddess disappeared in a flash of rust-colored dust, a violent wind

whipping through the wind, smelling like rotting vegetation.

Rolling onto his back to draw ragged breaths into his lungs, Bevyn stared up at the

ceiling and the violently swaying oil lights that cast flickering shadows across the walls

as the building settled down. The pain in his arm was bad since his parasite could not

close the wounds for healing until the foreign substances—the lead bullets—had been

removed. He was bleeding badly as he pushed himself up to lean against a wooden

column, fumbling with his left hand for his blade. It was going to be a bitch digging the

bullets out of his shoulder and bicep but it had to be done before he could heal. He was

trying to do just that when the goddess returned, Her beautiful face hard and set.

“There is a Blackwind out there,” She told him, coming to hunker down before him.

“I hate Blackwinds more than I hate Nightwinds.”

Though it had been many years since he had been face-to-face with the Triune

Goddess, he was still as unnerved by Her beauty and the savage glint in Her green orbs

as he had been on the day She had made him. His hand was still on the blade though it

was deep inside his shoulder.

“How goes it, my Bevyn?” She asked, taking the blade from his grasp.

“Not as well as I would have liked for it to, mo Regina,” he admitted, trying not to

look into Her lovely face.

With efficiency, She popped the bullets from his flesh with the tip of the dagger,

snorting at his indrawn breath as the pain hit him, and then flipped the blade over,

extending it to him hilt first.

“You are not the most careful of my Reapers or the smartest,” She chastised him,

Her ivory face with its strange dusting of freckles cocked to one side. “Perhaps now that

you have something to live for you will be more careful in the future.”

He met Her glowing eyes. “You sent Lea to me,” he said softly. “My heartfelt

thanks, mo Regina.”

Her smile was brief but dazzling as She got to Her feet. “Take care of your toy,

Bevyn Coure. You’ll not get another.”

With that, She was gone in a burst of swirling multi-colored flecks of light that were

so bright they hurt his eyes, and he had to turn his head away and close his eyes to keep

from being blinded by the intensity.

Stumbling to his feet, he waved away his torn black silk shirt to better view the

damage done. Already the wounds were closing, only the red edges showing harshly

against his tanned skin. Going behind the bar, he found a clean rag and a pitcher of

water to wash away the spilled blood before fashioning a new shirt for himself.

Surprised he felt so weak, he poured a shot of whiskey, knocked it back then

another before heading out of the saloon to make his way to the church. The sweltering

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

heat had to have taken a toll on the women imprisoned there and he was anxious to set

them free. As soon as he’d pulled the two boards crisscrossing the set of double doors,

the women nearly ran him over trying to get out in the cooler air. As soon as they saw

him, they staggered back, clustering in a little group as though they were as afraid of

him as they were of the ones who had trapped them.

Bevyn pointed at one of the women. “You, go set your menfolk in the jail free,” he

said, and saw the younger ones turn their heads toward the barn at