Reaper's Vow (27 page)

She didn't know what to do with this Cole, how to handle him, so she did the only thing she could and laid back and let him have his way, moaning as his teeth nibbled on her skin. His lips brushed across her breast so gentle, so sweet, so like nothing she'd ever experienced before. She realized it was fire and passion blended with tenderness and caring. He was telling her the only way he knew how that he cared. Tears welled in her eyes; she blinked them back, not wanting an explanation to ruin the moment because she'd never been cherished like this, as if there were nothing more important in the world than her smile and her pleasure.

He looked up at her from between her legs, his breath teasing her pussy as he moved down. “There isn't.”

The words trapped in her throat were lost forever as his tongue skimmed her clit with the same delicacy as his touch, snapping nerve endings to attention, leaving her straining upward against his hands and wanting more. Desire pulsed and throbbed under her skin. Her breasts swelled; her canines split her gums. She was Reaper, and she wanted; he was human, and he was giving. It shouldn't work. It couldn't work, but at the next stroke of his tongue she knew with blinding clarity that it did. Perfectly, wonderfully, just the way they were, two imperfect beings coming together. They worked, and she wouldn't change a damn thing.

Another stroke of his tongue sent her thoughts skittering. There was so much she wanted to enjoy, so much of this man she wanted to experience. She'd seen his strength, felt his lust, but this,
this
was so much different. This was loving.

She closed her eyes and spread her thighs. She couldn't help but smile as he said, “That's my girl.”

She had to dig her claws into the bed so as not to rake his skin as he laved her over and over, top to bottom, bottom to top, circling, prodding, nibbling, easing her to orgasm, holding her with his hands and his energy as her world exploded. His mouth and mind whispered incoherent praise, soft words that melted into her skin, into her heart, into her soul, and anchored her through the chaos.

And when it was over and she was still shivering and weak, he came over her, his eyes holding hers as his body merged with hers, slowly, inch by inch. Until there wasn't a breath of space between them, not a speck left to be filled. Until all the empty want and need had been squeezed out, and there was only him and her. Until it was perfect.

18

“You know I hate laundry day,” Addy said, wiping her arm across her forehead before grabbing the soap and pouring it into the cauldron of water set over a banked fire.

Miranda nodded and grabbed up the wooden paddle. “What's to like? It's hot work, it's hard work, and I about catch myself on fire every time I do it.”

“It doesn't help that it's hot enough to fry an egg out here.” Addy shoved the layers of cotton that made up their dresses and skirts into the water. “It'd be so much easier if we could wear pants.”

Miranda gave the clothes a stir. “I don't see why we can't.”

“Maybe because, rather than getting anything done, our men would be standing around us all day, running off all the other men trying to ogle our posteriors.”

Miranda laughed. “You think?”

“I think.”

An echo of laughter came from the right. Miranda looked over to where Wendy was sitting on the swing that Cole had built for her last week, inexpertly trying to make her legs move in time with her body in order to get the swing going. She remembered Cole exhausted from a day of training, braiding that rope so her daughter would have the swing. She remembered Blade telling her Cole would be even more special if he'd take that third bite. She remembered as Cole had stood before the council, holding her hand as he slipped on the etched metal he'd made into a ring, promising her forever without a hitch in his voice. Miranda shook her head and rubbed her thumb on the ring. Cole was special just as he was. She would never let them change him.

Addy followed her gaze to the ring.. “Cole's a good man, isn't he?”

Miranda nodded. “But you already knew that.”

“Hard not to. After my parents died, he took me on, and he was only a young man. And when the Comancheros captured me, he came and fetched me home.”

“Fetched me home.” Such an innocuous turn of phrase to describe how hard it must have been to not only find Addy but to get her back. “He's a stubborn man.”

Addy smiled softly. “He'd argue that.”

“He argues everything.”

“That he does. Does he plan on staying?”

Miranda shrugged and stabbed the pile of laundry floating in the cauldron, doing its best not to get wet. “I don't know. But if he leaves I know he's not planning on taking you with him.”

She hoped her smile didn't look as forced as it felt.

A touch on Miranda's arm had her looking up. “He wouldn't leave you.”

She wasn't so sure. In the week since they'd married, they'd talked about a lot of things: their favorite colors, their enjoyment of each other, how fast Wendy was growing, the emptiness of the council's approval . . . everything but what mattered. Their future. “Thank you.”

Addy sighed. “You should know Isaiah and Blade are talking to him now.”

“About him changing?”

“Him being human is a weak link in our chain.”

Miranda stabbed at the air bubble keeping the clothing afloat. “There isn't anything weak about Cole.”

“Nope.” Addy put her hands on the small of her back and stretched before glancing at Miranda out of the corner of her eye. “But that's not going to stop them from putting a lot of pressure on you to convert Cole with or without his permission.”

“I've already felt it.” It seemed everyone had a little hint to drop.

“I'm not surprised. Having a human among us is a weakness. Cole being your mate, but not being Reaper, creates a lot of tension, a lot of competition.”

“It can't be helped. Cole doesn't want to be any more Reaper than he is.”

Addy nodded. “I know. Cole's always been proud of who he is, where he came from, and how he made it to where he has without a hand up.”

Miranda poked down a fold of petticoat, watching the off-white color slowly darken as the water swept over it until all that remained was a small, stubborn peak. “That's what makes Cole, Cole.”

“Cole would be Cole no matter what.”

Did she really believe that? Miranda looked over at Addy and saw the stubbornness in her expression and realized how hard it must have been for her to leave everything secure in her life, to leave her family, when she decided to go with Isaiah. Stirring the clothes, Miranda asked, “Was it hard for you?”

“It should have been.” Addy shrugged and poured a bucket of water into another cauldron. “It might have been if I'd had a choice.”

Miranda knew the story. All the Reapers of their pack did. Isaiah had been living with Addy in town, had taken on the role of baker—baker!—when the Reapers the high council had sent out had found them. They'd almost killed her. “And when you healed and found out what Isaiah had done?”

“Did I hate him, do you mean?”

Miranda nodded.

Addy sighed and stuck another piece of wood under the fire. “No, but I think Isaiah wanted to hate himself.”

“Why?”

“Isaiah always ran from who he'd become, fought the power, never explored it. He felt as if a beast lurked inside. Something that had to be exorcised.”

Miranda's own abilities were so weak, she'd never seen as much of a benefit to being Reaper as others.

“Cole would fight it always.”

Miranda knew that in her soul. As much as she longed to have him forever, as much as the thought of holding him in her arms while she was young and he was old, of watching his life force slip away frightened her, making Cole into something other than what he was would tear the heart from him.

“Maybe,” Addy said, “but over time he'd get used to the powers and understand how they'd enable him to protect you and Wendy, to keep you safe, because, trust me, you two are the most important things in that man's life. He'd be happy for it.”

No, he wouldn't, but Addy didn't want to hear that. Miranda settled for, “Maybe.”

Addy sighed and conceded, “Yeah. Maybe.”

With a last thrust Miranda pushed the fabric down and held it below the surface, not giving the sheet any choice but to soak up the water. Being Reaper never brought her the confidence or strength it brought others. In many ways she felt like she'd been sold snake oil when the rest of the world had been handed a magic elixir.

“Look, Mommy!” Wendy squealed.

Wendy had finally gotten the knack of pumping to make the swing go. She wasn't going high, but she was going.

“I knew you could do it,” Miranda called back. And she had. Wendy might not be Cole's daughter by blood, but they shared a bone-deep stubbornness.

“That girl doesn't know the meaning of quit.” Addy smiled.

“No, she doesn't.”

“She'll lead some man a merry chase some day.”

Not if that man was Reaper. A Reaper wouldn't risk losing her. But if he were human . . . Miranda stirred the laundry hard, working the dirt out, working her fears out. She moved the heavy weight until her arms ached and determination settled around her resolve. Her daughter would have a choice. “Yes, she will.”

* * *

Cole took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. His mood was not at peak, seeing as he'd just spent an hour discussing his options with Blade and Isaiah. Options. He wanted to spit. In their eyes there was only one. His disagreement didn't seem to make much of an impression. When he'd felt the unease coming from Miranda, it'd been a convenient excuse to end a conversation he was leaving one way or another. He was not turning. He'd been born a Cameron and would die one. Period.

Even though the anxiety coming from Miranda didn't ease the closer he got, a lot of the tension inside Cole did. The last of his worry disappeared when he cleared the back corner and had Miranda in view. Whatever was upsetting her, he would deal with it. Not having her in arm's reach? That was a whole other animal. In a very short time she'd become integral to his contentment.

If the number of sheets and items hanging on the line were anything to go by, he'd say she and Addy were almost done with the laundry. Had it been up to him, he'd have left the chore for a less blistering day, but when he'd suggested it, both women had looked at him as if he'd sprouted two heads. There'd been all sorts of reasons from the scheduled rotation of the only set of laundry cauldrons, to the dirt level of the sheets. Personally he'd have put up with the dirt, but he knew how Addy felt about dirt, and he was learning Miranda was of a similar mind, so he'd done the only thing a wise man could do in the situation. He'd thrown up his hands and backed slowly away.

But he bet if he put forth the suggestion now, it wouldn't be so virulently rejected. He'd never seen two women drooping more around the edges than Addy and Miranda. Frazzled didn't begin to describe their energy. He tried not to feel sympathy. He'd told them it was going to be a scorcher, that doing laundry today was going to be nothing but torture. If they were suffering now it was their own fault. The problem was he didn't like to see Miranda suffering.

Just as he was about to call out, Wendy hopped off the swing and ran over to her mother, tugging at her skirt. He saw the flash of impatience go across Miranda's face as she moved her daughter away from the coals, felt it in her energy. A split second later he felt the love she felt for Wendy. But hot on the heels of it, impatience simmered again. The woman was on her last nerve. She needed a break.

Miranda wiped her hand across her forehead. The braid she'd so meticulously worked that morning had long since given up the ghost. Long brown strands stuck to her sweaty face, which was paler than normal. A few more steps got him within earshot. He heard Wendy asking to go swimming. He couldn't blame the little girl. He'd like to go, too. It was that kind of day. Miranda's shake of the head wasn't a surprise. The woman wouldn't let herself have fun until the work was done.

“Afternoon, ladies.”

“Cole!”

Wendy came running. Cole caught her up in his arms. She smelled of grass and dirt and little girl sweat. She squeezed his neck.

“Hello, little one. How are you this fine day?”

She promptly pouted. “Mommy says we can't go swimming.”

“I said not this minute,” Miranda sighed. “I need to finish up the laundry.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it's not.”

Cole tread carefully. “Well, that seems sensible—”

“No, it's hot!”

Miranda frowned at her daughter. “You, young lady, are about on your way to a nap. Remember to whom you're speaking.”

“I don't want a nap,” Wendy snapped, glaring at her mother from his arms. “I want to go swimming.”

Little sizzles of temper reached out from Miranda to him. She didn't like being manipulated. Neither did he, but she couldn't expect a six-year-old to understand the call of work when the pond was so temptingly near.

“I don't care about stupid work,” Wendy added for good measure.

“Wendy!”

If he didn't do something soon, the child was going to dig a hole for herself so deep there'd be no option but to just throw dirt on top and call it a day. Cole gave her a jostle to get her attention.

“Your mom's got a point. Work's got to be done before you can play.”

“But it's hot now!”

“I can see your point, too.”

Miranda crossed her arms over her chest. That deliciously full chest he'd nibbled on that morning. Licking his lips, he imagined he could still taste her.

“Don't encourage her, please.”

“I'm not encouraging her,” he explained calmly, catching the frayed edges of her energy and smoothing them. “I'm working on a solution.”

Addy chuckled. “Have you been keeping your diplomatic side a secret, cousin?”

He cut her a glare. “You're not too old to spank, Addy.”

Wendy gasped. Miranda looked like a spider had landed on his shoulder, and Addy, well, Addy just smiled and handed the shirt she'd wrung out to Miranda to hang.

“I think that threat lost its oomph about six months after you started issuing it fifteen years ago.”