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.
57
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
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?”
58
Her Reaper’s Arms
“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.
59
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
They stopped on a rise that overlooked the shimmering waters of Willow Glen
Creek. Around them were
