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body pressed along his side, and she was the dearest thing he’d ever held. In his life, no one had ever loved him. No one had ever feared for his safety nor cared if he lived or died. He knew should anything happen to him, he would be subjecting Aingeal to a lonely life for—because of his selfishness—she was a Reaper and Reapers mated for all eternity.
    “It’s getting late,” Aingeal said, “and your woman has designs on you.”
    He lifted his head and looked down at her. “Designs, eh?”
    “Wicked designs,” she said, sliding her hand across the juncture of his thighs. “Hot, thrusting designs.” She cupped him, massaging the growing erection that met her fingers.
    Cynyr caught her hand and pushed it away from him, getting up from the bench to pull her into his arms. His hands went to her shapely butt and molded her tightly to his tall frame. “You are shameless, wench.”
    “Aye,” she said, grinding herself against him. “Best make hay while the brattling is nestled inside me and not wailing his lungs out to be changed or fed.”
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    Charlotte Boyett-Compo
    At the mention of their child growing within Aingeal’s womb, Cynyr’s unease deepened. His parasite buckled beneath his skin, sending a shaft of agony through his back. It was all he could do not to gasp, not to show his lady the pain invading his body.
    She moved back, pulling his hand from her rear and tugging him toward the house. Her eyes were bright, her smile pure delight as she walked backward, drawing him with her.
    Whatever evil lurked about them turned Cynyr Cree’s blood cold. He dawdled in his mate’s wake, casting his eyes from side to side, searching for whatever it was that caused such deep alarm to send shivers down his spine. There was nothing and no one nearby, but the apprehension followed them into Moira McDermott’s house and stealthily climbed the stairs right alongside them. Even when he shut the door behind them, malevolence hung in the air like a wet, heavy curtain.
    * * * * *
    Otaktay lowered the field glasses from his eyes for just a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. As soon as a light blazed in an upstairs room of the white clapboard house, he swung the binoculars up and zeroed in on the white lace curtain behind which the silhouette of his woman appeared. Fury drove deep in the Jakotai brave. Another man was standing in front of Aingeal and she was pressing her body to his. The white man’s hands were on her breasts, his lips upon her shoulder.
    “Faithless bitch,” Otaktay swore. His cock grew hard as he watched the white man unbuttoning Aingeal’s garment. He reached down to unconsciously rub his erection. When Aingeal’s covering was peeled from her shoulders, the brave growled low in his throat, his bloodlust rising.
    Unable to continue watching, Otaktay threw the field glasses down and buried his face in his hands. Since his father had given the white woman to him, he had been unable to take another. No other enticed him as Aingeal did. No other held appeal for him. Though he had treated her shamelessly—as his father kept reminding him—by allowing other men to mate with her, Otaktay had strong feelings for the woman.
    “Why do you permit your friends to abuse her?” his father had asked.
    “To teach her a lesson!” Otaktay had defended himself. “She belongs to me to do with as I please, yet she persists in running away.”
    “You have made a whore of your woman,” Chief Akecheta, Otaktay’s father, said with sad eyes. “You are to blame for her running away. Had you treated her with care, she would have had no reason to leave you.”
    Guilt nipped at Otaktay’s heels with every step he took away from his watching place. With the acute hearing he now possessed and the strange powers his Transition had granted him, he knew the moment the Reaper took what by right belonged to the Jakotai brave. He barely noticed the tears easing down his hot cheeks as he swung onto 28
    Reaper’s