Read Online WesternWind 4 - Tears of the Reaper by Charlotte Boyett-Compo - Free Book Online
Authors: Charlotte Boyett-Compo
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new ones?” Elder Barrow repeated.
“Just get me my clothes!”
The elder went quickly to a large armoire and opened it, taking out the freshly laundered black silk shirt and the black leather pants that was the Reaper’s uniform. He brought it over to Owen. “We found no underwear except for your socks.”
“I don’t wear any,” Owen said. “What about my boots?”
“You don’t wear…” Elder Barrow blushed and turned away, going back to the armoire to fetch Owen’s boots.
Though he was having trouble sitting—the room kept wanting to canter off to one side—Owen managed to lift his legs high enough to thread his feet into the leather pants then stand up to drag them over his nakedness.
“What is DNA?” the elder asked.
“For lack of a better explanation, it is what makes up the life force of all living things. Reapers can track their targets through taking a sample of their DNA, sort of like a scout can track from signs. In this case, hopefully there will be a trace of saliva on Elder Carlton’s flesh that I can taste.”
Elder Barrow looked sick at that statement and had to sit down in the room’s only chair. “Such things are beyond my ability to understand,” he confessed.
Owen was buttoning his shirt. “About Rachel…” he began.
“If she offended you in any way, she will be chastised,” the older man stated firmly. “Our womenfolk are not permitted…”
“It was I who offended her,” Owen interrupted him. “I would be grateful if you would apologize to her for me. I can only think it was illness that made me do what I did.”
A strange look entered the Elder’s eyes. “What was it you did?”
“Ask her. If she wants to tell you, that’s up to her,” Owen said, tucking his shirt into his pants. “I need my weapons.”
Staring at the tall man in black, Elder Barrow could not suppress the shudder that ran through his lanky body. Reapers were killers, men bred for violence, but in the Lower Lands they were the law. “Come with me,” he said, and led the way out of the room.
Owen felt awful and nausea was lurking in the back of his throat. It had been days since he’d had Sustenance—his caretakers had not thought to offer him such—and he was so hungry he could feel his belly grumbling. But it was the hellion in his back who was buckling beneath his flesh to punish him for not feeding Her and Her nest. He staggered beneath the brutal onslaught of her wrath.
“Lord Owen?” Elder Barrow said, reaching out to steady the Reaper. “You should not be doing this. We will make do until the Míliste comes.”
“I’ll be all right. I just need Sustenance,” Owen told him, and could have kicked himself for his stupidity.
Elder Barrow let go of Owen’s arm as though he’d been burnt and jumped back, face pale and eyes huge in his craggy face. “I… We…”
“I can get it from my horse,” Owen said, although human blood would be best and it would go a long way in making him feel better.
Searching the Reaper’s eyes, there was no way Elder Barrow could miss the crimson spark in the amber depths. “Will that be enough?” he asked quietly, trembling.
“It would be better if it was human blood but I’ll not ask that of you or your people,” Owen replied.
“We can not ask you to aid us and then refuse to aid you,” Elder Barrow stated. “Tell me what needs to be done and we will do it.” He was no doubt unaware that he had put a shaky hand up to his throat.
Owen smiled. “Are you familiar with transfusions, Barrow?”
The elder nodded.
“That’s how it’s done.”
Relief spread like wildfire over the older man’s face. “Oh,” he said. “That we can do!” He frowned. “How much will you need?”
“As much as you can give me,” Owen admitted. “I’ve not fed for quite some time.”
Elder Barrow flinched. “Then let us be
“Just get me my clothes!”
The elder went quickly to a large armoire and opened it, taking out the freshly laundered black silk shirt and the black leather pants that was the Reaper’s uniform. He brought it over to Owen. “We found no underwear except for your socks.”
“I don’t wear any,” Owen said. “What about my boots?”
“You don’t wear…” Elder Barrow blushed and turned away, going back to the armoire to fetch Owen’s boots.
Though he was having trouble sitting—the room kept wanting to canter off to one side—Owen managed to lift his legs high enough to thread his feet into the leather pants then stand up to drag them over his nakedness.
“What is DNA?” the elder asked.
“For lack of a better explanation, it is what makes up the life force of all living things. Reapers can track their targets through taking a sample of their DNA, sort of like a scout can track from signs. In this case, hopefully there will be a trace of saliva on Elder Carlton’s flesh that I can taste.”
Elder Barrow looked sick at that statement and had to sit down in the room’s only chair. “Such things are beyond my ability to understand,” he confessed.
Owen was buttoning his shirt. “About Rachel…” he began.
“If she offended you in any way, she will be chastised,” the older man stated firmly. “Our womenfolk are not permitted…”
“It was I who offended her,” Owen interrupted him. “I would be grateful if you would apologize to her for me. I can only think it was illness that made me do what I did.”
A strange look entered the Elder’s eyes. “What was it you did?”
“Ask her. If she wants to tell you, that’s up to her,” Owen said, tucking his shirt into his pants. “I need my weapons.”
Staring at the tall man in black, Elder Barrow could not suppress the shudder that ran through his lanky body. Reapers were killers, men bred for violence, but in the Lower Lands they were the law. “Come with me,” he said, and led the way out of the room.
Owen felt awful and nausea was lurking in the back of his throat. It had been days since he’d had Sustenance—his caretakers had not thought to offer him such—and he was so hungry he could feel his belly grumbling. But it was the hellion in his back who was buckling beneath his flesh to punish him for not feeding Her and Her nest. He staggered beneath the brutal onslaught of her wrath.
“Lord Owen?” Elder Barrow said, reaching out to steady the Reaper. “You should not be doing this. We will make do until the Míliste comes.”
“I’ll be all right. I just need Sustenance,” Owen told him, and could have kicked himself for his stupidity.
Elder Barrow let go of Owen’s arm as though he’d been burnt and jumped back, face pale and eyes huge in his craggy face. “I… We…”
“I can get it from my horse,” Owen said, although human blood would be best and it would go a long way in making him feel better.
Searching the Reaper’s eyes, there was no way Elder Barrow could miss the crimson spark in the amber depths. “Will that be enough?” he asked quietly, trembling.
“It would be better if it was human blood but I’ll not ask that of you or your people,” Owen replied.
“We can not ask you to aid us and then refuse to aid you,” Elder Barrow stated. “Tell me what needs to be done and we will do it.” He was no doubt unaware that he had put a shaky hand up to his throat.
Owen smiled. “Are you familiar with transfusions, Barrow?”
The elder nodded.
“That’s how it’s done.”
Relief spread like wildfire over the older man’s face. “Oh,” he said. “That we can do!” He frowned. “How much will you need?”
“As much as you can give me,” Owen admitted. “I’ve not fed for quite some time.”
Elder Barrow flinched. “Then let us be
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