Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - WesternWind 01 - Wynd River by Sinner (Ellora's Cave) Page B

marriage.
    “It has been consummated twice before, wench,” he said, swiping his hand over his own body to
    remove the dress uniform. In its place he was clad only in a pair of loose black silk trousers.
    “That is such a handy trick, Reaper,” she said, and winced at the gruff sound of her voice.
    “I’m going to have Guthrie make you another toddy,” he said, dragging the covers over his lady.
    “Can’t you conjure it?”
    “You wouldn’t drink it if I did,” he said with a snort. “Some things a Reaper just can’t fashion.” He came
    around and sat down on the other side of the bed. He got under the covers with her and turned on his
    side to face her. She was staring at him with her forehead crinkled. “What?” he asked.
    “Not that I really want it, but I thought you were going to have the hotelman make me a toddy.”
    “He is doing it at this very moment,” Cynyr said. “He’ll bring it up when he’s finished, wondering all the
    while why he felt the need to do so.”
    Aingeal’s eyes widened. “You can do that even from a distance?” she asked. “Make people do as you
    bid?”
    “It’s all part of a Reaper’s bag of tricks, granted to him by the parasite,” he said, and yawned. It was
    late and of a sudden he was tired. Redirecting molecules took a lot out of him and he’d performed that
    feat too many times in the last twenty-four hours. He felt drained and needed rest. He also needed more
    Sustenance than the rabbit had provided for him that morning. What he needed was human blood, but he
    would not take it from the woman lying beside him. He recognized the tremor in his hands and knew he
    had to sate his addiction before Aingeal would be safe from him.
    There was a slight tap at the door and then it opened. The hotelman came in with a steaming mug. He
    brought it to Aingeal’s side of the bed and set it down on the night table. His glazed eyes slid over
    Aingeal and went unerringly to the Reaper.
    “Aingeal,” Cynyr said, turning to look down at her. When their eyes met, he told her to sleep.
    The command was soft but forceful. Aingeal’s eyes fluttered then closed.
    “Come here, Guthrie,” the Reaper ordered.
    Walking as though in his sleep, the hotelman came around to Cynyr’s side of the bed and knelt down,
    cocking his head to one side to give the Reaper access to his jugular.
    The hotelman’s blood tasted too much of gin but it was rich enough to satisfy Cynyr’s need. He took
    more than he should have from the man but by doing so he knew Guthrie wouldn’t be in any condition to
    pester the people who had been forced to take shelter in his establishment. After giving the greedy man a
    few subliminal orders, the Reaper dismissed him then woke Aingeal.
    Aingeal opened her eyes and sniffed. Turning to the nightstand, she looked at the steaming mug whose
    fragrance of cinnamon and ginger had beckoned her. She had a vague memory of the hotelman bringing
    in the toddy but could not for the life of her remember him leaving.
    “Drink your toddy,” Cynyr instructed. “It’ll make your throat feel better.”
    Frowning, Aingeal sat up and reached for the mug. She took a sip and almost instantly her throat felt
    better. She suspected her lover had something to do with that, but it didn’t matter. The cold had settled
    over her with a vengeance.
    “Thank you for the gown,” she said.
    Cynyr smiled, for her voice sounded like she was down in a well. “You are welcome, wench.”
    “And the Joining.”
    “It wasn’t in a grand cathedral as you’d dreamt of, but we’re just as legally married,” he said, lying
    down. He propped his head on his fist and looked at her. He could not seem to get enough of doing that,
    he thought.
    “That was sweet of Mrs. McDermott to give me her ring,” she said, and held out her hand to look at the
    band. She frowned. “You didn’t make her do that, did you?”
    “No, wench,” he said. “That was something she offered of her own