Charlotte Boyett-Compo - Tears of the Reaper

An Elloras Cave RomanticaPublication

www.ellorascave.com

Tears of the Reaper

ISBN # 9781419908095

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Tears of the Reaper Copyright 2007 Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Edited by Mary Moran.

Photography and cover art by Les Byerley.

Electronic book Publication: March 2007

This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part byany means existing without written permission from the publisher, Elloras CavePublishing, Inc. 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons,living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. Thecharacters are productions of the authors imagination and used fictitiously.

Content Advisory:

S ENSUOUS

E ROTIC

X TREME

Elloras Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romanticareading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (E-rotic), and X (X-treme).

The following material contains graphic sexual content meant formature readers. This story has been rated S-ensuous.

S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing tothe imagination.

E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to theimagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. E-rated titlesmight contain material that some readers find objectionablein other words,almost anything goes, sexually. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles wecarry in terms of both sexual language and descriptiveness in these works ofliterature.

X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plotpremise and storyline execution. Stories designated with the letter X tend tocontain difficult or controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

WesternWind:

Tears of the Reaper

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Chapter One

Owen Tohre screamed as he was propelledfrom his nightmare. He shot up to a sitting position, his amber eyes wide,sweat glistening on his pale face, his black silk shirt plastered to his back.He was trembling so violently, panting so heavily, he thought his heart wouldburst from the strain. For a long moment he sat there staring unseeingly intothe darkness before he found the strength to plow a shaky hand through his wetblack hair. Swallowing convulsively, he tugged brutally at the thick strands inan effort to pull his mind from the horror that had invaded it. When the savagevision remained, he groaned with frustration. He knew there would be no morerest for him that night so he pushed to his feet and just stood there with hishead bowed, his hands on his hips, his eyes closed, listening to his heartpounding brutally.

It had been this way for three weeks nowand every nights rest had been disturbed by the same horrific dream. No matterhow much rotgut he guzzled during the daylight hours, no matter how long heforced himself to stay awake each night, as soon as he went to sleep, thenightmare came galloping full speed out of the murky recesses of his memoriesand ran him to ground, pounding him into the depths of a despair so dark, hedoubted he would ever be able to pull himself out.

And then there was the headache. Hed hadit without letup for as long as hed been having the debilitating dream and thepain was starting to get to him. Extra doses of tenerse hadnt helped. Ifanything, the highly addictive neuroleptic drug his kind had to have in orderto exist in even a halfway human manner was starting to make him sick. He wasbeginning to see things he knew gods-be-damned well werent there, hear strangevoices whispering to him, and was starting to lose feeling in his hands andfeet. Adding to that, he hadon at least two occasionsexperienced what he wasfairly sure were convulsions. Since he was alone at the time these episodesoccurred, he couldnt be one hundred percent sure they actually had. As if allthat wasnt enough, he had become so nervous, so confused much of the time, hefelt as though he were about to jump out of his skin. The least unrecognizablesound would slap his hand to the holster at his hip, his gun would be out andtracking right to left though nothing was ever there at which he needed toshoot. The phantoms were locked in his ever-increasing spooked mind.

Aye, he thought as he began pacing, reasontold him it was the drug causing most of his current problems and he knew hehad to cut back on the amount of tenerse with which he was dosing himself. Healso knew that was easier said than done. Tenerse was an insidious drug thatwhispered its siren song to those unwise enough to listen and it took thosefools into realms no sane man should ever visit.

Involuntarily, his gaze went to hissaddlebags where the vials of tenerse and the vac-syringe lay. He licked hislips, thinking of the calming effect the drug had on his system, and more thananything he believed he needed that right now.

Just one more injection, he mumbled, wipinghis sweaty palms down the leather of his pants. Just one more to make thedream go away.

Wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve,ignoring the tremor in his hand, he leaned over and picked up the saddlebag.The pain between his temples flared to white-hot agony and he staggered, hishandsome face creasing into a mask of suffering. He went back to his blanketand plopped down on the rough wool and fumbled the tie open on the saddlebag.Taking out the kit that contained the vac-syringe and the last vial of tenerse,he filled the chamber and without giving himself time to think about it,plunged the needle into his neck.

The drug stung like a hive of enraged waspsattacking his veins. It spread rapidly through his system as though it wereacid but almost instantly the dream faded into the background and he began tofeel a modicum of relief from the crushing pounding in his head.

Sitting there on the blanket with thesaddlebag in his lap, his fingers still clutching the vac-syringe as he watchedthe sun come up, he knew he should get on his horse and head back to theCitadel. He needed help and he knew it. The sooner he got back to his own kind,the better off hed be. The trouble was getting there. The increased dosages ofthe tenerse had thrown his Transition cycle off and prevented him from shiftingat will though he wished he could. If he could take on his blackbird form, hecould wing his way back within a few hours. Going by horseback would takenearly a week and that was a week he wasnt so sure he had.

Every journey begins with a single step,Tohre, he muttered to himself. You wont get home just by wishing it.

Wearily, his head throbbing so violently hewas getting nauseous, he forced his aching body to its feet, the saddlebagstill in his hand. He stood there wavering for a moment, looking down at theblanket and saddle, his gun belt, and knew there was no way in hell he hadeither the strength or the energy to saddle his stallion. The gun belt heneeded for it holstered his six-shooter and his laser whip and knife. Thosewere three things a Reaper had to have. Gritting his teeth, he walked over andbent down to retrieve his weapons, groaning as pain lanced all the way down hisback. He staggered back and turned quickly to throw up, nothing but dry heavesincreasing the agony between his temples and the burning pain in his gut.

Sustenance, he thought as he stumbledtoward his horse. He needed that more than anything else right then and theonly source he had was the hobbled animal waiting for him. The beasts bloodwasnt as strong as a humans or as nourishing but it was the best he had outthere in the harsh far northern wilderness of the Wismin Territory. It wasntthe first time hed been forced to take the horses bloodhe just didnt likedoing so.