PROLOGUE

        He was going to die soon and he had prepared himself for the agonizing way in which he would meet his end. As calmly as he could settle his mind and body, he waited impatiently for the executioners to arrive. Time was no longer his friend but an enemy taunting him with every tick of the clock. His death was but a few days away for the Feast of Alluvial was at hand.

        The cell in which he sat was seven feet by seven feet in diameter; twenty feet in height; there were no windows.  Embedded in the stainless steel wall were two horizontal iron beams upon which was welded a solid sheet of metal six feet long by four feet wide; this served as a bed although it had no padding, no covers.  In the northeast corner of the cell was a four-inch wide waste removal hole; in the southwest corner cell, was a showerhead set flush against the stainless steel ceiling.  A wire-encased light was recessed into the center of the ceiling and the light was never extinguished. His waking hours were spent staring at the smooth, stainless steel walls and ceiling or contemplating the concrete floor beneath his bare feet. It was never hot or cold in his cell.  His jailers maintained a constant temperature that made it unnecessary for him to wear anything more than prison issue gray pajama bottoms.

        There was nothing to read and nothing with which to write.

        There was no vid-com.

        There was no exercise equipment.

        He rarely saw or spoke to another living soul.

        He was as alone as any being had ever been.

CHAPTER ONE

        Sajin Cree closed his eyes, wishing the light above him would burn out.  He was accustomed to the light-it no longer bothered him all that much-but the headache he'd had since waking was getting worse. The light was a misery he could well do without.  Turning to his side on the uncomfortable rack that was his bed he tried to concentrate on making the headache go away.  Normally, he could do so, but the pain seemed to be worsening.  At the back of his throat, he felt a tug of nausea and sighed deeply.  It had been years-or at least he thought it had been years; he had no way of knowing-since he'd had a migraine.  What had started this one, he had no idea unless…

        "Garlic," he said aloud, wincing at the rusty croak of his own voice.

        He rarely talked to himself.  He'd gotten used to the silence and besides: they recorded everything he did ever minute of the day with hidden cameras and microphones set in the ceiling.  He couldn't take a leak without it being noted in his file.

        "Garlic," he repeated, a bit louder, and knew his words were being duly noted.  At that very moment, someone, somewhere in the complex was checking the Sustenance he had been given last evening to see if it had contained the spice to which he had an allergy.  If it had, there would be hell to pay.

        Someone would die for the carelessness.

        Ten minutes passed then the grate to the steel door slid up. There was a rustling sound.  Sajin lifted his head as the grate closed again.  A foam ware cup of tepid water and two pills had been placed on the ledge.

        He smiled and looked up at the ceiling. "Thank you," he acknowledged, then swung his legs from the bunk. He took the pills, and then went back to his bunk.  Lying down, he flung his right arm over his eyes.   "Light?" he questioned.

        Almost instantly, the light overhead dimmed to an acceptable level.

        "Better," he murmured.

        Within ten minutes, he was fast asleep, the drug having taken control of his pain.
              

        "How is he?" the old woman asked.

        "Sleeping."  The technician typed something into her computer then glanced up.  "I fired the cook."

        "There is no excuse for such carelessness," the old woman snapped.  "He could have died. Garlic is lethal to his kind."

        The technician shrugged.  "It's taken care of, Ma'am. The treacherous bitch is no more."

        The old woman walked to the set of monitors that looked into Section Nine, E Block, Cell #4 and stared at the displays.  "How long has he been here now?"

        "Eight months, three weeks," was the immediate reply.

         "See that he is given another dosage if the pain appears to remain after three hours," the old woman instructed as she turned to leave.

        "You coddle him too much," the tech muttered as she made the notation on her computer.

        The old woman stopped in mid-stride. She turned and cocked her head to one side in question. "Would you like to visit him in his cell, Marilyn?" she inquired.

        Marilyn McNeer's face leeched of color. "No, Ma'am!" she was quick to deny.

        "Then mind your tongue and your manners or it will be arranged," the old woman informed the tech. "Do I make myself clear?"

        "Yes, Ma'am!" McNeer agreed, bobbing her head.  Her eyes were wide, nearly popping from the sockets.  "I'll see that he gets his meds if he needs them."

        The old woman smiled hatefully. "Good girl."  She took one last look at the screen, assured herself that Sajin was sleeping deeply, and then left the control room.

        The technician let out a quavering breath as the titanium doors shushed to behind the Great Lady, as the old woman was called.  McNeer reached up to wipe away the sour sweat that had instantly popped up on her pale face.

        "You'd better mind your tongue where that one is concerned," was the suggestion from another technician in the monitoring room.

        "Sweet Merciful Alel!" McNeer breathed.  "All I said was…"

        "He belongs to her," the other woman interrupted.  "Don't think for a moment she wouldn't feed you to him, Marilyn.  He hasn't had fresh meat in several weeks.  The Great Lady would throw you to him in a nanosecond."

        McNeer locked eyes with her co-worker and saw the truth of that statement in the older woman's gaze.  She shuddered.  "Duly noted, Maxine."

        Maxine Logan nodded then turned back to monitoring the prisoner's heart rate and vital functions.  She looked up at the vid-com screen to study Sajin Cree for a moment, and then leaned back in her chair, her eyes firm on the sleeping male.  "He's an incredibly handsome son of a bitch, isn't he?"

        "If you say so," McNeer mumbled. She glanced at the screen, shuddered again, and then resolutely made a vow to keep her opinions to herself where the Reaper was concerned.

        "I would like to have seen his bloodsire," Logan stated. "They say he is more handsome than any of his bloodsons." She looked at McNeer. "Wouldn't you have liked to have lived back then?"

        "No, I would not have," McNeer said firmly.  

        Logan folded her arms over her ample chest.  "I have seen matrix shots of him," she went on. "He was more handsome than this one."

        "I wouldn't say any Reaper was handsome, Maxi, but then again, I don't…"

        "Care for men," Logan sighed as she completed her co-worker's oft statement.  She tore her intense study from the prisoner and settled it on McNeer.  "You don't know what you're missing."

        "Go to the Abyss," McNeer snapped, her nose going up at the suggestion. "I do not need a man to make my life complete!"

        Logan chuckled, unfolded her arms, and began noting the particulars of the prisoner's health into a log kept for such purposes.  "Don't knock what you haven't tried, lady," she snorted.

        McNeer ignored the remark.  Her gaze flicked to the screen, held for a moment, then lowered.  Each time she looked at Cree, her skin crawled. Even when she wasn't looking at him, the image of him was never far from her thoughts.

        And she knew he intended it to be that way.

        She had been taught that Reapers were evil. Intergalactic assassins, murderers, vicious brutes who killed merely on a whim, all but a handful had been wiped out by the Multitude during the Purging. Those who had escaped were being hunted down methodically, brought to Rysalia Prime and marked for extermination during the Feast of Alluvial. The year before fifteen Reaper Cadets had met their just end in the fires of the Cage.  

        McNeer glanced down at Cree's chart and re-read what she knew by heart: Reapers had within them a vile parasite that excreted a type of hormone that stimulated the cortex of the adrenal glands, which in turn produced and released a significant amount of steroids into the Reaper's system. Those steroids gave the Reaper inhuman abilities: unnaturally keen eyesight and hearing like their lupine brethren, the strength of ten men and the longevity of a century or more, and psychic ability that made it possible for them to read thought and send subliminal messages to influence humanoids.

        They were blood-drinkers, needing what they called Sustenance to thrive. Every three months, they became something inhuman, unnatural, and only a strong dose of the narcotic tenerse could keep a Reaper from Transitioning out of cycle.

        And during that Transition, they shape changed into a beast with bristling fur, elongated black snout, sharp fangs-the body of a wolf like creature a hundred times deadlier than any normal beast. A bite from their wicked fangs could cause serious repercussions for their victims-the least of which was a psychic and physical bond, an ungodly connection that was unbreakable.

        McNeer had no use for men but that handsome brute sitting in the cell made her ache with an unaccustomed need she could not understand. Though male bodies held no allure for her, this man's did. She studied it in detail when he bathed and often found herself licking her lips when his hands dipped to the pendulous weight of the long cock that dangled between his muscular thighs. She would hold her breath as he washed his ball sac and ran the fleece cloth down the veined length of his rod. Deep within her womb, a spiral of heat curled and her loins felt heavy and…

        "Stop sending vulgar thoughts to me!" she yelled at the vid-com screen and knew there was no possible way the Reaper could have heard her but he looked up and smiled.

CHAPTER TWO

        The Great Lady sat behind her desk and swiveled her chair so she could look out the wide expanse of windows.  From her office, she could see the obelisk stabbing into the night sky.  The sight of the Titaness always calmed her, gave her hope that things would one day return to normal on Rysalia Prime.  

        "What worries you so, Your Grace?" the old woman's companion inquired softly.

        The Great Lady LeJong Kym, her aged eyes sad, turned to her companion.  "That we will never find the others before more blood has been shed."

        The old woman's companion nodded politely.  She had thoughts of her own about the situation, but knew better than to voice them.   Instead, she went to the cabinet, took out a bottle of the sweet plum wine so highly favored by LeJong Kym and poured the old lady a liberal amount.  

        "You believe we should execute him before the Feast, don't you?" LeJong Kym queried.

        Delayne Brell shrugged. "That is your decision entirely, Your Grace," she replied as she took the crystal goblet of wine to the Great Lady. "He belongs to you, does he not?"

        "You didn't answer the question," LeJong Kym countered. She took the proffered wine.  "I want your honest opinion or I would not have asked for it, Laynie."

        Brell sighed deeply. "What if he should get free, Your Grace?" she inquired.  The thought of the Reaper escaping confinement was a horror unto itself and the contemplation of such a thing happening had been giving her nightmares for over months.  

        The old woman took a sip of the aromatic wine, leaned her head on the tall chair back, and savored the burst of flavor from the wild Chrystallusian plums of her homeland.  She finally swallowed, then settled the wine goblet on the arm of her chair.

        "There are," Kym stated, "ten inches of concrete on each wall of his cell. Covering that is another four inches of stainless steel plating.  The floor is over twenty inches thick, impossible to dig through.  Should, by some strange quirk of fate he be able to do so without the four women who are monitoring his every move noticing, there is an electrically-charged grid beneath the concrete that would stop him dead in his tracks. Likewise, the steel grate on the door to the cell is attached to a motion-activated stun unit that would knock him into instant unconsciousness should he attempt to put his hand through it.  Both the showerhead and the light have security settings so there is no access to either of them.  On the outside of his cell, the walls are plated with an additional two inches of titanium and the door has nine separate locks, each one stronger than the next."  The old woman smiled. "There is no way Sajin Cree will ever be free again."

        "Perhaps it is the Terran influence," Brell remarked, "but I believe his imprisonment is cruel."

        LeJong Kym nodded thoughtfully. "Aye, it is cruel, and in the parlance of your Terran friends, cruel and unusual punishment."  The old woman frowned. "And as necessary to our well being as the very air we breathe, Laynie."

        Delayne Brell turned so she could see the vid-com screen that was never turned off.  The view was of Cree's cell.  Her heart went out to the man even as her stomach muscles quivered at the sight of him.  Although she feared him, she also lusted after him and she knew most women on Rysalia Prime did, as well.

        "You would let him sleep his way into eternity, wouldn't you, dear?" the old woman asked.   She studied her companion. "Despite the atrocities for which his kind are responsible."

        Brell sat down on the sofa that flanked the old woman's desk.  "To them, it was revenge, Your Grace."

        "It was calculated, cold-blooded murder," was the denial. "Carried out with precision.  Over four dozen women were drained dry as parchment and not a one escaped ravishment."

        The younger woman lowered her head. "I know what his bloodbrothers are rumored to have done, Your Grace. I saw the bodies."

        "Aye, you did," LeJong Kym acknowledged.  "But did you hear their screams of agony as their throats were ripped out?"  She saw her companion flinch, but continued.  "Or feel their lifeless husks after all the blood had been siphoned away?"

        "But we do not know for a certainty it was Reapers who murdered those women."

        "Every woman murdered was an Amazeen and Reapers hate that race more than any other. To the Reapers, we are all the enemy, Laynie."  She glanced at the sleeping prisoner.  "Every female is the enemy.  I remember when the Rebellion began…"

        Delayne Brell was only half-listening to what she had heard time and time again from the old woman.  The rebellion was a favorite topic of the Great Lady.  Once started on her ramblings, Kym would go on for hours, recanting the exploits of the Resistance.

        Sitting politely, nodding now and then as the Great Lady reminisced, Delayne let her mind wander, despite the pain of it, the fear of it or the heartbreak.

        Aye, she thought, as she began to tune out LeJong Kym's words, I would like for him to be executed.  I would like to see the life drain from him and watch the light fade from those cruel amber eyes.  I would like to stand beside his still body and gaze down at him, knowing he would wreck no more havoc on the females of Rysalia. To touch his cold cheek with the assurance that he could not touch her in return.  To place her lips…

        "Oh, Alel," Delayne whispered thickly. "I wish I had never laid eyes on Sajin Cree!"

        LeJong Kym stopped speaking as the words of despair drifted to her.  She looked around and found her companion sobbing quietly, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders heaving.

        "You can not dwell on this, Delayne," was the gentle rebuke.

        Delayne looked up, tears flooding her eyes. "You don't understand!" she said.

        The old woman smiled sadly. "I, too, know what it is to have loved a Reaper," she commiserated.

        "I betrayed him!" the younger woman protested, her hitching sobs painful to hear.  "I am the cause of him being tormented as he is now!"

        The Great Lady did not respond to the accusation for it was true.  Delayne had been the bait the Sisterhood of the Multitude had set for Sajin Cree and the Reaper had walked blindly into the trap because-like his bloodsire and four brothers before him-he had fallen in love with a Terran woman.  And because he had, he had spared Delayne's life and, in the bargain, given up his freedom to keep her from being slain by his bloodbrothers.

        Just as years earlier, the Reaper's bloodsire had walked into a similar trap.

        "We could not allow him or his bloodbrothers to remain free, Delayne. What you did, you did for the good of the Multitude."  The old woman's face grew solemn. "For the safety of every female in the Quadrant."  She shrugged. "And beyond for that matter."

        "I know that," Delayne wailed, "but it doesn't make what I did any easier to bear!"

        LeJong slumped in her chair, watching the younger woman sob.  Laynie would rather see Sajin Cree dead than exist as he did now.  But the young Reaper's death was out of the question.  He would live out the remainder of his days-and there were those among the Aged Ones who said Dearg Duls lived to be well into the second century of life.

        "And beyond," the old woman whispered for it was rumored that only fire and decapitation could kill the Reaper and his kind.

        LeJong Kym closed her eyes, picturing the young one's bloodsire.  Aye, she thought.  I once loved a Reaper and I still do.

        "May I be excused, Your Grace?" Delayne asked, bringing the Great Lady's eyelids open.

        "Aye," the old woman granted, waving a dismissive hand.  "Go."  She knew her companion would not be good company for the rest of the day.  She heard the door shush closed and squeezed her eyes shut.  Delayne was in agony over what she had done and -by proxy-so was LeJong Kym.

        LeJong closed her eyes and rested her head on the tall back of her chair. She was tired and restless, annoyed that age was speeding her time closer to the Gatherer.  Her bones ached; her eyesight was not as sharp; her hearing was fading at a rate that bothered her more than anything else.

        But her memories were as keen as ever and her memories of the amber-eyed devil with the cocky smile, the soft Ry-Chalean brogue, and a face that made her womb twist with a craving never to be satisfied, lulled her into a light doze. With her sleep came once more the forbidden dream:

        "Come to me, wench," the Reaper demanded. "I lust for you."

        "Mine," she heard him vow. "Mine and no other's!"

        "Milady?"

        The intrusion into her dream snapped LeJong Kym into instant wakefulness. Shock and shame enveloped her as she realized her hand was tight between her legs, massaging a clitoris that had never known the touch of a male. Snatching her hand away, she swung her attention to the vid-com.

        "I hurt," Sajin admitted.

        The old woman flinched at the words and realized she was staring into the pain-dulled gaze of her prisoner.  "I know," she said, reaching out to touch the screen. Her wrinkled fingers traced the young Reaper's lips. "I hurt, too, young one."

        "Please?"

        This one was different, LeJong thought.  She had been told he was the polite one of the three.  She wondered who his mother had been; what Terran woman had donated her seed for this one's life.  In her opinion, he was not as handsome as his bloodsire, but he was a breathtakingly pleasing male specimen.

        "Milady, please?"

        His entreaty was gut wrenching and the old woman knew he was well aware of his power over her.  Reapers were psychic; he could read her thoughts.

        "I will see to it, Sajin. Try to rest."

        "Talk to me," he requested.  His gaze locked with hers as intimately as though there was not a distance of more than a mile that physically separated them.

        It was wrong, she thought.  The Council of Sisters would severely reprimand her if they ever found out she communicated on a regular basis with this one. They would say he was using her and that might well be true. But she was using him, as well.  He liked to hear the story of his bloodsire; she liked to hear herself tell it.  In some ways, he was like a small boy who needed to hear a bedside story when he was ill.

        "I am…" He cleared his rusty throat. "Near Transition."

        "Aye, I know," the old woman responded.  She saw a faint glimmer of hate enter his gaze and decided to punish him. "Delayne was here," she told him and watched true pain flicker through his stare before the cruelty shut down what vestige of humanity was left in him.

        "No," he said and turned his back to her, willing to endure the pain of his headache than discuss the woman who had condemned him to the hell in which he existed.

        "She hurts, too, Sajin, but in a different way," the old woman reminded him.

        "No!" the young Reaper repeated. "I don't want to hear that!"

        She knew he had tuned her out completely.  "So be it, then. I will tell you no tales tonight," she said, and then reached out to flip the switch on the vid-com.

        "Aye, Your Grace?" the computer-generated voice answered immediately.

        "Tell Dr. McNeer to provide a stronger dosage of tenerse for the prisoner in Cell 4."

        "Aye, Your Grace," the computer acknowledged.

        LeJong Kym walked back to her chair, slumped down into the soft leather seat, and reached out to take up her goblet of plum wine. She tipped the goblet and drained the aromatic wine before throwing the goblet across the room as hard as she could.  The delicate crystal shattered against the wall with a loud pop.

        She wondered why she felt the need to torment her helpless prisoner.

        Sajin wondered the same thing.

        It was not as though he could protect himself from the old woman's spite. Was she punishing him because she could not punish his bloodsire for not returning her love?  For leaving her on Rysalia when he fled back to Terra?

        Oh, aye, he knew the old one had loved Kamerone Cree. Though she had not said as much, the gentle way in which she spoke the Prime Reaper's name gave away her feelings.  There was deep, abiding love there, he thought.

        Love such as Delayne had sworn to profess for him.

        "Stop it!" he ground out, digging his nails into the palms of his hand. Such memories plagued him far more than he should allow.  He dwelt on the bitch's betrayal far too often.

         Reapers were not allowed to show emotion; Reapers were not allowed to think beyond the constraints of their Handlers; Reapers were not allowed to violate their Oaths of obedience.

        And Reapers were not allowed to love.

        But this one did, he thought with abject misery.

        This one had loved very deeply and very unwisely. Just as his bloodsire had.
        Was that how the others had been captured, too? Had there been female enticements put before his bloodbrothers that had brought about their downfall?  

        Females like his Delayne?

        "Delayne," he whispered and hearing her name made his heart ache.

        How he had loved her.

        Oh, how he still loved her!

        Were not his dreams filled with her gentle face and lovely eyes? Did he not feel the soft touch of her hand on his cheek? Did he not long for the velvet warmth of her as her body molded to his? Did he not ache for the quiver of her inner lips around his shaft as he took her?

        "Come home to Chale with me, Cree," she had beseeched him. "I will hide you in the mountains. The Sisterhood will never find you!"

        By the gods, he had believed her.  

        He had wanted to believe her.  

        And because he believed her, he had not delved into her mind to gather the secrets there.

CHAPTER THREE

Three Years Earlier

        Sajin stood buffeted by the dry hot wind bearing down on him.  The force of the gale-like winds tossed his thick black hair wildly and pushed against him like an invisible hand; it was all he could do not to stagger against its wrath.   Squinting against the shifting sands swirling up to him from the plain below, he surveyed his domain with a sharp eye, probing the fluctuations in the ether around him, until he was sure he was still alone on his empty world.  Not even the furry critters that climbed among the rocky crags or burrowed into the hot sand could be seen scurrying about.

         After one last sweep of his amber gaze across the vast expanse below, he turned and went back into the cave.

        The barren, windswept planetoid of Montyne Vex had been his home for nearly fifteen months.  He had been hiding in the caves there for so long he could not remember how the space station on which he had been born looked.  He had vague memories of sleek gray walls and glaring lights above him; the impersonal touch of his Handlers and the sharp way they spoken to him. His earliest memory was of the Branding.

        Sajin Cree reached up to touch the laser-imprinted tattoo on his left pectoral.  He rubbed absently at the puckered scar beneath his torn jumpsuit bodice.  There had been intense pain when the stylized Reaper tattoo had been burned into his flesh and he had been unable to keep from crying out his agony.

        And being punished so severely for doing so he could barely walk for a week without wincing.

        "Reapers do not cry!" he had been told as the laser lash had descended to the flesh of his exposed back. "Reapers endure!"

        Sajin sat before the sputtering fire and stared into the flames.  The smell of wood bothered him, but he didn't know why. It was certainly more pleasant than the smell of his flesh when the tattoo had been applied.  Once more he rubbed at the scar-a habit of which he was unaware-and sighed deeply.  Tomorrow, he'd have to venture down from the plateau and gather more wood for the fire.  Such mundane work annoyed him, but he knew it was necessary for him to survive.

        He was edgy, but he thought he knew why-he was nearing the time for Transition. Perhaps that was why all the animals had fled.  Not that hiding posed much of a problem for him. With his inbred abilities and instincts, he had no trouble finding the creatures' lairs.  If truth were told, the thrill of the hunt was the only pleasure he had on Montyne Vex.

        Idly, he wondered what would happen when he had exhausted his supply of the Sustenance on this barren world.

        "You will die," his parasite whispered to him.

        "But you won't," Sajin snorted.

        "No, nothing can kill me save the fire."

        His attention shifted over the leaping flames and he shrugged.  "And me, too, for that matter."

        The thought of dying in such a manner unsettled him. Had that not been how most of his bloodbrothers had ended their existence on Rysalia Prime? Even in his dreams-and Reapers were not allowed to dream his parasite reminded him-he could hear the screams as the flames spread.  In that conflagration the Daughters of the Multitude had set the first group of Reaper Cadets on fire and nineteen brave men had died in agony as the females cheered.   

        Yet there were allies among the females. Those women helped free five Reaper Cadets before the cheering, bloodthirsty Multitude realized anything was amiss. So intent were the women, so mesmerized by the screeches of agony coming from the Cage of Fire, Sajin and four of his bloodbrothers had able to escape.  But as luck would have it, their departure did not escape notice and a lucky laser blast had set Aidan's tunic on fire. The hapless warrior had run into the crowd, away from the safety of his rescuers, despite Sajin's frantic call.  Aidan had died, but not before taking with him two females of the Multitude he had embraced in his death throes.

        Aidan had been Sajin's own twin.  He was grieving for his own twin, though he did not know the feeling in his body was that of exacting sadness.  The loss of his twin bloodbrother was emptiness not unlike the terrible loneliness Sajin had been forced to endure on Montyne Vex.

        "We need to get you to Taegin Kullen," one of his rescuers had told Sajin. "He's hiding in the Serenian highlands. "

        "Until then," another female spoke up, "you three must be separated."

        "Why?" Ghrian had snapped, suspicious of the females and their motives.

        "It will be safer for you and there is less likelihood of all of you being re-taken," the woman had explained.

        Sajin could not remember a time when he had not idolized Taegin Kullen.. The oldest of Symthian's bloodsons, Taegin was a hero among the Coalition Forces.  

        "Taegin knows you are helping us?" Corydon Cree asked.

        "No, but he will learn of it," the shortest of the five women rescuers stated. "As soon as he does, as soon as he knows where we have hidden you, he will come to pick you up."

        A loud pop as a twig exploded in the fire brought Sajin's mind back to the present.  It was not good to dwell on the past, he thought as he reached out to retrieve the meat he had spitted over the fire. Taegin had never come and Sajin doubted he ever would.

        Reclining on the cave floor, he munched carefully on a shank of the musklope he had brought to ground the day before.  The meat was sizzling hot on the outside, blood red and still dripping on the inside.  He would be sorry to see the last of the musklopes disappear for their gamy meat was far superior to that of the small, slithering creatures that lived beneath the sand.

        But musklope meat had the tendency to make you thirsty and Sajin had forgotten to bring home water from his last trek onto the plain.  Like the rest of his kind, he feared water and was loathe going near it until it was absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, the hide bags in which he stored his water supply were empty.  Nevertheless, he lifted one, held it over his mouth and shook it.

        And shook is again before grunting with aggravation.  His mouth was dry and he knew he had no choice but to get up and walk back down the plateau to the little stream about a mile away.

        "Gods-be-damned hell, " he sighed, pushing up.

        Snatching up four water bags, Sajin stomped resolutely from the cave. Trudging down the plateau, he had to shield his eyes against the stinging intrusion of the sand spiraling around him. The wind had not lessened and the howl of it was like a wounded animal.  Not for the first time did he wish he had a helmet or even a scarf to protect his face.  With his head down, he did not see the streak of light which shot across the night sky, but he felt the impact of the explosion.  Startled, his head snapped up just as the shock wave of sound rushed across the plateau toward him.  He stared at the rising dust storm kicked up by the crash coming his way and turned, running as fast as he could back toward the cave. In his haste, he tossed aside the water bags for they only slowed him down.

        Even before he reached the safety of the first steppe, he felt the brunt of the lashing sand against his back and exposed neck. He ducked his head, stumbling up the steppes, choking on the cloying rush of the flying sand.  Once inside the first cave, he slammed himself against the wall, drawing in air that was fast becoming saturated with dust, before pushing away and heading deeper into the recesses of the cave system.  When at last he outran the punishing suffocation of the dust, he bent over-hands on his knees-and gasped cleansing air into his burning lungs.  There would be time later to check on what had crashed and if there were survivors. For now, he would wait out the avalanche of swirling sand caused by the explosion.

        After what must have been thirty minutes or so, he gingerly made his way back through the corridors to the outer most cave.  Warily, he poked his head outside and found that the air was almost normal again.  In the distance-about two miles away-a fiery glow on the horizon hinted at total destruction for whatever had crashed on Montyne Vex.

        He stood there for a few minutes, pondering the wisdom of going to check on survivors then decided it might well have been the Elder's ship that had met its end.  That thought did not set well.  Chewing on his bottom lip, rubbing the scar on his left pectoral, he started back down the plateau once more.

        A mile beyond the ring of bluffs, he found her.

        She was half-buried in the sand, one arm thrust out as though in supplication. At first, he thought she was dead, but he sniffed the air around her.  The scent of rich pulsing red blood rushing through pliant, elastic veins made him lick his lips. He frowned sharply.

        The time of his Transition was only days, perhaps hours away.  It was not wise to have a living being anywhere near him during a time like that.

        Unwise and extremely unhealthy for the gods-be-damned female!

        For a long time, he stood there staring down at her, hands on his hips.  He listened to her breath, puzzled that the sound did not appear as rhythmic and slow as sleep sounds usually were.  It never occurred to him that she could be faking her unconsciousness.

        He turned, looked back toward the cave, then down at her again.  Carefully, he stuck out his foot and nudged her with his dusty boot.

        She didn't move.

        He nudged her again and when she moaned, he stepped back as though she were a dangerous critter trying to do him harm.

        Yet still he made no attempt to hunker down beside the female to check for injuries. Instead, he circled her, and then stopped where he could see her face.  He blinked.

        She was love although the concept meant little to Sajin. He only knew that females who were 'lovely' were not hard on the eyes like fembots were.  Lovely seemed to cause a strange, fluttering feeling in the belly, too.

        He watched her for a few moments more, and then gingerly hunkered down beside her.  One long strand of pale hair lay draped over her right cheek and he reached out hesitantly to push it away.

        The texture, the feel of the strands was like the silk of his uniform shirt and he crushed it between his thumb and forefinger, marveling at the softness.  Likewise, the flesh of her cheek as he touched it was equally nice.  When her eyelids fluttered open and he saw the pale glint of eyes the color of the mist rising from the stream in the early morning, he was held completely captive.

        Until she spoke.

        "Please help me," she whispered, her eyelids closing on the question.

        He dug her lower body from the sand then carefully slid his hands under her back and knees to lift her.  He was shocked at the slight weight of her body.

        He took her back to the cave and laid her gently on the pallet of musklope furs he had gathered over the months.  Realizing he needed water to cleanse the dirt from her face and arms, he had no choice but to run back down the plateau in search of his water bags. It took him awhile to find them, but his keen sense of smell located them from the place where they were buried in the shifting sand.  It did not take him long to fill the four bags as he kept an eye on the red tint to the north sky.

        The fiery glow was still clinging to the horizon and he wondered if there were other survivors and if he should run to check. With his strong legs and Deargs Duls stamina, it would not take him long to lope the distance.

        But the lure of the injured female pulled him back to the cave.  When he entered the place he had staked out as his own, he found her sitting atop the musklopes furs, looking around her with confusion.  At his approach, she scurried off the furs and hid in the shadows.

        "I will not hurt you, woman," Sajin snapped with irritation, wondering why her reaction to him caused a strange feeling in his chest.

        The female said nothing, just watched him warily from the shadows.  He flung his water bags to the cave floor. One spilled.   He saw her run the back of her arm over her mouth as she avidly watched the water gurgling from the bag.  When she licked her lips, he grunted with annoyance, stalked forward, bent, picked up one of the bags then threw it at her.

        "Drink the gods-be-damned water, woman!" he snarled.

        Squatting down before the fire, he watched her out of the corner of his eye as she crept forward, reached out a trembling, hesitant hand several times before finally snatching up the bag and greedily turning it to her mouth.  The slurping sounds she made as she guzzled the water amused him.

        "Go slow with that or you'll regret it," he warned.

        She slowly lowered the water bag, though she clutched it to her as though it were a life preserver-which he thought perhaps in her case it might well be.

        "How many were on your craft?'' he asked, hoping against hope the Elder was not one of them.

        At first he thought she would not answer, and then she replied: "Just two of us, Lord Cree.."

        "Where is the other?"

        He saw her head slump.  "He died in the crash," she said on a choking sob.

        Sajin's insides seem to turn.  "He?" he questioned, almost afraid of the answer before reminding himself that Reapers did not fear!

        "Lanier," she whispered. "My twin brother."

        The word stabbed into Sajin's heart like a laser lance.  His keen hearing picked up the muted sob that erupted from the woman's throat, but he had no idea what to do about a crying woman.

        A woman of any kind, he thought with dismay.

        Sajin had no clear notion of what it was a man did with a woman.

        "He is dead?" he asked, not unkindly.

        "Aye," the female groaned. "I couldn't get him out of the ship."

        Sajin nodded. He understood the concept of death very well. Had he not seen his twin burned to death by the bitches of the Multitude?

        Then he remembered something and turned to look at her, his eyes narrowed. "You called my name," he accused.

        His tone seemed to frighten her and she moved back farther into the shadows.  She said nothing, only kept a wary eye on him.

        Piqued at her timidity, Sajin turned so that he faced her.  "How do you know my name, woman?" he demanded.

        The female began to tremble so violently, he could hear her teeth clicking together.  "Don't hurt me, Lord Cree," she pleaded, holding a hand up to ward him off.

        "I will if you do not tell me how it is you know my name!" He sprang to his feet, fully intending to beat the information out of her if necessary, but her shriek of terror froze him in his tracks.

        "No!" she yelped. "It was Lord Corydon who told me where you were! Please don't hurt me!"

        It would not occur to him until much later to wonder how Corydon could know where he was. Sajin had not seen his bloodbrother in several years..

        "Corydon," he repeated.   He calmed, crossed his arms over his wide chest. "He is well?"

        "Aye," the woman said, seeming to calm.  

        "Where is he?"

        She did not answer.

        Sajin clucked his tongue in irritation. "I asked you where he is!"

        "I will not tell you," she stammered.  "It is not safe to do so."

        He thought about that for a moment then realized that was probably true. The fewer the people who knew where the remaining Reaper Cadets were hidden the better it was.  He saw her staring avidly at the steaming meat on the spit.

        "Are you hungry?"

        She nodded, again wiping her forearm over her mouth.  "It's been several days since we…" She ducked her head, her long hair covering her face. She corrected, "I have eaten."

        "Then eat," he growled, moving away from the fire for he knew she was too frightened to come anywhere near him.

        The female took a few quick, eager steps forward, licking her lips as she did, then skidded to a stop.  "Are you near Transition?"

        He snorted with contempt. "You'll know when I am."  He flung a hand toward the meat. "Eat, woman. You are beginning to annoy me and that is something you do not want to do."  He moved to the front of the cave, dropped gracefully to the floor, and sat with his back to the limestone wall.

        She crept forward, squatted down before the fire and helped herself to some of the meat.  A sharp frown flitted over her face at the first, gamy taste of the musklope but hunger outweighed her reluctance and she began to tear away huge chunks of the rich, red meat.

        Sajin watched the female devouring the food as though she had not eaten in many days.  He stared with fascination as the meat juices ran down her chin and neck and darkened the pale white neckline of her dirty jumpsuit.  Inexplicably, each time she licked her lips, his groin tightened and he began to shift uncomfortably on the hard rock floor.  The hardness of his shaft confused him for it was something he had never felt before.  The Handlers had always given the Reaper Cadet drugs to ward off sexual stimulation so he had no way of knowing what he was experiencing was a natural reaction to the female's actions.   When the bulge became apparent even to the female, he reached down to cover it with his hand.  The touch enflamed him even more and he began to rub his groin, wishing the hardness to go away.

        "How close are you to Transition?" the female asked and her voice was rife with worry.

        "It ain't Transition that's causing this!" he snarled, wishing he knew what had caused the strange hardness.  The more he rubbed, the harder it got, so he thought perhaps he should leave it alone. He snatched his hands away, but the bulge remained.  He groaned with frustration.

        The female smiled and it was a shy, gentle smile old as time.  "You are aroused, Lord Cree," she said.

        "I am in pain, woman," he snapped, looking down as his shaft leapt for no apparent reason.  He stared at it, wondering what other odd things it might do.

        One moment, she was on the far side of the cave from him; the next, she was within a few feet.  He lifted his head and watched her warily, wondering what she was about.

        "You have to be relieved, Lord Cree," she whispered.

        "Relieved about what?' he answered, his eyes locked on her full lips.

        She shook her head, and then came closer.  "Your shaft," she said, cocking her chin toward the tumescence that was becoming acutely uncomfortable for him.  "It desires me and needs to be tamed.."

                Sajin looked down at his offending member again.  Tame it? He questioned, and then looked back at the female kneeling before him. When had she gotten close enough to touch him?

        "Let me pleasure you, Lord Cree," the female whispered and reached out to place her small hand on his outstretched thigh.

        The touch was nearly his undoing.  The growl that erupted in the back of his throat as he launched himself toward the female had stunned them both.  She fell back under his assault and he landed atop her, his lower body grinding against her with a mind of its own.

        "I need…I want…" He neither knew nor understood what he needed or wanted.

        "I know what you need," she said, her voice quivering.  Her hand moved to his rigid shaft.

        "Sweet Merciful Alel!" he gasped as her fingers molded around him through the constriction of the jumpsuit.  He felt as though he were on fire and the ache between his legs was so powerful, so intense, he felt tears come into his eyes.

        "Let me show you," she told him.

        And show him she did:

        Her hands soon knew every part of him as she removed his clothing and ran her palms over his goose pebbly flesh. She stroked his chest, plucked at the wiry hair that spread like a fine pelt, nibbled the sensitive paps of his manly breasts. Swirling her tongue around his navel and using the tip of that velvety dagger to plunge into the spirals, she had tasted the sweat that glistened on his belly and ran into that deep indentation.

         Chills spread over his entire body as she cupped his heavy scrotum in her hands and weighed him, kneading the flesh gently and smoothing her fingers over the puckered pendulums, tickling him with her nails. Though the backs of her hands grazed his fully erect cock, she ignored that jutting flesh and ran her hands down his trembling thighs and calves. Standing, she stroked his arms and shoulders, moved behind him to spread her questing fingers along his back and waist. As her nails scratched softly over his naked ass-down and spiraling around, up and over, across and along the deep crevice-he shuddered with barely controlled lust.

        She made him spread his legs and stand with his hands behind him as she ran her hands over those areas she had already claimed. While one hand plucked at a hard male nipple, the other threaded its fingers through the thick curls at the juncture of his thighs: one more making no direct contact with his rod but this time her grazing fingernails traveled up and down the inside of his thighs until he thought he would go mad.

        "No!" she forbade him as he reached for her, swatting away his questing hands. "Parade rest, warrior!"

        Sensing a multitude of pleasures lurking at the end of her torment, Sajin obeyed her orders like the highly trained soldier he was. Willing his staff to pay no heed to the soft fingers stroking so close by, the Reaper Cadet squeezed his eyes shut and endured the heavenly torture.

        It was her mouth drawing him deep inside it that broke the rigid control Sajin had placed on his wayward body. Never having had such exquisite delight thrust upon him, he bucked against the feel and reached for his tormentress.

        Though Delayne tried to prevent him, he knocked aside her staying hands and grabbed her by the upper arms. Dragging her down to the floor of the cave, his fingers entangled in the fabric of her flight suit and shredded the material.

        "Aye, warrior!' she hissed, wriggling beneath him as he tore away her clothing. "Aye!"

        Though the beastess within him urged him to rape the naked woman lying beneath him, to plunge heedlessly into her body-willing or not-Sajin pushed aside that savage urge and his hands became gentle as they roamed over the woman's lovely body.

        He tested the strength in her resolve as he traced the tender mounds of her breasts and suckled at their tips. He gave her tit for tat as his fingernails scratched playfully over her upper thighs and along the inner surface. Pushing her legs apart, he blew his breath upon the pretty curls that grew there. He used his imagination as she squirmed beneath him and thrust one finger shallowly between her thighs.

        "Aye!" she shouted and arched her hips upward.

        He wanted to taste her for the smell of her sex teased his nostrils and made his mouth water and his cock ooze. Without another thought, he dipped his head and dragged the tip of his tongue over the rolling hills and sweet valleys of her vagina. Smiling as she grabbed handfuls of his hair to hold his mouth against her, he lapped at her like a hungry wolf slurping milk from a honeyed bowl.

        Before he could react, she had bucked beneath him and flipped him over, straddling him like a conquering queen claiming her prisoner. He opened his mouth to protest but she slid her body onto his, thrusting him deep inside her hot, sweet core and began riding him as though he were a bucking bronco to be tamed.

        The sensation was unlike anything Sajin Cree had ever known and in that instant of pure sexual bliss, understood as he had not before what the Elder and his lady so enjoyed in their mutual love for one another. He reached for her breasts and molded them in his palms as she flung her head this way and that, her neck arched, head thrown back. The muscles of her sex were squeezing him, milking him, pulling from him emotion after emotion. Such was the rapture he was experiencing, the quiver of her vaginal muscles astounded him around his thrusting flesh. Wave after wave of tightening, pulsing trills traveled down the length of him and he took her nipples between his thumbs and index fingers and squeezed firmly.

        "Warrior!" she screamed and pushed herself so far down him, so hard upon him, he feared his cock would break.

        But the resilience of manly flesh is greater than a rough tumble upon a save floor. It stayed erect until the last jerk of her inner muscles then let loose with a blast of its own that stunned him to his very core.

        The cum was copious: hot and jetting with a life of its own into the slipstream of her womb. He strained against her in an attempt to bury his flesh as far inside her as it could travel. His fingers had left her hard, erect nipples to dig into the soft flesh of her ample hips. He held her there, pushing her lower body down upon his until the last spurt of his juices left him.
        
        He had reveled in the lushness of her body; the ripeness of his own; and the exquisite pleasure that had rippled through his body on wave after wave after wave. And with the culmination of such heady pleasure, he began to feel an attachment for a woman for the first time in his young life.

       When he was sated, she lay in his arms, her hand on his chest.  "Come home with me, Cree," she asked.

        He grunted with amusement. "And how do you propose to get home, woman?"  He had not asked her name because it was of no importance to him.

        "Someone will come looking for us," she explained.  "When we don't come back, the Coalition will send out a search party."

        So mellow was the feeling in his body, he did not question her explanation. He merely nodded, drifting off to sleep as all males do when sated.  "We'll see," was all he said.

        "Come home with me, Cree," she repeated, running her hand down his belly to the softness at the juncture of his thighs.  "I will hide you in the mountains of Chale. The Sisterhood will never find you."

        The softness at the juncture of his thighs did not remain so for long.  As he moved his naked body over hers and claimed her, the concept of 'his woman' took firm hold in Sajin's mind and he nodded.

        "Aye," he said. "I will go home with you."  He laid his head on her breast to nuzzle at the turgid nipple, an experiment he found very satisfying, indeed.

        He never saw the wicked smile of vengeance that settled on the female's lovely face at his words.

CHAPTER FOUR

The Present

        Delayne buried her eyes beneath the crook of her arm and sobbed quietly. Her heart was breaking, her soul so wounded she knew it would never heal. Miserable, lost in a sea of guilt and self-incrimination, she begged forgiveness of the Sister with whom she had bargained to end the Reaper's life.

        "I am sorry, Siobhan," she whispered. "You were only trying to help us."

        And because she had helped, the young Chalean woman had been executed, hung for attempting to assassinate the Reaper prisoner.

        Aching with remorse, Delayne turned over and pressed her face into the pillow. "Forgive me, Sister. I never meant for them to find out you had given him the garlic."

        Feeling her own guilt riding her like a cruel master, the spurs of her own treachery raking her spirit, Delayne grabbed handfuls of the soft pillow and wished she could smother the life from herself. She longed to find surcease in nothingness for only then did she believe she would be rid of the horrible shame of betraying the man she loved.

        "I am responsible for you being in torment, Sajin," she wept. "I and I alone!"

        She could almost feel his strong hand patting her back, soothing her, calming her. She could almost hear his gentle whispers as he tried to give her some measure of peace.

        "There will be no peace as long as I draw breath!" she whimpered and sat up to fling away the pillow.

        Staring wide-eyed into the semi-darkness of her quarters, she could almost see his lustrous amber gaze looking plaintively at her. She could see the sorrow in that gaze, the misery, the hopelessness, and it broke her heart anew.

        He had been her first and he would be her last, she thought as she swung her legs from the bed. His touch had taught her what it was to love and be love. His cock had made her a woman: his woman. His body had shown her what it was to know the joy of having a mate.

        Closing her eyes, she experienced again the stroke of his sure hand upon her breast. She felt the thrust of his manhood into a body made by the gods to match his. She reveled in the twin spirals of lust that had driven them to unimaginable heights and sent them crashing into the warm afterglow of satiation.

        "Sajin, I am so sorry," she wept and covered her face with her hands.

* * *
        Sajin sat up on his bunk and put a hand to his throbbing head. The pain had gotten no better after two doses of the tenerse.  He wondered if there might not be something other than a migraine causing him such intense pain.

        "Memories can do that," his parasite smirked.

        True, he thought as he stood and paced the confines of his cell.  Memories could hurt far more than anything physical.

        "You loved her," the parasite accused.

        "Aye," Sajin said aloud. "And I love her still."

        "She betrayed you."

        "She did," he agreed, "but it was her nature to do so."

        "Like a black widow," the parasite cooed.

        Staring blindly across the cell, he could still see the ship hovering over the plateau that day. He remembered well the eagerness on Delayne's face-oh, yes, by the third taming of his shaft, her name tumbled from his lips like honey from a beehive.  

        "You are going home, Cree," he remembered her saying as the transporter beam shot down from the underbelly of the hovering ship, but took no notice of the tone of her voice.

        Amazeen warrioresses surrounded him the moment he was beamed on board the LRC.

        He fought them; the gods knew he fought.  But he was no match for the tall, thickly muscled females who fell on him. He did manage to rip the throat from one before being stunned into submission by the twin firings of lasers aimed at pointblank range.  When he woke, he was manacled to a metal wall and the first stages of Transition were beginning to overtake him.

        Outside the thick glass partition that kept him from the Amazeen crew, he saw his woman watching him with a blank expression on her lovely face.

        "Why?" he asked her, but Delayne did not answer.

        The Transition had been hard. The pain of it was acute and when it was over and his jailers brought him weak Sustenance to tide him over until they reached Rysalia Prime, he spat it back in their stunned faces.  The punishment of their fists and laser pikes had turned him into a mass of burns and bruises.  Not once did Delayne come to see him while he was being 'punished' for his crimes against womanhood.  He would often wonder just what crimes it was he was supposed to have committed.

        His incarceration in the bowels of the Titaness put a final seal of doom to his freedom.  His loneliness was more punishment that any pain his jailers could provide.

        That and the uncontrollable urges of his body that came at will whenever he thought of Delayne.

        He heard the grate open once more and looked toward it.  He frowned. It was too soon for more tenerse.  When the grate remained open, he cocked his head to one side. There was a familiar smell coming from the grate and he sniffed.  Sniffed again and caught her scent.  The smells made him close his eyes with longing.

        "Cree?" was the whispered query.

        He remembered well her voice.  It was a soft, soothing balm to his loneliness.

        "Aye," he said, making no move to go closer to the grate.

        "Take the meds, Beloved."

        He looked at the foamware cup and saw there was no pill beside it.  

        And understood.

        He walked to the grate and squatted down. He could see her through the opening.   On his side of the wall, electronic sensors had been placed to keep him from thrusting his hand through the slot, but there were no such sensors on her side.  Nothing coming through the slot from her side would be affected by the heavy stun.

        He lifted the cup from the small ledge and placed it on the floor beside him. A strong aroma of garlic hit him hard.

        "I love you," he whispered, trying to ignore the awful stench of the garlic.

        She trusted him enough to thrust her hand through and he reached out to take her fingers in his. He brought them to his lips and kissed them tenderly.

        "Take the meds, Beloved," she said once more.  She eased her hand from his and caressed his bearded cheek.

        He made no move to stop her as she drew her hand back through the opening.

        She stood on the other side, watching him, tears cascading down her cheeks.  Her tremulous smile gave him the courage to reach for the cup.  His slow smile was sensual as he lifted the cup to his lips and drank the bitter brew in its entirety.  Almost instantly, the poison began to shut down his world.

        "You must burn my body," he said, his vocal chords beginning to stiffen. "The parasite must be destroyed."

        "Aye," she whispered.  The light was dulling in his amber eyes and his pale flesh was becoming translucent even as she watched.

        "Thank you," he whispered once last time, then fell gently to the side.

        Delayne Brell took a long shuddering breath then turned from the door. Her last words were recorded on the vid-com tape:

        "I love you, too, Sajin Cree."
        

EPILOGUE

        The Great Lady sighed as she replaced the urn on her desk. She had been sitting with it in her lap for over an hour.  When the vid-com intruded on her thoughts, she snapped at it.  "What?"

        "It is here, Your Grace," the vid-com reported.

        Without being bid to do so, McNeer entered the old woman's office and placed what she carried on the desk.  "Will there be anything else?' she asked.
        LeJong Kym shook her head, but did not answer.

        McNeer bowed in respect then left.

        Half an hour passed before LeJong Kym removed the lid of the urn containing Sajin Cree's cremains.  She stared into the dusty black ashes for a moment, and then resolutely reached for the container McNeer had left behind.  Flipping open the lid, she did not hesitate, but poured Delayne Brell's ashes atop Sajin's.  They could not be together in life, but they would be together forever in death.

        "When did you realize you loved him, Laynie?" she said as she swirled the ashes together.  "When did he make you love him?"

        Reapers could do that, she knew.  Despite all their precautions, he had managed to get through to the one woman he knew would help end his life; the one female in all of Rysalia who would take him out of his misery.

        Had he sent out his psychic messages to Delayne or had the woman truly fallen in love with the Reaper over the years he had been imprisoned? Or had it began on Montyne Vex? No one would ever know.

        LeJong Cree replaced the lid on the urn and set it aside.  There it would remain until the day of her death when the contents would then be scattered to the prevailing Winds.  Into space would go the remains of another Rysalian Empire Reaper and the woman who had been hanged for murdering him.