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An Excerpt From: MY REAPER'S DAUGHTER
 Copyright CHARLOTTE BOYETT-COMPO, 2007.
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave
Coming awake with a gasp, the Reaper became aware of the sound of rain hitting the roof of the stage. He sat up, dragging off his hat to arm away the sweat that coated his face.
"Bad dream?" Mystery asked softly so as not to awaken her sleeping daughter.
He didn't answer for a moment, putting a hand to his mouth and sinking his teeth into the finger of his right glove to pull it off. "Nightmare," he finally said, aware his hands were shaking as he removed the other glove as well.
"You were moaning in your sleep," she said.
"Reapers do that," he acknowledged. Moving aside the leather curtain, he looked out at the lowered sky and the deluge of rain. "How long has this been going on?"
"About half an hour," she said. "It seemed to come up out of nowhere."
"It does that out here," he said. He couldn't tell exactly where they were but didn't think they were far from the stage station at Barbara Springs. He knew they'd be stopping there for the night and was hoping he'd be able to purchase a horse to tide him over until he could reach the Citadel and the stable of specially trained Reaper mounts.
He settled back in his seat and put his hat on the seat between him and the man who had nodded off. "Where are you headed?" he asked, wanting to take his mind off the dream that haunted him.
"Home to Charlestown," she replied. "I have family there."
"That’s Lord Phelan Kiel’s neck of the woods."
Mystery nodded. "I saw him once but it’s been a long time since I’ve been home."
"Where were you before?"
"My husband was a clerk in a store in the Moilia Territory," she answered.
His attention went to her left hand, saw the thin gold wedding band circling her finger, and felt a curious pang in the region of his rapidly beating heart. "Your husband already in Charlestown or is he coming later?"
She looked down at her hand, too. "I'm a widow, Milord," she said quietly. "I just can't bring myself to take off his ring."
"I'm sorry," he said.
He let his gaze wander over her bent head. Both she and her daughter were neatly—though inexpensively—attired. The bonnet she wore was as plain as her soft dark gray gown and as sensible as the boots peeking from beneath the skirt's hem. He studied the slender hands gripped lightly in her lap and was mesmerized by the tint of her flesh, the elegance of the tapering of her long fingers, and the delicacy of her wrists.
When she looked up and her chocolate brown gaze met his, he grimaced, annoyed at being caught staring at her.
"You don't have much contact with people of color, do you, milord?" she asked.
That question stunned him and his eyebrows slanted together. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know it for certainty but I believe all your kind are white."
He shook his head. "Not all. Lord Jaborn is dark-skinned."
"But he is not a man of color, though, is he?" she pressed.
On his home world, the word to describe people of her shade of skin was colored, as it had been in Terra's far distant past. And like on Terra all those centuries ago, those with flesh dark like hers had been born into the slavery caste. They were ignored, overlooked and traded as a commodity, treated worse than a man would a farm animal. Having come from a rich and powerful family who had owned many slaves of different races, he had not given them much thought. They simply blended into the scenery. Here on Terra, he rarely interacted with people of color for the vast majority of them either lived in the Vircars Territory controlled by Phelan Kiel or Iden Beliel's Flagala Territory.
"No," he said. "Jaborn is considered what you would call white I guess." He glanced down at Valda's two long pigtails. "But his hair is coarse like hers."
"And as black?"
"Aye," he agreed.
"Perhaps his is a blending of our two races, then," she said.
"Could be," he replied, uneasy with the turn of the conversation.
Apparently sensing his reluctance to talk, the young woman lapsed into silence. Beneath the brim of her bonnet, she watched the man sitting across from her daughter and when he began to nod off again, her eyes locked on him. By the time she began to succumb to the steady drumming of rain on the roof and the rocking motion of the stage, his image was burning forever in her mind's eye. Her eyes closed and she sank down into sleep, reaching out to the arms of the god of dreams....
It had been a long time since Mystery Fay Butler had lain with a man and her body quaked as she put her hands to the white lace veil that flowed from the high swirl of curls atop her head and cascaded down her back. The billowing skirt of her wedding dress swept the floor and made soft little swishing sounds as she set the veil aside.
"You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he told her.
He looked so handsome standing there in his black uniform, the thin leather tie in a perfectly straight line and just touching the edge of the black belt around his slender waist. His black silk shirt was crisp, the black leather pants hugging his legs like a second skin—almost indecently outlining the thickness at the juncture of his thighs. The black boots he wore had a high shine to them and the silver rowels gleamed in the low light from the candles on the bedside table. Likewise the silver raven insignia on the collar of his shirt caught and reflected the light with every breath he took.
"Would you help me?" she asked, turning shyly to present her back to him.
He came to her and put his hands on her shoulders, drawing her to him so their bodies touched. He rested his chin on the plain of her shoulder and his breath washed over her neck. "What would you have me do, Lady Mystery?" he asked in a voice that sent a trill of spasms through her lower body.
"Unbutton me?" she questioned.
"I would rather rip the dress from you," he whispered wickedly.
"You'd better not!" she warned, twisting her head around to look at him. "I want to see Valda wearing this dress one day!"
"She will," he said with a laugh and stepped back, He put his hands to the first of many tiny pearl buttons that ranged down the long bodice of the gown. "But I'd still rather tear it off and ravish you."
"Patience, my husband," she replied and her heart soared at the use of that binding word.
She inhaled the scent of him and the powerful, sensual male pheromones he gave off that combined to make her knees weak.
His rough knuckles touched the small of her back as the last button came undone and he stroked the delicate skin there, leaning into her, his head lowered so his cheek touched hers.
"Have you any notion how desperately I want you, Myst?" he queried.
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