By Charlotte Boyett-Compo
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Extra info for My Reaper's Daughter
He stomped over to the stream that ran just beyond where he camped, poured out the coffee and beans, rinsed the pot and scrubbed the frying pan with sand before dredging it through the water. The entire time he cursed Phelan Kiel and wondered if his fellow Reaper were a half man or not. As he folded his bedroll and readied Stannair for the long ride up to the Citadel, he continued to think about Kiel. The man had never made any overt moves toward him or any of the other Reapers, but neither had they seen him with a woman.
His gaze returned to the corral. The buckskin looked as if it would be a sturdy ride. When it swiveled its head and looked right at him, he knew that would be the mount he’d haggle for. He had to get away from what he was beginning to realize could change him forever. “No,” he said. ” Flicking the remaining contents from the blue enamel cup, he went back inside, refusing to cut his eyes toward the trestle table where every nerve in his body screamed at him was where Mystery and Valda were watching him.
Releasing an irritated breath, he dropped his spoon into the skillet then removed it from the fire, set it aside. The partially eaten biscuit he tossed into the bushes with a flick of his wrist. He stared for a long time at the coffee pot but he didn’t want that any more than he did the beans. Removing it, he lay down on his bedroll, propped his head in his hand and stared into the flames. Before too long he was nodding off, jerking awake at the least night sound, opening his eyes wide to keep himself from going under, then finally defeated by weariness sinking down into the arms of Cadley Trome, the Breathnóir god of deep sleep.