Reaver (3 page)

Metatron snorted. “Impossible. Any rescue attempt on our part will confirm Heaven’s role in her

espionage against Satan, and it’ll start a war—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Reaver interrupted. “A war between Heaven and hell will mean death, destruction,

and rivers running with angel blood, blah, blah.”

Funny how the archangels were concerned about this war when they hadn’t been all that worried

about an apocalypse in the human realm. But then, most angels liked to bury their heads in the clouds

and pretend humans and demons didn’t exist.

“It’s wrong that she’s imprisoned,” Reaver argued. “She was helping our side.”

Raphael shook his head. “She was well aware that if she was ever caught, she’d go down as a lone

wolf who was working her own evil agenda. Her cover was blown, she got caught, and it’s over.”

“I still don’t understand,” Lorelia said. A summoned copy of
A History of the Watchers of the Four

Horsemen of the Apocalypse
popped into her hand, and she immediately started flipping through it.

Yup, scholar. “How will rescuing Harvester help our cause?”

Reaver chose his words carefully. Raphael and Metatron needed to believe Reaver had no ulterior

motive. That he didn’t want to rescue Harvester in part so he could piece together the past he’d lost

when his memories of being Yenrieth were ripped from his mind. He’d asked for his memory back,

over and over, but he’d been met with refusal every time.

But Harvester had known Yenrieth. She’d given up her wings for his children. Clearly, Yenrieth had

meant something to her once, even if she didn’t remember what he looked like.

“As Satan’s daughter,” Reaver began, “Harvester can sense her siblings. She can find Lucifer even

if he’s inside Gethel.”

Lorelia scowled. “What’s to keep her brothers and sisters from finding Harvester after she

escapes?”

“Harvester’s ability to sense Satan’s offspring is unique,” Metatron answered, “for the same reason

her blood is stronger than that of her siblings. She was conceived in Heaven before Satan was

expelled.”

“No.” Raphael crossed his arms over his chest and pegged Reaver with a hard glare. “Nyet. Nein.

Non. Nei. Nu. Na. Shise. Yai. You aren’t rescuing Harvester. Is any of this getting through to you?”

Reaver smiled. “You’re wrong about
shise
. That’s Sheoulic for fungus. The word you’re looking for

is
shishe
.” Idiot.

“Why am I not surprised by your fluency in the universal demon language?” Raphael’s own smile

was chilly. “Did all your demon friends and lovers teach you?”

Reaver didn’t take the archangel’s bait. His best friends were demons, but he hadn’t been intimate

with a demon in years. Not since the day he earned his wings back. And right now, his friends weren’t

the issue.

“If
you
won’t mount a rescue for Harvester, let me do it. Give me command of a flight of battle

angels.”

Raphael scoffed. “You want
command
of an entire flight? You’re barely capable as a battle
soldier
.”

“I’m more powerful than any battle angel, and you know it.”

“But you can’t follow orders. How are you supposed to lead if you can’t follow?” Metatron sounded

almost reasonable. Wrong, but reasonable.

Raphael’s shrewd gaze fixed on Reaver as if stripping him down to his very essence. Reaver

actually looked down to make sure he was still clothed in jeans and a navy button-down.

“We appreciate your wanting to help,” Raphael said in the same tone someone might use to pat a

child on the head. “But even if we did decide to rescue Harvester, you’d be the last person we’d send.

She hated Yenrieth. She’d be more likely to hand you over to Satan than let you rescue her.”

Reaver frowned. “But she gave up her wings for his—my—children. Why would she do that if she

hated me?”

Raphael’s mouth puckered like he’d licked a rotten lemon. “I’ve wondered the same thing.” He

waved his hand, dismissing the subject and Reaver. “We’ll take it from here.”

“You can’t do this—”

Raphael waved his hand again, and Reaver’s voice cut out. “We can do whatever we want.”

Screw you
. Reaver hoped they could read his mind.

“Don’t even think about rescuing Harvester,” Metatron said. “You won’t make it out of Sheoul, and

even if you do, we’ll take your memory from you again, but not before raining fire down on you with

such force that you’ll beg for death.”

Normally, at this point he’d flare his wings out in defiance. Or flip them the not-so-holy bird. But if

there was ever a time when Reaver needed to exercise control and feign compliance, now was it.

However, playing nice didn’t mean he had to roll over like a chastised puppy. “Can I at least have

my memory back?”

He was tired of no one remembering him, tired of not remembering anything beyond the last thirty

years. He’d only recently pieced some bits of his past together, but there were still far too many holes

in his angelic timeline. If he could just get some of that back maybe he could finally feel whole. His

memory loss had always bothered him, but after learning that he was a father—to the Four Horsemen,

no less—getting his past back had become a priority. How could he be a good father if he didn’t know

why he’d abandoned them for five thousand years in the first place?

Not to mention the fact that as the Horsemen’s father, it was he who was fated to break their Seals

to begin the biblical Apocalypse, one of the last measures meant to stop Satan in the final days of the

prophesied war between Heaven and hell.

“No,” Metatron said. “And stop asking.” He strode over to Revenant and nudged him with a toe as

he lay on his side. Reaver wished the archangel would give the evil Watcher a swift kick in the ribs.

“Reaver.” Raphael’s voice was hushed as he pressed an object into Reaver’s palm. “I mean it. Stay

out of Sheoul.” He joined Metatron, leaving Reaver to check out Raphael’s gift.

His breath caught when he saw the grape-sized rough crystal in his hand. He’d seen only one in his

thirty years of memories, and that
one
was in his possession, lifted off Gethel a few months back.

He ran his thumb over the
sheoulghul
, a device that allowed angels to charge their powers in places

angels couldn’t normally access a charge.

Like Sheoul.

But why would Raphael give him something like this? Did he
want
Reaver to go after Harvester?

Well, well. Weren’t archangels full of surprises. Reaver had no doubt the guy would deny helping

Reaver in any way, but for now, he was going to take it as a sign.

A sign that pointed straight to hell.

Two

That hell was all fire and brimstone was a common misconception, and while there most certainly

were areas of blistering heat and flames fifty stories tall, Harvester thought the freezing cold was

much worse.

But that was because she was in a torture chamber whose blizzard-like atmosphere froze her lungs

with every breath. Not that taking breaths was easy, given that she was facedown and being pressed

between two blocks of ice.

Tomorrow she might be back in the fires, or she’d be tossed into a pit full of ravenous hellhounds,

or she’d be impaled on a thick pole and put on display in Satan’s living room, where anyone who

entered could do whatever they wished to her.

Those were the most pleasant of the thousands of scenarios she could be faced with.

She marshaled all her strength to take a breath, but what little air she took in felt like it consisted of

tiny razor blades. Blood splashed from her nose and mouth, freezing almost instantly on her lips and

skin.

A prickling sensation stung her neck muscles, which should have been frozen solid, and she knew

she was no longer alone.

“Harvesssster.” Venom, one of Satan’s Torture Marshals, spoke in his silky, snakey voice. The

yellow-skinned bastard’s shuffling footsteps came closer. “It’s time to move you.”

A shiver went through her. She hoped he’d move her to a cell where she’d get a few hours of rest

and some food, but that happened so rarely that hoping was akin to dreaming. Most likely, she was in

for more misery.

“On a ssscale of one to one hundred, I’ll bet your desssire to die is clossse to one hundred, yesss?”

One hundred? One
million
would be more accurate.

“Your father wantsss to sssee you.”

No. Oh… no
. A single tear formed in her eye, freezing before it could fall.

“He isss having a feassst tonight. You will be the centerpiece on hisss table. Quite an honor.”

Forgive me for not being excited, but last time, I was the predinner entertainment, and then I was

part of the meal
.

“You also have a visitor.”

Visitor?

Another prickly sensation joined the first, and her gut twisted as a female voice filled the chamber.

“Oh, my. You do look awful.”

Gethel. That
bitch
. The former angel had betrayed Heaven in the worst way, and now, if Harvester’s

senses were working properly, it would seem that Gethel was pregnant with Harvester’s half sibling.

Daddy had been busy.

“I wanted to be the first to tell you that I will be giving birth to Lucifer.”

If Harvester could throw up, she would have. But there was nothing in her crushed belly. Lucifer’s

rebirth would send shockwaves through Heaven. Literal shockwaves that would cause death and

destruction.

“And this is where you come in.” Gethel cleared her throat as if preparing to give a speech. “He’ll

be born full-grown. The birth, of course, will kill me, but I’ll die a glorious death, don’t you think?”

Glorious? No. But with any luck Gethel would suffer the way she deserved.

“You, Harvester, will nourish him when he’s born. Instead of milk, he’ll need blood. And instead of

being cradled in the arms of his mother, he’ll be cradled between your welcoming thighs. And when

he’s finished with you, he will destroy everything you hold dear. The Horsemen. Their children.” Her

voice dropped to a low growl. “Reaver.”

That was where Gethel was wrong. Harvester did not hold Reaver dear. She hated him, and if she

never saw him again it would be too soon. Okay, yes, she’d always been fiercely attracted to him and

certainly wouldn’t kick him out of bed for picking his teeth with bones, but she still hated him.

He’d stirred those dual desires from the day they’d met at Ares’s Greek manor. He’d been assigned

as the Horsemen’s Heavenly Watcher shortly before Reseph’s Seal broke and initiated the demon

bible’s apocalyptic prophecy. He’d flashed onto Ares’s beach, and Harvester had zapped him with a

bolt of lightning before he’d fully materialized.

“Who are you?” Harvester stood, feet glued to the sand, stunned at her own actions. She’d sensed

his arrival and her first instinct had been to strike. Sure, she’d always been one to shoot first and ask

questions later, but she wasn’t usually
this
quick on the draw.

The newcomer angel peeled himself off one of the many ancient stone columns that dotted Ares’s

island, his charred T-shirt trailing wisps of smoke and his sapphire eyes seething. With a snap of his

fingers he returned fire, nailing her between the eyes with some sort of invisible sledgehammer.

Crushing pain nearly knocked her to her knees. Bastard. She threw another bolt at him, but he was

ready, and he wheeled gracefully out of the way.

“Knock it off!” he yelled. “You’re Harvester, right?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Maybe.” Damn, he was hot. Smoking hot. Literally. His jeans were

still smoldering.

“I’m Reaver. Gethel’s replacement.” He strode toward her, and the closer he got, the more she

wanted to light him up again.

Something about him pissed her the hell off, and she had to wonder if they’d met in battle in the

past. Had to be a battle, because she’d have remembered a one-on-one meeting with him.

Or a one-on-one anything.

She held up her hand. “Stop now or I’ll fry you to a crisp.” Tiny streaks of lightning danced

between her fingers, poised to make her threat a reality.