Reaver (32 page)

took no pleasure in his suffering.

“Stop it!” she screamed. She scrambled across the floor toward them, her knees cracking painfully

hard on the floor.

She dove for Revenant’s legs. She didn’t make it. An agonizing pain wrenched her neck as she was

jerked to a sudden stop by her hair. Gethel, her fist wrapped around Harvester’s ponytail, hurled

Harvester through the air.

She hit the wall in a crack of bones and stone, and everything went black.

When she came to, she and Reaver, his face badly bruised and bloodied, were propped against the

pillar he’d crashed into, chains connecting their collars to hooks embedded in the stone. Both Gethel

and Revenant were gone. The asshole Nightlash, Slag, was sitting on a marble bench a few yards away,

a satisfied smirk on his ugly face.

“Only reason you’re not both dead is that the Dark Lord wants you alive. You,” he said, jabbing his

finger at Reaver, “are for his bed until you beg him for death.” His smile widened. “He shares with

Slag.”

“Slag’s right,” Harvester agreed. “He does share. But I doubt he shares with demon morons who

refer to themselves in the third person.” She shifted to cast a furtive look at the guard situation near

the front entrance. There were three that she could see. “He also likes audiences.”

“That was very helpful,” Reaver said dryly.

She slid a glance at him, trying to get a bead on what he was thinking, but his expression was

shuttered, his attention focused on their surroundings. The familiarity of his expression made her

smile. She and Yenrieth—Reaver—had spent a lot of time hunting minor demons, and she knew the

look he got when he had a plan.

A Khepri entered, its nasty insect head swiveling. It drew Slag aside, and the moment they were

distracted, Harvester leaned closer to Reaver.

“So… what’s the plan? Tell me you have one.”

“I snagged a key to our collars off Revenant when he was tenderizing me,” he said, and she wanted

to kiss him. “But lifting the key was too easy, which makes me think it’s a trap.”

Her heart sank. “It’s our only chance.”

“Agreed.” He rested his head against hers, and again the familiarity came roaring back. They’d

propped each other up more times than she could count. “Let me know when Slag turns his back.”

“You got it.” She kept one eye on Slag and the other on the door her father would use when he

arrived. The thought made her throat close. She’d do her best to kill both herself and Reaver if she had

to. She couldn’t endure more torture, and she couldn’t bear the thought of Reaver going through it,

either.

And wasn’t that a huge shift from just a day ago?

“He turned,” she murmured, and Reaver’s arm started moving, as if he was fidgeting. Or maybe

digging a key out of his pocket as inconspicuously as possible. “Reaver? What do you think Revenant

was talking about when he said the Horsemen met with an accident?”

Reaver went as stiff as the pillar they were bound to. “I don’t know, but if he was responsible, I’ll

kill him.”

Harvester would help. “What are you going to tell them about me? Do you think they’ll get why I

did some of the things I had to do?”
Do you think they’ll forgive me?

It was a stupid, sentimental thing to want, but the Horsemen were the closest thing she had to a

family. She’d observed them in secret for three thousand years, and she’d been involved with them as

their Watcher for two thousand. She’d watched them grow, watched their failures and successes, their

joys and miseries. On hundreds of occasions she’d even healed them or their friends and staff, and all

without them knowing.

So yeah, she couldn’t expect them to welcome her with open arms, but she’d like it if they didn’t

hate her.

“I think they’ll get it,” Reaver said gruffly, almost as though he was choked up.

“Reaver, are you okay—shit, Slag’s turning.”

Reaver stopped moving just as Slag looked them up and down. Harvester waved and gave him a

Cheshire cat smile. Asshole.

“He turned back,” she said quietly.

A low rumble boiled up from Reaver’s chest, startling the crap out of her. She risked a peek at him,

but that only made things worse. His head hung low, his blond hair falling across his handsome face.

His big shoulders heaved with breaths that made his entire body shudder.

“I’m sorry, Harvester,” he said in a broken whisper. “I’m sorry for what I did to you. You need to

know that in case I don’t get out of here. Promise me you’ll tell my kids I’m dead, even if I’m taken

alive.”

“What?” she whispered harshly. “No.” How could he even ask that? “And Slag’s looking.”

She shot him the finger. He returned the gesture, and then he made a show of using his fuck-you

finger to swipe his bracelet. Ten million volts set fire to her blood, her muscles, her brain. Agony

shrieked through her in an inferno of lightning. Flashes of light and dark tapped on her eyeballs, and

her surroundings became a blur.

When she was done seizing, she found herself in Reaver’s arms, his hands stroking her back. She

tasted ash and ozone, and her ears rung, but she was relieved that she wasn’t the flaming ball of fire

she’d thought she was.

Reaver bent to speak into her ear, making it appear as though he were giving her a kiss, and an

unbidden shiver of pleasure went through her.

“Are you okay?” At her nod, he continued. “I got the key out of my pocket. Now I need you to sit up

a little so I can unlock your collar. Then you’ll unlock mine.”

“What then?”

“I’ll create a distraction. I want you to run. Get inside the Harrowgate and get out of Sheoul.”

“Are you insane?” She started to twist around, but he held her tight. “I’m not abandoning you.”

“Shh.” His hand slid up to the back of her neck, and the collar loosened. “Don’t draw Slag’s

attention.”

She felt him slip a tiny, smooth object into her palm. The key. Casually, he pushed her off him and

shifted so she could reach his collar. It took only a mere swipe of the key over the metal and the thing

popped open.

“We can do this together,” she whispered.

“Trust me, I don’t have a death wish, so I’ll try for the gate. But if something happens, don’t play

the hero. Get the fuck out of here.”

“Reaver—”

“Hey.” He silenced her with a kiss that stunned her into silence and that she felt all the way to her

bruised, scarred soul. “Tell the Horsemen everything. About you. About me. You need them, and I

don’t want them to hate you.”

She swallowed a tangled lump of grief and fear, and not a little yearning. She might hate him

sometimes, might not ever be able to trust him, but she also didn’t want to be separated from him.

Didn’t want to lose him. It had taken five thousand years to find him again, and even though Reaver

wasn’t the Yenrieth she remembered, that turned out to be a good thing.

“Okay,” she lied. “I’ll head straight for the Harrowgate.”

“Thank you,” he breathed. “Thank you for… everything.”

She didn’t have time to reply. Hell, she didn’t have time to blink. In a blur of motion, Reaver was

across the room, his fists and feet putting Slag and the bug-headed freak into the wall.

“Go!” he shouted.

And that was when she felt it. Terror. Horror. A malevolent, oily sensation that permeated every

organ and that meant only one thing.

Her father had arrived.

Twenty-Four

Fuck
. In an uncoordinated scramble, Harvester came to her feet as demons swarmed into the mansion

like an army of ants protecting their hill.

The Harrowgate was just yards away, and even though she’d have to knock a few demons aside to

get to it, she could get there.

But not without Reaver.

Reaching deep for every drop of power she could find, she let out her inner demon, gray skin, sharp

claws, horns… the whole package that she rarely brought out on purpose. With a roar of fury, she

hurled a shockwave of energy that knocked the invaders into walls and pillars. Reaver got caught in

the blast, but in a stroke of badly needed luck, he tumbled through the arched opening that went

straight to the Harrowgate.

She charged after him, but she skidded to a halt as chaos erupted in the courtyard below. Darkness

fell in the distance, screaming toward them like the blackest storm cloud. Giant bolts of crimson

lightning zapped anyone who was unfortunate enough to be in the path of the chruning tempest.

Bodies exploded like bags of liquefied hamburger, splattering the street, buildings, and other demons.

Here comes Daddy.

Harvester let out a juicy curse, but it was nowhere near adequate to describe the terror turning her

marrow to jelly and her bones to rubber.

She seized Reaver’s wrist and dragged him to his feet. “Come on,” she shouted over the din of

screams, shouts, and the rumble that came with the storm and her father’s approach.

They limped toward the Harrowgate, joining the mass exodus of demons who were desperate to

escape the great and terrible king of demons they both worshipped and feared.

“I told you to run,” Reaver yelled. “You agreed.”

“I lied.” She elbowed a dozen different demons, who were either trying to kill them or shoving their

way to the Harrowgate.

Suddenly, Reaver became a dead weight. Pivoting midstride, she slipped in a pool of blood.

Reaver’s blood.

His face was a mask of agony as he went down, a sword impaling him between the shoulder blades.

The blade tip erupted from his chest, the telltale sparkle of an
aurial
weapon twinkling even through

the wetness of his blood.

“No,” she gasped. “
Oh, shit no
.”

“I have another blade with your name on it, Daughter.” The ominous, rumbling voice seemed to

come from everywhere at once. “Unless you give yourself up without a fight.”

In the center of town, the hideous, horned monster that was her father was coming fast, carried by a

hell stallion twice the size of a normal beast. Every footprint left a fiery hole in the street, and every

puff of breath sent flames at anyone stupid enough to still be in the path.

She eyed the Harrowgate. She could be inside in a few heartbeats, but only if she abandoned Reaver,

who would be dead in minutes if he didn’t get help.

“
Harvester
.”

Satan’s voice rattled her to her core and kicked her into high gear. In a frenzied, clumsy rush, she

grabbed Reaver’s arms and dragged him toward the gate. Something sliced into her back, making her

stumble and nearly lose her grip on Reaver. Gritting her teeth against the agony, she battled a storm of

daggers, razor discs, and throwing stars, too many of them taking bites out of her flesh.

She risked a look back… and wished she hadn’t. Satan and Gethel’s minions were almost upon

them, smashing through the crowds of panicked demons.

It was a messy mass of confusion that saved Harvester, and even though she was bleeding so badly

she could hardly see for all the blood in her eyes, she hurled both herself and Reaver into the gate. An

ugly tusked demon slipped inside at the last second and slammed his palm onto the wall map.

“No!” she shouted, but the gate closed with a glittering flash of light.

A heartbeat later, the gate opened, spilling them in a heap onto a grassy mountainside.

In the human realm.

Holy hell, they’d done it. Harvester sat up and held Reaver close as she let out a sob of relief. Tears

and blood stung her eyes as she inhaled a breath of fresh air she thought she’d never take again.

The demon who’d hitched a ride with them snarled, the tusks jutting from his lower jaw dripping

with pink-tinged drool. Bits of raw meat were stuck between his teeth.

“Looks like I brought supper with me.” His lips peeled back in what she thought was a smile.

She rose and limped toward him, hoping the fact that she could barely walk didn’t diminish her

powers of intimidation.

“You will step aside and allow us to leave, or I’ll destroy you.”

His snarl-smile grew fiercer. “Private Harrowgate, bitch. Anyone can come here, assuming they