“You really should have killed me,” Gethel said, twisting the knife Raphael had already stabbed him with. “Now I’m under the protection of both Satan and Lucifer.” She patted her belly again, as if she was carrying a sweet, innocent baby and not, literally, the spawn of Satan. “Granted, my little boy isn’t as strong as he could be yet, but I’m about to rectify that. Harvester’s blood, extracted with the Dark Lord’s own pressing machines, will nourish him.” Fat black veins started to spread from her fingers to her arms, neck, and finally, her face, and her voice went low. “And then you will all know his wrath. All of Heaven will feel it.”
Gethel’s image faded away, and Reaver’s heart plummeted to his feet at the mention of Harvester. Until five months ago, Reaver had believed she was the enemy. Raphael’s revelation that she’d been working with Heaven all along, that she’d fallen from Heaven in order to watch over the Horsemen, had knocked Reaver for a loop.
But what had really blown his mind was that the archangels refused to rescue her from Satan’s prison. Her service to Heaven and mankind deserved better.
Plus, Reaver wanted answers. He needed to know why she would give up everything to watch over children who weren’t even hers.
Lorelia smoothed her hands down the front of her gray business jacket and matching skirt as she looked at the empty space where Gethel had stood. For at least the tenth time, Reaver wondered how she’d ever been chosen as Watcher. She’d always come across as a little mousy, a lot inquisitive, and definitely more scholar than warrior.
“What was Gethel talking about?” she asked.
Metatron spoke up, his voice still calm, but an underlying current of anger charged the air around him. “Lucifer’s power was second only to Satan’s before he died; being born as Satan’s son will only make him stronger.” Like most archangels, Metatron rarely put away his wings, and now the silver wingtips that matched the streaks in his dark hair fluttered at his feet. “Worse, the rare reincarnation of any fallen angel results in fractures in Heaven’s very foundation.”
“But Lucifer isn’t just any angel,” Raphael said, his voice going hoarse as the implications of Lucifer’s rebirth sank in. “His birth will cause cataclysmic events in Heaven. Quakes. Floods. Volcanic eruptions. Angels and humans in Heaven will be caught in the disasters and die, lost forever.”
Lorelia asked, “How does Harvester fit in with this?”
“She’s Satan’s daughter,” Reaver told Lorelia. “Feeding Lucifer her blood can only make him stronger.”
“She’s not just his daughter,” Metatron reminded them grimly. “She’s the only one of his children conceived while he was still an angel. Even though she’s fallen, her blood will give Lucifer some talents and powers that are usually exclusive only to Heavenly angels.”
“We have to find and destroy Gethel before Lucifer is born,” Raphael, angel of the freaking obvious, said.
“And how do you propose to do that?” Lorelia asked.
Metatron and Raphael looked stumped, but Reaver had an idea that could not only take care of Lucifer but could force the archangels to do what they should have done months ago.
“We’ll have to spring Harvester from Satan’s prison.”
“Absolutely not,” Raphael barked.
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 ha
ve 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.
He blatantly, infuriatingly, took two more steps, ignoring her warning before halting just out of arm’s reach. “Why did you attack me?”
“You’re a stranger.”
“A stranger? You’re kidding, right? Because it’s not like I zapped in here with candy and a white van with blacked-out windows.” He stepped closer, and she turned up the electric charge in her hand. “Also, you aren’t twelve. So why did you attack me?”
“How was I supposed to know you weren’t going to attack me? It’s not like angels pop out of thin air all the time just to wish me a nice day.”
His full lips twisted into a sneer. “Don’t fuck with me again, Fallen.”
Fallen. Of all the insults he could t
hrow at her, of all the vile slurs, he chose the only one that really stung. The only one that struck her like a physical blow. All other cheap barbs rolled off her back because they were either ridiculous or true. But this one… she’d fallen from grace to help superior asshats like the angel standing before her, and she was tired of putting up with holier-than-thou self-importance from dicks like him.
She blasted him. Straight up put him on his ass again. And God, it felt good.
Smiling at the feathers floating down all around her like the aftermath of a teenage girl’s pillow fight, she flashed the hell out of there.
So, yeah, she hated him, hated him even more simply because she lusted for him in a way she hadn’t lusted for anyone in almost five thousand years.
Not since Yenrieth, the angel who had claimed her heart. And then stomped on it before mysteriously disappearing forever, not only from all the realms but from memories, as well. Oh, Harvester remembered how he’d made her feel, but his face was a blank. He could have been a toad-headed orc for all she knew.
The sound of grinding gears and clanking chains filled the cavern, and Gethel and her obnoxious chatter was forgotten. As the giant block of ice lifted, Harvester inhaled her first full breath in… what, days? Again, the pain of her lungs filling with shockingly cold air sent a storm of agony through her.
Then the real pain set in as a layer of skin peeled off her body with the block of ice. Unable to scream through her frozen throat, she shrieked in her head, until her skull seemed ready to explode.
The block swung free, leaving her crushed, skinless from her ankles to the back of her neck, and unable to move as Venom looped a razor-sharp chain around her ankles.
Gethel moved into Harvester’s field of vision, her frilly red maternity top filling Harvester’s view. Helpless, Harvester watched as the angel bitch slashed her wrist with a dull knife before holding a crystal goblet to catch the blood streaming from the wound.