A goat stumbled out of the open barn door, its fur matted with blood. Unable to stop, Reseph leaped over it and landed at the doorway threshold. Heart pounding, he flicked on the light.
And came face to face with a nightmare on legs.
The thing standing in front of him, its crimson eyes level with Reseph’s as it stood on two thick, black-veined legs, let out a bear-like roar and dropped the body of the goat it had been shredding with its serrated claws.
For several tense heartbeats, the demon stared at Reseph, making no aggressive moves. It seemed almost as if it was expecting something from him. What, Reseph had no idea. A chat? Praise? A date?
What it was going to get was dead.
Master?
The word was a raspy whisper in Reseph’s brain. A memory? Or was the thing speaking? Master.
What the fuck…
Master. Master. Master! Gripping his head, Reseph stumbled backward, as if he could escape the voice in his skull.
“Do you know me?” he shouted. “Do you know me, you son of a bitch?”
Master.
Demons filled Reseph’s vision, even behind closed eyelids. They surrounded Reseph, handing him offerings of body parts and wriggling, suffering creatures. Deep inside Reseph, there was a purr of pleasure, as if he’d been split in two and only part of him was horrified at the scene playing out in his head.
Frantic to stop whatever horrific memory seemed to be shaking itself loose, Reseph spun, grabbed the pitchfork from against the wall behind him, and buried it in the demon’s skeletal chest before it even had a chance to flinch. The thing snarled as it stumbled backward, clutching at the handle. Reseph dropped and kicked a leg out, catching the demon behind its knee, sending it crashing to the ground.
Screeching, the demon ripped the pitchfork from its chest and hurled it aside, narrowly missing clocking Reseph’s skull. It leaped to its feet and swung at him with those huge-ass claws. Reseph ducked and struck out, punching the thing in the snout. There was a satisfying crunch as its head snapped back and blood spurted from its mouth and nose.
The demon recovered quickly with a lightning-fast lunge. Reseph wheeled out of the way, snared the pitchfork, and forked the fucker again. The demon threw its body sideways, catching Reseph in the shoulder. Reseph slammed into one of the stalls, his spine taking the painful brunt of the impact. The horse went nuts, but Reseph couldn’t afford to calm the animal. The demon came at Reseph, its jaws gaping and dripping saliva.
Just as it dove for his throat, a shot rang out. Blood and bone sprayed from a tear in its side. It screamed and changed course, hurtling toward Jillian, who stood in the doorway, pistol raised, a skinny tendril of smoke rising from the barrel.
Reseph tackled the creature, slamming it to the ground and driving the tines of the pitchfork deeper into its body. The wooden handle snapped, flipping into the air. Reseph caught it and in one smooth motion, drove it between the creature’s eyes.
The thing grunted and seized, flopping like a dying fish as Reseph climbed off it, going for the machete hanging on the wall. When he turned back around, the thing appeared to have died, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
Here’s your master, you ugly piece of shit.
He brought the blade down on its neck, severing its head.
Damn, that felt good. It also felt familiar, like he’d done it before. A lot.
He looked over at Jillian, who was staring at the body. “That…” She swallowed. “That’s the thing that attacked me. It looked just like that.”
Reseph leveled a vicious kick at the corpse. “I should have made it suffer.”
Her startled gaze lifted to his. For a moment, he thought she was going to chastise him, but after the initial surprise, she nodded.
“You should have.” Carefully, she flipped the safety on the pistol and laid it on one of the barrels before squatting down next to a dead pig. “That monster.” She moved to the goat that had been disemboweled. “Definitely should have made it suffer.”
The image of himself surrounded by demons flashed through Reseph’s head again, bringing with it a streak of pain at his temples. Ruthlessly, he shoved it away, hoping like hell it wasn’t truly a memory. Maybe it was a remnant of a nightmare he’d had.
Keep telling yourself that, asshole.
Jillian was looking at him like she was trying to figure him out, probably because he was standing there like some delicate princess with the vapors. Fuck. He needed to get his head out of his ass.
“If you check the animals in here, I’ll see if I can find the goat that ran out.” Reseph gripped the machete tight and headed outside. He’d check on the goat, but he was also going to patrol the area for more of the fuckers.
He found the goat a dozen yards away, trembling in the snow behind a tree. He performed a rapid exam, feeling for broken bones and bleeding, but all of the blood on the animal seemed to have come from its barnyard pals.
The goat didn’t struggle as he hefted it into his arms and carried it back to the barn, where Jillian was doing her best to calm the surviving animals with treats and soothing caresses.
“This one seems fine.” He settled the little doe in one of the empty stalls and stepped out in time to see the dead demon on the floor fold in on itself and disappear before his eyes. “The demon’s gone.”
Jillian popped her head up from inside Sam’s stall. “Gone?”
“Disintegrated. Guess that explains why the general population didn’t know demons existed until a year ago.”
“No dead bodies to study.” She slipped out of the horse’s stall and joined Reseph, wrapping her arm around his waist. He absorbed her weight, drawing her against him. He’d hold her like this all night if she wanted him to. Hell, he’d do it anyway. The confrontation with the demon had rattled him to his bones. “I’m glad you were here, Reseph. I don’t think I could have dealt with that… thing… on my own.”
“Bullshit.” He ran his palm up and down her arm, noting the slight quiver under her skin. “You were a badass with that gun. No hesitation.”
“Because it was attacking you. If you hadn’t been here—”
“Hey.” He gripped her shoulders and turned her to face him. “You were amazing and brave. If I weren’t here you would have done what you had to do to protect your animals and yourself. One of those things might have attacked you, but it definitely didn’t destroy you.”
Her smile was shaky. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?”
“Right.”
Except that was a lie, wasn’t it? Too often, what didn’t kill you came back to finish the job. He had no idea how he knew that, and honestly, he didn’t want to know. All this time he’d been longing for his memories, scouring the Internet, searching his brain—hell, he’d called out to the empty air for help.
Now he was afraid he’d get exactly what he was looking for.
“You bitch.” Reaver stared at Gethel from inside the quantanum, the plane of existence that was invisible to humans but allowed some beings, such as angels, to travel at accelerated speeds. He’d been hunting Gethel, tracking blips of her signature that he could sense when she channeled Heavenly power. Oh, she’d been smart about it, using it only in short bursts and weak doses, but Reaver had been patient, knowing she’d eventually use a little too much for a little too long.
Today, as she held court with two Soulshredders and a bald fallen angel near a hellgate deep inside the Nicaraguan Masaya volcano, she’d made the mistake Reaver had been waiting for.
She spun around, simultaneously hurling a massive ball of lightning. The crackling sphere filled the tunnel, giving Reaver no room to run. If he flashed out, he’d lose her.
He threw up an elemental shield, which borrowed properties from the area around it. The surrounding volcanic rock absorbed the lightning’s impact, but the force knocked Reaver a dozen yards down the tunnel. He crashed into a stone pillar and crumpled to the ground.
Damn, that hurt.
&
nbsp; Gethel’s cackle echoed off the walls. “You can’t hope to defeat me on your own, Reaver.”
Reaver shoved to his feet. “I don’t have to defeat you. Not yet. I just have to stop you from finding Reseph.”
Her smile was cold. “Time’s on my side. From what I hear, it’ll take decades, probably centuries, for his mind to heal.”
“If you’ve got all this time, why are you and Lucifer striking now?”
“Please,” she said. “You’re not that dense, are you?”
Apparently, he was.
“Humiliation.” A miniature lightning ball popped out of her hand and bounced between her fingers. “Satan is extremely embarrassed by his defeat. He’s ordered that everyone who played a role be either destroyed or get involved in restoring Pestilence and neutralizing the other Horsemen.”
Too bad Gethel hadn’t been lumped in the destroy category. Reaver strode toward her, keeping his power skating along the surface of his skin, ready to go in a split-second. “What happened to you, Gethel?”
“I told you. The Horsemen—”
“Yeah, yeah, they couldn’t find it in their hearts to say good-bye when your Watcher duty was taken away. Big deal. You’re either a big whiny baby, or there’s more to the story.” He was pretty sure there was some mental instability written between the lines of that story as well.
Behind her, the Soulshredders hissed and snarled with every step Reaver took. The fallen angel just watched, his dead shark eyes glued to Reaver.
“Who are you?” Reaver called out to the fallen angel, who seemed to be a big fan of black leather.
The male bared his teeth. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Ah, cryptic. That’s so original.” Reaver rounded on Gethel. “So, which is it? Big whiny baby or more to the story?”
“Fuck you, Reaver,” she spat. “You know nothing. I loved them.”
“I know, but… oh, wait.” Reaver was nearly blinded by the lightbulb that went off in his brain. “You didn’t just love them. You loved them.” He smirked. “Which one, Gethel? Ares? Thanatos?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Limos?”
She threw the lightning ball, and he easily swatted it away. “Did I touch a nerve?” With a snap of his fingers, he sent a boomerang of angelfire at her, aiming for her head, but when she dove aside and it merely scraped her shoulder, he wasn’t surprised. She wasn’t going to just roll over and die, after all. “Let’s see if I can figure this out,” he mused, as she doused flames in her clothing. “You didn’t seem to be causing much trouble for Ares. At least, not that I know of. But Limos, you did send khnives after her husband.”
Cursing, she launched herself at him. He met her midair in the tunnel, and the collision rumbled the very mountain.
“You think you know everything, don’t you?” she screeched as she slammed her fist into his jaw. It was like being hit with a sledgehammer, and Reaver grunted, blinking to the tune of cartoon birds circling around his head. “You think you’re so superior.”
He pounded his fist into her chest, a quick double-tap before backhanding her in the face so hard she fell out of the air and landed awkwardly on her neck and shoulder.
“I am superior,” he growled.
She rolled to her feet and blasted him with her favorite weapon, a storm of sparks that burrowed through living flesh. He leaped to the ceiling of the cave, avoiding most of them, but a handful cut into his leg, and agony drilled into him in the form of fine-bore holes.
“You know nothing! I have secrets you can’t even begin to touch, you worm.”
“So bitter,” he ground out. “Just when did that happen?”
“When?” She beckoned the Soulshredders, and they lumbered to her. “When the Aegi whore took Thanatos’s virginity.” Red-hot hatred spewed from every one of Gethel’s pores. “I was supposed to be the one to break his Seal.”
What a bitch. “It must have killed you when his Seal didn’t break and Regan got pregnant.” He inhaled sharply. Of course. That was why Gethel had been so eager to see Logan dead. It wasn’t as much to start the Apocalypse as it was to destroy the physical proof that Regan had taken what Gethel wanted.
Hell hath no fury like a jealous angel with emotional instability and a mental defect.
“Get him,” Gethel snarled.
The Soulshredders leaped at him at the same time that she peppered him with spears of lava. Fire scorched his skin and Soulshredder claws tore at his muscles. He could win this battle with the demons, but even as he summoned a shear-whip, Gethel and the fallen angel vanished.
Damn.
He cut the demons down, slicing one horizontally in half, and then he flashed out of there himself. Despite his burns and various injuries, and the fact that he hadn’t caught or killed Gethel, he was pretty satisfied with the encounter.
As he materialized inside his Heavenly residence, his fingers found the little treasure in his pocket that he’d lifted off Gethel. He opened his palm, amazed that the tiny crimson stone could channel so much power within the depths of hell.
He closed his fist around the sheoulghul and smiled. He didn’t have use for it yet, but he had no doubt that someday, it would come in very, very handy.
Jillian and Reseph had spent the next two hours in the barn, cleaning up the mess. She’d watched in awe as Reseph dug in to help, working tirelessly even when she started to flag. He was amazing, making everything he did seem so effortless. Even the way he’d killed that demon, so efficiently, as if he knew exactly what he was doing, had been incredible. There’d been no fear, no panic. He’d moved like a phantom, so fast she’d been sure she was seeing things at times.
One thing was certain; he knew how to fight and how to kill. Maybe, given how comfortable he’d been fighting the demon, he belonged with the people who had recently come to light as ancient demon-slaying warriors. The Aegis, she thought it was called.
Whatever training had given him the skills to take down a demon so easily, she was grateful for it. She’d been very honest when she’d said she didn’t think she could have dealt with it on her own. Seeing the thing, identical to the demons that had attacked her, had frozen her solidly in place. Reseph must not know that she’d stood in the doorway, paralyzed with fear, for what seemed like hours before she’d finally fired the pistol.
No, she wasn’t a badass or brave. She’d moved here from Florida thinking that her decision to live in the middle of nowhere by herself had been a fearless, bold move, but what if it was the opposite? What if she’d been trying to escape her fears?
Epic fail. She’d run right into them. And seized like an overheated engine.
Shame had fueled her as she’d hauled blood-soiled straw out of the barn while Reseph repaired the door, and then they’d showered—together, but neither one of them had been in a sexual frame of mind. He’d washed her with the greatest of care, taking his time to massage the tension out of her shoulders and back. As the morning sun came up, he’d tucked her into bed and lain with her until she fell into an uneasy sleep.
Nightmares had plagued her. Nightmares of demons and dying animals, of the attack in the parking lot, and worse, of Reseph leaving her.
Any day now, he was going to find out who he was and leave.
Irritated by her obsession with Reseph’s probable departure, Jillian slammed the lid on the grain barrel as the barn door opened and he entered wearing jeans and the blue Henley that matched his eyes. In his hand was a steaming mug.
“Brought you something to warm you up.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “I can’t cook, but I can make a mean cup of hot cocoa.”
“Doesn’t take much to boil water and open a packet.” Even as the words fell from her lips she regretted them, and God, she kicked herself hard at the flicker of hurt in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Reseph. I didn’t mean that.” No, what she’d meant was, “Stop being so wonderful, because I’m falling for you, and I’ll be devastated when your memory comes back and you take off.”
He shrugged and handed her
the cup, which made her feel even smaller. “It’s true.”
The rich chocolate aroma filled her lungs and soothed her mood. “You were being nice, and I was an ungrateful bitch.”
“Will this help?” He dug into his pocket. “I made this for you.” Very gently, he took her hand and placed a wooden carving in her palm.
Jillian stared at the tiny bird, its fine features perfectly etched across its graceful lines and curves. The wings, outspread in flight, were so thin and delicate that she was afraid to close her hand.
“Reseph, this is amazing. How long did this take you?”
One big shoulder rolled in a casual shrug. “Few days. Ah… you might want to sharpen your nice paring knife.”
“I think I can manage that.” She stroked her finger over the smooth beak. “Why a bird?”
Another shrug. “They’re free, you know? They can go anywhere they want, whenever they want. They can just spread their wings and go.”
Naturally, Reseph would gravitate toward an animal that wasn’t tied down. She wondered if he felt at all caged in here. No, she didn’t have to wonder. She knew. He was like a panther in a zoo, always pacing the fence line.
He plopped down on the barrel and stretched his long legs out in front of him, crossing his booted feet at the ankles. “What’s wrong?”
She hesitated, carefully balancing the little bird on a railing and taking a sip of the cocoa to buy some time. She didn’t know how to explain, partly because she didn’t even know why she felt the way she did.
“Cocoa is good,” she murmured. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And you’re stalling.”
Leave it to him to call her out. Still, she sipped again, maybe a little defiantly. Guess she was still feeling bitchy.
Finally, she cupped the mug in her cold hands and looked down at the swirling froth. “I’m afraid, Reseph.” There. She’d said it. “I hate being afraid. It goes against everything I’ve ever lived for. My parents taught me to be strong, and growing up, I was tough. I played sports and got jobs on farms instead of working at fast-food joints like my friends. When I went away to college, I made sure I was the best in all my classes. I never let fear get in the way.” She swallowed. “But now I’m afraid and I don’t know how to handle it.”