“Shh.” She silenced him with a finger against his lips. “Yes, so much has happened. You learned you were strong enough to keep Pestilence at bay, and I learned that the man I love is willing to fight demons for me. You have me.” She gave him a sultry smile and slid her hand between their bodies to palm his erection. “And you can have me anytime.”
“God, I love you,” he groaned. The next thing she knew, she was in his arms, cradled against his chest, and he was opening a Harrowgate. “First, we’re stopping at Ares’s place for a hot shower and clothes. Then I’m taking you to the most luxurious hotel in the Bahamas.”
“Sounds decadent.” Even as exhausted as she was, she could imagine all the ways they could enjoy each other. In both places.
He hugged her tight. “This is just the beginning for us, and I can’t wait to get started.”
Neither could she.
Forty-three
Reaver didn’t bother to ask permission to enter Archangel Hall. He strode inside with an I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude and a smug expression to match.
Maybe at some point in his life he’d been in awe of the giant gold columns that pierced the endless azure sky and of the crystal rivers that wound through lush grass that went on forever. But not now.
Now he just wanted answers.
An angel dressed in some sort of obnoxious crimson medieval garb came from out of nowhere and blocked Reaver’s path. “Who are you, and why are you here?”
“I’m Reaver. I need to see an archangel.”
The male smiled. “Then go through the proper channels with your request.”
“It’s not a request, and I can’t wait years for this.”
Crimson Angel Guy narrowed his eyes. “Go away—”
“Hold.” A tall black-haired male materialized like something out of a Star Trek transporter, all gold and silver sparkles. His Greek-style robe was cinched at the waist with a simple brown rope, and his leather boots were nothing to write home about, but somehow this angel exuded power and royalty. His raven wings, shot through with gold, were probably the envy of everyone he came into contact with.
Reaver included.
The newcomer, definitely an archangel, waved his hand, and the angel in the crimson getup flashed away in a huff.
“Well, well,” the archangel said. “Reaver. Still not one for following rules, I see.”
“Since you seem to know so much about me, how about some reciprocation?”
The male’s smile was cold. “Raphael. Now, why are you here?”
Straight to it, then. Good, because Reaver wasn’t in the mood to mess around. “I want to know why my memory was taken.”
“I’m sure you do.”
Alrighty then. “I know who I am,” Reaver ground out. “I know my given name is Yenrieth, so I might as well have my memories back.”
The chilly smile fell off Raphael’s face. “That is… unexpected.” He wheeled away, only to pace in a wide circle before stopping in front of Reaver again. “But it makes no difference. You don’t get your memory back.”
“Damn you—”
Reaver didn’t get to finish his sentence. Pain like a million lightning bolts crackling through him sent him crumpling to the ground, blinded and groaning like a green soldier who’d taken his first wound. When he could see again… felt like a year later… Raphael was looking down at him, his silver eyes flashing like blades.
“You do not speak like that to me, nor do you question my decisions.”
By some miracle, Reaver didn’t groan again as he staggered to his feet. “So memory loss it is.” His head throbbed like he’d been clobbered by his own halo. “Maybe you can tell me why my daughter and sons have a new evil Watcher. Do you know what rule Harvester broke?”
For a long time, Raphael merely stared, his expression blank. Just as Reaver’s archangel-acute migraine started to ease, Raphael said, “She didn’t break any rules. She was taken for espionage. For helping the wrong side.”
“Helping the wrong side? You mean us?” Raphael had to be mistaken. “How?”
“By manipulating events.”
Now it was Reaver’s turn to stare. “I don’t… I don’t understand. She’s the one who wrote the note that The Aegis found… the one that Pestilence believed would break Than’s Seal.”
The archangel inclined his head in a slight nod. “She did it knowing sex wouldn’t break Than’s Seal. She did it so a child would be conceived. A child who could end the Apocalypse if all went well, and she had faith that the Horsemen would figure out how to stop Pestilence.”
Reaver’s head spun, which didn’t help the throbbing. “Why would she do that?”
“Because she was a spy.”
“A… spy?” Reaver asked, incredulous. “For how long?”
“Since the beginning.” Raphael said it so easily, as if everyone should have been aware of this information. “We fabricated a story about how she’d begun to kill humans for fun, leading to her fall, but in truth, she fell in order to infiltrate the highest orders in Sheoul and earn her way to become Watcher.”
“But why? Why would she give up so much to become a fallen angel?”
Raphael’s shake of his head and rolling eyes told Reaver what the archangel thought of Harvester’s reasons. “She’d been watching over your children since before they were Horsemen. She even saved Reseph from a fire that would have killed him. She loved them.”
This kept getting more and more unbelievable. “Where was I?” Reaver demanded. “Why wasn’t I watching over my children?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Raphael said, his tone making it clear that Reaver wasn’t going to get any answers about his past. “What matters is that Harvester was a spy, and she’s done the world a great service.”
Reaver threw his hand out to catch himself on a pillar before he fell over. “Why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t someone tell me about her?”
“We couldn’t risk anyone knowing. Any slip could have been dangerous.” Raphael’s expression became clouded with anger, and a menacing growl rose up in his chest. “Look what happened with Gethel.”
The time he’d caught Gethel working Harvester over with treclan spikes came back to him, and his breath hitched. “Gethel tortured Harvester. She suspected, didn’t she?”
“Most likely,” Raphael said. “I’m almost certain it was Gethel who ratted Harvester out to the forces of Sheoul.”
Ah, damn. Harvester had tried to warn Reaver, had said that Gethel wasn’t right. She didn’t mean that Gethel was wrong. She’d meant that Gethel was mental, and maybe playing for the wrong side, if she was torturing Harvester for proof that Harvester was a good guy.
But had Gethel spoken the truth about anything?
“Gethel told me Harvester was Satan’s consort and she fell from Heaven to be with him. How does that play into any of this?”
Raphael’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s what she told you? Gethel loved messing with your head, didn’t she?”
“She wouldn’t need to mess with my head if I had my memories,” Reaver growled. “So Harvester wasn’t secretly sleeping around with Satan?”
Raphael laughed. Actually laughed. “I should hope not. He’s her father.”
Father? Holy… shit. Reaver’s voice was slightly strangled when he spoke. “So what do we do now?”
“We hunt Gethel down and destroy her.”
Gladly. “And Harvester?”
“She is lost to us.”
An unexpected stab of guilt lanced Reaver in the chest. “She’s dead?”
Raphael shrugged. “We lost contact with her when she was dragged to Sheoul. No doubt she’ll be tortured for some time.”
“Won’t Satan protect her?”
Another burst of laughter from Raphael set Reaver’s nerves on edge. “The only thing Satan hates more than a traitor is a traitor in his family. You should have seen what was left of one of his sons after he sided with another fallen angel in an argument between the angel and Sat
an.” Raphael shook his head. “No, Harvester will suffer like no one ever has for this.”
“Then we need to rescue her.”
Raphael waved his hand in dismissal. “She knew the risks when she volunteered for the assignment. She understood that it was a one-way trip and that if she was caught, we would disavow all knowledge of her actions.”
Reaver’s jaw nearly hit the ground. “Are you kidding me? We can’t leave her there!”
“Any attempt at rescue would be an admission of our involvement. They can’t know that we arranged for two agents of good to be assigned to the Horsemen. It could start another war between Heaven and Hell. Even if it were possible to get her out, she won’t be the same innocent young angel who fell. To survive Sheoul and earn a place as Watcher, she had to do things that hardened her heart and blackened her soul. Her sacrifice is one of the greatest in angelic history, but she is lost to us.”
“There has to be a way.”
“Let it go, Yenrieth.” Raphael’s voice deepened, became a booming thunder. “Hear me now. You will not make any attempt to rescue her. If you do, I’ll tear off your wings myself and toss you into the darkest pit in Sheoul. Do you understand?”
Reaver understood, all right. He understood that Raphael was a massive douchebag.
“I’m also taking you off Watcher duty.”
A bone-deep fury welled up in Reaver, scouring his veins as if they ran with steam instead of blood. “You can’t do that.”
Raphael’s calm was maddening. “I can do anything I please. You are the Horsemen’s father, and that knowledge means you can no longer be a neutral party.”
“Neutral? Harvester wasn’t neutral, either, if she was a spy, you piece of—”
“I wouldn’t finish that sentence,” Raphael warned. “You’re getting off lightly, given all the rules you’ve broken recently. Releasing Reseph from Sheoul-gra? Keeping Wormwood from Thanatos? Giving Heofon to Pestilence? Shall I go on?”
“The rules are bullshit. You broke the biggest of all by sending Harvester to infiltrate hell. How dare you accuse me of breaking rules, you overgrown vulture.”
“One more word,” Raphael said slowly, “and you will lose what little memory you have, and I’ll wipe you from your children’s minds as well.”
Trembling with the kind of rage Reaver rarely experienced, he spun and headed toward the exit. As he reached it, he flared his wings high and violently, a big, fat, fuck you to the angel watching him leave.
It was about time for a vacation, and Reaver had heard that Sheoul was nice this time of year.
Forty-four
Reseph finished scooping grain into a bucket and popped the lid onto the bin. Impatient snorts told him he was moving too slow as he hauled the feed to the stalls at the end of the barn, where Sammy and Conquest waited. The two horses had struck a friendship that, to be honest, baffled Reseph. Conquest wasn’t the nicest of stallions, but he’d taken to the gelding and liked to hang out in the barn with him.
“You two are goofballs,” Reseph muttered as he poured grain into their troughs.
He headed back to the house, casting a quick look toward the clearing where, just beyond, they were building a cabin for Tracker. The warg refused to live any farther away, and despite Jillian’s desire to have him stay in the guest bedroom while the cabin was being constructed, he preferred to sleep in the barn.
Reseph stomped the snow off his boots on the porch and went inside the house, where Jillian was waiting, curled up on the couch under a blanket, two steaming cups of hot cocoa on the table in front of her.
“Critters are all fed and happy.” He glanced over at Fang-Doodle, who was dozing in his usual spot in front of the fire. “Some of them are a little fatter and happier than others.”
Jillian narrowed her eyes at him. “I hope you aren’t talking about me.”
Grinning, Reseph sank down on the couch, straddling her on all fours. “What, you aren’t happy?”
“Jerk.” She gave him a playful swat on the shoulder, but a frown followed on its heels. “Are you sure you’ll be happy here? It’s in the middle of nowhere, not much to keep you busy, and we get tons of snow—”
“Shh.” He brushed his lips over hers. Emotion welled up in him, filling him so completely that he could barely breathe, let alone speak. “I’m sure. I spent so much time keeping busy and being empty. But out here, with you, I don’t need to be busy. I feel like I’m finally whole. I’m five thousand years old,” he rasped. “But the day you found me in the woods, that’s when my life started.”
Jillian gripped his collar and tugged him down on top of her. “I spent so much time worrying that no man would ever be what he appeared to be that I didn’t realize being more isn’t always bad.”
“So you’re glad I’m not the man you found in the snowbank?”
“Oh, you are that man. But you’re so much more, too.” She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth and gave him a hesitant glance. “I feel terrible though… I haven’t had time to get you anything for Christmas.”
“Are you kidding me? You’ve given me everything. I even have my family back because of you.”
Now that everyone was sure Reseph could control Pestilence, he and Jillian were welcome at his siblings’ houses, and they’d all popped over here as well. Thanatos had even allowed Reseph to hold Logan. They still had to work on getting the hellhounds to come around, but Reseph figured there was plenty of time for that.
“Speaking of which,” she said, “we’re invited to Than’s place for Christmas dinner tomorrow. They said if Tracker is back from his pack by then to bring him, too.” She sighed. “I’ll bet he’s never celebrated Christmas.”
Seriously doubtful. Few human holidays were celebrated in Sheoul. “Let’s pick up something for him tomorrow. I know a great electronics store in Tokyo.”
“See?” Her hands traveled slowly down his back, massaging as they went. “That’s what I mean about being so much more than the man I found in a snowbank. Who else can take me shopping in another country in a matter of seconds?”
He nuzzled her neck. “Wanna know what else I can do in a matter of seconds?”
Shifting so he settled between her thighs, she arched under him, and her voice went deep and husky. “Oh, I’m very well aware of that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. And I think I do know what to give you for Christmas.” She gave him a naughty smile. “But first, you have to unwrap me.”
Oh, how Reseph loved presents. “And then you unwrap me?”
“Mmm. Very, very slowly.”
Jillian followed up on the slowly thing. After he was naked, she spent an hour worshipping his body and doing wicked things with one of the candy canes on the tree.
As Reseph lay sated and exhausted, tangled with her in front of the fire, he could only think that hundreds of Christmases and thousands of presents had come and gone for him, but this one, above all others, was the best. The Apocalypse was over, his entire family was whole and happy, and he’d been given the greatest gift of all.
Love.
His name is Ares, and the fate of mankind rests on his shoulders.
If he falls to the forces of evil, the world falls, too.
As one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, he is far stronger than any mortal, but even he cannot fight his destiny forever…
Please turn this page
for an excerpt.
Eternal Rider
One
“War is hell.”
—William Tecumseh Sherman
“Sherman was totally my bitch.”
—War
Present day…
Ares, also known as War, second of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse to much of the human and demon world, sat astride his stallion on the outskirts of a nameless village in Africa, his body and mind vibrating with energy. A battle raged here; two local warlords, their brains ravaged by an insect-borne disease, were clashing over what little water had puddled in t
he bottom of the village’s well. Ares had wandered the area for days, drawn to the hostilities like a drug addict to heroin, unable to pry himself away until the blood stopped flowing. It was a catch-22, though, because his very presence ramped up the violence, feeding into the bloodlust of every human in a five-mile radius.
Damned Reseph.
No, not Reseph. Not anymore. The most easygoing and playful of Ares’s siblings, the brother who had held them all together over the centuries, had been gone for six months. Now he was Pestilence, and with the name and transformation came unholy powers that threatened mankind. Pestilence was roaming the globe, causing disease, insect and rodent infestations, and mass crop failures with nothing more than a bite or a touch of his finger and a thought. As the disasters spread, more wars like this one broke out, and Ares was drawn to the battles and away from his most pressing task—locating Batarel, the fallen angel who held Ares’s fate in his hands.
As the current holder of Ares’s agimortus, if Batarel died, Ares’s Seal would break, unleashing War upon the Earth.
Chased relentlessly by Reseph, as well as by any demon who wanted to usher in the Apocalypse, Batarel had fallen off the grid, which, unfortunately, left Ares unable to protect her.
But then, even if Ares found her, his ability to defend her was limited, thanks to a fun addendum to his curse, which caused him to weaken in close proximity to his agimortus-bearer.
The battle before him finally began to wane, and the electric high that had held Ares hostage eased, replaced by the usual numbness. Women and children had been slaughtered, the few goats that had survived the blight had been taken for food, and fuck, this was just one of scores of similar scenes that were playing out on this continent alone.
His leather armor creaked as he fisted his pendant, closed his eyes, and concentrated. He should feel a distant buzz through the Seal, some clue as to Batarel’s location.