Reaver (4 page)

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 throw 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.

Harvester’s head spun in sickeningly slow circles. Eventually Gethel pulled the goblet away, letting

Harvester bleed into a gutter on the floor. Not that bleeding on the floor was anything new.

Gethel squatted next to Harvester and put the cup to her lips. “Lucifer will feed from you himself

when he’s born, but you can nourish him now, as well. With every swallow, tremors will rock Heaven.

You are both so very connected.”

Crazy bitch
. The only person Harvester was connected to was Yenrieth, and that hadn’t turned out

so well.

“Give me your hand.”

Verrine didn’t hesitate, even though she had no idea what Yenrieth was doing with a ceremonial

blade. She trusted him, and she especially liked it when he touched her.

Very gently, he turned her hand over, palm up, and put the tip of the silver knife to the skin under

her thumb.

“I’m going to connect us forever,” he said, and she jerked.

“That’s forbidden,” she said in a gasp. “Only mated battle angels can do that.”

“I’m a battle angel.”

“But I’m not. And we aren’t mated.” Not that she wouldn’t mate him if he asked. But right now he

was proposing something very much against the rules. Heart racing, she yanked her hand away.

“We’ll be punished.”

“Not if we don’t tell anyone.” He put the blade to his palm and drew a slow, shallow cut from the

base of his pinky to the heel of his thumb. “We have to do this. I can’t explain why. I just know that

someday it’s going to make sense.”

Verrine’s gut churned. Yenrieth had always known things, and he’d always been right, so she didn’t

question his intentions or his reasoning. But this was a substantial angelic offense. Not to mention that

it would create a permanent link between them, and given that angels were immortal, it wasn’t an act

to be taken lightly. Not even if you’d loved the person asking you to link since the first day of Demon

Hunting Basics class.

And yet, she held out her hand. Allowed him to slice her palm the way he’d cut his. The pain was

fleeting, gone the moment he twined his fingers with hers. Their blood ran together, and Verrine was

lost in a moment of bliss so pure that all she could do was moan with the glory of it.

“We’re linked,” he whispered. “We’ll forever be able to find each other, no matter where in the

universe we are.”

He’d been wrong. On the day he disappeared from Heaven and memories, she lost the ability to feel

him. It was as if he’d never existed. She’d searched for him for years, had made a nuisance of herself

by questioning everyone she thought might have answers, but she’d come up empty. Not even the

archangels had offered up any explanations.

She supposed the fact that no one remembered Yenrieth could explain why, but
someone
had to

know something. Only after she’d lost her wings and gone to Sheoul had she given up the search, but

that didn’t mean she didn’t sometimes wonder what had happened to him.

Gethel drained the goblet, and Harvester swore that an aura of power pulsed around her now, as oily

and dark as a puddle of tar poison in Sheoul’s Boneyard region. She wiped her mouth with the back of

her hand and sighed contentedly.

“I’ll see you at supper,” Gethel said, all cheery. Harvester hoped Gethel was experiencing morning

sickness. All day long.

Gethel slipped away as Venom tugged on the chain connected to Harvester’s ankles, and she slid off

the bottom block, taking another layer of skin from her body. The pain kept her from feeling the

landing on the floor, at least.

Harvester felt herself being dragged over uneven, rocky ground, and as her body thawed, her agony

jacked higher.

For the ten millionth time, she replayed the moment, thousands of years ago, when she’d stood

before three archangels and said, “I want you to kick me out of Heaven so I can infiltrate Sheoul as a

spy and earn my way to being the Horsemen’s Watcher. I can work to subvert the
Daemonica
’s

version of the Apocalypse.”

The archangels had laughed until they realized she was serious. Raphael had thrown a full-blown

angel tantrum that humans felt as a dust storm that swept across the Holy Land. And then Metatron

and Uriel had joined in to try to talk her out of it, even as they agreed that if her plan worked, it would

be the greatest Heavenly coup in history. If she failed, she’d suffer like no angel ever had.

Turned out that she’d succeeded… but she was still suffering like no angel ever had.

“The Dark Lord will break you tonight.” Venom dropped the chain and crouched next to her to grip

her face in his scaly hands. “You
will
tell him how much Heaven knew about your actionsss.”

“Nothing,” she croaked. “I swear.” The lie came easily, which was, no doubt, why Satan didn’t

believe her. Thousands of years of living in Sheoul had chipped away at the angel she once was and

had made many things simple. Lying. Destroying. Killing.

All she’d ever wanted was to be good, so it was ironic that in order to
do
good, she’d had to become

bad. She’d had to make everyone she cared about hate her. She’d had to lose everything, from her self-

respect to her wings to her dreams of having friends and a family with Yenrieth, the only person she’d

ever loved.

The only thing she had left was knowledge, and that was something she would hang onto until her

last breath.

Life as she’d known it was over, but she could still do good. All she had to do was keep her mouth

shut while enduring an eternity of torture.

Three

Reaver was about to rush in where angels feared to tread. “I guess that really does make me a—”

“Fucking idiot.”

Reaver stared at Eidolon, Underworld General Hospital’s head doctor. “I prefer ‘fool.’ Also, only a

fucking idiot would call an angel a fucking idiot.”

The demon doctor stared back, his dark eyes glittering with gold flecks. “A fool would merely

consider
entering hell without a plan. Only a fucking idiot would seriously intend to saunter into the

Prince of Evil’s living room in the very center of hell to kidnap his little girl. Against orders. And

without a plan.”

Harvester wasn’t a little girl, but the doctor had a point. Reaver had done a lot of insane, stupid

things in his thousands of years of life, had broken more rules than he could count. But disobeying the

archangels to rescue a fallen angel who happened to be Satan’s daughter was worse than all the other

broken rules combined.

Well, impregnating Lilith, queen of the succubi, and fathering the Four Horsemen of the

Apocalypse five thousand years ago was right up there. He was
still
being punished for that.

If Reaver pulled off this newest stunt, he’d be lucky if he lost only his wings. And that was

assuming he survived to lose his wings in the first place.

“I have a plan,” he muttered.

Eidolon parked a tray of surgical tools next to the exam table Reaver was sitting on inside the

makeshift tent room in Underworld General’s parking lot. As an angel, Reaver couldn’t enter the

hospital, so it was fortunate for him that the tent had been set up to handle the recent increase in

patient volume.

“And your plan is?” Eidolon prompted.

“Ah… it mostly involves sneaking in and sneaking out.”

Wraith, Eidolon’s blond, blue-eyed brother, snorted. “Because you’re
so
subtle.” Reaver couldn’t

believe those words had come out of Wraith’s mouth. Wraith, who was as subtle as a plane crash. Mr.

Subtle pushed off the tent support he’d been leaning against. “So what’s in it for you?”

“I’ll have the personal satisfaction of knowing that if everything goes well, I’ll be preventing a

Heavenly catastrophe.”

Wraith nailed him with his shrewd gaze, and Reaver knew instantly that the demon didn’t buy his

reason for what he was planning.

But Mr. Subtle was also Mr. Contrary, and instead of calling Reaver out, he shrugged. “I’ll go with

you.”

“As much as I’d appreciate your help, everyone in the underworld knows who you are.” Reaver

cocked an eyebrow at the Seminus demon, a rare species of incubus that were human in appearance.

“You’re a beacon for trouble.”

“Hey.” Wraith had a particular talent for playing wounded. “I saved the world. And I
helped
save it,

like, a million times.”

“I love how he makes it sound like the rest of us sat around and drank beer while he was saving the

planet.” Eidolon crossed his thick arms over his chest. On his right arm, his
dermoire
, a tattoo-like

tapestry of paternal history every Seminus demon bore, blended in with his black scrubs.

“Do the Horsemen know about your dumbass nonplan?” Wraith asked, and Reaver stiffened.

“No.” He shot each of them a meaningful stare. Sin, the demon brothers’ only sister, rolled her dark

eyes. “And I’m trusting you to not tell them.”

As expected, Eidolon gave a respectful, if reluctant, nod, and so did Sin, but Wraith could never