Authors: Larissa Ione
always been. “You aren’t one to break an oath, and I’d rather see you with him than suffering with a
broken promise. It would eat you alive, and you’d grow to resent me.”
But would she resent him even if he wasn’t around? Because he was going to the Dome of the Rock
as scheduled. It just wasn’t going to be Raphael who he offered up as a sacrifice.
“Reaver—”
“Shh.” He silenced her with a kiss. A kiss he hoped conveyed every soul-deep ounce of his love and
respect for her. A kiss good-bye. “I have one last favor to ask,” he murmured against her velvet lips.
“Anything,” she breathed.
“Go to the Watcher Council.” He held her body firmly against his as he stroked the creamy skin of
her neck, wishing they could stay like this forever. “Find out what you can about Lorelia’s
punishment. The Horsemen deserve to know what’s going on. She might even be able to tell you if
there’s a way to restore Limos’s baby without Raphael.”
It was a bullshit favor, designed to get Harvester out of the way so he could do what he had to do
without her interference. Because he had no doubt that if she knew about his plan, if she even
suspected
, she’d try to stop him. And if she enlisted the Horsemen’s help to do it, everything Reaver
was trying to avoid—death, destruction, and misery—would come to pass.
“I’ll go now.” She threaded her fingers through his hair, a bittersweet smile curving her lips. “And
you?”
“I’m going to meet with the archangels,” he lied. “I’ve been to places in Sheoul no angel has ever
gone. I’m hoping I can help them nail Gethel.”
She grinned. “And then they’ll be so grateful they’ll give you your wings back.”
Guilt pricked at him for getting her hopes up, but he forced himself to smile. “Exactly.”
“Good luck,” she said, and for the first time since all of this began, hope made her voice sing and
her eyes glitter with optimism. This was the Verrine he remembered, finally breaking through five
thousand years of walls.
In a matter of hours, all of that would be snuffed. She’d be alive and safe, but once again, he’d have
disappeared without a word, without explanation.
Reaver’s gut slid to his feet. Fuck Satan, because there was no torture the demon could devise that
could match the torment Reaver was going to put himself through on his own.
As Harvester dematerialized, Reaver cast one last look around the keep and said a silent good-bye
to his family. Then he took a deep, bracing breath and switched into battle mode. There was no turning
back.
Okay, Satan, buddy. Let’s do this thing.
Reaver stepped out of the Israeli Harrowgate closest to the Dome of the Rock, but the moment his feet
hit the ground, he knew something was terribly wrong.
He wasn’t at the right place.
He was at Megiddo.
Which meant someone had brought him here. Again. The blood from his wingectomy still stained
the ground.
A stab of light blasted the earth in front of him, and suddenly, Metatron was there, all sparkly and
glowy, his massive wings stretching impossibly high into the predawn sky.
“Hello, Reaver.”
Reaver sighed. “I’m getting tired of you guys jerking me from one place to another. And if you’re
here to cut off my wings and give me the boot from Heaven, you’re too late.”
“I’m here because you intend to hand yourself over to Satan in return for peace.”
Reaver jerked as if Metatron had reached into his head and yanked his brain out. “I’m not going to
ask how you know. I’m going to ask that you don’t interfere.” He gestured to the land around them.
“Though I guess you already have. Can you flash me to the Dome of the Rock? I have only about three
minutes before the meeting takes place.”
“A meeting where you’re supposed to turn over Raphael, yes?”
No use in denying it. “Yes.”
“Why did you choose not to do it?”
Reaver crossed his arms over his chest, impatient with this conversation already. He had a sacrifice
to go to, and he couldn’t be late, seeing how he was going to be the guest of honor.
“Why don’t you tell me, since you seem to know everything.”
“I want to hear it from you.” It was a command, not a suggestion, and Reaver anxiously glanced at
the widening sliver of reddish light on the horizon.
Red in the morning means blood will be flowing
. The ancient angelic weather wisdom was going to
be one hundred percent accurate today.
“Because as douchey as Raphael is, he’s an angel,” Reaver said. “I might not have wings, but I’ll
never betray Heaven.”
Metatron cocked one eyebrow. “You don’t consider all your rebellious acts and broken rules to be
betrayals?”
Reaver considered his words very carefully, because he’d rather they not be his last. “I’ve made
mistakes. I admit that. But some of the things I did I wouldn’t take back. They needed to be done. I
can’t explain how I knew, just that I did. And nothing I did betrayed Heaven to Sheoul.”
“Good answer. Now, what makes you think you’d be an equal exchange for Raphael?”
“Because,” Reaver explained, “I’m the angel who is supposed to break the Horsemen’s Seals. Satan
won’t kill me. He’ll torture the fuck out of me for eons, but he’ll need me alive in order to fulfill the
biblical prophecy. He’ll probably spend centuries trying to figure out how to use me to make it happen
as soon as possible. It’ll buy Heaven and Earth a lot more time than if the war starts in a few days, the
moment Lucifer is born.”
“You realize that when Satan takes you into Sheoul you’ll become a fallen angel, right? A True
Fallen?”
He shuddered. Becoming a True Fallen was the one thing he swore would never happen to him, the
one thing he’d willingly kill himself to prevent. And now, becoming a True Fallen was the one thing
he had to do.
“I know.”
For some reason, Metatron smiled. “Excellent. But it isn’t going to happen. Instead, I’m going to
offer you something, but even if you refuse, I won’t allow you to give yourself up to Satan.
Understood?”
Confused as hell, Reaver stared. “Not really.”
“I’ll make it simple,” Metatron drawled. “Would you like your memory back?”
Reaver blinked. Wasn’t sure he heard the archangel right. “I just told you I planned to waltz off to
become a fallen angel and Satan’s prisoner, and instead you want to give me my memory back?”
Metatron looked up at the heavens, as if seeking answers from above. Which had always seemed so
strange to Reaver, since Heaven itself was much like Sheoul—an overlay occupying the same space as
the human realm but on a different plane. Angels and human souls crossed over into Heaven. They
didn’t fly upward to it unless they wanted to cross over in Heaven’s airspace.
“You will be given a choice, but first, I’ll give you a little about your past that should help you
decide.”
Finally. After all this time, he was going to learn why his life had been taken away from him. And
for the first time, he was actually having second thoughts. What if the truth was so horrible he
couldn’t handle it?
“But the war—”
Metatron silenced him with a wave of his hand. “This is more important.”
More important than a war between Heaven and hell? Holy shit.
“I’m ready,” he said, even though he wasn’t. Not even close.
“I know you’ve pieced together your history with Verrine, but she doesn’t remember everything
either. It’s odd that she remembers anything at all, although we’ve determined that the blood bond
with you is the root of that.”
“How do you even know about the blood bond?”
“Long story.” Metatron started to prowl, his long strides eating up the ground as he strode back and
forth, his hands locked behind his back. “Did you know that Radiants are recognized while still in the
womb?”
“I’d heard that.”
Metatron nodded. “Your mother was an angel named Mariel. She mated with Sandalphon. I assume
you knew of this.”
“I researched it after I learned the truth of who I was, yes.” Reaver narrowed his eyes at the
archangel. “The records don’t say anything except that Sandalphon was destroyed by Satan’s forces,
and after Mariel gave birth, she met the same fate.”
It was all very odd that their deaths hadn’t been chronicled in vivid detail, especially given that one
of them, Sandalphon, had been considered a prince among angels. Princes didn’t just die and go
forgotten.
“The truth about you, and about them, is in a private library to which very few have access.”
“Ah. Secrets among angels. Who would have thought,” Reaver said dryly.
Metatron pursed his lips, and Reaver prepared to be blasted by some painful angel weapon for his
flippant response.
“Unlike most of my brethren, I’ve always liked your spirit.” He jabbed a finger at Reaver. “But be
careful how far you push me. I do have limits.”
Well, that was a surprise. Reaver would have thought the guy hated him. He inclined his head in a
rare, respectful nod.
“Now,” Metatron continued, “like I said, Radiants are recognized in the womb, but the moment the
baby is born, they are no different than any other angel.” He shot Reaver a stern look. “That’s
important to remember later in the story.”
“So that was like foreshadowing in a movie. Gotcha. Committed to memory.”
“Your association with demons and humans has made you vexing at times.”
“Funny, I tell
them
they’re annoying.”
Metatron didn’t quite roll his eyes, but the desire practically radiated from him. “We sensed a
Radiant in your mother’s womb.”
Reaver’s breath caught. “The womb I was in?”
“No, the womb Mickey Mouse was in,” Metatron snapped. “Of course the womb you were in. Why
else would I be telling you this story?”
Reaver didn’t say anything, which was a measure of how hard the news had hit him.
“Your mother was pleased by the news, but she didn’t change her habits. As a battle angel, she
needed to fight, and Sandalphon remained at her side.” Metatron resumed pacing. “But we had a
traitor among us, and Satan learned of your mother’s pregnancy. He captured her and destroyed your
father. We tried to rescue her, but we lost legions of angels in the efforts.”
“None of this is in our histories,” Reaver said.
“No, it’s not. We erased it.”
“Wow. You guys are real fucking free with playing with people’s memories, aren’t you?”
That
earned him a lightning strike that put him on his ass with steam hissing off his skin. He wheezed, and
when he finally found his voice, it was as smoky and cooked as his body. “I’m guessing I hit your
limit?”
Metatron just smiled. “With all our efforts wasted and many lives lost, it was time for more
extreme measures. We were to go to war with Sheoul. But on the eve of battle, Lucifer met with me.
Your mother had given birth.” He pegged Reaver with a hard stare. “To fraternal twins.”
Reaver had been in the process of trying to stand, but at the news, his knees buckled and he went
back down. Hard. On his ass.
“Twins?”
Metatron nodded. “They run in the family. These twins were males. But there was no way of
knowing which boy was the potential Radiant. Lucifer brought a deal to the table. We would return
four very powerful fallen angels we’d captured and agree to never create another
sheoulghul
.” He
cocked an eyebrow. “
Sheoulghuls
are made from fallen angels. One per fallen. You can see why Satan
would want that practice stopped.” Reaver could only nod dumbly. He hadn’t known how they were
made. He’d had two dead fallen angels in his pocket for days. “In trade, they would give us one of the
boys and they would keep the other.”
Reaver could hardly breathe. So many questions rattled in his skull, but he couldn’t speak. He could
only listen, and even then, processing all of this was happening far too slowly.
Metatron continued. “Obviously, it was you we got back. Your mother, knowing you would be safe,
chose to stay with your brother to protect him. To this day, we have no idea what became of her.”
“Who raised me?”
“My mate and I raised you.”