by Larissa Ione
Her body.
And not just for sex. Some demons were all about torture and blood.
As a million horrible memories bubbled up, so did the contents of Revenant’s stomach. Rolling to his hands and knees, he retched. How could Heaven have left her to suffer that way? How could they have allowed one of their own to live like that? To be forced to give her body to demons in order to feed her child?
Anger struck hard and fast, scouring away the nausea and wretchedness with welcome, sterilizing flames.
Reaver watched him as he shoved to his feet. “You said you killed her.”
“Glad you aren’t deaf.” Revenant materialized himself a pack of gum.
Reaver ground his teeth so hard Revenant heard the scrape of enamel as he unwrapped a minty stick. “Why?”
“Why am I glad you aren’t deaf?” Rev asked, knowing damned well that wasn’t what Reaver was asking. “Well, it would make communication more difficult —”
Suddenly, Reaver’s hands fisted Rev’s jacket lapels and his angelic face was in his, teeth bared, eyes glowing with Heavenly fury. “Why did you kill our mother?”
“Heaven killed her,” Revenant spat. “When they left her to rot in hell, they signed her death warrant.”
Reaver shook him. Hard. “But it was your hand that did it. Tell me about it.”
“Fuck you.” Rev bared his teeth right back at his brother. “I laid all those memories to rest. No way in hell I’m popping the lids off those coffins.”
“I have the right to know.”
“Do you?” Revenant threw Reaver off of him like a sack of potatoes. His brother tumbled through the air, striking one of the cathedral’s famous stone gargoyles and breaking off one of its wings. “Because from where I’m standing, you don’t have the right to know jack shit about my life. You abandoned me.”
Reaver flashed himself in front of Revenant again. “I abandoned you? I was a newborn infant when I was taken to Heaven. How could I have done anything?”
“Not that,” Rev snapped. “When I came to you at Megiddo. When I told you who I was. Do you remember that?”
“No,” Reaver said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I have no recollection of you telling me I was your brother and that you’d murdered our mother.”
Rev hadn’t used the word murder, but hell, why not. Didn’t matter that she’d begged him to do it and that he’d done it out of mercy. The guilt ate at him like acid.
“You freaked the fuck out,” Rev yelled. “You didn’t wait for an explanation. You got your halo all bent out of shape, and you went on a damned rampage. And because of that, because you left me to go raze some goat-herder villages and shit, we lost our memories for thousands of years. That’s on you, you fucking asshole. You.”
Okay, sure, Rev wasn’t entirely blameless, given that he’d done his own share of demolition, but most of his wrath had been focused on Sheoul, not the human realm.
Shame flickered in Reaver’s sapphire eyes. “I was having a bad day —”
“Oh, right. You’d just found out that you’d sired the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and that your precious Verrine lied to you about it.” Revenant rolled his eyes. “Waa. I grew up in hell, tortured almost every day. I watched our mother suffer unspeakable horrors. Your spoiled ass got lied to.” He jabbed Reaver in the sternum. “Well, fuck you, brother. It’s a damned good thing Heaven took you instead of me, because your pansy ass would never have survived in Sheoul.”
Maybe that was why their mother gave up Reaver. Not because she loved him best, but because she thought he was too weak to survive life in Sheoul.
Revenant was going to run with that theory. It was much easier to swallow than the alternative.
It was also less believable, but fuck it.
Reaver averted his gaze, suddenly becoming interested in his boots. “Neither one of us should have had to live like that.” He lifted his lids, and his eyes glowed with regret. Or maybe it was pity. Either way, it just made Revenant angrier. “But now you’re here, and it doesn’t have to be like this.”
“Like what? Like you being all perfect and angelic, and me being an evil bastard?” He laughed. “Sorry, Pollyanna, but it is that way.” The broken gargoyle wing seemed to stare accusingly at him from where it had landed on the rooftop, and with a thought, Revenant repaired the stone statue. Destroying historical treasures was not cool.
“You’re an angel. Let me talk to the archangels —”
“What, you really believe they’re going to welcome me with open arms? They haven’t done it so far. And what makes you think I’d want that? Maybe I like my life.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” he shot back. “You don’t know what I’ve done in the name of evil.”
“It doesn’t matter. Things are different now. You are different.”
Revenant snorted. “Tell me, brother, can you see anything at all through your rose-colored glasses?”
He looked up at the fluffy cumulus clouds meandering across a field of blue, remembering the first time he’d seen the sky when he’d emerged from the dark depths of Sheoul. He’d been endlessly fascinated, staring in wonder and trying to figure out what magic kept the clouds in the air. But that boyish wonder was gone now, and with a thought, he poofed them out of existence. He hadn’t been able to manipulate the weather before, but with the Shadow Angel upgrade he could whip up nuclear-grade hurricanes if he wanted to.
He wondered how long it would be before Satan had him doing exactly that, just to kill humans and piss off Heaven.
Dammit. He needed to stop fucking around. Satan had given him a week to prove his loyalty and willingness to play for Team Sheoul, and his evil side was cool with that – as long as he didn’t have to lick Lucifer’s boots. But his status as an angel confused him, made him want to honor his mother.
He wouldn’t be honoring her if he chose to serve the demon who had made both of their lives unbearably horrible.
Sure, she’d told him a million times that in order to survive, he’d have to do distasteful, wicked things. But he doubted that killing legions of angels and dropping natural disasters on top of humans was what she meant.
“Tell you what,” he said, hoping he wasn’t making a huge mistake. “I’ve been trying to contact Metatron. Hell, I’d settle for any archangel at this point. Take me to them, and I’ll see what they have to offer.”
Reaver closed his eyes, not even bothering to hide his relief that maybe his wayward brother was finally coming around. “I’ll talk to them. Arrange a meeting.”
“I don’t have time to wait around,” Revenant said. “Take me to them. Now.”
Reaver shook his head. “I have strict orders to keep you out of Heaven. They don’t want your taint to defile the realm. If you can —”
“My… taint?” Fury seared to ash every ounce of amity he’d been willing to extend. “Defile? They left me to rot in hell, erased my memories, and let me think I was something I wasn’t for more than five thousand fucking years, and now they have the nerve to say I’ll desecrate Heaven with my presence? Well, fuck you, Reaver. Fuck you and fuck them.”
“Dammit, Rev!” Reaver shouted. “What do you want?”
What did he want? That was easy. He wanted to belong somewhere. He wanted a life of his choosing, where he didn’t have to fear being drawn and quartered for some minor infraction. He wanted choices. Answers. He wanted to feel comfortable in his own skin again. Because as evil and vicious as he’d been before he regained his memories, at least he’d known who he was.
But he wasn’t going to tell his brother any of that. He’d only sound like a whiny imp, and besides, Reaver, with his rainbow-and-unicorn life, couldn’t possibly understand.
“I want for you to fuck off, just like I said.” He changed his hair back to black and flared his gold-and-silver-threaded ebony wings, reminding Reaver how very opposite they were. “Good chat, bro. We’ll have to do it again sometim
e. As the French say, Au revoir, mon frère.”
Eight
Harvester waited for a long time after Revenant dematerialized before she worked up the guts to step outside the quantamun and make herself visible to her ex-slave. This was something she should have done weeks ago, the moment she was reinstated as a Heavenly angel.
But anxiety and shame had kept her away. What if he hated her for all of those years as her servant? What if he hated her for passing his slave bond to someone else? Although she couldn’t imagine that he’d hate belonging to Jillian. The human, immortal thanks to her bond with Reseph, was a gentle soul with a streak of kindness inside her a mile long.
Taking a deep, bracing breath, Harvester walked toward the barn, the cool, fresh Colorado mountain breeze bringing with it the sweet scent of wildflowers and the tang of coming rain. As she approached, the snort of a horse and the bleats of goats joined the sound of hay being moved around with a pitchfork. Did Tracker like his job?
No matter what, it had to be better than spending all his time in her old residence, where he’d cooked, cleaned, and tended to her needs… all of them.
Her stomach rolled, and she halted at the edge of the gravel drive that connected the barn to the main house. This was a bad idea. She shouldn’t be here. She had other things to do, like wash her hair. And the Grim Reaper himself, Azagoth, had, just days ago, called in a debt she owed him, which meant she had an angel to hunt down. Stamtiel was also on Heaven’s most-wanted list, so nailing him to the wall, literally, took priority over having a chat with her former slave.
Having talked herself into a new course of action, she ignited the spark of power she needed to flash out of there, and… let it snuff out.
Seeing Tracker again wasn’t for her benefit. It was for his. No doubt he had plenty to say to her, and he deserved a chance to say it. Besides, as Jillian’s mate’s Watcher, Harvester was bound to run into him sooner or later. Might as well get it over with.
Then there was the fact that she seemed to be weakening as Gethel’s pregnancy progressed, and she might not have many opportunities to see Tracker again. She could feel Lucifer growing stronger, and with every passing day, Harvester grew more tired and her powers were more difficult to summon. Only when she was in Heaven did she feel whole. How long would it be before she was forced to reside there permanently? She’d lose her job as Watcher, and she’d never again attend family functions with Reaver, which had, surprisingly, become one of her favorite things to do. The Horsemen and their mates had finally accepted her as part of the family, and she couldn’t give that up.
But would she have to if Lucifer kept sucking her energy like a dire leech?
Was it possible that she could even die?
She hadn’t told Reaver any of her fears, hadn’t told him the extent of the growing weakness, but he knew something was up. She could see it in his eyes, could feel it in the way he touched her as if she were made of crystal.
She hated being treated like an invalid.
Decision made, she rounded the corner to the front of the barn and stepped through the open door.
Instantly, Tracker wheeled around, pitchfork poised to attack. When he saw her, he froze solid, his eyes wide with surprise.
“Hello, Tracker,” she said softly.
The pitchfork began to tremble, and Harvester’s heart, still hardened by thousands of years of scar tissue, managed to crack wide open.
“You don’t have to say anything.” She took a step closer. He didn’t move, but his grip on the farm tool became white-knuckled. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
“You… you’re an angel now.” His deep, smoky voice gave her a sense of comfort; he’d been the one constant in her life for decades.
“Who’d have thought, huh?” Certainly not her.
“Are you going to take me back?”
She couldn’t tell if his question was hopeful… or fearful. “Why? Do you want me to?”
Very slowly, the pitchfork lowered, and so did his head, until he was looking at his boots, his sandy hair concealing his expression. “No,” he whispered. “I like it here.”
Relief sang through her. “Good. I wanted that for you.”
His head came up, and the skepticism in his gaze pierced her right through the heart. “You wanted me to be happy?”
Oh, damn, this had been a mistake. He must have been so miserable with her, even though she’d tried to treat him well. As well as she could without drawing suspicions, anyway. Being nice to him would have set off alarm bells for anyone who witnessed it. She had been in hell as a spy for Heaven, and there was no way she could expose herself, not even by being nice to a slave.
“I know you don’t believe me, but yes, I wanted that for you.”
He looked down at his feet again. “Thank you for rescuing me from my former master. And thank you for giving me to Jillian.” He shuddered. “But you should go now.”
That was the first time Harvester had ever heard him be assertive, even if it was only tentative.
“Tracker? Look at me.” When he didn’t, that small act of resistance made her smile. But she really did need him to look at her. “Tracker! Eyes up.” This time he lifted his head, and the flash of defiance in his gaze gave her hope. “Next time you tell someone to leave, look them in the eye. You have the right to your own life now. Only Jillian can take away your freedom, and somehow I doubt she’s done that. In fact, I’m guessing she had to force you into your own private cabin, didn’t she? And she’s not making you clean the barn, either. You need something to do, so she’s letting you help around the house. Am I right?”
He nodded.
“Good,” she said. “Now, tell me to leave, and do it like you mean it.”
His throat worked on a swallow, then two, but finally, he met her gaze with a rock-steady one of his own. Deep inside his amber eyes, the werewolf inside him sparked to life for the first time since she’d known him.
“You need to go.”
“Better.” Even though her chest ached, she was proud of him. Stepping close, she took his hand and pressed a coin into his palm. “If you ever need me, this coin will allow you to summon me. I’ll be there. Take care, Tracker.” She started to dematerialize, but he grabbed her wrist.
“Wait.” His grip was strong, sure, but his voice was gentle as he said, “I’m glad you’re an angel now.”
With that, he pivoted around and began tossing hay around as if she weren’t still there. She lingered only a heartbeat before flashing away.
At least he didn’t see the tears in her eyes.
After leaving Eidolon’s office, Blaspheme took the hospital’s Harrowgate to the clinic. Things were slow this afternoon, with only three people waiting to be seen in the reception area. She was still rattled by Eidolon’s mention of nearby angels, but she reached up to run her fingers over her stethoscope as she walked, reminding herself that she was a professional, and right now, people needed her.
Nerves contained if not completely soothed, she spent the next six hours with patients, and then she stopped by her mother’s room.
Deva was sleeping, but she cracked open her bloodshot eyes as Blaspheme studied her chart.
“Blas,” she croaked. “I haven’t seen you in hours. I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Of course I am.” Never mind that there might be angelic assassins waiting to slaughter them both. She smiled reassuringly and sank down in a chair next to the bed. “How are you feeling?”
Deva closed her eyes again. “Like someone put me into an industrial-sized blender.”
“That’s pretty much what you looked like when I saw you yesterday.” She took her mother’s hand, which had healed from most of the defensive wounds she’d gotten. “What do you remember about the attack? How many angels were there? More than one?”
Eyes still closed, her mother nodded. “There were two Eradicators. They neutralized my wards and broke into my house while I was preparing for your concealment ritual.”
&n
bsp; Blaspheme ground her molars. “I said no. We’re not doing it.”
Deva’s eyes popped open, but instead of being glazed with pain, they were sparking with fury. “You will do it, Daughter. You’ve known since the beginning that the spell has a shelf life of a hundred and eighty years. You’ve gone past the expiration date by twenty, and you’re running on fumes. I didn’t go through two hundred years of hell and hiding for you to be selfish now.”
She was calling Blaspheme selfish? For not wanting to take a life to preserve her own? That was rich. Deva was the most self-centered person she knew.
“Are you losing your False Angel powers?” Deva asked.
Blaspheme white-knuckled her mother’s medical chart. “Some are gone,” she admitted. “My wings no longer produce aphrodisiac powder. My X-ray vision is failing. I can’t charm people into not getting angry anymore.” She really missed that one.
“Are you developing any vyrm abilities?”
“Not yet.”
Deva sighed. “It won’t be long. Once vyrm powers appear, everyone will know what you are.” She squeezed Blaspheme’s hand. “We have to perform the ritual. Now. Before I die.”
“You’re not going to die, and we’ve been over this.” Blas slammed the chart down on the bedside table. “No sacrifices. I’ll find another way.”
“This is the only way.” Deva struggled to sit up, was grateful when Blaspheme pushed a button to raise the head of the bed. “You’re almost out of time. No more stalling. The Eradicators are onto us. I have a False Angel picked out for you. She’s healthy, powerful, and a real slut. When you absorb her essence, you’ll feel like yourself again. Maybe you’ll finally get laid.”