The bitch. He had no idea how she knew about his memory loss, but she loved needling him about how he couldn’t remember his life beyond events that led to his fall. Oh, he’d known things about Heaven and history and people, but he couldn’t remember the details of his existence before he’d met Patrice Kelley, the woman who had eventually convinced him to break such a critical rule that he’d been cast from Heaven.
Neither could anyone else. Even the Akashic records, the ultimate Heavenly database that contained the knowledge of everything, revealed nothing. It was as if Reaver had been erased.
“That was just a warning,” Harvester continued, her voice a deep purr. She was enjoying this. “Your love of breaking rules is well known. Don’t even think about finding loopholes to help the Horsemen.” She smiled, flashing fangs. “See, I have some Heavenly contacts, and I’ll make sure that the next time you fall, there will be no redemption. Only fire and pain.”
With a delicate wave, she flashed away, leaving Reaver alone on the ice, bleeding and shaken. He couldn’t afford to fall again. Doing so meant bypassing the earthbound, in-between stage and going straight to Sheoul, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.
So no, Reaver wouldn’t break rules. But he would find a way to pay Harvester back. And when the Final Battle came, she would be the first demon he destroyed.
Harvester flashed herself to her opulent apartment in the Horun region of Sheoul… and screamed. Screamed until her throat went raw. Screamed until her blood slave, a huge male werewolf she called Whine, covered his ears and went to his knees.
When her voice finally went out, she took a few calming breaths, poured herself a shot of Neethul marrow wine, and downed it. The outrageously expensive liquor, made by the demon slave traders, burned like liquid fire and then sat in her belly like a lump of coal. The agony only lasted a moment, and then came the payoff, several minutes of orgasmic ecstasy so intense she had to lean on Whine as she shuddered through the pleasure.
When it was over, she sank down next to him, partly because her legs wouldn’t support her, and partly because she needed to feed. Silently, because he wasn’t allowed to speak unless she told him to, he tilted his head to the side, exposing his jugular. The shackles around his ankles clanked as she shifted to sink her fangs into his neck, and it occurred to her that her chains might be invisible, but she was just as much a prisoner to her fate as he was.
Frustration made her rougher than she normally would be with Whine, and he jerked with each of her vicious pulls on his vein. But dammit, the last two days had been hell… no pun intended. Her fury—and thirst for revenge—was why she’d destroyed his cave. She’d needed to strike back, even if the blow was a minor one.
The problem? Reaver. She hadn’t known the do-gooding angel was in the caves when she’d collapsed the mountain. She could have told him the truth when he’d attacked her, but he wouldn’t have believed her, and worse, she’d have been left trying to explain why she’d wanted to demolish Pestilence’s old residence in the first place.
And now, if Reaver didn’t keep his big mouth shut, Pestilence would find out that she’d been the one to destroy his cave.
She shuddered, remembering how, after he was through with her in that Mexican villa, he’d crouched over her naked, broken body and whispered roughly in her ear.
That was just a taste of what I will do to you next time. You answer to me now, not the other way around. Remember that. Piss me off again, and I’ll rip you a new asshole and then fuck it. And that’s just the foreplay.
Oh, she hated him. Right now, she and Reaver couldn’t do much more than monitor the Horsemen’s activities and report back to their bosses, and anything they did do to help or any information they provided had to be cleared first by said bosses. Information such as how Ares’s agimortus could be transferred to humans… that tidbit had been okayed for revealing just yesterday. Why, she didn’t know. She’d learned long ago that she, along with most every other being in the universe, was nothing but a game piece.
Now she just had to figure out how to play. Because as terrified as she’d been at times over the thousands of years she’d been in Sheoul, it was nothing compared to how afraid she was right now. Armageddon was right around the corner, and for the first time, she wasn’t sure if her life in hell would be worse if evil lost… or if it won.
Five
Still torqued from the conversation with Reaver and Harvester, Ares knocked on Cara’s front door and waited. And waited. Just as he raised his fist to knock again, he heard footsteps, and then a muffled, “Who is it?”
“Name’s, ah, Jeff.” That was a common human name, wasn’t it? “I wanted to check on the dog I dropped off last night.” She wouldn’t remember the dog, thanks to his memory deletions, but it would be interesting to see how she handled this.
Silence. More silence. Then, finally, came the metallic clicks of the multitude of locks being manipulated. The door cracked open, but only as far as the chain would allow. Those chains were ridiculous. Any normal-sized male could force the door, and Ares wasn’t normal. He could break it with his pinky.
“Dog?”
Put her at ease. Smile. Create explanations for everything that seemed odd this morning. “Yeah. You know, the injured dog I brought you last night.”
Her eyes flared in what he suspected might be recognition. He hoped to hell not. His mind-wipes might not be as effective as Than’s or Limos’s—she could actually replace memories—but they still did the job. Maybe the hellhound bond had affected his ability.
“Who are you?” she asked. “You’re not from around here.”
“I’m thinking about moving here. Staying with cousins in town until I find a place. They told me you’re a vet.” He hoped he’d gotten that detail right, and that all the stuff in her office was actually hers.
“I’m not,” she said with a strange hitch in her voice. “Not really.”
What was that supposed to mean? He shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to look nonthreatening. Should have gone for the flip-flops. “Look, it’s not my dog, so if it died, you can tell me. I just figured I’d pay you for his care and apologize for waking you and leaving him on the lawn. I didn’t think you were going to open the door to a stranger in the middle of the night.”
“Yes, thank you. Um… I’m afraid the dog didn’t make it. I’m sorry.”
“S’okay. Didn’t think he would. He was bleeding pretty bad.” He pulled a wad of money out of his pocket. “What do I owe you?”
Cara eyed the cash as if it were food and she was starving. Remembering the bills on her coffee table, he prepared himself for an outrageous quote. “You don’t owe me anything,” she sighed, surprising the shit out of him. “Thanks for coming by.”
He shrugged. “I appreciate you trying.” He shoved the money back in his pocket and recalled what she’d said on the phone. “Weirdest thing. I dreamed about that damned dog last night. He was in a cage, howling like he wanted to tell me something.” He turned, took one step off the porch, and smiled when he heard the chain clank on the door.
“Wait. You… dreamed about a dog? A black dog? The dog you brought to me?”
He swung back around. “Yeah. Why?”
“Because,” she said softly, “I did, too.” The door creaked wider, but she still stood behind it and peeked around, as if using it as a shield. “In my dream he was in a basement. You, too?”
He widened his eyes in mock surprise. “Yeah. What else do you remember?”
Reluctance bled into her body language, the way she gripped the door so hard her knuckles turned white and worried her bottom lip. “The cage was in the center of some sort of big circle. With symbols.”