by Larissa Ione
“And I fucked that up.” Reaver’s gaze was tormented. Just days ago, hell, hours ago, Rev would have savored his brother’s pain like the most decadent dessert. Now it turned his stomach. “I’m sorry, Revenant. Damn, I am so sorry. I didn’t know what you’d gone through —”
“Would it have mattered?” He exploded to his feet, the agony of losing his mother and then being rejected by his brother washing over him as fresh and vivid as if it had happened yesterday. “You hated me on sight.”
“No, Revenant.” Reaver came to his feet slowly, as if he was concerned about a sudden move setting Rev off. He looked down at his boots, his perfect hair falling forward to conceal his face, and Rev realized that, for the first time, he hadn’t changed his own hair color to match his brother’s. “I hated myself. We might not be identical twins, but in you I saw myself. I saw someone who had been lied to, and I made it about me, when it should have been about us.” Suddenly, he tugged Revenant against him, and it was a relief to find that Reaver was trembling as forcefully as Rev was. “I can’t pretend to understand what you went through with our mother, but you need to know that nothing that happened to her was your fault. It was her choice to stay with you, and it was her choice to die.”
They remained like that for a long time, until Reaver pulled back and said the words Revenant had wanted to hear for so long, but couldn’t admit even to himself.
“I won’t abandon you again,” Reaver swore. “We’re brothers, and it’s past time we acted like it.”
Revenant had no idea how to do that. For that matter, he didn’t know if they’d even have the chance.
“I wish we had time,” Rev said, his voice still beat to hell from the trip down memory lane. “But I have to protect Blaspheme, and the longer I wait, the worse it could be for her.”
“You mentioned something about Satan, Gethel, and Lucifer?”
Rev nodded. “I have a plan, but I’m going to need an angel.”
Reaver cocked an eyebrow. “An angel?”
“Satan wants me to prove my loyalty. Which means he wants both Blaspheme and an angel. I’m not giving him Blaspheme. Don’t suppose you know of an angel who deserves a fate worse than death.”
Reaver smiled grimly. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
“If you’re thinking of the same asshole I’m thinking of, this plan might work.”
“What plan?”
“One that could get us both killed.”
Reaver snorted. “Should have led with that. I’m in.”
Clearly, recklessness ran in the family. “You haven’t heard the plan.”
“Then lay it on me,” Reaver said. “We’re going to do this thing, and we’re going to do it together, the way we were born.”
And the way they were probably going to die.
“Hello, Raphael.”
The archangel nearly jumped out of his skin, which Reaver thought was pretty damned funny. Raphael liked to pretend he was cool and collected, often emulating Metatron – poorly. Now Reaver knew why he did that.
He wanted Metatron’s job.
“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” Raphael eyed Reaver’s gold wings, which Reaver had taken out to remind the archangel that he was about a thousand times more powerful than Raphael.
“I came to ask how long you’d been plotting to take down Metatron.”
Raphael laughed, sounding genuinely amused. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have time to toy with you, so I’m just going to put it all out there. I know you’ve been working with Stamtiel for at least two hundred years. So I’m going to give you a choice. Either I take you to Metatron for your execution, or I give you a fighting chance at survival.”
“Go ahead.” Raphael crossed his arms over his chest. “Take me to Metatron. You have no evidence —”
“I have Stamtiel.”
Every drop of blood drained from Raphael’s face. “You’re lying.”
Reaver used his mind to display a live feed on the far wall. A live feed showing Harvester standing next to a gagged and bound male angel. She grinned and waved. Reaver waved back, and she blew him a kiss, followed by a naughty wink.
“As you can see, he’s alive and willing to squeal in exchange for his life.” His life, however, was already forfeit. Harvester was just waiting for the go-ahead.
“How?” Raphael rasped. “How did you find him?”
“I wish I could take credit, but Azagoth did all the footwork. We’ll handle the wet work.” Reaver shook his head. “You should have known better than to mess with the Grim Reaper’s mate.”
“It wasn’t me! It was Stamtiel —”
Reaver punched the archangel in his lying mouth, relishing the sound of knuckles striking flesh. Too bad Raphael healed instantly, the blood from his split lip vanishing almost before it formed full droplets.
“You gave the order,” Reaver snarled. “It’s time. It’s time you paid for every heinous act you’ve committed. But do you want to know what act truly secured your place at the top of my revenge list?”
Reaver moved toward the archangel slowly, using every step to ratchet up the fear in the bastard’s eyes. Raphael tried to flash out of there, but Reaver had already placed a restrictive shield over the residence. Raphael wasn’t going anywhere.
“Please,” Raphael begged. “Everything I’ve done was for the good of the realm —”
“The realm? Seriously? Was it good for the realm when you stole my daughter’s unborn baby and tried to implant it in Gethel’s womb?”
“I gave the baby back,” Raphael protested, his voice degenerating into a pathetic whine that only pissed Reaver off more.
“Only because Harvester agreed to sleep with you in exchange.” Reaver caught the archangel by the throat and lifted him into the air. “I’d kill you now, but I have other plans.”
“Please —”
“Shut up. It’s time that you paid for your evil deeds. You, Raphael, are going to reap what you have sown.”
Thirty
Blaspheme paced around the cafeteria table that had become her temporary office, her mind spitting out a million different ideas to end the hospital siege, get Satan and Raphael off her back, and still be able to keep Revenant. Most of her ideas could solve one of the issues, a few could solve two, but not one touched on all three.
There had to be a way. She couldn’t give up Revenant. She didn’t care if she had to be on the run for the rest of her life. But she couldn’t put him at risk for Satan’s wrath, either.
Revenant materialized a few feet away, and she immediately ran to him. “What happened? Where’s Reaver?”
Revenant drew her into his arms and held her tight, but the sensation of rightness and comfort shifted to tension when she felt the taut lines of his body. Something was wrong.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” he whispered into her hair.
His chest muffled her voice. “Revenant, you’re scaring me.”
“Listen to me,” he said, pulling back so he could look her in the eye. “Raphael is no longer going to be a problem for you or your mother, and the angels outside are already dispersing. But I need you to go through with the Pruosi spell.”
“Dammit, what’s going on?”
He framed her face in his warm hands with such care that she could hardly believe this was once the infamous male known as The Destroyer. “I’m going to make sure that Satan never bothers you again.”
Her stomach churned, and she wondered if her lunch was going to be making a second appearance. “I really don’t like the sound of this.”
“This is important,” he said gravely, which did nothing to ease the nauseated tumble in her belly. “If I don’t return, Reaver will make sure you’re safe. Just promise me you’ll perform the spell.”
Her pulse went all erratic, as if it were tapping out Morse code for Oh, shit against the walls of her arteries.
“If you don’t return?” She gripp
ed his biceps, digging her nails into his jacket as if trying to muscle him into staying. “Revenant, no. Whatever it is you have planned, you can’t do it.”
“I have to. I need you to be safe.” He stroked his knuckles along her jaw so gently she wanted to weep. “And it’s been a long time coming. I’ve never believed in fate before, but this feels… right.”
“Please don’t,” she begged, not caring that her pride was in the toilet. “You can’t. You can’t come into my life, make me fall for you, and then leave me!”
“You fell for me?” One side of his mouth ruffled in a cocky smile.
“How can you not know that,” she whispered.
Dipping his head, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her sweetly. Reverently. “Thank you. I’ve lived more in the last week than I lived in my entire life. You are a butterfly, Blaspheme. Your beauty transforms everything around you.”
He stepped back, and panic seized her. “No.” She reached for him, but he sidestepped and nodded to someone behind her. Too late she realized what was happening. Eidolon’s strong arms folded around her, caging her against his broad chest and rendering her unable to get to Revenant no matter how hard she struggled. “No!” she screamed. “Don’t do this.”
For a torturous, fleeting second, she swore she saw tears in Revenant’s eyes. And then he was gone. She stared at the empty air where Revenant had once stood, and when her brain caught up with her eyes, she collapsed against Eidolon and sobbed.
Sobbed until there was nothing left.
Revenant was still reeling from his good-bye with Blaspheme when he flashed to Gethel’s residence. By some miracle, Blaspheme had fallen for him, which made leaving her even worse. Especially because he’d fallen for her, too, and the very real possibility that he might not ever see her again made his heart clench.
It also made him angry. He’d lived five thousand years alone, and he’d finally found the female who brought out the angel inside him he hadn’t known existed… and Satan was going to take that away from him.
Anger fueled every step he took in search of Satan’s vile baby mama. He found her in her lush bedroom, wrapped in furs and studying herself in front of the mirror.
“Do you think I’m fat?” Gethel asked, peering at her side profile.
“As a cow.”
“Asshole.” She wheeled around with impressive speed, given that she was as big as a cow. A pregnant cow. “Did you bring that doctor bitch again?”
Gods, he was going to love taking her down. “I brought something better.”
Her pale eyes lit up. “What is it?”
“An archangel.”
With the way she flushed and began to pant, he thought she was going to orgasm right then and there. “Who?”
“Raphael. Do you know him?”
Her lips curled back from sharp, pointy teeth. “I despise him.” She looked past him, as if Raphael were standing in the doorway. “Where is he?”
“I had to leave him in the Temple of Gog. See?” In the center of the room, he cast a 3-D image of Raphael, bound and unconscious, next to the statue of Gog that sat along the temple’s back wall. Proof was always a good thing when you were going for deception. “Live angels can’t enter Satan’s territories. I figured I’d let you have a shot at him before I slaughter him and hand his head over to the Dark Lord.”
“Take me,” she said. “I want to feed on his haughty archangel blood.”
So predictable. “I can’t do that. Satan cast a spell on this place so no one can kidnap you.”
“I can leave of my own free will,” she said. “I’ll go myself. You’ll accompany me as protection.”
Her command made him grind his teeth, but accompanying her had been the plan all along. “Take my hand,” he said. “Temple of Gog.”
Grinning, she flashed them to the temple, fashioned from ancient Roman buildings to worship some of the earliest and most powerful demons to exist in Sheoul. As they materialized, Reaver lunged from where he’d been concealed behind a pillar and clamped a Tal around her throat. The glass cuff, made by angels to render fallen angels helpless, shaped itself into an invisible collar, squeezing hard enough to allow only wisps of air to pass through her windpipe.
Best of all, as her eyes bulged and she grasped at the Tal, she couldn’t speak.
“Where’s Raphael?” Rev asked, and Reaver gestured to a shadowed corner, where the archangel lay, unconscious, on his back. “Did you have any trouble?”
Reaver yanked Gethel toward Raphael. “Nope.”
Suddenly, Gethel’s face went exorcist, morphing into something horrible, and the thing in her belly began to push against her skin as if it wanted out.
“Shit,” Reaver snapped. “We need to hurry. Lucifer is strong even in her womb. If he were to be born now…”
He didn’t have to finish. The coming battle was going to be impossible to win as it was. Throwing in Lucifer, whose power was predicted to eclipse the power he’d wielded in his past life, was going to ensure that neither Revenant nor Reaver survived this. And Revenant had no doubt that once Lucifer was grown, he’d make everyone Reaver and Rev loved pay as well.
“I’m out of here. Get ready, Bro, because all hell is going to break loose.”
Literally.
Thirty-One
Revenant stood outside the entrance to Satan’s private baths, inhaling deeply. Again. And again. This was it. He was either going to do the impossible… or he was going to die.
He entered without knocking. Steam that reeked of sulphur swirled around him as he walked toward the bubbling pit in the center of the black-tiled room. Satan was in the pool with three females and a male, all different species.
Revenant didn’t wait for Satan to show surprise that he’d entered without an invitation. He blasted the four demons in the pit with a sweet Shadow Angel weapon that disintegrated the fuckers into nonexistence. Not even their souls survived.
“Revenant,” Satan hissed. “What the fuck are you do —”
Revenant attacked, tackling the demon as he rose from the water. They crashed onto the stone deck with a wet thud. Before Satan could even blink, Revenant slammed his fist into his throat.
It was like hitting a steel pipe.
Satan struck back with an uppercut into Rev’s gut, knocking him into the sacrificial table used to drain the blood of victims into the pool. The stone tabletop smashed into a dozen pieces, showering Rev with dust and pebbles.
“What the fuck is going on?” Satan’s roar of fury sent the ghastbats in the rafters into an explosion of squeaks and flapping wings.
Revenant pitched to his feet. “I got your damned angel. I’ve proved my loyalty, so you’re going to leave Blaspheme alone.”
Satan laughed. “You stupid bastard. I will have Blaspheme. No angel could be worth what I plan to do to her.”
The smug son of a bitch. “Not even an archangel?”
Instant mood shift. Satan wiped blood from his chin and stood a little straighter. “An archangel, you say.” A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth, and Revenant swore he saw a little drool. The bastard was taking the bait, just as Gethel had. “Is this archangel dead?”
Revenant shook his head. “I figured you’d want him alive, so I didn’t bring him here.” No living angel could enter this region of Sheoul, and if Revenant – or anyone – tried to flash a Heavenly being inside, he or she would materialize dead.
Yeah, Satan was drooling. “Where is he?”
“The Temple of Gog.”
The Prince of Lies nodded in approval. “Nice. His power will be limited there. Not that it matters, of course. I can kill him with my pinky.”
“I’d like to see that, my lord,” Revenant said. He’d pay to see that.
Satan narrowed his eyes. “Then why did you attack me?”
“Because,” Revenant said. “You questioned my loyalty. Don’t fucking do that again.”
Now Rev waited. The demon would either respect what Revenant had done
… or he’d fry him. Probably literally, given that one of Satan’s favorite torture methods involved a giant iron skillet and rendered Gargantua lard.
Finally, just as Revenant was contemplating the spices that would go best with Shadow Angel stir-fry, Satan’s black eyes locked onto him.
“You have balls made of brimstone, Revenant.” He bared fangs as sharp as blades. “But do it again and I’ll cut those balls off and feed them to Blaspheme. Understood?”
Rev inclined his head in the shallowest nod he could get away with and still appear respectful.
“Good. Now who is this archangel?”
“His name is Raphael.”
A slow, malevolent smile spread across Satan’s face, and his eyes glowed with unholy excitement. “I can’t wait to break him,” he said almost breathlessly. “Let’s go.”
Revenant and Satan materialized inside the Temple of Gog at the same time. In the next heartbeat, Reaver was there, snapping a Tal around the demon’s throat. Revenant leaped away as Satan roared in fury, his body contorting and expanding, growing taller and wider and fuck, this wasn’t going to be good. Rev hadn’t expected the Tal to work, and sure enough, they might as well have collared the demon with a silk ribbon.
“Now!” he shouted. “Hurry!”
Reaver didn’t have a chance to carry out the next phase of their plan. Satan’s snarl became a physical thing, a wall of hellfire that shot from him in a 360-degree shock wave of pain.
Revenant heard Reaver’s scream of agony even over his own hoarse cry. His skin blistered and peeled, layer upon layer, until he could see his own bones peeking out from charred muscle.