Eternal Rider

by Larissa Ione

  “Now,” she moaned, quivering with the need to explode.

  “Say please.” His thumb circled her nub, the pressure perfectly calculated to keep her in a holding pattern. The orgasm coiled tight, ready to go the moment Ares touched just the right spot… which he seemed to know. His torture was masterful, the way he kept her teetering on the edge. “Yield to me. Say it.”

  Females always yield to me.

  His arrogant words came back to her, but given what was going on right now, she supposed that his arrogance was justified. She’d give him this, but only because he’d worked for it. And because the promise of the best climax of her life balanced on one little word.

  “Please!” Her shout wasn’t intentional, but she’d hate herself for it later. The climax hit hard, dropped her into a freefall of pleasure so intense that the floor gave way beneath her, and all she could feel was ecstasy and Ares’s hard body as he absorbed her spasms. His fingers worked her through it, and as she came down, he did something sinfully twisty with his thumb, and set her off again.

  “Yes,” she gasped. “Oh… God.” The orgasm went on and on, and where had he learned to drag it out like that? No, she really didn’t want to know…

  His cheek grazed hers as he bent his head to whisper roughly into her ear, “How long has it been since a man has taken you?”

  Dazed, she had to repeat his question in her head a couple of times, and still, she didn’t quite understand. “Taken me?”

  “Fucked you.”

  Oh. Her cheeks heated, and she blinked up at him. “I’ve never been fucked, as you so delicately put it.” She was still breathless, and though his crude words should have turned her off, they only added to the struggle to take in enough air. “I’ve made love. And it’s been over two years.”

  “You made love.” His fingers still feathered over the pad of her sex as one eyebrow cocked up in amusement, and the mellow postorgasm bliss veered sharply to irritation.

  “There’s no need to make fun of me, just because I’m not like you.” She inhaled a couple of times, in desperate need of oxygen.

  The lovely play of his fingers stilled. “Like me?”

  “You aren’t human. Your mother is a… sex demon.” She tripped over that a little, because seriously, that was one of those things you never thought you’d say. “And violence and killing excite you.” She tripped over that, too, but for a different reason. And what about when you kill? Do you get off on it? She was like Ares. A tremor of revulsion would have knocked her off balance if not for Ares’s hold.

  A frosty glower replaced the amusement in his eyes. “I apologize for subjecting your pure, nonviolent self to my repulsive lusts. Thank you for bringing me to my senses.”

  Cara jerked, lanced by shock—not by what he said, but by the reason he’d said it. She’d hurt him. For some reason, the idea that he could be hurt had never occurred to her. He was… War. Sure, she’d seen a vulnerability in him after Chaos had left, and when Battle was injured, but this was different.

  Angry at herself for not seeing beyond his armor, she reached up and cupped his cheek. “I didn’t mean to judge—”

  “Yes,” he growled, as he reared away from her touch, “you did. Let me guess, you’re all missionary, all the time. Sweet and angelic. Human.” He practically spat that last word. “But me? I’m a demon with no morals.”

  “I didn’t say that. And I’m not all missionary,” she muttered, even though she sort of was. But only because her two lovers hadn’t been all that adventurous.

  “No?”

  “No.”

  Wrong thing to say, because a wicked glint of I’ll-prove-you-wrong competitiveness sparked in his eye, and he put his mouth to her ear, his lips a whisper on her skin, just like his voice. “Have you ever done it on your hands and knees, mounted from behind? How about in the shower, against the wall, being driven into while you slide up and down the tile?” His teeth caught her earlobe, and she arched against him with a moan. “Or sitting on the bench, while he goes to his knees and licks you between the legs? Maybe you on top, sucking cock while he tongues you? Ever use honey, Cara? Hot wax? A riding crop?”

  The erotic images jumbled in her head, leaving her breathless, dizzy, and speechless.

  “Didn’t think so.” Ares shut off the water and grabbed a towel off the heated rack. Before she could protest, he’d wrapped it around her and was leading her to the bedroom.

  She stopped him just short of the bed. “Wait. I don’t understand. Why did you ask me all those things if you weren’t going to… you know.”

  “Fuck you?” His laughter rumbled deep and harsh in his chest, which she just noticed was smooth, hairless—utterly lickable. “Is that what you really want?”

  Yes. “Of course not.” Really, no. This thing between them had already gone too far, and she had enough problems as it was. The last thing she needed right now was to get involved with anyone, let alone an immortal half-demon whose brother wanted her dead.

  “Of course not,” he repeated, bitterness dripping from his words. “Doesn’t matter. You’re not strong enough to handle what I have to offer anyway.”

  Again, the talk of her weakness. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

  “But I know what I’m capable of.” He peeled back the sheets and nudged her toward the bed. “You were right, Cara. I’m a demon. All I’ve known my entire life is fighting. Battle, sex, it’s all the same to me. I fuck like I fight, until the other person is begging for mercy. Trust me, you don’t want to be part of it. I was wrong to think anything else.” His hands came down on her shoulders, and he pushed her onto the mattress. “Sleep. Locate your mutt.”

  She glared, stung by his rejection, and she didn’t even know why. She didn’t want him. What she wanted was her life back.

  And you want that life back… why?

  Because in her old life, she might be on the verge of being homeless, but she hadn’t been dying. Demons and evil legends weren’t chasing her.

  No hot men were stroking her to orgasm in their showers.

  Frustrated by the direction of her thoughts, she jerked the sheet over her, rolled to the side, and smashed her face into squishy softness. Her anger ebbed, replaced by confusion. “You brought me a pillow.”

  He gave a casual shrug, but a pink blush smudged his cheeks. “You should be comfortable when you sleep. To find the hound,” he added quickly. As if his feet were on fire, he swept out of the bedroom.

  He’d been embarrassed about doing something nice.

  Cara stared after him, a sense of disquiet stirring her thoughts. Ares was a hard man—what she’d expect from an ancient warrior. But she’d seen him care for his horse, for the baby goat-demon thing. She felt his gentle touch, his protectiveness. And he’d been thoughtful enough to bring her a pillow.

  So why did all of that bother her when she should be happy to know that he was more than a cold-blooded killing machine?

  Because you don’t want to like him. Everyone you love holds you at arm’s length. If Ares was capable of caring about her, he’d hurt her, the way her ex had. The way her family had, even if unintentionally, by treating her as if she was different.

  The brand, which always tingled in Ares’s presence, stopped, as if punctuating that point. Absently, she looked down, and stifled a cry. No longer angry crimson, it was the color of a dying rose.

  Her first instinct was to leap out of bed, get dressed, and demand access to Ares’s library and computer. Her second instinct was to curl up in a ball and sob. That second instinct? Something that had developed since the attack two years ago.

  Screw that. She swung her feet over the side of the bed and grabbed the duffel full of clothes. She might have sworn to never kill again, but she hadn’t sworn to give up on life. She was going to live.

  When Pestilence was Reseph, he had, for the most part, avoided Sheoul. He’d descended into the demon realm to hang out at the Four Horsemen, but other than that, it ha
d been too depressing. Reseph had liked parties and vacations and surfing. If it got the adrenaline pumping, the females purring, and the alcohol flowing, he was so there.

  Reseph had been a pussy of epic proportions.

  Pestilence ran his tongue over the sharp point of a fang as he crossed the threshold of his Sheoulin dungeon… which wasn’t actually in Sheoul. Technically, it wasn’t a dungeon, either. When his Seal had broken, he’d gained a massively cool ability… he could turn areas of the human realm into land claimed in the name of hell. Now, in the basement of the Austrian manor he’d commandeered, demons who normally couldn’t leave Sheoul could hang out in the human world and enjoy luxuries they’d never known, which included the ability to torment humans.

  And they’d turned the basement into a Disneyland of torture and misery.

  Reseph would have been mortified. Pestilence was orgasmic.

  Pained screams and moans joined laughter and pleasurable grunts. The mouthwatering scent of blood and lust teased Pestilence’s nostrils, mingled with the stench of death, bowels, and charred bone and flesh. All kinds of earthly and demonic creatures hung from various hooks and chains on the walls and from the ceiling, and different species of demons skittered around, some of them playing, others performing tasks Pestilence had given them.

  Starting an Apocalypse required a lot more help than he would have thought.

  A graceful, elflike demon carrying a spiked club crossed the room when he saw Pestilence. A Neethul slave trader, Mordiin was Pestilence’s right-hand man, his ruthlessness and uncanny ability to sense fallen angels making him indispensable.

  Mordiin had located the two Unfallen that were currently chained down here. Mordiin had found them wandering the human realm, minding their own business, and Pestilence had grabbed them. Instead of destroying them, as he’d been doing to keep Ares’s agimortus from being transferred yet again, he’d dragged them here.

  Oh, they were still going to die, but first he had special plans for them.

  “My lord,” Mordiin rumbled. “We have destroyed four more hellhounds.”

  “Good work. Only what, a few thousand left to go?” He hated those fucking things. They were the one weapon that could be used against him, and he wanted them gone. Even Chaos, whom Pestilence had convinced to work with him. Once that mutt rendered Ares immobile, Pestilence was going to kill him. Double-crosses were part of being evil, after all.

  “Slaughtering the hounds took a heavy toll on us,” Mordiin said. “We lost several good fighters, more than we lost in the capture of the fallen angels.”

  Pestilence snorted at that. Demons were a dime a dozen. “Keep killing the hellhounds, but capture one alive. And tell me you’ve finished with the other tasks.”

  Mordiin inclined his head, and his white hair fell forward, catching on his pointed ears. “Your message has been prepared. The structure is built and ready for delivery.”

  Excellent. The two Unfallens were going to make memorable gifts for Ares. “What about the Aegi?”

  Mordiin gestured to a bloody human strapped to a table. “Like the others, this one knows nothing. He’s too low-ranking to provide any useful information.”

  Cocking his head, Pestilence studied the man, whose mouth was open in a silent scream as one of the imps worked him over with a hot poker. “Why can’t I hear his agony?”

  Mordiin shrugged. “His screams blew out his voice box.”

  Interesting. “Tell the turncoat Aegi that unless he provides us with more substantial results, he’ll be the next victim on the table.” He’d hate to have to permanently maim David, who had been a high-ranking Aegis member and had so far given up a lot of great intel, but Pestilence was getting desperate. He had to find Deliverance, and someone in The Aegis must know where the dagger was.

  “Let’s finish the angels and the Aegi. Time to deliver the message to Ares.”

  When Ares stepped out into the hall, face hot and still dripping wet and ready to explode out of his skin from the unspent sexual energy, he ran into Limos, who was propped against the wall, suitcase at her feet. She’d changed into a glaringly bright muumuu, and her impish smile told him everything he needed to know about how long she’d been there.

  “Wow,” she chirped. “Didn’t take you long to get into her pants. And here I thought Reseph was the charmer in the family.”

  He brushed past her, water sloshing in his boots. “Don’t start.” Each squishy step took him blessedly farther away from Cara and brought back the return of his seismic battle senses. It was unsettling to be with her, for his body and mind to experience stillness, as if the world had stopped moving. The lack of distraction left him too focused on her—and on his desires.

  Not acceptable.

  But neither was how fast his inner tuning fork was starting to vibrate. Ever since Reseph’s Seal had broken, the buzz of worldly violence had intensified, but this new buzz was different, a new, more potent frequency that was drowning out the hundreds of others. Something very, very bad was coming.

  “You are no fun,” Limos called out. “Oh, and you might want to change. Reaver got the Aegis assholes to agree to a meeting. They’ll be at Thanatos’s place in an hour. I’m sure you don’t want to look like you’ve been drowned.”

  He swung around. “Why didn’t Than call me?”

  “Because he called me. I figured I’d tell you when I got here to babysit.” She jerked her thumb toward the door. “You gonna take her with us?”

  Damn straight. “Cara has to be with one of us at all times.”

  “My lord?”

  Ares didn’t bother to turn around. “What, Vulgrim?”

  “Your brother left a message.”

  “I know. I’m heading to his place in a minute.”

  “Not that brother.”

  Ares pivoted around to the Ramreel, whose broad nose flared the way it did when he was stressed. Even his curled horns seemed to be drooping a little. Not good. Torrent, who stood beside his father, looked even more miserable, his grayish fur rippling nervously. “Tell me.”

  “If you’ll come with me…” The Ramreels headed down the hall, hooves clacking.

  “Dammit.” Ares pointed to Limos. “Grab Cara. Join me in the great room.”

  “But—”

  “Do it!”

  Limos stuck her tongue out at him, but she moved to the bedroom door. Ares caught up to the two Ramreels at the back door. As Ares stepped out into the rear courtyard, his gut did a somersault, and his stomach threw in a double twist. The organ gymnastics were a perfect 10 of oh, fuck.

  In the middle of the courtyard, next to the barbecue pit, was a giant wooden cross. And nailed to it were two headless bodies. Their intestines had been yanked up through their ruined necks and wrapped around their torsos like Christmas tree garlands. Their lungs had been arranged behind them to look like wings, and they each held a bloody heart in their hands.

  Lying on the ground in front of what Ares suspected were fallen angels was a human. A Guardian, if Ares went by the Aegis shield that had been carved into his stomach.

  Vulgrim handed Ares a note. Reseph’s scribbles confirmed Ares’s suspicions. I’m sure you’re looking for Unfallens, so I thought I’d deliver. Enjoy.

  Fifteen

  “That angel is an asshole.”

  Kynan laughed, and Arik wanted to deck him. Would have, too, if he hadn’t been freezing to death in the middle of God-knows-where. Reaver had flashed them to some featureless expanse of ice and then disappeared without so much as a “Good luck,” or a “Hope the Horsemen don’t kill you.”

  “You should have seen Reaver when he was still fallen,” Ky said.

  “He was even more of an asshole?”

  “Nah. He was just grumpier.”

  “I don’t think I like angels,” Arik muttered.

  Kynan shot him a sideways glance. “You don’t like anybody.”

  “True.” Arik tugged his jacket tighter. He supposed he should be grateful that the angel had
been able to flash them here instead of Kynan’s using the Harrowgate. Humans couldn’t use them while conscious—they came out on the other side dead. But Kynan, thanks to his invincibility charm, could travel through them, and unfortunately, Ky would have to knock Arik out in order for them to leave here. The idea was not appealing in the least.

  Arik squinted his eyes against the bright sunlight glinting off the snow. “You know we could be walking into a slaughter.”

  Kynan shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”

  “That’s comforting.”

  A blast of icy wind took the sting out of Kynan’s chuckle, mainly because it numbed every part of Arik’s body. “The Aegis and Horsemen have a long history of working together. You know, before we betrayed them. We should be able to talk it out.”

  “Should. Great.” They tromped through the snow. Ahead, there was only vast wasteland on top of more vast wasteland. “Are you sure we’re in the right place?”

  “Yeah, human, you are.” The deep, rumbling voice came out of nowhere, and both Arik and Kynan instinctively drew weapons—Kynan palmed an Aegis stang, and Arik pulled his pistol.

  “Show yourself,” Arik called out.

  Suddenly, a giant dun stallion was rearing up, and Jesus, Arik damn near got his head smashed in by one flailing hoof. The beast came down, and his rider, a big male with sandy hair wearing some sort of ivory plate armor, raised a gauntleted hand in greeting.

  “I looked and there before me was a pale horse,” Arik murmured. “Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him.” He stared in awe at the huge male described in Revelation. “You’re Death.”

  The dude rolled his yellow eyes. “Thanatos. I don’t become Death unless my Seal breaks.” He wheeled the horse around and muttered, “Fucking humans always fucking up prophecies.”

  What a douche. Arik was totally over his awe. He glanced at Ky. “I guess we’re just supposed to follow?”

  Kynan shrugged, but Thanatos snorted. “I’d keep to one side of my stallion. You don’t want to be behind him when he passes gas.”