“But only for sex.”
Only. There was no such thing as only sex. Not when it was Harvester with anyone but Reaver.
“You can’t let him know you’re aware that he can’t kill me, or he’ll use the baby as leverage to get both sex and your consent to a mating ceremony.”
“So what do we do?”
“Stall for time.”
“Reaver, we don’t have much time.” She pegged him with serious eyes. “I’m going to give Limos her baby back, even if it means—”
“I know what it means,” he growled, and a searing, almost uncontrollable anger flared in his chest. Harvester was his, and the thought of her fucking Raphael was enough to make his head explode. “We’ll find a way to get you out of fucking him. Just… stall.”
Harvester nodded and flashed away in a sparkle of light.
“So what’s this about?” Ares asked, as Reaver turned back to him. Cara had slipped away, but the clumsy hellhound had remained to keep an eye on Ares. The things were rarely more than a few seconds away from either one of them, and they always sensed when an angel was near. Ex-angels, too, apparently.
“I need you to summon Revenant.”
Ares’s eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t ask any questions. He merely called out with both formal protocol, and a less formal, “Yo, Rev. Get your ass over here.” He grinned. “Revenant hates informality. He’s a stickler for the rules. You two would really not get along.”
“We didn’t get along for the five minutes we were both Watchers together,” Reaver muttered. Not to mention the five minutes of ass-kicking Revenant had given him in Gethel’s Sheoulic palace.
Ares scratched the hellhound’s ears. “He was pissed about what Lorelia did to Limos. He reported her to his Watcher Council and recommended execution as punishment. It won’t happen, but he tried.”
Well, that was unexpected. But then, a Watcher’s duty included making sure the other Watcher didn’t screw up. “He was probably more interested in seeing an angel die than in avenging Limos.”
Ares shrugged. “His motives don’t interest me. I’m just glad he did it.” He looked past Reaver, and the hound snarled. “Speak of the fallen angel. White hair today, huh?”
Damn, but Reaver missed the warning tingle that accompanied the arrival of another angel or powerful supernatural being. It was going to take some time to get used to his Unfallen status again.
“Oh, look,” Revenant said. “It’s the newly fallen angel everyone in the underworld is trying to find.” He strode over, his boots clomping on the hard tiles, his leather pants and jacket creaking with every step. “If I took you to the Dark Lord right now, I’d be the richest male in Sheoul.”
“Touch him,” Ares said, “and you’ll live the rest of your sorry life looking over your shoulder.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Revenant said, sounding utterly bored. “The wrath of the Horsemen will come down on me. Every hellhound in Sheoul will be hunting me, blah-fuckity-blah. Don’t worry your little pony heads about it.” He punched Reaver in the shoulder. “Your father is off-limits for Watchers to grab, torture, kill, or molest in any way. Not that I’d molest him. I like my bedmates with bigger breasts and fewer balls.”
“What a relief,” Reaver said dryly.
Revenant grinned, flashing fangs as shiny and white as the hair that fell past his shoulders. “I knew you’d appreciate that. But a word of advice. You’re only off limits while you’re in the human realm. Step into Sheoul, and Satan will want you. Watcher rules or not, I can’t disobey his command.” He turned to Ares. “Why did you summon me?”
“I asked him to,” Reaver said. “I need to know what can stop Satan from starting a war with Heaven.”
“The war you put into motion? That one?” Revenant shrugged. “You can’t do anything. You fucked up.”
Which was why Reaver needed to stop it. And now they had only days to do it.
Ares strode over to the wet bar and poured a shot of whiskey. “Reaver, why the hell would you think Revenant would help you with this?” He held up the bottle. “Anyone?”
Ares must be seriously grateful to Revenant for what he’d recommended to his Watcher Council, because he wasn’t usually so free with niceties for the evil Watchers.
“Hells, yeah,” Revenant said.
Reaver, to be contrary, turned it down and returned to the subject at hand. “I was hoping he’d want to prevent a battle that could rage on for centuries and destroy both our worlds.”
Revenant took a glass from Ares and knocked back half the contents. “Maybe the prospect of war excites me.”
“Maybe,” Reaver said. “But I’ve learned enough about demons in my time to know that most of them aren’t gung ho for war. They want to live their lives, the same as everyone else.”
“I’m not a demon.”
Not technically, but sometimes being a demon had more to do with behavior than DNA. Reaver knew a lot of decent demons… and a lot of humans who were far more evil than almost anyone who lived in Sheoul.
“You’re a fallen angel who must want to protect someone you cared about in Heaven before you fell,” Reaver said.
Revenant shrugged. “If I ever cared about anyone there, I don’t remember, so preventing your war is none of my concern.”
“You don’t remember?” Ares came around the bar with his glass and the bottle of whiskey. “Are you that old?”
“No idea. My memory was taken from me.”
And here Reaver thought he was special. “Why? Who’d you sleep with?”
“Dunno—” Revenant went taut, as if every muscle had turned to stone, and the glass in his hand shattered. “I… have to go,” he rasped.
“Wait.” Reaver grasped Revenant’s arm, and a sense of familiarity rippled through him, as if a memory was on the verge of coming to life. Had they known each other in the past? “Why did you let me lift the collar key off you?”
Revenant scowled. “I didn’t.” He leaned and then righted himself, the unsteady sway of a drunk man. Even his gaze had gone glassy. “I… why did I do that?”
Then he was gone, leaving Reaver with more questions than he’d started with.
“That was weird.” Ares snapped his fingers at the hellhound who rushed over to see if the broken glass was edible. The beast got a quick lick of whiskey before sullenly slinking away. “Damned mutts will eat anything. Cara is always dealing with grumpy-ass hellhounds and their bellyaches.”
“They get grumpier?”
Ares snorted. “You have no idea—”
Suddenly, Ares was armed and armored, and the hellhound that just took off with its tail tucked was back, crouched in the doorway with its hind legs gathered and ready to launch. Reaver wheeled around to come face to face with Gethel’s image. Like last time, when she’d appeared at Than’s place, she was a phantom, completely protected by the spawn in her belly.
“I’m really getting sick of this new power of yours, Gethel,” Ares growled.
“Yes, well, I’ve been sick of you for decades.”
“Why are you here?” Reaver asked, his teeth clenched so hard they hurt. “Or not here.”
“I have an offer for Reaver.” She stepped closer, her eyes glittering with anticipation, and Reaver knew the offer was going to be a sucky one with a high price. “Arrange for Raphael to meet you at the Dome of the Rock tomorrow at dawn. If you agree, Satan will call off the war.”
“What happens to Raphael?”