by Larissa Ione
He might be a human, but she’d never met even an immortal with such bravery and resilience. Everything about him fortified her, made her stronger. It was as if she were a sturdy building, capable of standing on her own, but he was her buttress, supporting her outer walls and keeping them steady.
“You are a beautiful couple.” The female voice startled them both, and they whirled around, Arik tucking Limos behind him.
An angel stood on the deck, her white robes glowing as if warding off the night.
“Gethel.” Limos eased next to Arik, who remained in a stiff, battle-ready stance. She took Arik’s hand and squeezed. “It’s okay. She was our Watcher before Reaver.”
“Reaver is why I’m here,” Gethel said. “I heard your summons, but I fear he won’t show.”
“Where is he?”
She shook her head. “I know not. He and Harvester have both become invisible to our eyes.”
Oh, this was bad. If even other angels didn’t know where Reaver was, this was trouble. “Are they in danger?”
“I can only speculate, but I would say yes.”
“Who would… or could… have taken them? And why?”
“Pestilence?” Arik asked, but Gethel shook her head.
“For a Horseman to kill or imprison the Watchers would be the gravest of violations.” She glanced at Limos. “Why were you summoning Reaver?”
Her instinct was to lie. Instead, she forced herself to speak the truth. “I stabbed Pestilence with Deliverance and he didn’t die. Do you know why?”
Gethel’s eyes flashed. “Yes. And so do you.”
Nausea swirled in Limos’s stomach. “So it was my fault.” Arik’s arm came around her, once more bracing her when she needed it. “Why didn’t you say something? You could have warned us.”
“I didn’t know until you confessed your sin to Arik.” She flapped her wings in that way she always had when she was irritated. “You know I love you, Limos, but you brought this on yourself.”
“Hey.” Arik’s voice cracked like a whip. “She regrets what she did, and it took a lot of courage to own up to it, so lay off, angel.”
Lightning streaked overhead. “You are either brave or foolish, human.”
Arik’s fingers dug possessively into her shoulder, not hurting, but marking., buman Claiming. “Yeah, well, what does wanting to marry a Horseman make me?”
Limos whipped her head around to stare at Arik. “You… you’re serious.”
His stare was intense, smoldering. “I told you I won’t let him have you. You said it yourself—the Sheoulic in your contract says husband, not Satan.”
“That’s because the being you know as Satan has many names,” Gethel said. “By naming only one, it could have been argued that the contract wasn’t valid according to some religions.”
“So…” Limos licked her lips, which were as dry as her mouth. “So if Arik marries me, becomes my husband, he could break my chastity belt?”
“In theory,” Gethel said, “he could take your maidenhead and remove you from Satan’s grasp.”
Limos’s heart burned with the desire for Arik’s plan to work, and not just because she’d finally be free of Satan. Arik was offering up her dream on a sexy platter—a marriage, children, sex. Oh, Lord… sex!
And something else, something so priceless she could barely contain her excitement; he’d be giving her someone she could confide in. Someone she wanted to tell the truth to. After they were married, she’d never lie to him again.
“Don’t turn me down, Horseman,” he said, and it was funny how he still refused to say her name. “This might not be the most conventional marriage ever, but if it works, I won’t have demons after my ass to torture your name out of me, and it’ll save you from being Satan’s ball and chain.”
She noticed that he didn’t bring up love as being part of it, and though it shouldn’t sting, it did. But that was okay. Even if he never learned to love her, she loved him enough to make up for it.
“Yes,” she said, her breath trembling in her throat. “My answer is yes.”
On her shoulder, her one side of her tattoo dipped deeper than it ever had.
In favor of good.
Twenty-three
Reaver was still fighting. Harvester watched him from the doorway, amazed at his resilience. He sat against the wall, tossing and catching a rubber ball Whine had given him. Reaver hadn’t said a word since she’d forced the marrow wine down his throat. He’d simply played with the ball, focusing so intently on it that she expected it to burst into flames.
He was incredibly alert, his agility in no way diminished by his captivity, mutilation, or intoxication. She couldn’t help but wonder what was going to happen when he was free again. Would he continue to keep that leashed power inside, or would he let loose and destroy everything in his path?
Harvester had no doubt she’d be the first one he came after, and though she cou>
Whine approached, his footsteps a mere whisper. “You have a visitor.” Whine’s voice was gruff. He didn’t like strangers, though Reaver seemed to have grown on him. “He said you’re expecting him.”
The Orphmage. She brushed past Whine and met Gormesh in her living room.
He looked up from studying the Neethul sculpture on her wall. “You’re late with your first payment.”
“I have it right here.” She reached for a clay bottle on the shelves next to her. “Angel blood. So fresh it’s still warm.”
Gormesh made the flask disappear into the folds of his robes. “I want to see the angel.” He started toward the hall, but Harvester blocked his way.
“That wasn’t part of the agreement.”
“You agreed to give me the angel’s blood.” The pointy tips of the Orphmage’s ears poked out from his waist-length white hair, and now they twitched in agitation. “You didn’t specify how it was to be taken. I will bleed him myself.”
“What is in the jug is more than enough.”
“But it’s far more potent when taken directly from the source.”
Even more so if it was taken while the subject was screaming in pain, which Gormesh no doubt intended to make happen. “No.”
He hissed, all pretense of civility gone. “You will grant me access.”
“You will kiss my ass.” She sensed Whine easing up behind her, could practically feel the tension rolling off him. His protectiveness didn’t come from a place of affection, but rather from self-preservation. He was bound to her, and if she died, his slave contract would default to her killer.
The Orphmage was as cruel a master as he was a scientist.
Gormesh stiffened, baring his teeth. “You have just made an enemy you didn’t need, Fallen.”
“I’ll add you to the list,” she said. “Now leave.”
“You still owe me.”
“And I have a year to pay. So get the fuck out.”
His eyes went flat, and for a moment, she thought he was going to attack. When he spun around and stormed out of the house, she sagged with relief. In a battle, she had the advantage, but as a mage, he had some nasty tricks up his sleeve, and winning wouldn’t be easy… or without a lot of pain.
“Whine,” she said softly, “fetch me some marrow wine.”
“For the angel?”
“No, for me.” Tomorrow she’d go back to dealing with Reaver. TonighReal?t she was forgetting him.
Death. Destruction. It tugged at Thanatos with sharp, hooklike claws.
Eidolon had healed him, but Than had been delirious with pain, and it had taken Wraith, Ares, and a vampire named Con to hold him down. In his delirium, he’d released his souls, and had it not been for an ex-angel named Idess who could communicate with them, the casualties might have been staggering.
The second Than was healed, he’d gotten the hell out of Underworld General, the demon side of him clamoring for a deadly rampage. Instead, he’d gone home.
Where Regan was.
The Guardian had been running around his keep i
n tight leggings and cropped sweatshirts, her flat, rippled stomach, tight ass, and multitude of sexy battle scars driving him nuts. She’d taken over his library, her neat stacks of notes invading his space. And she flipped the fuck out if he moved them.
So at least once per day, he knocked a page or two off their stacks.
Her frustrated curses amused him.
Right now, though, he was not amused.
As he strode into the great room, Artur met him, his expression uncharacteristically strained. “Milord. It was the Aegi.”
“What was the Aegi?”
“The dead succubus. You said to allow them in…” The vampire was practically wringing his hands, and yes, Than had said succubi were to be admitted. Pestilence kept sending them to seduce him, so Than wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to interrogate them about his movements, his intentions, his locations… and then kill them himself.
But no one else was allowed to kill in his house. Not when death made him crazy. His home was his sanctuary.
“Where is she?” He swiped his fingers over his throat and got rid of his armor, leaving him in nylon jogging pants and a T-shirt.
“The gym, sir.”
He stalked to the gym, violence still scratching at the surface of his mind. Going to see Regan wasn’t the smartest idea right now, but his brain was still operating on a primal level, and logical thought hadn’t caught up.
Regan was on the floor mat, going through a martial arts routine and kicking the stuffing out of one of the training dummies. Her tan skin, marked by scars on her arms, stomach, and back, glistened with a fine sheen of sweat. The scent of blood was thick in the air, another lash to his self-control.
“Are you injured?” He was at the mat before the question was fully formed.
She leaped, spun, and instead of nailing the dummy in the head, she hit him in the chest, knocking him into the treadmill. “Does that answer your question?”
With a roar, he came at her, and though she danced out of the way with more grace than he’d anticipated, he managed to catch her arm and flip her. Again she surprised him, landing on her feet and then hopping immediately into another spin kick. But this time he was ready, and he laid her out with a sweeping kick of his own that caught her behind the knee. She hit the mat hard, and when his instinct screamed at him to kill her while she was down, he gnashed his teeth and stood his ground, allowing her to roll and pop to her feet.
“Nice to see you too, Horseman.” She wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand… a hand sporting bloodied knuckles. “Are we sparring, or are you really trying to kill me?”
“Now,” he growled, “would normally be the time when I warn you to get away from me and lock yourself in a room. But I want to know what happened with the succubus.”
“Bitch freaked out when she saw me. Said it was her job to get you in bed. No idea what the fuck she was talking about, but she attacked me, and I defended myself. Sorry, did I kill your lover?”
He ignored that. “Is fighting her how you hurt yourself?”
“This?” She held up her hand. “Yeah.” She then did the worst thing she could have done, short of stripping naked. She put her bleeding knuckles in her mouth.
Than’s fangs shot out of his gums, saliva surged over his tongue, and his skin broke out with sweat. Shit. He stumbled backward.
“Get. Out.” His voice, warped with dark need, didn’t sound like his.
“Thanatos, what’s wrong?” She approached him, her scent clouding the air. Blood and woman, both tantalizing aromas, had his desires warring with each other. At least the driving need to kill had taken a back seat to lust and hunger.
He shook his head, unable to speak, lest she see his fangs. They were his secret shame, foul tools he’d carelessly used during the years after his curse when he’d gone on a rampage. When he’d emerged from that dark time, he’d learned that he’d sort of… fathered a race, and it was something he wasn’t exactly proud of.
Since then, as long as he kept himself well fed on the vampires he kept here at his home, there were no problems. But lately he’d been distracted, and between the violence around the world and Regan driving him nuts, he hadn’t fed properly.
“Thanatos?”
He turned away so he could speak. “Now would be a good time to go.”
“Or?”
Closing his eyes, he inhaled, and his mouth watered. She smelled like battle and death, sunlight and honey, and his groin stirred. “Or—”
He didn’t remember moving. Had no idea how he found himself smashed against Regan, pinning her to the wall as he fused his mouth to hers. She was taut beneath him, her participation in the kiss dubious, but mixed with the scent of her fury was arousal, as s aight="0epure and sharp as his.
“Did you finish the book?” He palmed her breast through the sports bra. “Did you like what you read?”
Her hand dropped to cup him through his sweats, and he guessed that was a yes. Stinging, hot desire lashed at him, and his hips did an involuntary roll into her palm. This was stupid, was far more dangerous than any of the games he’d played in the past. With her, his control was limited, and in this state of mind, it was a brittle string ready to snap.
No penetration. Just remember… no penetration.
Fumbling with the drawstring on his sweats, she pushed her tongue into his mouth as she deepened the kiss, turning it into one of dominance. She was still fighting, this Aegi warrior, and when she bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, he was ready to throw down with her.
He dropped his hand to her waist and slid his fingers beneath the elastic band of her sweat pants to cup her ass and bring her up against him. Her moan joined his at the feel of his hard cock pressing against her core. She still managed to tunnel her hand into his pants, and at the first brush of her fingers on the tip of his cock, he nearly exploded.
Her warm hand closed around his shaft and began to stroke. The friction instantly made him mindless, as if her touch was magic, reducing him to a spellbound lump of clay. Normally he’d resist, unwilling to give up any control. Female demons had tried to seduce him for thousands of years, and some of them possessed seductive gifts or tricks, requiring him to be alert at all times.
But unlike the demons who’d tried to bed him, Regan hadn’t come to him for that, and it felt good to let himself go, even if just a little bit.
Bringing his hand around to her abdomen, he kicked her feet apart to spread her legs as he trailed his mouth over her jaw. She made a sexy, rumbling noise in her throat, and he latched his mouth onto the skin there, letting his fangs scrape lightly. He wouldn’t bite. Couldn’t. He hadn’t bitten a human in over a hundred years, a female one in over five hundred, and he wasn’t about to fall off that wagon again.
Shoving those thoughts away, he slipped a finger inside her and groaned at the silky wetness. She arched into him and squeezed his hard shaft, and he nearly lost it. Her firm strokes were heaven, and within seconds, he was rocking into her grip.
His own hand was coated in her juices, and she was rocking too, and she gasped when he slipped another finger inside her tight opening. Damn, she’d feel good around his cock, and he imagined that they were horizontal on a mattress instead of against a wall engaging in heavy petting.
The fabric of her underwear and sweats hindered his hand, and with a growl, he ripped the satin panties away, leaving the slightly looser sweats still hanging from her hips. He could deal, he supposed. Especially because she was panting now, riding his hand, and he was right there with her, walking the fine line between pleasure and frustration. All it would take to push him over the edge would be her thumb over the head… ah, yes. She’d read his mind. The light stroke ignited him, and at the same time, her cries rang out and the scent of her lust clouded his bralouontin. The climax crashed over him, and he rode the waves as he worked her, and when she peaked again, so did he.
Balls pulsing, he pumped his hips, releasing another hot flow. So… good. So… damned�
� good…
Outside, the wind howled against the window, bringing him back into focus as his climax waned. His legs were rubbery, and he thought that maybe the only thing holding him up was the wall and her arm around his waist.
Their labored breaths were the only sound in the room until she nipped his earlobe and whispered, “Let’s move to the bedroom to finish this.”
Finish? His cock sprang to life again, taking her words to heart. A thread of admiration for her stamina crept up on him, but at the same time, so did bitterness she didn’t deserve, but that she was going to bear the brunt of nevertheless.
He pushed away from her and tugged up his pants. “We are finished,” he said gruffly.
Confusion flashed in her eyes as she awkwardly adjusted her sweats and wiped her hand on a towel. “I don’t understand.”
“Let me make it easy for you.” He got up in her face so he’d be nice and clear. “This was a mistake. It won’t happen again. I’m not available, Regan. We’ll work together, but know that I’m counting the days until you’re out of my home and out of my life.”
He steeled himself against the hurt on her face, spun on his heel, and stalked out of the gym.
Twenty-four
Ares took the wedding news a lot better than Thanatos did. Ares merely looked contemplative as he lounged on his sofa with Cara and a sheltie-sized, newborn hellhound pup next to him, a baby Ramreel hopping around their feet playing climb-the-mountain on the hellhound lying on the floor. Arik had seen a lot of strange stuff in his life, but the domestic scene that involved baby goat demons and hellhounds was fucked up with a capital F.
Also unsettling was the way Thanatos’s shadows flickered around him as he stared at Arik and Limos after they’d spilled the news. Arik had hoped the guy would still be at Underworld General so they could talk to the more level-headed Ares alone, but no such luck. Thanatos was healed of Pestilence’s attempt at a lobotomy and was as asshole-ish as ever.
