Lethal Rider

Gethel’s eyes shot wide. “It’s against angel law to use this weapon against another angel!”

Reaver bared his teeth. “You’re no angel. You’re Fallen. You just haven’t had the decency to lose your wings.”

Pivoting, he snapped the whip, and in the softest whisper, it severed one of her wings. “One down.” He snapped it again, cutting into her rib cage and shattering every bone in her upper body.

This time her scream of rage and pain exploded inside Reaver’s head, the agony so intense he crashed to his knees. Blood spurted from his nose, ears, eyes.

A rolling thunder rang out, like a million buffalo hooves on stone. Demons, presumably summoned by Gethel, came at him from all sides. They swarmed him, hundreds of clawed, fanged mutants.

“You…won’t…win,” he rasped, but had no way of knowing if Gethel heard him.

She was crawling away, her broken body failing her. No way. She wasn’t escaping. She needed to either die or be brought to justice for her crimes against humanity and Heaven.

Reaver dug deep into his power reserves, his body buzzing as the current that started at the base of his skull and in his wings formed a circuit. A golden glow surrounded him, blinding the demons that were almost on him. Their shrieks filled the air and added to Reaver’s already throbbing eardrums. He gritted his teeth against the pain and let his banked power loose.

He went supernova, shooting blasts of Heavenly light from every pore. The demons disintegrated, their screams fading to echoes as their ashes drifted to the floor.

But among the ashes was a glow. Wormwood. Its hilt, etched with a word Reaver couldn’t make out, radiated with azure brilliance absorbed from Reaver’s Heavenly light. It was an angelic weapon.

Breathing deeply, Reaver caught himself on the altar as he bent to pick up the dagger. When he read the four-letter word carved into the hilt next to a star symbol, he fumbled it, barely catching the blade before it tumbled to the ground.

DOOM.

The Doom Star cometh if the cry fails.

Oh…oh, damn.

The Aegis had been wrong about the Doom Star in Thanatos’s prophecy. It wasn’t Halley’s Comet. It was Wormwood.

Now Reaver had a decision to make. A decision that rightfully belonged to the Horsemen. But as he weighed Wormwood in his hand, he had a feeling he knew which decision they’d make. And it wasn’t the one Reaver wanted.

Closing his eyes, he decided to do something he swore he’d never do.

He was going to break a Watcher rule.

And dear God, he was going to pay.

Thirty-seven

Thanatos couldn’t have run faster if he’d been a cheetah. He burst into the bedroom where Eidolon was waiting, and lay Regan on the bed. “The baby’s coming.”

Of course the doctor knew that, but Thanatos was freaked out of his gourd. At least it looked like the bleeding had stopped, so that had to be good news.

Regan screamed like she was being ripped apart, and his heart was right there with her. Although he could scarcely spare the time, he kissed her sweat-drenched forehead. Her eyes were wild, fevered, and she clutched his arm with such desperation that his eyes stung.

“There’s his head.” Eidolon’s gloved hands cupped the baby’s head as he tried to deliver the child while not coming into contact with the mother. “Take a breath, and then give me another push, Regan.”

Than tore his eyes away from the amazing sight of his son being born to Regan, whose gaze clung to him as firmly as her hand was doing to his. “We have Pestilence,” he rasped. “Everything will be all right.”

She gave him a weak nod and released him. “Go. Save our son.”

Save our son. Not, “Save the world.”

Please, please God, let Regan and the baby come through this, because I need this woman like I need to breathe.

As Lore came in with Idess, Than rushed to his dresser, grabbed Deliverance, and in a mad dash ran to the great room. Ares and Limos were holding Pestilence down, although at the moment he didn’t seem to be moving.

Thanatos’s heart was pounding, his pulse thundering in his ears as he threw himself on top of his brother and straddled his thighs. This was it. This was what it had all come down to.

Limos’s eyes caught his. “His finger twitched. It’s wearing off.”

“I see it, too,” Ares said. “His foot’s moving.”

Thanatos swallowed dryly, his mind whirling with a thousand thoughts. How was Regan? How was the baby? Were they scared? Was he really going to kill his brother?

That last question was a no-brainer, a fleeting thought that popped into his head maybe because it should. But he had never been more prepared to do anything. He’d kill anyone to save his wife and child.

Wife? Yes, because once they were through this, he was going to marry her.

Please, please let them get through this.

“Fuck.”

Ares’s whisper jerked Than out of his thoughts. He looked down into Pestilence’s eyes … eyes that were aware. Mocking. Even his mouth had turned up into a smile. Between Than’s thighs, Pestilence’s legs began to move.

And then, ringing out in the hushed castle air, came the pure, healthy sound of a baby’s cry.

In a smooth, fast arc, Thanatos brought down Deliverance and buried it in Pestilence’s heart. The baby’s cry cut off. Pestilence gasped. Blood sprayed from his lips. His eyes, which had gleamed with so much evil, clouded over, and in that instant Thanatos knew Pestilence was gone. In his place, Reseph stared back at Than.

“Th-thank… you.” Reseph’s voice was little more than a whisper, but what was there was thick with relief.

And then he was gone.

Beneath Than, Reseph’s body disintegrated, caving in on itself until only clothing remained. Even Deliverance had disappeared.

I killed my brother. Than’s throat seized. He hadn’t expected that. He’d been prepared—eager, really—to kill Pestilence. But not Reseph. Jesus, not Reseph.

There was silence. So much silence. Should it be so quiet when you’d just killed the brother you’d loved for thousands of years? And how could he be feeling both shock and relief? Pain and numbness. Impossible combinations.

“Thanatos.” The voice was coming from some-where…“Thanatos.” He blinked, cranked his head around to Cara. The tears in her eyes weren’t ones of joy. “You need to hurry.”

No. Oh, God, please no …Than sprinted into the bedroom, his heart racing. He stumbled to a halt at the threshold, his heart jamming right against his ribcage.

The nurse, Vladlena, held Than’s squirming son—clearly the boy was fine, and as much as Than wanted to go to him, it was the baby’s mother who held his concern.

Regan lay on the floor in a pool of blood as Shade and E worked frantically over her, their dermoires glowing.

She was pale—much too pale.

“What’s going on?” Than rushed to her side and knelt next to her. “Why is she on the floor?”

“We needed more room to work,” Shade said.

“Regan?”

Her eyes opened. The fierce, defiant gleam he was used to had been replaced by a hazy veil of pain and