Lethal Rider

“Yes, Fallen, it is.” Reaver stepped inside the cave, and was instantly enveloped in the fetid scent of rot. He picked his way around half-eaten corpses … that weren’t really dead. In Sheoul-gra, nothing died. Beings suffered until—and if—they were reborn in another body. Clearly, the creatures in here couldn’t get out and were being slowly digested.

He kept walking, the moans of the victims rising up from the squishy, gore-soaked ground. Ahead, screams pierced the air, and the hairs on the back of Reaver’s neck prickled. Kicking himself into a jog, he no longer tried to avoid the writhing bodies beneath him. His boots crunched on their ribs, limbs, skulls.

Ahead, Reseph was in trouble.

When he finally saw the Horseman, he realized that trouble was not the word he should have used.

Reseph was crouched on the ground in a pool of what was probably his own blood, holding his head and screaming. One eye was gone, and it became clear that Reseph himself had clawed it out. Another scream burst from the Horseman’s mouth, and he threw himself backward into a rock wall so hard that blood sprayed and Reaver heard bones break.

“Blood…so much blood…claws, paws, heads… fucked…I fucked them…tears, screams, oh, fuck… the pain…” Reseph’s babbling was punctuated by more screams, more throws against the wall, and more clawing of his own body.

“Reseph.” Reaver’s voice was barely a whisper, and choked with emotion. He’d hated Pestilence, had wondered how he’d feel to see Reseph again, and now he knew. This…hurt. “Reseph.”

Panting, Reseph turned his eye on Reaver. Confusion flashed in the bloodshot depths, and then horror. Reseph wheeled backward in a scramble, skittering along the wall to get away.

“No,” he rasped. “No. Snapping bones and torn guts …”

Reaver lunged, taking the Horseman by the shoulders and forcing him to still. “Hey. Stop. It’s me, Reaver.”

“No… no. I—” Reseph jerked backward, trying to get away, but Reaver gripped harder. “I hurt you. I hurt… so many.”

“It wasn’t you, Reseph. It was Pestilence.”

Reseph grabbed his head and threw himself in spastic lurches toward the wall. “Make it stop! Make it stop!”

The things the Horseman must be seeing, the memories he must be reliving… Reaver could only imagine. It had been bad enough to see what Pestilence had done, but to know you’d been the one to do it must be beyond anything a decent person could handle. And Reseph had been decent. A partying playboy with questionable morals, but he hadn’t been cruel. The things he’d done as Pestilence had gone well beyond cruel and into downright twisted, sick, and evil on a scale never before seen.

Reaver engulfed Reseph in his arms, using his entire body to ease the Horseman’s struggles. It was like trying to hug a rodeo bull.

“Destroy me,” Reseph moaned. “End me.”

Reaver’s heart cracked wide open. “I can’t.” Reaver couldn’t heal him, couldn’t lessen any of the pain. But there was something he could do.

Reaver tugged Reseph to his feet and slammed his palm into his forehead. “Good-bye,” he whispered. “Be happy.”

In a flash of silver light, Reseph was gone. May the human realm welcome him like a newborn.

It had taken every ounce of Reaver’s power to do what he’d just done, and now, drained, he sank to his knees, head bowed, his breath sawing painfully in and out of his lungs. Azagoth had allowed Reaver to keep his power when he entered Sheoul-gra, but now Reaver was empty, and there was no way to refuel down here. He was a sitting duck for any demon who came along.

Whatever happened to him, it would likely be nothing compared to what he was in for when his huge violation of Watcher rules was discovered. Although really, there were a lot of loopholes in the rules regarding a Horseman who had been sent to Sheoul-gra.

“What in blazing hells have you done?” Hades’s voice rumbled through the cavern. Didn’t that just figure. “Where’s Reseph?”

“I destroyed him,” Reaver croaked.

It was a lie, but the truth wasn’t an option. For anyone. And no one could know that Thanatos had used the wrong dagger to kill Pestilence.

Ironic, wasn’t it, that Thanatos had been searching for a way to repair Reseph’s Seal for so long, and in the end he’d found it without even knowing it.

Deliverance to repair, Wormwood to kill.

“Huh.” Hades squatted down in front of Reaver. “I don’t believe you. Either way, Azagoth is going to have you for dinner. He had a serious bug up his ass about seeing Reseph suffer.” He eyed Reaver like he was sizing him up for that dinner… which turned out to be the case. “Buffalo angel wings. Yum.” He jammed a finger into Reaver’s chest and knocked him over. “And it looks like someone’s all out of Heavenly juice. Do you know how much trouble you’re in right now?”

“I’m assuming that’s a rhetorical question,” Reaver said, as he pushed himself up to sit against the wall Reseph had used to tenderize himself.

“Little bit,” Hades agreed.

“I don’t suppose I can convince you to get me out of here.”

Hades ran his hand over his tight blue mohawk. “Out of the cave? It might be better to stay in here. If you go out, you’ll be at the mercy of hundreds of thousands of demons and evil humans who would love to take turns torturing the fuck out of you. Literally.” He paused. “On the other hand, if you stay in here, you’re in for an eternity of being slowly digested. Very painful.”

“Out of Sheoul-gra, you idiot,” Reaver gritted out.

“Idiot? That was a little uncalled for.”

Sighing, Reaver rocked his head back against the wall. He should have known Hades would toy with him. Azagoth had warned him as well. Of course, Azagoth had been full of warnings.

Empty yourself of power, and you’ll be helpless in Sheoul-gra and trapped there forever. Don’t expose your wings unless you want to start a riot. Too many will already know what you are. Don’t let anyone have a feather. A single angel feather could give a demon the power to reincarnate himself before his time. If you

become trapped in Sheoul-gra, I won’t save you. If someone comes to rescue you, you’d better hope I’m in a good mood, and they have something awesome to offer me, or they aren’t getting in.

Azagoth was such an ass. But Reaver supposed if he’d been relegated to this dreary realm, where his only pleasures came from what he could bargain for, he might be an ass, too.

“See, here’s the thing, angel.” Hades straddled Reaver’s outstretched legs and got right in his face. “I like the Horsemen. We’ve traded favors for centuries. Limos sends ice cream. You’re their Watcher, and they like you a lot. So I want to help you out.” He palmed Reaver’s cheek none-too-gently. “On the other hand, you’re an angel in my house. If I just waltz out of here and let you go, I’ll lose a lot of respect. You get that, right?”

Unfortunately, he did.

Hades shook his head, almost as if he truly regretted the situation. “I have to make your life hell, Reaver. I don’t fancy that, I swear. But you’ve given me no choice.” He clapped Reaver on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll get the word out to the Horsemen to rescue you.”

Reaver lunged forward, taking Hades by the throat. “Don’t. They can’t know I was here or that I came to see Reseph.” They believed their brother was dead, and for now, at least, it was for the best.

Smiling, Hades pushed into Reaver’s grip, and Reaver knew then that the guy enjoyed pain. “If I don’t contact them, it narrows your options for a rescuer, doesn’t it.”

Yeah, it did. He couldn’t get help from angels—even if one was willing to try to get past Azagoth and cross through Sheoul-gra, he didn’t want anyone to know why he’d come here. Reaver had taken Reseph’s memories and dropped him in the middle of nowhere in hopes that he’d find a new life.