“The Force is strong with this one,” Thanatos said in a damned impressive Darth Vader voice, and Reaver had to catch himself before his jaw dropped. Thanatos had never been easygoing or playful, and this new side of him was good to see.
“Yes, it is.” Logan’s tiny fingers wrapped around Reaver’s thumb. “He exhibited battle angel powers while he was still in the womb, which is rare for any infant who isn’t fully angel, but now his powers feel even stronger.” Reaver glanced down at the hellhound pup, who was drooling on his toes. “What’s his name?”
“Cujo,” Regan said.
Reaver arched an eyebrow. “You named your son’s pet after a rabid monster dog?”
“No,” Thanatos growled. “Wraith did. Bastard taught the pup to respond to Cujo, and we couldn’t get him to respond to anything else after that.”
Reaver laughed. Sounded exactly like something the Seminus demon would do.
Harvester eased closer, the merest hint of a smile curving her lips as she gazed at Logan. “Can I hold him?”
“Not a chance,” Thanatos said.
“But Reaver, who didn’t even want to take the baby, gets to hold him?” The devastation in Harvester’s expression kicked Reaver right in the gut.
“Than,” he said softly, “I don’t think it would hurt to let her take him for just a minute.”
Thanatos’s pale yellow eyes glittered with anger. “She was playing for the team that wanted my son dead. I don’t want her anywhere near him.”
“I swear I didn’t want Logan to die.” Harvester’s voice was as close to a plea as Reaver had ever heard from her. “Never. There were other ways for Pestilence to get what he wanted.”
“I said no.” Thanatos carefully took Logan from Reaver, as if he were worried that Harvester might snatch the child. “Reaver, I’m glad you’re back. Stay as long as you want.”
The Horseman shot Harvester a glance that said she wasn’t welcome before he and Regan headed back to the group, Cujo on their heels until they walked past the grill. Then the mutt took a detour to grab a package of hot dogs off the cooler. Ares gave chase, but when Hal joined in, the hot dogs were lost between two snapping hellhound jaws.
Harvester turned away, her wings drooping. “Good thing I didn’t want to stay anyway.”
“Wait.” Reaver snagged her by the wrist and turned her back to him. “I don’t know why you lied for me, but thank you.”
Harvester snorted. “I didn’t do it for you. I did it because I have a reputation to uphold. And I certainly didn’t want to hold the brat.”
“Then why did you ask?”
She shrugged. “I wanted to see what Thanatos would say.”
She was lying, but why? Her behavior lately had been completely baffling. Even now, she was stealing glances at Logan, and with every covert look, her expression softened.
Definitely baffling.
“Are you… okay?”
Harvester’s head snapped back so violently he might as well have punched her. “Of course I am, you haloed fool.” She spread her wings, blotting out the sun and throwing a massive shadow. “Look at me. My blood runs with power. Do I seem weak or pathetic in any way?”
“Never mind,” he muttered. Her defensiveness made it so difficult to deal with her sometimes. “I spoke with my supervisors about Gethel. None of them know where she is. Have you had a chance to talk with your colleagues?”
“Talk?” Her lip curled. “We don’t talk. They dictate. I tell them to fuck off.”
She. Was. Impossible. “Okay then. Did they dictate to you before you told them to screw themselves?”
“Yes. They said to leave it alone. I’m guessing they know more about Gethel than they’re saying, but they won’t tell me anything.” She finally tucked her wings away. “Are you ready to tell me where Reseph is?”
“No.”
“You sure? Maybe I could pleasure the information out of you.”
“Yes,” he gritted out from between clenched teeth, “I’m sure.”
“Fine, fine. Don’t get your pinfeathers all prickly.” She slid a glance at where the Horsemen were gathered around a tub of iced drinks, their laughter carrying on the ocean breeze. “I got something for Logan. Do you think Thanatos and Regan will accept it?”
This just kept getting stranger and stranger. “Probably depends on what it is.”
“It’s not a poisonous viper or a razor-wire mobile,” she snapped. “Go to hell, Reaver. Oh, wait, I just rescued you from there. Go
She flashed off the beach, leaving Reaver staring at empty air and feeling like he’d been spun like a top. Harvester had always been volatile, but these mood swings were extreme even for her.
“Reavie-weavie!” Limos called out from next to the picnic table. “Food!”
Food. A cookout. A beach, kids, and pets. All so normal when just three months ago the world had been on the verge of apocalypse and this family had been embroiled in a hellish war that could have put the Horsemen on the wrong side of the battle.
Reaver was happy for them. Even Reseph seemed to be at peace. But Reaver couldn’t shake the feeling that things were not as they seemed.
The danger to the world might have been averted, but the trouble had just begun.
Harvester materialized inside her residence and was instantly thankful that her werewolf slave, Whine, wasn’t there to greet her. She didn’t want anyone, even her slave, to see her like this.
Tears spilled from her eyes, burning, stinging. Which pissed her off, because she never cried. Ever. She’d long ago allowed evil to encase her heart in a diamond-hard shell—a necessity if one was to survive Sheoul.
But the Horsemen had always been her weakness, and she’d never been able to completely detach herself from them emotionally. She’d tried, oh, how she’d tried. And now that the Apocalypse was over, she’d let her guard down even more, hoping that they had done the same.
Time was running out for her, and all she’d wanted was to hold Logan before the ticking clock in her head, the impending sense of doom, became a reality. And to maybe be invited to stay for the get-together. But she couldn’t blame Thanatos for his attitude toward her, and that was the problem. Up until now, Harvester had owned her choices. Had owned her fall from Heaven.
But now she found herself wishing… what? That she could go back in time and not fall? No, that had to happen. What was done was done.
Cursing herself for weakness, she dashed away her tears with the back of her hand.
And realized something was terribly wrong.
The stench of blood tinged the air, and her skin prickled with a sudden sense of malevolence. She whirled around and snarled at the male standing in her living room doorway, his lips wet with blood.
“Lucifer,” she hissed. “How dare you enter without permission.”
Dead, ebony eyes gleamed, and his tongue made a slow, taunting sweep over his lower lip. “I did more than enter.”
She now understood why Whine hadn’t greeted her. Lucifer had done something to him, but now wasn’t the time to show either concern or fear.
And yet both were making her quake on the inside.
“Get out.” She flared her wings, and he returned the defiant gesture, his black, leathery wings scraping her ceiling. “Unless you’re here to bestow some great honor on me, get the fuck out of my home.”
“Great honor?” His laughter rattled the Bedim demon artwork gracing her walls. The sensual paintings depicting the romantic rituals of dozens of demon species always reminded Harvester that love was a weakness even for the lowliest of demons. “Because of you, we lost our bid for an Apocalypse.”
Her gut twisted, and her lungs seized. How much blame were he and Satan going to lay at her feet? The clock in her head picked up its pace.
“What’s the matter, Harvester?” His voice was low, smooth, and laden with poison. “You look a little frightened.”
