Rogue Rider

She scoffed, even though he’d struck the bull’s-eye. “I have nothing to be afraid of. As Watcher, my job was not to help our team. It was to keep an eye on the Horsemen and dole out information as it was given to me.”

“Oh,” Lucifer said silkily, “I think you did far more than that.”

“If this is about some broken Watcher rule, punish me already. Or leave me the hell alone.”

Lucifer’s toothy smile sent a chill slithering up her spine. “Broken Watcher rules are the least of your worries, Fallen.”

“Come, Lucifer, games aren’t your style.” She hoped the underlying tremor in her voice was audible only to her. “Why don’t you put that forked tongue to good use and tell me what you’re dancing around?”

“Ask your werewolf.” With that, Lucifer flashed out of there.

Shit. Harvester’s shaky legs barely supported her as she lurched toward her bedroom, where the smell of blood grew stronger. As soon as she entered, she saw why.

Poor Whine was curled up on his pallet on the floor, his body a mass of bruises and cuts and wrong angles. The moment he opened his one functional eye and saw her, he tried to get up.

“Whine, no.” Harvester kneeled next to him and pushed him down. “Stay still.”

The werewolf shuddered and closed his eye. “Sorry… mistress.”

“Shh.” Mentally cursing Lucifer, she stroked Whine’s hair. She’d gained ownership of the warg thirty years ago after she’d killed his cruel owner, and since then, she’d sworn to protect him. Granted, she hadn’t been particularly kind to him, but that had been to keep them both safe. Kindness in Sheoul got you killed.

“What did Lucifer want?” she asked, and Whine shuddered again.

“He demanded the… malador.”

Harvester’s breath shot out of her lungs. “Did you tell him where it is?” Please say no. The tiny item was her one ace, the only card she had to save herself.

Or to save someone else.

“No,” Whine rasped. “Never. But—”

“But what?”

“He… he told me you were going to suffer a traitor’s death.”

Her hand froze mid-stroke. A traitor’s death. The death part was misleading, because in Sheoul, traitors were kept alive, in agony, for eternity. Often, after centuries of torture, they were… peeled… and encased in wax to suffer endlessly on display like dead body art.

So what did Lucifer suspect her of? And where was he getting his information? Not that it mattered. She wasn’t going to go meekly to anyone’s torture chamber. She could run, and if worse came to worst, she’d find an angel to kill her—

“He also said…” Whine inhaled a ragged breath. “If you try to escape, he’ll destroy everyone you care about.”

Damn him. She’d been so careful to not show affection to anyone for this exact reason.

Closing her eyes, she sank down on the floor beside Whine. In her head the ticking clock sped up even more, the hands moving so fast that the individual ticking sounds were barely distinguishable. Very soon, the alarm was going to go off, and Harvester’s time would be up.

Fourteen

It took Reseph a full forty-eight hours to get the hinky feeling out of his gut. Something had triggered his internal alarm when he’d seen the demon investigators, and he still didn’t know why. Except he got the distinct impression that they were a danger to him. But why the hell would he be of any interest to them?

The sense of danger was growing, and some of it was coming from within himself. It was as if he was dangerous, a bomb fuse waiting for a spark, and he was terrified that Jillian would be the one to take shrapnel.

He and Jillian had spent two days bouncing between town, where they scoured the library and the Internet trying to figure out who he was, and her farm, where he did shit Jillian needed done. He’d repaired a hole in the siding of her barn, strung barbed wire along a section of droopy fence, cleaned stalls and the chicken coop, and he’d even folded laundry.

Folding laundry was the worst. Matching up socks was like some sort of monotonous torture. Give him heavy lifting any day.

But Jillian made it all worthwhile with her cooking, her hot cocoa, and best of all, her stamina in the sack.

Smiling at the memory of what they’d done in the shower and then again in bed, he rolled over on the mattress and tucked her against him, her back to his chest. She snored delicately, and while the erection probing her backside made it tempting to wake her up, he let her sleep. She worked so hard during the day, and he kept her busy well into the night, so yeah, she needed the rest.

It was strange, though, how he really didn’t need sleep. A couple of hours of shut-eye, and he was good to go. Sometimes he’d get up and prowl the property like some sort of animal surveying its territory, or he’d hit the computer to see if he could find out anything more about himself, but other times, like now, he’d lay in bed with Jillian, just to be with her.

He wondered if he had been so sappy before.

He’d even, during the nights when he’d hung outside in the crisp silence, fashioned her a gift. It wasn’t much, and he wasn’t even sure where he’d gotten the talent to take a knife to wood, but every discovery about himself was a clue.

And it was awesome when the discovery wasn’t something horrible, like finding out he didn’t know how to use a condom or could recognize human blood by its odor.

Closing his eyes, he buried his face in Jillian’s hair, taking in the fresh scent of her fruity shampoo, which never seemed to wash away the underlying scent of crisp mountain air. She always smelled like the outdoors, like sparkling streams and green trees. He liked that so much better than the cloying perfume the women in the department store had worn. Besides, he somehow knew that perfume tasted bad on the skin. Jillian’s skin tasted clean, with a tang of spice when she was aroused.

His cock jerked, appreciating the direction of his thoughts. Yup, he needed to get out of bed and get away from Jillian before he did what he swore not to do and woke her with his mouth between her legs.

Groaning silently, he rolled onto his back and started to swing his legs over the side of the mattress, but in a flash of motion, Jillian flipped over and took his shaft in her hand.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Her voice was husky, drowsy, and so fucking sexy he damned near came in her palm right then and there.

He fell back into the pillow and hissed at the slow pump of her fist. “You’re insatiable.”

“You’re the one with the hard-on.”

He slid his hand between her thighs and spread her open. “You’re the one who’s wet.” He eased his finger inside her, testing her readiness, because he was so ready to mount her. She was silky and hot, and yeah, she was ready.

Shifting to give him more access, she dropped her hand to cup his balls. Her fingers worked him aggressively, massaging, pinching. He loved how sometimes she was sensual and tender in bed, but at other times she liked it rough and raunchy.

Right now it was rough and raunchy, and he didn’t hesitate to give her what she wanted.

He dipped another finger inside her and pumped them hard and fast. “What do you think? Another sixty- nine?” He brushed his thumb over her swollen clit, and she bucked. “Nah, we did that earlier. You on top, facing away from me? I loved that.” He arched up and tongued her nipple, enjoying how it made her gasp. “No, I’m going to take you from behind this time. First, while you’re on your hands and knees I’ll lick you there, fill you with my tongue and fingers. Then I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t sit in a saddle for a week.”

“Yes,” she breathed, pushing against his hand.

“But I’m not going to come that way.” Reaching up, he twined his fingers in her hair and brought her mouth