Reaver

Satan, before she was granted a position as Watcher. For the next two thousand years she covertly helped the Horsemen keep their Seals from breaking and pretended to work against each of the Horsemen’s Heavenly Watchers, Shiresta, Barabus, Gethel, and Reaver.

And when, in the Year of our Lord 2010, a Seminus demon named Sin inadvertently broke Reseph’s Seal and turned him into the demon known as Pestilence, Harvester’s work began in earnest. The Daemonica’s version of the Apocalypse had begun.

Harvester, corrupted by thousands of years of evil, performed tasks that would eat at her soul and scour away what little goodness was left in her heart. But ultimately, her actions saved humankind, and the Apocalypse was averted. All worked out according to plan… until Gethel, a traitor to Heaven, betrayed Harvester to Satan.

And Harvester, unable to ask the very people she saved for help, was dragged to Sheoul to suffer an eternity of torment at Satan’s hands.

Zachariel paused to dip his angel-feather pen into the sacred ink blended from the blood of twenty archangels. Crimson drops dripped from the nib as he lifted it from the crystal bottle, and he wondered how much more he should write. Yenrieth had been scrubbed from the history books and from the memories of all but a select few, and Zachariel wasn’t sure how much he should reveal. His own memories of Yenrieth had been returned just recently, and only so he could record Harvester’s story.

Blood ink spattered on the desk, and Zachariel realized the finality of the situation. Harvester was gone forever. There was no more to write. Thanks to Harvester’s sacrifice, humanity was safe, and so were Yenrieth’s children. She, more than any angel in history, had shaped the future of all the realms.

Harvester was a fallen angel. And a fallen hero.

Zachariel let the pen fall back into the bottle, and with a silent prayer for Harvester’s soul, he closed the book.

One

In any other building in the world, the sight of a hellhound lying on the floor with a baby in its mouth would send people screaming in horror or scrambling for weapons.

In a castle belonging to one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, people didn’t bat an eye.

Reaver ignored the shaggy black beast that bared its teeth at him as he strode across the great room. Hellhounds hated angels, and the feeling was mutual.

“Thanatos,” Reaver called out, “Cujo is slobbering on your son.”

Thanatos poked his blond head out of the library doorway. “That’s why Logan gets a lot of baths.”

The hound, a puppy itself at around two hundred pounds, flopped onto its side and allowed Logan to tug on its fur and ears as the infant climbed on top of the beast. Logan was going to be a soggy, furry mess by the time his mother, Regan, got home.

It had been months since Reaver had been here, and not much had changed. The fire that burned practically year-round was going in the hearth, vampire servants bustled between the cavernous rooms, and the mouthwatering aroma of fresh bread wafted from the kitchen. Regan had added personal touches here and there, replacing some of Thanatos’s ancient weapons and gory paintings on the walls with tapestries and pictures of the local landscape. Throw rugs now covered the hard, cold floors, and baby toys lay scattered like colorful land mines that squeaked in shrill protest when Reaver’s booted feet accidentally stomped on them.

The keep’s massive wooden doors flew open behind Reaver, bringing a chilly blast of late spring Greenlandic wind through the entrance. Ares, Reseph, and Limos came in with the breeze, Ares in shorts, a T-shirt, and flip- flops, Reseph in jeans and nothing else, and Limos in a glaringly orange maternity sundress. When she saw Reaver, she grinned, and despite being five months pregnant, she tackled him in a fierce embrace.

He’d always loved her enthusiasm, even before he learned she was his daughter, and he hugged her close. He just wished he’d been able to give her much-needed hugs when she was a child. Wished he could have been there for her first steps, her first words.

If only he’d known about her. And Ares. And Thanatos. And Reseph.

“ ’Sup, Pops?” Limos pulled away, taking her tropical pina colada scent with her. “Where have you been? We haven’t seen you in months.”

Time ran differently in Heaven, so it felt like only days to Reaver. And maybe he’d been a little hesitant to visit. For years he’d been the Horsemen’s Heavenly Watcher, but the dynamic of their relationship had changed since he’d discovered they were his offspring. He’d been fired as their Watcher, and more important, he wasn’t sure how to be a father to five-thousand-year-old legends.

Worse, he didn’t know how to be a grandfather. He was over five thousand years old and technically could be a grandfather thousands of times over, but he didn’t feel old enough to be a grandfather even once.

“I’ve been in the Akashic Library trying to find something… anything, that’ll help track down Gethel,” Reaver said, and Thanatos growled at the mention of the Horsemen’s ex-Watcher, an angel who betrayed Heaven and nearly killed Than’s son. “I even searched her home in Heaven, but it’s been ransacked by Enforcers already.”

Enforcers, Heaven’s angel lawkeepers, had made finding the renegade angel a top priority, their zealous pursuit spurred by the fact that the entire underworld was buzzing about her rumored involvement in some sort of plot against Heaven. Intel from the Heavenly spy network indicated a countdown was also involved. But a countdown to what?

“It should not be this difficult.” Frustration lashed Reaver all the way to his wing feathers. He’d been searching for eight months without a single lead. “She isn’t technically a fallen angel, so she can’t hide in Sheoul—” He broke off, wheeling around at the sudden sensation of evil emanating from the doorway.

“My ears are burning.” Tiny flecks of light materialized into a shape. Gethel’s shape.

Instantly, the Horsemen flicked their fingers over the crescent-shaped scars on their throats, activating their armor and their weapons. Snarling, the hellhound leaped to his feet, somehow sweeping Logan beneath his big body as everyone put themselves between the child and Gethel.

“Limos!” Than shouted. “Get Logan out of here.”

Reaver didn’t hesitate. He blasted the angel with nuclear-grade direlight. The blue spear of sizzling light whispered through Gethel’s body and blew up the keep’s massive wooden door. Gethel, unharmed, merely smiled, even when he sent an arc of fire at her head. The flaming column passed through her like an arrow through fog.

“How the fuck did you do that?” Thanatos advanced on her, sword leveled at her throat, but Reaver suspected the Horseman’s weapon would be as useless as his own. The souls Than stored in his armor—the souls of those he killed—swirled at his feet, anxious to kill. “How did you get in here? My keep is warded against anyone but my Watchers and Reaver flashing in.”

“The child I carry lent me his power.” Gethel touched her stomach, and Reaver’s mouth went dry at the sight of the bump under her palm.

What kind of child could she possibly be carrying? Power of that magnitude in any species was almost unheard of.

The answer came to him like a poleax between the eyes. A Radiant, or Shadow Angel, as some called them, would be powerful enough to blow through Than’s wards. But there hadn’t been any angels of that class around for centuries. If Gethel was pregnant with an angel who could travel freely through both Heaven and Hell, the archangels needed to know.

The hairs on the back of Reaver’s neck stood up, and half a second later, the Horsemen’s Sheoulic and Heavenly Watchers, Revenant and Lorelia, flashed in.

Ares’s leather armor creaked as he stepped closer to Gethel, his two-handed sword poised to strike a lethal blow. “Explain.”

Gethel dragged out a dramatic pause. “I’m going to give birth to Lucifer.”

Bullshit. Lucifer, Satan’s right-hand man, was dead. Reaver had seen the fallen