want them back.
Michael flashed away, leaving her to answer the new buzz in her head.
Raphael’s summons. It was time.
Tel Megiddo had seen more angelic history happen on its earthen mound than any other place on Earth, but Reaver would bet the tension on its hilltop had never been greater than it was at this very moment.
Long, strained minutes passed as the two sides engaged in an epic stare-off. Even the clouds overhead had frozen in place. The only noises were Gethel’s agonized bleats and the werewolf cub’s whimpers.
Finally, Caim inclined his head in the shallowest of nods as if taking orders from some invisible supervisor. “The demons have retreated. Give us Gethel, and the Dark Lord will let Harvester’s rescue slide.” He flapped his leathery wings. “But this isn’t over. The slightest interference with Sheoul will shatter this fragile truce, and you will know Satan’s wrath.”
“Blah, blah.” Reaver rolled his eyes.
Revenant popped Reaver on the back of the head with a flare of power. “Asshole.”
“I can feel the brotherly love radiating from you.” Reaver returned the not-so-gentle gesture, except from the front, and Revenant’s head snapped back as if he’d been punched.
“Stop it!” Metatron barked. “Reaver, release the traitorous whore.”
“No!” Gabriel flashed from the sidelines to the center of the circle. “If we let her go now, we’ll never have a shot at her again.”
Gabby was right. Satan would ensconce her in his realm where she’d be safe from anyone, including Reaver.
But Reaver was siding with Metatron on this. The fallout, and the damage to Heaven, would rest on his shoulders.
And he was okay with that. If he’d learned anything at all in his long and weird life, it was that if you made a decision, you owned it. Even if it was the wrong decision.
“Wait!” Michael materialized next to Reaver, a set of golden scythes in his hands. Instinctively, Reaver growled. He’d been on the sharp edge of those things twice, and they were a little too close for comfort, even if they wouldn’t work on him. He’d turn Michael into sausage if he tried.
Gabriel spun to Michael and gestured to the scythes. “What are you doing with those?”
“Something we should have done a long time ago.” Michael turned to Reaver. “It was Harvester’s idea.”
That was all Michael needed to say. Reaver stepped back from Gethel, and when the fallen angels tried to rush to her, he knocked them back with an invisible barrier formed by his thoughts.
Revenant tackled him like a linebacker, slamming them both into the ground. Pain streaked through Reaver’s shoulder, but he healed in a heartbeat and used his freshly healed arm to punch his brother in the face.
Blood spurted from Rev’s nose, but as with Reaver, the injury healed instantaneously, disappearing even the blood.
They rolled around on the packed earth, trading punches in a fight that was far more personal than using special powers would have allowed. For all the amazing upgrades they’d been given, there was nothing more satisfying than a good old-fashioned brawl between brothers.
Through the sound of flesh striking flesh, growls, and curses, Reaver heard Gethel scream. Heard the sickening crunch of wings being separated from her body.
And then, as if a veil had been lifted. Revenant was gone. All the fallen angels were gone. Team Evil had collected its prize and left, leaving Reaver with Metatron and his colleagues.
Shaking his head, Reaver cleaned himself of the blood, dirt, and injuries, and came to his feet.
“I’ll be damned,” Metatron murmured, his gaze fixed on the set of bloody wings lying on the ground, the dull, frayed feathers ruffling in the hot breeze.
“What happened?”
“Harvester figured it out.” Michael made the scythes disappear. “Lucifer’s birth was all about the vessel. In order to be reborn with even greater powers than he had before, the vessel carrying him needed to be someone pure and holy, but who fell from grace.” Everyone gave him blank stares. “Fell from grace,” he prompted. “But not
Of course! Reaver damned near conked himself on the head. “Gethel wasn’t fallen, so she still counted as pure and holy despite all her vile actions.”
Michael nodded. “Harvester realized that if we gave Gethel an official boot out of Heaven, she would no longer be fit to give birth to a fully formed, adult Lucifer.”
“Clever,” Metatron mused. “She’s still pregnant with Lucifer, but he’s been downgraded. We still have time to kill him, but even if we don’t, his birth isn’t going to cause cataclysmic destruction.”
Reaver grinned. “So Harvester stopped the war
That earned him a lot of scowls and a few insults, all of which he ignored. The fact that he was more powerful by far than any of them except Metatron made him feel extraordinarily magnanimous.
Michael, who Reaver had always thought was a bit of a dick, strode over. And held out his hand. Wary, Reaver took it, but the archangel merely clasped their hands together as he leaned in.
“I’ve judged you harshly. Deservedly so,” he added. Of course. “But you’ve proven yourself. You and Harvester are meant for each other.” His voice dipped low. “You should hurry.”
Reaver’s breath clogged in his throat. Harvester was with Raphael. Right now. Was it too late?
Heart pounding, Reaver spread his wings. “I’m out of here. Send me your thanks for grabbing Gethel and helping to end the war later.”
“You started it, you arrogant ass!” Uriel shouted.
“Right. Forgot.” Reaver shrugged. “You never thanked me for the last time. I’ll take your apologies later.”
He left them open-mouthed and fury-faced. All except Metatron, whose laughter followed Reaver all the way to Heaven.
Thirty-Four
Harvester once again entered Raphael’s home high in the Covenant mountains that stretched across the endless outer regions of Heaven. It always surprised newcomers that Heaven wasn’t composed of clouds and golden gates. It resembled Earth. Except cleaner. With no biting insects, venomous reptiles, or allergy-inducing pollen. And even in the snow and the desert, there was no uncomfortable cold or heat.
He was waiting for her in the bedroom.
Stomach churning, she walked inside.
“Look at you,” he said. “How many layers of clothing do you have on?”
About a million. She’d taken her time getting ready for this, which included crying, showering, and crying some more. Getting dressed had been a major ordeal, but she had to admit that she’d smiled when she’d put on the ugly pink underwear and bra Reaver had gotten for her. It would be a silent defiance, but she’d love that Raphael would be forced to remove something that belonged to Reaver.
Leggings and a tank top had followed, then sweats, then a robe. But with the way Raphael was undressing her with his eyes, she wished she’d put on armor, too. And a chastity belt.
The cock-severing chastity belt Limos had been forced to wear when she’d been betrothed to Satan would be perfect.
For his part, Raphael was wearing only a pair of crimson silk lounge pants, and she had a sneaky suspicion he was commando underneath.
“Let’s just do this,” she ground out.
“So eager.” He smiled, but it wasn’t a nice one. “I’d think you’d be worn out from your earlier activities with Reaver.” He moved toward her, his predatory intent clear. “That ends now. If he so much as kisses you, I’ll destroy him.”
