Next, they’d have rivers of lava, dead forests full of pain-feeding monsters, and an entire region dedicated to torture devices to navigate before reaching Satan’s territory.
From there, Reaver would be on his own. Their group would draw too much attention, so the plan was for him to sneak in to Satan’s torture complex, grab Harvester, and meet up with Tavin, Matt, and Calder for the journey home.
That was the plan, anyway.
In the distance, something shrieked. Something else screamed. And a few somethings snarled. Here, in hell’s underbelly, those were probably comforting sounds. No doubt someone had developed a sleep app with the lulling white noise of pain, misery, and fighting.
Ah, Sheoul.
Reaver closed his eyes and put his head back against the rock wall.
But would she welcome him or fight him? She hated him, and if the archangels were to be believed, she’d accepted her fate a long time ago. She might resist an attempt to rescue her.
Not that it mattered. Reaver was saving her if he had to kill her to do it.
In this case, death could only be a relief.
For the first time since Harvester had been brought to Sheoul for an eternity of torment, she wasn’t miserable. Oh, she wasn’t exactly comfortable, what with the way she was naked and hanging by her wrists over a pool of bubbling acid, but at least she wasn’t freezing or burning or being tortured.
Granted, she couldn’t see, since her eyes had been gouged out a few hours ago, but the pain from that had dissipated as her body tried to heal and make new peepers. She couldn’t hear very well, either; her most recent torturer had driven thin spikes into her ears and shattered her eardrums. Again, the pain was long gone, and she was pleasantly numb.
So as long as she was by herself in this room, either forgotten or left to grow agonizingly hungry and thirsty, she was going to enjoy the break.
Enjoy. She was going to
She wanted to laugh. A hysterical, mindless laugh that would end in tears. Except she had no tear ducts.
Deranged laughter bubbled up but never got the chance to surface. A faint tremor prickled her skin.
Again. And again. The vibrations came in a steady beat, and she choked on a sob when she realized what they were.
Cold terror knotted every one of her muscles, locking her up so hard she could barely breathe. As miserable as she was now, at least she was alone. No one was making her scream in agony. No one was demanding answers from her with sharp objects or torturing her with bloody threats they always followed through on.
The tremors grew stronger. Someone was coming closer, and dread made her empty stomach churn.
Warmth spread over her back. Whoever was in the room was just inches away.
“Who are you?” Harvester felt hands on her, felt the whisper of someone’s words against her cheek, but she couldn’t hear or see, and even her ability to think was being stripped away by impending panic.
The chains looped around her wrists came free. She dropped toward the acid pool below, but even as she started to scream, a hand covered her mouth and she was cradled firmly against a very broad chest.
This was a new torture. Usually while she was either blind or deaf or both, they struck her or cut her or worse—making her go mad with anxiety over where the next pain would come from and how bad it would be.
This was far more horrible. Whoever was hauling her away was being gentle. She didn’t like gentle. Gentle always resulted in pain. Mental or physical, it always hurt.
She trembled, waiting for it. This asshole would skin her, or he’d stab her with a red-hot iron. Or he’d impale her on a spike. Maybe he’d violate her over and over before handing her off to friends. Perhaps he’d trick her into trusting him, and then he’d turn on her.
No matter what, it would be agonizing.
The whisper came again, a light, warm caress of air on her cheek. Soft lips brushed her skin, and she wondered what species of demon they belonged to. He was likely hideous, but she was sure he was male. Every place her body was in contact with his was rock hard and there was a very masculine note to his scent—which was surprisingly pleasant.
And familiar. But why?
She wracked her brain for the answer, but fear of the unknown and the pain of the last round of torture kept her brain too occupied to delve deep into the mystery. All she could do was wait for him to take her to wherever her new, fresh hell would take place.
The lips again. Speaking against her forehead. The male’s hand came up to tuck her head against his chest in what she could almost believe was a protective gesture before suddenly, he was moving fast, his movements jerky and violent. Twice he almost dropped her, and she lost count of the number of times he banged her against something. Each time, those lips would caress her skin, and deep in his chest, a rumble would vibrate through her body.
What was going on?
It seemed like they went on this way forever, with him sprinting like a madman through an obstacle course, and then occasionally stopping and going very, very still, with only his chest rising and falling as though he were panting. His heartbeat was a fast tap against her chest that never seemed to slow down. How could he go on like this? Surely his heart would explode or he’d collapse. And where were they going?
She lost track of time, and she thought she might have even fallen asleep once. Sleep that was brought to a painful, abrupt halt when she fell out of his arms and tumbled over what she assumed were sharp rocks.
As she lay on the ground her ability to hear cut in and out like a bad radio signal. The earth around her shuddered and shook… a battle was taking place. She had no idea where to go or how to protect herself, so she curled into a ball and hoped she was out of the way.
Gradually, the sounds of battle died away, and the male returned, his scent now carrying the distinct tinge of blood, sweat, and combat. Normally, she’d find those scents sexy. Now they just made her shiver with the unknown.
His palms came down on her head and her breath jammed in her lungs. What was he going to do to her? His hands roamed over her body and she cringed, waiting for a violation. Thankfully, after a rapid check from her feet to her head, he picked her up and they were off again, heading God knew where for God knew what.
Again, she lost track of time as he moved, sometimes running, sometimes skidding to a halt. Twice more he put her down to fight, and twice more she scented him when he returned. The second time, she welcomed his attention, because as frightened as she was, so far, he hadn’t hurt her.
Silky soft lips brushed her cheek again. “There… can… in… rest.”
She started. Words? She’d heard him! Finally, her hearing was coming back online. “Who…” She swallowed, but her mouth might as well have been a desert. “Who are you?”
“It’s… I… you’ll… okay. Tav will… and rest.”
The words were louder this time, but no clearer. Her heart started to pound. What should she do? Plot an escape? Help him with whatever it was he was doing? She hated this. Hated not knowing what was going on or what she should do. Worst of all, she hated not knowing what she should feel. Fear? Gratitude? Both were emotions that didn’t come easily to her.
She was far more comfortable with hate.
The male stopped and smoothed his finger over the shell of her ear. The telltale tingle of healing energy entered her body and, as if the world had suddenly gone from peaceful night to daytime in the city, sounds flooded her ears. In the distance, there were shrieks and barking noises. Somewhere close by, the distinct rattling of crispy tree leaves in the breeze joined the male’s labored breathing.
“Tell me,” she rasped, “your name.”
“It’s me,” he murmured in a voice that filled her with disbelief. Dread. Relief. Emotions that didn’t mix well.
