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Reaver(101)

By:Larissa Ione


It was a bullshit favor, designed to get Harvester out of the way so he could do what he had to do without her interference. Because he had no doubt that if she knew about his plan, if she even suspected, she’d try to stop him. And if she enlisted the Horsemen’s help to do it, everything Reaver was trying to avoid—death, destruction, and misery—would come to pass.

“I’ll go now.” She threaded her fingers through his hair, a bittersweet smile curving her lips. “And you?”

“I’m going to meet with the archangels,” he lied. “I’ve been to places in Sheoul no angel has ever gone. I’m hoping I can help them nail Gethel.”

She grinned. “And then they’ll be so grateful they’ll give you your wings back.”

Guilt pricked at him for getting her hopes up, but he forced himself to smile. “Exactly.”

“Good luck,” she said, and for the first time since all of this began, hope made her voice sing and her eyes glitter with optimism. This was the Verrine he remembered, finally breaking through five thousand years of walls.

In a matter of hours, all of that would be snuffed. She’d be alive and safe, but once again, he’d have disappeared without a word, without explanation.

Reaver’s gut slid to his feet. Fuck Satan, because there was no torture the demon could devise that could match the torment Reaver was going to put himself through on his own.

As Harvester dematerialized, Reaver cast one last look around the keep and said a silent good-bye to his family. Then he took a deep, bracing breath and switched into battle mode. There was no turning back.

Okay, Satan, buddy. Let’s do this thing.





Thirty-One





Reaver stepped out of the Israeli Harrowgate closest to the Dome of the Rock, but the moment his feet hit the ground, he knew something was terribly wrong.

He wasn’t at the right place.

He was at Megiddo.

Which meant someone had brought him here. Again. The blood from his wingectomy still stained the ground.

A stab of light blasted the earth in front of him, and suddenly, Metatron was there, all sparkly and glowy, his massive wings stretching impossibly high into the predawn sky.

“Hello, Reaver.”

Reaver sighed. “I’m getting tired of you guys jerking me from one place to another. And if you’re here to cut off my wings and give me the boot from Heaven, you’re too late.”

“I’m here because you intend to hand yourself over to Satan in return for peace.”

Reaver jerked as if Metatron had reached into his head and yanked his brain out. “I’m not going to ask how you know. I’m going to ask that you don’t interfere.” He gestured to the land around them. “Though I guess you already have. Can you flash me to the Dome of the Rock? I have only about three minutes before the meeting takes place.”

“A meeting where you’re supposed to turn over Raphael, yes?”

No use in denying it. “Yes.”

“Why did you choose not to do it?”

Reaver crossed his arms over his chest, impatient with this conversation already. He had a sacrifice to go to, and he couldn’t be late, seeing how he was going to be the guest of honor.

“Why don’t you tell me, since you seem to know everything.”

“I want to hear it from you.” It was a command, not a suggestion, and Reaver anxiously glanced at the widening sliver of reddish light on the horizon.

Red in the morning means blood will be flowing. The ancient angelic weather wisdom was going to be one hundred percent accurate today.

“Because as douchey as Raphael is, he’s an angel,” Reaver said. “I might not have wings, but I’ll never betray Heaven.”

Metatron cocked one eyebrow. “You don’t consider all your rebellious acts and broken rules to be betrayals?”

Reaver considered his words very carefully, because he’d rather they not be his last. “I’ve made mistakes. I admit that. But some of the things I did I wouldn’t take back. They needed to be done. I can’t explain how I knew, just that I did. And nothing I did betrayed Heaven to Sheoul.”

“Good answer. Now, what makes you think you’d be an equal exchange for Raphael?”

“Because,” Reaver explained, “I’m the angel who is supposed to break the Horsemen’s Seals. Satan won’t kill me. He’ll torture the fuck out of me for eons, but he’ll need me alive in order to fulfill the biblical prophecy. He’ll probably spend centuries trying to figure out how to use me to make it happen as soon as possible. It’ll buy Heaven and Earth a lot more time than if the war starts in a few days, the moment Lucifer is born.”