Reaver(22)

Besides, she couldn’t sense her evil unborn brother. Not at a distance. She was too drained, too weakened by months of torture. Hell if she was going to tell Reaver that, though.

“We need to get out of here,” she said. “We’ve been here too long. Trackers are going to find us.”

“I know.” Sitting up, he gestured to his backpack. “There are clothes and protein bars inside. Get dressed and eat while I check the situation outside. We’ll head out as soon as you’re ready. Tavin said we’re only a three day journey from a place where I should be able to flash us out of here. Three days, and we’ll all be safe.”

Safe. Reaver might be an optimist, but she was a realist. They’d never be safe. He slipped away before she had a chance to ask where they were. They couldn’t be that far from Satan’s stronghold. She could still feel the sinister vibration that emanated from Sheoul’s very center and called to her blackened soul like a beacon.

No, they were close to hell’s beating heart.

With a shudder, she dug through Reaver’s backpack and scarfed two of the protein bars as well as an apple she found in one of the pockets. She gulped water from the never-empty canteen, a handy angelic vessel that usually held nectar. Unfortunately, most Heavenly nectars were poisonous to fallen angels. Reaver had thought ahead, the wily little halo-head.

Finally feeling as though her gut wasn’t a bottomless pit, she checked out the clothes Reaver had brought. The matching bra and underwear were… pink. Bright. Hideous. Payback, she supposed, for the kitten-dotted pink sweats she’d given him when she’d gotten him out of Sheoul-gra.

She slipped on the hideous pink crap and held up the black tank top. Not bad. She wasn’t going to complain, for sure. He could have humiliated her with another pink thing to wear. But as much as she hated to admit it, Reaver might be an arrogant ass, but he wasn’t stupid. Pink outerwear would make her stand out too much in a place where more people wore burlap, scales, or other people’s skin than actual clothes.

The black leggings fit perfectly, almost as if he’d rifled through her closet for them. The midnight-black leather knee-high boots were plain but serviceable, and again, she wasn’t about to gripe.

Of course, she wasn’t going to thank him, either. The idiot had started them on a fool’s quest, and even if they survived the journey out of Sheoul, would they survive the punishment the archangels would dole out? Harvester wouldn’t bet on it.

Reaver returned as she was tucking all the supplies back into the pack.

“One of our companions has gone missing, but Tavin’s healing powers are restored. I’ll get him in here—”

“No.” She swallowed dryly. “I told you.”

“You aren’t blind anymore.”

No, she wasn’t. But she’d been at the mercy of too many people, and the thought of yet another stranger putting his hands on her, channeling power into her…

“Harvester,” Reaver said softly, “even if you won’t let him heal you, you need to feed.”

“I know.” If she didn’t, it could be weeks until she could do basic things, like sense Harrowgates, let alone grow her wings back.

They wouldn’t survive weeks down here, and even if she didn’t care about her own life, she couldn’t condemn everyone in the party to death because of her stubbornness. Or her fear.

She blinked in utter shock. Had she really just considered other lives besides her own? Maybe Reaver’s angelic goodness was rubbing off on her like itching powder on her skin. Great. Now she was torn between being glad and wanting to shower. She’d survived by committing herself to an evil way of life. Being nice got people killed.

“Harvester?”

Right. Get it together. You spent five thousand years in Sheoul and only five months in Daddy’s torture playground. Don’t be a pussy.

“Yeah,” she said abruptly, surprising even herself. “I’ll do it. I’ll feed.” She stood, hoping he didn’t notice that she wobbled.

He noticed. “You okay? We can hang out here for a few more minutes.”

“I don’t need your pity,” she snapped, realizing she was being a bitch, but she didn’t know how else to be.

Oh, she remembered her time as a trusting, nonbitchy angel, but those days were long gone, and the walls she’d erected when Yenrieth crushed her had been fortified into an impenetrable barrier that didn’t allow for breaches.

“I don’t pity you, Harvester.”

“He says, his voice dripping with pity.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Whatever. Can we go? I’ll feed outside. With you there,” she added, and then instantly regretted it.