Reaver(37)

Hot blood splashed into her mouth, a silken cascade of the most coveted substance in the underworld. It was as if Harvester had bitten into a live wire while orgasming. Wetness flooded her sex as blissful effervescence flowed through her veins and ecstasy sizzled over the surface of her skin.

Clinging tightly to Reaver’s shoulders and clamping him firmly between her thighs, she swallowed, her pulse growing stronger with every pull on his vein. She’d only ever experienced this once before.

With Yenrieth.

This was what sex between angels felt like. This was what Neethul marrow wine was created to imitate. Harvester used to guzzle the stuff like iced tea on a steamy day in the Styx river basin. Now she realized that marrow wine was a massively pathetic substitute for the real thing.

This was sensual. Decadent. Literally divine.

If Heaven could be summed up as a flavor, it would be Reaver’s blood. She needed more.

“Easy, sweetheart.” Reaver’s husky voice rumbled through her, adding another layer of euphoria to her senses. “You can take more later. I’m not going anywhere.”

You promise? The question popped into her head as if it were a natural thing to ask. Whatever. She’d be horrified later. Right now, all that mattered was how Reaver’s lifeblood made her feel. How he made her feel.

He’d broken another huge rule for her, and he’d done it so easily, as if he weren’t committing a wing-severing offense. The knowledge laid her out, gutted her emotionally.

And it made her so hot she wanted to rip his clothes off with her teeth. Moaning at the thought, she rocked against him, letting her sex roll back and forth over his erection. She thought she heard him moan, too, and was his breathing as frantic as hers?

“Hey, Harvester.” Reaver stroked her back as he spoke, breathless and hoarse. “You need to stop now.”

No stopping. Her entire body vibrated at a frequency that threatened to blow her apart in a dark, seething storm of ecstasy…

Dark… seething… no, that didn’t seem right. Her angel-blood-addled brain couldn’t focus anymore. Reaver’s Heavenly light and power was infusing her, making her strong. Warping into darkness and evil and—

“Harvester.” Reaver’s voice, more urgent, rolled through her. “Stop.”

His hands, which had been caressing her back and running through her hair, were suddenly on her shoulders in a biting, painful grip. Growling, she doubled her efforts to take his blood. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she should stop, but she crushed the thought with coldhearted ruthlessness.

She was a fallen angel, after all. Evil. Satan’s daughter.

Suddenly, Reaver tore away from her. Blood sprayed from his torn throat, calling to her like a juicy hamburger called to a starving man. She dove for him, but he wheeled out of the way.

“You… I remember—holy shit.” He stared at her like she was both a stranger and an old enemy as he slapped his hand over the wound in his neck. “Something’s wrong with you.”

Something was wrong with her? She laughed, and even to her own ears it was a sinister sound.

“Nothing’s wrong with me, angel.” Her voice was warped. Guttural. Demonic surround sound. “It’s you. You’re glowing. You’re an angel in hell, and now everyone is going to know it.”





Twelve





Metatron barreled through the halls of the Archangel complex, his heart racing, his powers skating on the surface of his skin. Screams reverberated off the walls and pillars, and under his feet, tremors rocked the ground.

He skidded around a corner at the entrance to the Crystal Chamber, and for a moment, he froze at the incomprehensible sight of a Soulshredder tearing apart an angel.

A demon.

No demon had ever set foot in Heaven, let alone inside the Archangel buildings.

“Metatron!” Raphael’s shout rang out from somewhere behind him.

Metatron hurled a flaming dagger at the Soulshredder, taking it out with effortless ease. The thing shrieked as its body combusted, raining greasy ashes onto the gold-and-gem-tiled floor.

Whirling in the direction of Raphael’s shout, he ducked the swing of another Soulshredder, but before he could destroy it, a sword cleaved the evil beast in half. It collapsed, and with its death, the overwhelming, almost crippling sense of evil in Heaven vanished.

Behind the creature, spattered in demon blood, was Raphael. Disbelief and anger etched deep lines in his face, and Metatron wondered if he looked as shaken as Raphael was.

“This is madness,” Raphael breathed, his voice laced with a rare note of fear.

Oh, he didn’t fear demons; he feared for the future, just as Metatron did. Not since Satan led a rebellion that divided Heaven and cost thousands of angel lives had an event of such proportions rocked Heaven.