But Harvester had known Yenrieth. She’d given up her wings for his children. Clearly, Yenrieth had meant something to her once, even if she didn’t remember what he looked like.
“As Satan’s daughter,” Reaver began, “Harvester can sense her siblings. She can find Lucifer even if he’s inside Gethel.”
Lorelia scowled. “What’s to keep her brothers and sisters from finding Harvester after she escapes?”
“Harvester’s ability to sense Satan’s offspring is unique,” Metatron answered, “for the same reason her blood is stronger than that of her siblings. She was conceived in Heaven before Satan was expelled.”
“No.” Raphael crossed his arms over his chest and pegged Reaver with a hard glare. “Nyet. Nein. Non. Nei. Nu. Na. Shise. Yai. You aren’t rescuing Harvester. Is any of this getting through to you?”
Reaver smiled. “You’re wrong about shise. That’s Sheoulic for fungus. The word you’re looking for is shishe.” Idiot.
“Why am I not surprised by your fluency in the universal demon language?” Raphael’s own smile was chilly. “Did all your demon friends and lovers teach you?”
Reaver didn’t take the archangel’s bait. His best friends were demons, but he hadn’t been intimate with a demon in years. Not since the day he earned his wings back. And right now, his friends weren’t the issue.
“If you won’t mount a rescue for Harvester, let me do it. Give me command of a flight of battle angels.”
Raphael scoffed. “You want command of an entire flight? You’re barely capable as a battle soldier.”
“I’m more powerful than any battle angel, and you know it.”
“But you can’t follow orders. How are you supposed to lead if you can’t follow?” Metatron sounded almost reasonable. Wrong, but reasonable.
Raphael’s shrewd gaze fixed on Reaver as if stripping him down to his very essence. Reaver actually looked down to make sure he was still clothed in jeans and a navy button-down.
“We appreciate your wanting to help,” Raphael said in the same tone someone might use to pat a child on the head. “But even if we did decide to rescue Harvester, you’d be the last person we’d send. She hated Yenrieth. She’d be more likely to hand you over to Satan than let you rescue her.”
Reaver frowned. “But she gave up her wings for his—my—children. Why would she do that if she hated me?”
Raphael’s mouth puckered like he’d licked a rotten lemon. “I’ve wondered the same thing.” He waved his hand, dismissing the subject and Reaver. “We’ll take it from here.”
“You can’t do this—”
Raphael waved his hand again, and Reaver’s voice cut out. “We can do whatever we want.”
Screw you. Reaver hoped they could read his mind.
“Don’t even think about rescuing Harvester,” Metatron said. “You won’t make it out of Sheoul, and even if you do, we’ll take your memory from you again, but not before raining fire down on you with such force that you’ll beg for death.”
Normally, at this point he’d flare his wings out in defiance. Or flip them the not-so-holy bird. But if there was ever a time when Reaver needed to exercise control and feign compliance, now was it.
However, playing nice didn’t mean he had to roll over like a chastised puppy. “Can I at least have my memory back?”
He was tired of no one remembering him, tired of not remembering anything beyond the last thirty years. He’d only recently pieced some bits of his past together, but there were still far too many holes in his angelic timeline. If he could just get some of that back maybe he could finally feel whole. His memory loss had always bothered him, but after learning that he was a father—to the Four Horsemen, no less—getting his past back had become a priority. How could he be a good father if he didn’t know why he’d abandoned them for five thousand years in the first place?
Not to mention the fact that as the Horsemen’s father, it was he who was fated to break their Seals to begin the biblical Apocalypse, one of the last measures meant to stop Satan in the final days of the prophesied war between Heaven and hell.
“No,” Metatron said. “And stop asking.” He strode over to Revenant and nudged him with a toe as he lay on his side. Reaver wished the archangel would give the evil Watcher a swift kick in the ribs.
“Reaver.” Raphael’s voice was hushed as he pressed an object into Reaver’s palm. “I mean it. Stay out of Sheoul.” He joined Metatron, leaving Reaver to check out Raphael’s gift.