Hot, fetid breath and serrated growls surrounded him as the other hounds crept in close. Gaping jaws dripping with drool opened near his head. Reaver tensed, waiting for the thing to clamp down.
For a long time, nothing happened. And then, as if he was at ground zero for a nuclear blast, the lead hellhound forced images back at him. Reaver’s mind reeled, spinning inside his skull and careening around so fast he couldn’t pull the images together. He gripped his head and fell back as everything the hellhound had seen in the last few days downloaded into his brain.
“Darkmen,” he gasped, releasing the beast.
Harvester’s hands framed his face, and her gaze searched his. “Reaver? What about darkmen?”
He shook his head to clear it, but he could still see the black-robed hunters in his head. “The hellhounds saw darkmen. Nearby.”
“Nearby?” She whistled through her teeth. “This is bad.”
On that, Reaver agreed. Darkmen weren’t something anyone wanted to deal with. The conjured, shadowy men carried with them the powers of angels, which was no surprise, since they were controlled by them.
The archangels had sent assassins.
Sixteen
The Horsemen were at it again. Their tropical parties were legendary, even among legends, and once again, they were preparing to put the female Horseman’s beach hideaway to use as a pig-roasting, margarita-guzzling, volleyball-playing bash.
Clearly, with the Daemonica’s apocalyptic prophecy averted, the Horsemen had nothing better to do.
Revenant changed his hair from short to long, from brown to dirty blond as he strode toward them, his boots kicking up the warm sand as he walked. He fucking hated sand. And naturally, two of the four Horsemen lived in Sand Central. Limos and her mate, Arik, liked the tropical Hawaiian shit, and Ares and Cara made their home on a private Greek island. Most people would consider their homes to be paradises.
Most people were morons.
But hey, Revenant wasn’t elitist when it came to classifying morons. Morons existed in all races, from humans to angels to demons. He might have to hang with demons because he was a fallen angel, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t see their faults. Evil was more interesting than good, but truly, most evil beings were dumber than fence posts.
He slowed as he got closer, an irritating tingle on the back of his neck alerting him to the arrival of the female angel who appeared in front of Limos.
The moment the Horsemen saw him, they swiped their fingers over their armor symbols on their throats and went from beach attire to suits of armor in a split second.
“ ’Sup, Horseboys and Horsegirls?”
“Revenant.” Lorelia curled her lip in disgust. “You always have the worst timing.”
“You both have terrible timing.” Thanatos folded his arms over his bone-armor breastplate. “What are you doing here? Has Gethel been found?”
“You know I can’t discuss Gethel.” Revenant loved annoying all these assholes. “I’m here to deliver some other news. But I’ll let my Heavenly counterpart go first.” He grinned. “Ladies and pure goodness first. I’m polite that way.”
“You don’t know what polite is, Fallen,” Lorelia said, all snooty-like.
“That was rude,” Revenant said, doing his best I’m-so-hurt impression. No one bought it.
Lorelia huffed. “Have any of you seen Reaver lately?”
Limos, looking like a slightly pregnant armadillo in her samurai armor, narrowed her violet eyes. “Why?”
Revenant was curious about that as well.
“Because I asked,” Lorelia snapped. “Have you seen him?”
Everyone clammed up tight. Stupid angel. Had she not figured out that these hard-headed horseshits didn’t do demands well? He’d learned that you definitely caught more horseflies with honey than with blood.
In the uncomfortable silence, Revenant studied his nails. Then brushed a bit of dust off his leather coat. Then used his boot to scratch his name in the sand. It was fun to draw attention to the awkwardness.
Finally, Lorelia ground out, “My superiors want to know where Reaver is. It’s important.”
“We haven’t seen him in weeks.” Ares’s hard leather armor creaked as he ran his hand through his short reddish-brown hair. Known also as War, he tended to keep things simple and to the point. “No idea where he is. He does this sometimes.”
“Now, why are you asking?” Reseph, his beach-bum platinum hair gleaming in the sun, bounced a volleyball from hand to hand as if he didn’t have a care in the world. His carefree attitude was deceptive though; of all the Horsemen, he’d proven to be the most dangerous. The human world was still recovering from the hell he brought down on it as Pestilence.