Reaver(60)

She blinked, her bafflement taking the edge off her anger. “What are you talking about? Did you hit your head?” She eyed his throat. “Did I drink too much blood? Are you okay?”

“I loved you,” he repeated, because it hadn’t sounded crazy enough the first time. “But I remember the hate too.”

“Yes,” she said carefully, because she didn’t want to set off the madman. “You hate me.”

“And now I know why.” He clenched his jaw so tight she heard a crack. “You told me what you did to me, and I understood. As Reaver, I got it.”

As Reaver? She was beyond baffled now, was starting to get scared. Something was very wrong with him.

“But as Yenrieth I hated you. I can feel that now. Like it was yesterday.”

Oh, God. She breathed a huge sigh of relief. “I think somehow our memories are getting jumbled up together. Weird stuff happens in this region, and with the lasher implants and your sheoulghuls—”

“Dammit, Harvester, listen to me.” Pivoting, he dragged both hands through his hair over and over, almost obsessively, as if whatever was scrambling his brain could be calmed by a scalp massage. “I came to rescue you to find Lucifer, but I’d been planning to do it all along anyway. Because of the Horsemen. What you did for them. They’re my children,” he said, and it was as if all her bodily functions seized up under an adrenaline overload. He was freaking high. He couldn’t be their father because their father was—“I’m Yenrieth.”





Nineteen





Reaver couldn’t believe he’d just admitted the truth to Harvester. At the worst possible time. But dammit, images had slammed into him while she was feeding, knocking him so off balance that it felt as if he was in two places at once—the present and the past—and only Harvester could shed light on the dark holes in his memory.

He’d remembered moments with Verrine, more flashes of their exploits together, but this time they were a little longer, and this time, they came with the raw emotions he’d felt when the memories had been made.

He’d loved her. He didn’t remember why he hadn’t acted on how he’d felt, but he was certain he’d loved her. So when Harvester had kissed him, he’d felt like everything was right. It had been like coming home.

But then she’d touched him, stroked him, and even as his lust built, searing hatred had scorched his heart. The memory of why he’d bedded Verrine had slammed into him, along with the rage he’d felt when he, as Yenrieth, had learned that Verrine had kept the existence of his children away from him for almost thirty years.

Now all of those emotions were swirling around in his head the way they had five thousand years ago, fresh and poisonous, and mixed with everything Reaver knew and felt, as well.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to be feeling right now, and he was pretty sure Harvester was in the same leaking boat.

She stared at him, and her eyes glazed over with disbelief and confusion. Her mouth opened. Closed. And then he saw it. The moment it all sank in.

Her face went ashen with devastation. “Oh no,” she whispered. Her entire body began to shake. He could smell her fury, her sense of betrayal, and it sliced him wide open. “No. You… oh, gods, no.”

“Harvester—”

“Shut up!” she rasped. “Don’t you speak to me, Yenrieth. Don’t you ever speak to me again.”

Closing his eyes, he waited for it. When it came, he was ready, but it was still the most painful slap he’d ever gotten, not because of the force but because behind it was a female whose agony transferred straight to him.

“How long have you known?” She was screaming now, her anger so great that her powers were seeping into her tirade and blistering waves of heat seared his skin. She snatched up her tank top, her eyes blazing with raw hatred. “Where have you been for the last five thousand years, you bastard?”

He didn’t reply, but it wasn’t because she’d told him to never speak to her again—he was pretty sure that would be impossible given that she was asking questions she demanded answers to. No, he didn’t reply because he couldn’t. He didn’t know where he’d been prior to the last thirty years or so. And he was pretty sure she wasn’t ready to hear anything he had to say.

“Answer me!” Tears streaming down her face, Harvester lunged at him.

He caught her by the shoulders and wrenched her to the mattress. She might be more powerful than him right now, but he was physically stronger, and once he had her on her back, he used both his strength and his weight to keep her from hurting herself or him.