Reaver(87)
“Reaver.” Harvester ran toward him, her feet slipping in mud created by the rain and his blood. She threw herself at him, tearing at the treclan spikes. No one stopped her, and Reaver didn’t move. His eyes were open, but he wasn’t there.
When she’d pulled free all of the spikes, she gathered him in her arms and held him against her, rocking him, stroking his hair, not caring that her pristine white clothes were now ruined.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.” She glared at the archangels through the rain that pelted her and Reaver. “You bastards. You fucking bastards.”
Temper flashed in Raphael’s eyes, little bolts of crimson lightning. “You may be my consort, but you will never speak to an archangel like that again.”
“Don’t bet on that,” she shot back. “You’re right; you should have gotten me thousands of years ago, when I was meek and biddable. Big mistake, Raphael. Huge.”
His expression darkened. “Come. We’re done here. You’re not to see him again.”
When she didn’t move, he threw his head back and roared. The storm Reaver had created with his agony grew ten times worse, spawning tornadoes that circled the hilltop.
“Now,” he growled, his voice amplified to a near-deafening pitch. “Now, or I will pluck Reaver from your arms and dump him in Sheoul.”
To do so would complete Reaver’s fall from grace, allowing him no chance of redemption, because somehow, she doubted that he’d ever be raised the way she had. She was the first, and likely, the last.
With a sob, she laid Reaver carefully on the ground. Bending, she brushed her lips across his, taking a perverse pleasure at Raphael’s growl of jealousy.
“Now!”
Harvester came to her feet slowly, defiantly, and without sparing Raphael even a glance, she spread her new wings and took flight.
“Forbidden to see Reaver again? WWRD, asshole,” she muttered as she shot upward into a black cloud. What would Reaver do, indeed. He’d break the rules.
So would she.
Twenty-Six
Blaspheme hated days off work. Days off meant she had to find something to do with herself, and she’d rather not be that creative. But when Eidolon promoted her from paramedic to doctor a few months ago, she’d been given more duties, and she’d been put on call on her days off.
Awesome. She loved getting called into work, and with all the turmoil going on in Sheoul right now, there was plenty of work to go around.
She’d barely stepped out of the Harrowgate and into the packed emergency department when Eidolon pulled her aside. “Glad you’re here. I need you to take a look at Tavin.”
“Tavin? Wasn’t he released days ago?”
“Yeah.” Eidolon frowned. “But he’s got something weird going on with his dermoire.”
She automatically glanced at the sleeve of dermal glyphs on his right arm. “Shouldn’t that be your area of expertise?”
“His personal symbol changed. Idess says it’s angelic in nature, but there’s something wrong with it.” He lowered his voice as a Ramreel patient limped past, his hoof wrapped in bandages. “I was hoping you might have some insight.”
She stiffened. What would make him think she could give insight into something angelic in nature? False Angels were like false morels. Poisonous copies of the real things and related only in appearance.
“Do you mean False Angelic?”
“No.” He looked beyond her for a moment before meeting her gaze. “And on the subject of angels, stay away from Revenant.”
She frowned. “Who’s Revenant?”
“The male who was here about Limos. Tall. Lots of leather. Long black hair. Asshole.”
Right. Asshole. Now she remembered him. He’d generously offered to let her suck his cock. As if. Sure, he’d oozed danger and sex, and if she’d met him at a club, she’d probably have taken him home. Except he’d be the one doing the mouth workout. Not her.
“I wasn’t planning on hanging out with him or anything. Why do I need to stay away from him?”
The doctor’s voice went low again. “He’s a fallen angel.”
Her gut did a slow slide to her feet. She had a fallen angel interested in her. As much as she didn’t like the idea that Eidolon had seen through her False Angel facade, at least she trusted him. But fallen angels were hazardous to people like her.
They hunted her kind for sport.
“Understood,” she whispered.
E nodded briskly. “Good. Now go check on Tav. He’s in exam three.”
Knees wobbling, mind spinning in a haze, she made her way to Tavin’s room. He was sitting on the exam table, his black fatigues covering him from neck to ankles. Black combat boots completed his assassin attire. Well, the weapons completed it.