Reaver(89)
Time they no longer had. So why were they in Raphael’s home talking as if they had nothing better to do?
“Harvester,” she corrected as she took the glass of the crystal-blue wine without a thank you.
Raphael graced her with a patronizing smile. “You’ll get over that eventually. Harvester.” He sipped his own wine and let out a moan of pleasure. “Now, tell me what you want.”
Your head mounted on a pole. That’s what I want. “That’s a broad question. I want peace on Earth. Three hundred and sixty-five days of Christmas. A ban on all remakes of eighties songs. Oh, and Reaver’s angelic status restored.” She traced the rim of her glass with her finger. “Shall I go on?”
“Sheoul has not positively influenced your personality,” Raphael said, but she didn’t agree. Well, mostly she didn’t agree. But he was still an ass. “Would you like to be the Horsemen’s Watcher again?”
Her heart skipped a beat. Was he serious? He gazed at her with narrowed eyes, clearly waiting for a reaction that he would, no doubt, use to his advantage.
So she didn’t give him one.
With a casual shrug, she tasted the wine. Instant arousal rushed through her veins and concentrated in her breasts and pelvis. Wow. She eyed the glass. Raphael was a sneaky bastard, wasn’t he? No more of that for her.
“I don’t think the Horsemen would appreciate it.”
“They might not like it, but their opinions don’t matter, and you know them better than anyone.”
“I suppose.”
Raphael took another drink from his glass, and his gaze darkened. He probably shouldn’t have any more of the wine, either.
“We’re going to assign you as Watcher.”
Yes. She gave another shrug. “Whatever. I suppose I need a job. But I’m telling you, they won’t be happy. Not after everything I did as their Sheoulic Watcher.”
“But you were helping them.”
“I doubt they’ll see it that way, and even if they do, it’ll take them a while to get over it. Thanatos especially.”
He gestured to her glass. “Have more.”
“I’ve never been much of a drinker.” Very deliberately, she put the glass on the counter. “Are we done here?”
“Don’t you want to know what will make the Horsemen welcome you back with open arms?”
She resisted rolling her eyes. “I give. What will make them suddenly forgive me for everything I’ve done?”
“A baby.” Raphael’s voice was low, seductive in a nonsexual way. Seductive in that way that promised you everything you ever wanted. She was drawn in, no doubt exactly the way he’d planned, and it occurred to her that she’d never had the upper hand in this negotiation. He’d only let her think she had.
“What baby?”
“Limos’s. You didn’t know she lost it?” He smiled, a real I-have-you-now smirk she wanted to slap off his face. “You can give Limos her dream back. You’ll be a hero.” He picked up her glass and held it out. “Drink up, and I’ll tell you how.”
Reaver jolted into consciousness, head pounding, eyes filled with sand. Or glass. He dragged them open and peered through slits at Eidolon’s concerned face hovering over him.
“How are you feeling?”
He cleared his raw throat, wondering why it was so sore. “Like I went through an industrial meat grinder.” He frowned. “Where am I? Why are you here? Why do I keep waking up with you in my face?”
“We’re in Israel. I’m here because Harvester sent word. And you keep waking up with me in your face because you keep getting into trouble.”
Harvester. Right. She’d gotten her wings back. Thank you, God. She’d been so radiant, so full of joy, and so had Reaver. Even through the misery, Reaver’s heart had soared for her.
He tried to sit up, but when his skull threatened to implode, he decided that lying on the ground for a few more minutes couldn’t hurt. Then he remembered, with sickening clarity, being nailed to the ground, and suddenly he didn’t want to be on it anymore.
He struggled to sit up, this time making it past the skull-shattering stage. “My wings are gone, aren’t they?” He knew the answer, but he needed to hear it.
Eidolon’s eyes were sad. “I’m sorry, Reaver.”
He was a fallen angel.
Again.
Didn’t matter that he’d expected it. Hell, he expected to be destroyed. Still, pain that extended well beyond the physical wrapped around him, squeezing like a vise. He let himself mourn for a moment, and then he allowed Eidolon to help him to his feet, ignoring the aches that permeated every cell in his body. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—dwell on this or regret that it happened. The goal had always been to save Harvester from an eternity of torture. He’d have done it even if he’d known with certainty that he’d lose his life or his wings.