Reaver(9)

“I hate to tell you this,” Eidolon said as he gloved up, “but what I’m doing now is helping you. Strip.”

Reaver unbuttoned his shirt. “You know what I mean.”

Eidolon gestured to Wraith, who tossed him a glass vial. The tiny objects inside clinked as the container met Eidolon’s palm.

“I had to kill three lashers for those, so treat them well.”

“Three?” Reaver asked. “I only needed two lasher thyroid glands. One for each wing.”

Wraith shrugged in his beaten-to-hell leather duster. “The third lasher tried to decapitate my mate.”

Yeah, that would do it. Wraith, like all five of the Sem siblings, was extremely protective of his mate and offspring.

Eidolon took Reaver’s shirt and tossed it to Sin. “This is going to hurt a little. Or… a lot.”

Local anesthesia didn’t work well on angels. Figured.

“You’d think angels wouldn’t be big babies,” Wraith said.

“I can deal,” Reaver said. “It can’t be that bad.”

Eidolon swabbed the base of Reaver’s wings with alcohol. “I’m inserting two gland sacs full of concentrated evil into your wings. Imagine someone drilling into your body and then leaving the drill bits inside.”

Yeah, this was going to suck. But without a way to mask his “angelness,” as Sin liked to put it, Reaver would attract every demon in Sheoul. He’d be dead within a day, once his Heavenly powers ran out.

“So if we can’t help, why did you ask me to meet you here?” Sin asked.

“Because I could use a favor,” he said. “You used to run an assassin den. Do you still have any pull with the current assassin master of your old den?”

“Maybe.” Sin played with the long black braid falling over her shoulder. “Why?”

“I can’t use most of the Harrowgates in Sheoul, and I have limited flashing abilities. I need a guide to get me in and out.”

Reaver hated needing a guide for anything, but he needed all the help he could get for this particular mission. As a bonus, all assassins were skilled fighters, so if Sin could arrange it, Reaver would have command of his own Sheoul special ops team. Raphael and Metatron could shove the flight of angels he’d asked for up their asses.

“I can probably get Tavin on board for you. He’s been everywhere,” Sin said. “And as long as you pay, he can’t be accused of helping an angel infiltrate hell.”

Excellent. Tavin had been instrumental in saving Limos’s husband’s life a while back. Of course, a few days later Tavin had tried to kill Arik, but still, as far as demon assassins went, Reaver could do worse than having Tavin on his team.

“I’ll also need someone who can feed Harvester. She’ll need to drink blood to regrow her wings.” Because wings were an angel’s source of power, Satan would have had them removed immediately. Without them, no angel—fallen or not—could flash to another location, and their fighting abilities were severely limited. “And do you have someone familiar with the B’lal region of Sheoul?”

She shook her head. “No one is familiar with Satan’s personal playground except his inner circle. And dead people. But I know a Nightlash demon who has made it as far as the Mountains of Eternal Suffering. And I’m pretty sure I can get you a werewolf assassin who likes to be fed on.”

Reaver looked up at the chains looping across the tent ceiling supports before turning back to her. “How much is this going to cost me?”

She appeared to consider that. “One penny for each assassin,” she chirped. “And a favor.”

“What favor?”

“I don’t know yet. Could be anything.” She blinked at his flat stare. “What? I’m a mercenary. And a demon. I can’t fight instinct.”

Wraith grinned. “It’s like we’re twins.”

Eidolon muttered something under his breath as his gloved fingers pressed firmly at the base of a wing anchor. “Reaver, I need you to take a deep breath. And don’t flinch or summon your wings.”

Angels didn’t “summon” thier wings, but reminding Eidolon that wings morphed into a liquid form to melt under the skin of an angel’s back when not in use was stupid, given that the demon was holding a scalpel.

“I’m tougher than Wraith seems to think—holy shit!” Pain drilled into Reaver’s back, exploding up his spine and knocking his ability to see, hear, or think right out of his skull.

He felt hands on his shoulders as someone braced him from the front. Another stab of agony nailed him. E, inserting the second pod of concentrated evil. Reaver would have taken a header if not for whoever was holding him upright.