“You’d rather go by your fallen angel name than your given angel name?”
She snorted. “I could ask the same of you. Now that you know you’re an angel, why are you still going by Revenant?”
The tiniest sliver of pain pierced his chest, but he wasn’t about to let Harvester know she’d struck a nerve. He didn’t have an angel name. The name Revenant was all he knew.
“Because I’m a fallen angel in every way that counts,” he said.
“Really.” She cocked a dark eyebrow. “Then why not chop off your wings and make it official?”
Falling wasn’t that simple, but Harvester wasn’t being serious. She was baiting him into saying that he was perfectly happy with his life. With having spent thousands of years in hell instead of living a life of luxury in Heaven the way Reaver had. Because yeah, he’d gotten the awesome end of the stick in that deal.
“Why not take back your angelic name?” he pressed her. “And tell me, Harvester, how hard was it to pretend to be evil for thousands of years, all the while knowing you were doing Heaven’s bidding? Or were you pretending?”
A muscle ticked in her jaw, just barely, but enough to know he’d struck a nerve. “I struggled every day of my life to keep evil from taking over my soul.”
“Because it was easier to be evil, wasn’t it?” Until just weeks ago, he’d thought he was pure evil, a fallen angel with no hope of redemption. But all of that had changed, and now he found himself wrestling with who he really was. As much as he hated to admit it, he and Harvester were a lot alike.
“Evil is always easier,” Harvester murmured.
“True dat.” He squinted, zeroing in on the man on the porch. “Why are you spying on your werewolf slave?”
“He’s not mine anymore. He belongs to Jillian now.” A smile turned up one corner of her mouth. “She gave him back his birth name and granted him as much freedom as he can stand.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re spying on him.” She didn’t answer, but he realized she didn’t need to.
The fact that she was here spying on the werewolf told Rev that she’d truly cared about him. She might even have set him free if he wasn’t bound for life to be a slave. Nope, his slave bond, while transferable, wasn’t breakable. Tough break. Revenant knew exactly how it felt to be tethered to someone by blood.
“Why are you here?” she asked tiredly. “Some diabolical plot to annoy me to death?”
“I wanted to check up on the Horsemen,” he lied.
“They’re fine, and unless they summon you, I’d stay out of their way.”
“Aw, Uncle Revenant isn’t their favorite person anymore?”
She ignored his sarcasm. He’d never been their favorite person. “They’re a little protective of their father, and since you and Reaver aren’t exactly best buds…”
“They’re going to be dishing me extra large portions of asshole at the family reunion .” So not a surprise.
Harvester cast a fleeting glance at him. “Can I ask you something?”
Huh. Harvester never asked permission to do anything, so this should be good. “Shoot.”
This time when she looked over, she locked eyes with him. “In all the time I was rotting in my father’s dungeons, why didn’t you ever take the opportunity to torture me? He sent everyone else to do their best, so why not you?”
Actually, Satan had offered Harvester up on a platter for Rev’s sadistic enjoyment. But while Revenant had no problem with killing, he couldn’t torture a female. Even before he got his memories back, he’d had a particular aversion to it, even though he’d had no idea why. Now he knew. He’d seen what it had done to his mother, and he would take no part in that.
“Your pain doesn’t interest me,” he said.
Eyes narrowed, she studied him long enough that he damned near started squirming. “Tell me, Revenant, when he tells you to kill me, will that interest you?” He shrugged, but something in his expression must have given him away, because she murmured, “He already has, hasn’t he?”
“It’s against the rules for a Watcher to kill another Watcher,” he said simply.
She snorted. “As if there aren’t work-arounds. I’ve seen the archangels bend rules for their own selfish reasons. I’m sure you can, too.”
Maybe, but he wouldn’t. Rules were rules. “Speaking of archangels, I don’t suppose you can tell me what’s up with the goody-goody bastards?”
She flipped her black hair over her shoulder. “You’ll have to be more specific.”