From death comes life.

“When we originally forged Deliverance, the Guardian who helped enchant it had a vision. Those words appeared to her, and she insisted that they be carved into the handle. That’s why Than believes that Pestilence can be turned back. He thinks that he can do something to make it happen, because Deliverance is specifically mentioned in Than’s prophecy.”

He cocked his head to the side, studying her for so long she began to fidget. “What?” she finally asked. “Do I have food on my face or something?”

He chuckled, and then sobered. “I’m just glad you told me.”

“You don’t hate me?”

The two feet of space between them closed in an instant, and he dipped his head, brushing his lips lightly over hers. “There’s your answer,” he said, stunning the hell out of her. “I think you should have told your brothers, but I get it. I’ve kept things from Runa.”

“Like?”

He exhaled slowly. “Like the fact that I sold my soul to a Charnel Apostle in order to save her life.” He squeezed his eyes shut, but doing so didn’t hide his pain from her. “She’s dealt with so much, and she carried horrible guilt with her until Shade took it.” He opened his eyes. “I can’t tell her about that either. She’d blame herself.”

“How does Shade take guilt away?” Because she could really use a dose of that magic.

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.” He grimaced. “There are things I do not want to think about my sister doing.”

“Oh. Sex.” Okay, so she didn’t want any of that. Not with Shade. But if Arik wanted to sex her out of her guilt, that would be another story.

“Sort of.”

Sort of? There was no such thing as TMI for her, but Arik obviously didn’t want to go certain places when it came to his sister.

“About Runa…” Now, this was a place she didn’t want to go, but for the first time in her life, she felt like she could. Like she could talk about something she’d done without the fear that she’d be hated. Arik’s reaction to the truth about her past—granted, he still didn’t know the worst of it—had given her a new confidence, and a new desire to come clean, if only to him. “There are no words in Sheoulic for ‘I’m sorry,’ ” she began. “So I grew up without them. Once, when I tried to find the right words, the person I wanted to use them on was punished. I’ve had a hard time saying them since, so please believe me when I say I’m sorry I messed with your memories. I had no right to do it.”

“No, you didn’t.” His voice was hard, but not unkind. “But I get why you did it. You wanted to protect me, just like you did when you offered to give yourself up to Satan.” His big chest expanded on a deep inhale as he reached out and caressed her cheek. “Just promise you won’t do it again.”

She smiled, even though none of this was funny. “Which one?”

“Either. That bastard can’t have you.” Growling, he dropped his hand, and it clenched into a fist, as if he was preparing to go a few rounds with her fiancé. “Nothing is iron-clad. There’s got to be a way out of your contract.”

She snorted. “Sure there is. You can take my virginity.”

Oh, she wasn’t serious, but just thinking about it made her ache for it. Made her desperate to have Arik on top of her, making love to her the way a male should. To have him between her legs like that, his muscles flexing, his skin glistening with sweat… God, she could only imagine the places he’d take her.

“There’s one hell of a catch in that particular out-clause.” He frowned. “Wait, how did you say your chastity belt can be removed?”

“It can’t. Not by anyone but my husband.”

He considered that. “The spell infused in the belt and contract… were those the exact words used? Did it say ‘husband,’ or Satan?”

“Husband.” She drew in a harsh breath. “But Harvester drew up the contract. She wouldn’t have left a loophole like that.” Limos paced the length of the deck, her bare feet making no sound, even if her mind was clacking like an old typewriter as she tried to untangle her marriage contract and Deliverance’s failure. The only thing she was sure about was that she needed help. “I need to talk to Reaver.”

“Do your Watchers disappear often?”

“Sometimes. But when we really need them, they’ve always shown up. Ares and Than haven’t had any luck, but I’ll give it a shot.” She stopped at the far end of the deck and closed her eyes, calling out to Reaver in her mind.

Reaver, our Heavenly Watcher, I require your presence. She repeated the official words of summoning, and then added, Like, now. We’re in trouble, Reavie-Weavie.

Arik’s hands came down on her shoulders, and she allowed herself to lean into him. He slipped his arms around her waist and held her like that as they gazed out over the moonlit ocean. His strength surrounded her, easing her, giving her comfort—and a connection—she’d never had before.

He might be a human, but she’d never met even an immortal with such bravery and resilience. Everything about him fortified her, made her stronger. It was as if she were a sturdy building, capable of standing on her own, but he was her buttress, supporting her outer walls and keeping them steady.

“You are a beautiful couple.” The female voice startled them both, and they whirled around, Arik tucking Limos behind him.

An angel stood on the deck, her white robes glowing as if warding off the night.

“Gethel.” Limos eased next to Arik, who remained in a stiff, battle-ready stance. She took Arik’s hand and squeezed. “It’s okay. She was our Watcher before Reaver.”

“Reaver is why I’m here,” Gethel said. “I heard your summons, but I fear he won’t show.”

“Where is he?”

She shook her head. “I know not. He and Harvester have both become invisible to our eyes.”

Oh, this was bad. If even other angels didn’t know where Reaver was, this was trouble. “Are they in danger?”

“I can only speculate, but I would say yes.”

“Who would… or could… have taken them? And why?”

“Pestilence?” Arik asked, but Gethel shook her head.

“For a Horseman to kill or imprison the Watchers would be the gravest of violations.” She glanced at Limos. “Why were you summoning Reaver?”

Her instinct was to lie. Instead, she forced herself to speak the truth. “I stabbed Pestilence with Deliverance and he didn’t die. Do you know why?”

Gethel’s eyes flashed. “Yes. And so do you.”

Nausea swirled in Limos’s stomach. “So it was my fault.” Arik’s arm came around her, once more bracing her when she needed it. “Why didn’t you say something? You could have warned us.”

“I didn’t know until you confessed your sin to Arik.” She flapped her wings in that way she always had when she was irritated. “You know I love you, Limos, but you brought this on yourself.”

“Hey.” Arik’s voice cracked like a whip. “She regrets what she did, and it took a lot of courage to own up to it, so lay off, angel.”

Lightning streaked overhead. “You are either brave or foolish, human.”

Arik’s fingers dug possessively into her shoulder, not hurting, but marking., buman Claiming. “Yeah, well, what does wanting to marry a Horseman make me?”

Limos whipped her head around to stare at Arik. “You… you’re serious.”

His stare was intense, smoldering. “I told you I won’t let him have you. You said it yourself—the Sheoulic in your contract says husband, not Satan.”

“That’s because the being you know as Satan has many names,” Gethel said. “By naming only one, it could have been argued that the contract wasn’t valid according to some religions.”

“So…” Limos licked her lips, which were as dry as her mouth. “So if Arik marries me, becomes my husband, he could break my chastity belt?”

“In theory,” Gethel said, “he could take your maidenhead and remove you from Satan’s grasp.”

Limos’s heart burned with the desire for Arik’s plan to work, and not just because she’d finally be free of Satan. Arik was offering up her dream on a sexy platter—a marriage, children, sex. Oh, Lord… sex!

And something else, something so priceless she could barely contain her excitement; he’d be giving her someone she could confide in. Someone she wanted to tell the truth to. After they were married, she’d never lie to him again.

“Don’t turn me down, Horseman,” he said, and it was funny how he still refused to say her name. “This might not be the most conventional marriage ever, but if it works, I won’t have demons after my ass to torture your name out of me, and it’ll save you from being Satan’s ball and chain.”

She noticed that he didn’t bring up love as being part of it, and though it shouldn’t sting, it did. But that was okay. Even if he never learned to love her, she loved him enough to make up for it.

“Yes,” she said, her breath trembling in her throat. “My answer is yes.”

On her shoulder, her one side of her tattoo dipped deeper than it ever had.

In favor of good.

Twenty-three

Reaver was still fighting. Harvester watched him from the doorway, amazed at his resilience. He sat against the wall, tossing and catching a rubber ball Whine had given him. Reaver hadn’t said a word since she’d forced the marrow wine down his throat. He’d simply played with the ball, focusing so intently on it that she expected it to burst into flames.

He was incredibly alert, his agility in no way diminished by his captivity, mutilation, or intoxication. She couldn’t help but wonder what was going to happen when he was free again. Would he continue to keep that leashed power inside, or would he let loose and destroy everything in his path?

Harvester had no doubt she’d be the first one he came after, and though she.

Whine approached, his footsteps a mere whisper. “You have a visitor.” Whine’s voice was gruff. He didn’t like strangers, though Reaver seemed to have grown on him. “He said you’re expecting him.”

The Orphmage. She brushed past Whine and met Gormesh in her living room.

He looked up from studying the Neethul sculpture on her wall. “You’re late with your first payment.”

“I have it right here.” She reached for a clay bottle on the shelves next to her. “Angel blood. So fresh it’s still warm.”

Gormesh made the flask disappear into the folds of his robes. “I want to see the angel.” He started toward the hall, but Harvester blocked his way.

“That wasn’t part of the agreement.”

“You agreed to give me the angel’s blood.” The pointy tips of the Orphmage’s ears poked out from his waist-length white hair, and now they twitched in agitation. “You didn’t specify how it was to be taken. I will bleed him myself.”

“What is in the jug is more than enough.”

“But it’s far more potent when taken directly from the source.”

Even more so if it was taken while the subject was screaming in pain, which Gormesh no doubt intended to make happen. “No.”

He hissed, all pretense of civility gone. “You will grant me access.”

“You will kiss my ass.” She sensed Whine easing up behind her, could practically feel the tension rolling off him. His protectiveness didn’t come from a place of affection, but rather from self-preservation. He was bound to her, and if she died, his slave contract would default to her killer.

The Orphmage was as cruel a master as he was a scientist.

Gormesh stiffened, baring his teeth. “You have just made an enemy you didn’t need, Fallen.”

“I’ll add you to the list,” she said. “Now leave.”

“You still owe me.”

“And I have a year to pay. So get the f**k out.”

His eyes went flat, and for a moment, she thought he was going to attack. When he spun around and stormed out of the house, she sagged with relief. In a battle, she had the advantage, but as a mage, he had some nasty tricks up his sleeve, and winning wouldn’t be easy… or without a lot of pain.

“Whine,” she said softly, “fetch me some marrow wine.”

“For the angel?”

“No, for me.” Tomorrow she’d go back to dealing with Reaver. TonighReal?t she was forgetting him.

Death. Destruction. It tugged at Thanatos with sharp, hooklike claws.

Eidolon had healed him, but Than had been delirious with pain, and it had taken Wraith, Ares, and a vampire named Con to hold him down. In his delirium, he’d released his souls, and had it not been for an ex-angel named Idess who could communicate with them, the casualties might have been staggering.

The second Than was healed, he’d gotten the hell out of Underworld General, the demon side of him clamoring for a deadly rampage. Instead, he’d gone home.

Where Regan was.

The Guardian had been running around his keep in tight leggings and cropped sweatshirts, her flat, rippled stomach, tight ass, and multitude of sexy battle scars driving him nuts. She’d taken over his library, her neat stacks of notes invading his space. And she flipped the f**k out if he moved them.

So at least once per day, he knocked a page or two off their stacks.

Her frustrated curses amused him.