Revenant (8 page)

Reaver shook his head. “I have strict orders to keep you out of Heaven. They don’t want your taint to defile the realm. If you can —”

“My… taint?” Fury seared to ash every ounce of amity he’d been willing to extend. “
Defile?
They left me to rot in hell, erased my memories, and let me think I was something I wasn’t for more than five thousand fucking years, and
now
they have the nerve to say I’ll desecrate Heaven with my presence? Well, fuck you, Reaver. Fuck you and fuck them.”

“Dammit, Rev!” Reaver shouted. “What do you want?”

What did he want? That was easy. He wanted to belong somewhere. He wanted a life of his choosing, where he didn’t have to fear being drawn and quartered for some minor infraction. He wanted choices. Answers. He wanted to feel comfortable in his own skin again. Because as evil and vicious as he’d been before he regained his memories, at least he’d known who he was.

But he wasn’t going to tell his brother any of that. He’d only sound like a whiny imp, and besides, Reaver, with his rainbow-and-unicorn life, couldn’t possibly understand.

“I want for you to fuck off, just like I said.” He changed his hair back to black and flared his gold-and-silver-threaded ebony wings, reminding Reaver how very opposite they were. “Good chat, bro. We’ll have to do it again sometime. As the French say,
Au revoir, mon frère
.”

Harvester waited for a long time after Revenant dematerialized before she worked up the guts to step outside the
quantamun
and make herself visible to her ex-slave. This was something she should have done weeks ago, the moment she was reinstated as a Heavenly angel.

But anxiety and shame had kept her away. What if he hated her for all of those years as her servant? What if he hated her for passing his slave bond to someone else? Although she couldn’t imagine that he’d hate belonging to Jillian. The human, immortal thanks to her bond with Reseph, was a gentle soul with a streak of kindness inside her a mile long.

Taking a deep, bracing breath, Harvester walked toward the barn, the cool, fresh Colorado mountain breeze bringing with it the sweet scent of wildflowers and the tang of coming rain. As she approached, the snort of a horse and the bleats of goats joined the sound of hay being moved around with a pitchfork. Did Tracker like his job?

No matter what, it had to be better than spending all his time in her old residence, where he’d cooked, cleaned, and tended to her needs… all of them.

Her stomach rolled, and she halted at the edge of the gravel drive that connected the barn to the main house. This was a bad idea. She shouldn’t be here. She had other things to do, like wash her hair. And the Grim Reaper himself, Azagoth, had, just days ago, called in a debt she owed him, which meant she had an angel to hunt down. Stamtiel was also on Heaven’s most-wanted list, so nailing him to the wall, literally, took priority over having a chat with her former slave.

Having talked herself into a new course of action, she ignited the spark of power she needed to flash out of there, and… let it snuff out.

Seeing Tracker again wasn’t for her benefit. It was for his. No doubt he had plenty to say to her, and he deserved a chance to say it. Besides, as Jillian’s mate’s Watcher, Harvester was bound to run into him sooner or later. Might as well get it over with.

Then there was the fact that she seemed to be weakening as Gethel’s pregnancy progressed, and she might not have many opportunities to see Tracker again. She could feel Lucifer growing stronger, and with every passing day, Harvester grew more tired and her powers were more difficult to summon. Only when she was in Heaven did she feel whole. How long would it be before she was forced to reside there permanently? She’d lose her job as Watcher, and she’d never again attend family functions with Reaver, which had, surprisingly, become one of her favorite things to do. The Horsemen and their mates had finally accepted her as part of the family, and she couldn’t give that up.

But would she have to if Lucifer kept sucking her energy like a dire leech?

Was it possible that she could even die?

She hadn’t told Reaver any of her fears, hadn’t told him the extent of the growing weakness, but he knew something was up. She could see it in his eyes, could feel it in the way he touched her as if she were made of crystal.

She
hated
being treated like an invalid.

Decision made, she rounded the corner to the front of the barn and stepped through the open door.

Instantly, Tracker wheeled around, pitchfork poised to attack. When he saw her, he froze solid, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Hello, Tracker,” she said softly.

The pitchfork began to tremble, and Harvester’s heart, still hardened by thousands of years of scar tissue, managed to crack wide open.

“You don’t have to say anything.” She took a step closer. He didn’t move, but his grip on the farm tool became white-knuckled. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“You… you’re an angel now.” His deep, smoky voice gave her a sense of comfort; he’d been the one constant in her life for decades.

“Who’d have thought, huh?” Certainly not her.

“Are you going to take me back?”

She couldn’t tell if his question was hopeful… or fearful. “Why? Do you want me to?”

Very slowly, the pitchfork lowered, and so did his head, until he was looking at his boots, his sandy hair concealing his expression. “No,” he whispered. “I like it here.”

Relief sang through her. “Good. I wanted that for you.”

His head came up, and the skepticism in his gaze pierced her right through the heart. “You wanted me to be happy?”

Oh, damn, this had been a mistake. He must have been so miserable with her, even though she’d tried to treat him well. As well as she could without drawing suspicions, anyway. Being nice to him would have set off alarm bells for anyone who witnessed it. She had been in hell as a spy for Heaven, and there was no way she could expose herself, not even by being nice to a slave.

“I know you don’t believe me, but yes, I wanted that for you.”

He looked down at his feet again. “Thank you for rescuing me from my former master. And thank you for giving me to Jillian.” He shuddered. “But you should go now.”

That was the first time Harvester had ever heard him be assertive, even if it was only tentative.

“Tracker? Look at me.” When he didn’t, that small act of resistance made her smile. But she really did need him to look at her. “Tracker! Eyes up.” This time he lifted his head, and the flash of defiance in his gaze gave her hope. “Next time you tell someone to leave, look them in the eye. You have the right to your own life now. Only Jillian can take away your freedom, and somehow I doubt she’s done that. In fact, I’m guessing she had to force you into your own private cabin, didn’t she? And she’s not making you clean the barn, either. You need something to do, so she’s letting you help around the house. Am I right?”

He nodded.

“Good,” she said. “Now, tell me to leave, and do it like you mean it.”

His throat worked on a swallow, then two, but finally, he met her gaze with a rock-steady one of his own. Deep inside his amber eyes, the werewolf inside him sparked to life for the first time since she’d known him.

“You need to go.”

“Better.” Even though her chest ached, she was proud of him. Stepping close, she took his hand and pressed a coin into his palm. “If you ever need me, this coin will allow you to summon me. I’ll be there. Take care, Tracker.” She started to dematerialize, but he grabbed her wrist.

“Wait.” His grip was strong, sure, but his voice was gentle as he said, “I’m glad you’re an angel now.”

With that, he pivoted around and began tossing hay around as if she weren’t still there. She lingered only a heartbeat before flashing away.

At least he didn’t see the tears in her eyes.

 

 

After leaving Eidolon’s office, Blaspheme took the hospital’s Harrowgate to the clinic. Things were slow this afternoon, with only three people waiting to be seen in the reception area. She was still rattled by Eidolon’s mention of nearby angels, but she reached up to run her fingers over her stethoscope as she walked, reminding herself that she was a professional, and right now, people needed her.

Nerves contained if not completely soothed, she spent the next six hours with patients, and then she stopped by her mother’s room.

Deva was sleeping, but she cracked open her bloodshot eyes as Blaspheme studied her chart.

“Blas,” she croaked. “I haven’t seen you in hours. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Of course I am.” Never mind that there might be angelic assassins waiting to slaughter them both. She smiled reassuringly and sank down in a chair next to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

Deva closed her eyes again. “Like someone put me into an industrial-sized blender.”

“That’s pretty much what you looked like when I saw you yesterday.” She took her mother’s hand, which had healed from most of the defensive wounds she’d gotten. “What do you remember about the attack? How many angels were there? More than one?”

Eyes still closed, her mother nodded. “There were two Eradicators. They neutralized my wards and broke into my house while I was preparing for your concealment ritual.”

Blaspheme ground her molars. “I said no. We’re not doing it.”

Deva’s eyes popped open, but instead of being glazed with pain, they were sparking with fury. “You will do it, Daughter. You’ve known since the beginning that the spell has a shelf life of a hundred and eighty years. You’ve gone past the expiration date by twenty, and you’re running on fumes. I didn’t go through two hundred years of hell and hiding for you to be selfish now.”

She was calling
Blaspheme
selfish? For not wanting to take a life to preserve her own? That was rich. Deva was the most self-centered person she knew.

“Are you losing your False Angel powers?” Deva asked.

Blaspheme white-knuckled her mother’s medical chart. “Some are gone,” she admitted. “My wings no longer produce aphrodisiac powder. My X-ray vision is failing. I can’t charm people into not getting angry anymore.” She really missed that one.

“Are you developing any
vyrm
abilities?”

“Not yet.”

Deva sighed. “It won’t be long. Once
vyrm
powers appear, everyone will know what you are.” She squeezed Blaspheme’s hand. “We have to perform the ritual. Now. Before I die.”

“You’re not going to die, and we’ve been over this.” Blas slammed the chart down on the bedside table. “No sacrifices. I’ll find another way.”

“This
is
the only way.” Deva struggled to sit up, was grateful when Blaspheme pushed a button to raise the head of the bed. “You’re almost out of time. No more stalling. The Eradicators are onto us. I have a False Angel picked out for you. She’s healthy, powerful, and a real slut. When you absorb her essence, you’ll feel like yourself again. Maybe you’ll finally get laid.”

“Mom, has it occurred to you that
this
is my normal self? With the False Angel enchantment wearing off, I don’t feel the need to trick anyone into sex or anything else.”

“Are you saying that you’d rather let the concealment wear off so Eradicators and Destroyers can kill you? I won’t let that happen. I’ve worked too hard to keep you safe. Your father’s death can’t be in vain.”

Blaspheme rolled her eyes. Always the guilt trip with her father. “Do you really think my father would be happy knowing we’d sacrificed the life of an innocent to keep my true identity concealed?”

“Your father was an angel,” Deva growled. “He wouldn’t care if we sacrifice a demon. To angels, a dead demon is a good demon.”

“But he’d want me to be happy, and I can’t be happy if my existence comes at the cost of another person’s life.”

“You didn’t know Rifion,” she snapped. “You don’t know what he’d want.”

Tired of the same old argument, Blas stood. “We’ll talk about this later. You need your rest.” She glanced at her watch. She’d been off duty for hours now.

Her mother jackknifed forward and grasped her wrist. “We will
not
talk about it later. I’ve set a trap for the False Angel. She’ll be caught at my place tonight, and by the time she bleeds out in the morning, you’ll be safe. I can perform the ritual from here.”

Oh… holy shit. “You are unbelievable, you know that?” Blas practically yelled.

The blood drained from Deva’s face, and although Blas wished her words had caused it, she knew better and eased her mother backward on the bed. “You’re woozy from sitting up so fast.”

“I don’t care,” Deva moaned. “I need you to be safe. You’re all I have. We’re all each other has.”

Blaspheme’s anger diluted a little, but it didn’t change her mind about the ritual. She had to stop Deva’s False Angel from falling into whatever gruesome trap her mother had set.

“I have to go, but I’ll be back soon.” She handed Deva a glass of water. “Drink this and keep yourself calm or I’ll order sedation. Got it?”

Swallowing sourly, Deva nodded.

Blaspheme left the head nurse with orders to sedate Deva anyway and to not allow visitors. Even though angels couldn’t enter the facility – with the exception of Reaver – Blas didn’t want to take any chances. An angel desperate to grab her mother could bribe, bespell, or blackmail a demon into abducting her. The clinic’s Haven spell would prevent an assassination attempt, but once outside the facility, Deva would no longer be protected.