Rogue Rider (Lords of Deliverance) (20 page)

Damn, that hurt.

Gethel’s cackle echoed off the walls. “You can’t hope to defeat me on your own, Reaver.”

Reaver shoved to his feet. “I don’t have to defeat you. Not yet. I just have to stop you from finding Reseph.”

Her smile was cold. “Time’s on my side. From what I hear, it’ll take decades, probably centuries, for his mind to heal.”

“If you’ve got all this time, why are you and Lucifer striking now?”

“Please,” she said. “You’re not that dense, are you?”

Apparently, he was.

“Humiliation.” A miniature lightning ball popped out of her hand and bounced between her fingers. “Satan is extremely embarrassed by his defeat. He’s ordered that everyone who played a role be either destroyed or get involved in restoring Pestilence and neutralizing the other Horsemen.”

Too bad Gethel hadn’t been lumped in the destroy category. Reaver strode toward her, keeping his power skating along the surface of his skin, ready to go in a split-second. “What happened to you, Gethel?”

“I told you. The Horsemen—”

“Yeah, yeah, they couldn’t find it in their hearts to say good-bye when your Watcher duty was taken away. Big deal. You’re either a big whiny baby, or there’s more to the story.” He was pretty sure there was some mental instability written between the lines of that story as well.

Behind her, the Soulshredders hissed and snarled with every step Reaver took. The fallen angel just watched, his dead shark eyes glued to Reaver.

“Who are you?” Reaver called out to the fallen angel, who seemed to be a big fan of black leather.

The male bared his teeth. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Ah, cryptic. That’s so original.” Reaver rounded on Gethel. “So, which is it? Big whiny baby or more to the story?”

“Fuck you, Reaver,” she spat. “You know nothing. I loved them.”

“I know, but… oh, wait.” Reaver was nearly blinded by the lightbulb that went off in his brain. “You didn’t just love them. You
loved
them.” He smirked. “Which one, Gethel? Ares? Thanatos?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Limos?”

She threw the lightning ball, and he easily swatted it away. “Did I touch a nerve?” With a snap of his fingers, he sent a boomerang of angelfire at her, aiming for her head, but when she dove aside and it merely scraped her shoulder, he wasn’t surprised. She wasn’t going to just roll over and die, after all. “Let’s see if I can figure this out,” he mused, as she doused flames in her clothing. “You didn’t seem to be causing much trouble for Ares. At least, not that I know of. But Limos, you did send
khnives
after her husband.”

Cursing, she launched herself at him. He met her midair in the tunnel, and the collision rumbled the very mountain.

“You think you know everything, don’t you?” she screeched as she slammed her fist into his jaw. It was like being hit with a sledgehammer, and Reaver grunted, blinking to the tune of cartoon birds circling around his head. “You think you’re so superior.”

He pounded his fist into her chest, a quick double-tap before backhanding her in the face so hard she fell out of the air and landed awkwardly on her neck and shoulder.

“I
am
superior,” he growled.

She rolled to her feet and blasted him with her favorite weapon, a storm of sparks that burrowed through living flesh. He leaped to the ceiling of the cave, avoiding most of them, but a handful cut into his leg, and agony drilled into him in the form of fine-bore holes.

“You know nothing! I have secrets you can’t even begin to touch, you worm.”

“So bitter,” he ground out. “Just when did that happen?”

“When?” She beckoned the Soulshredders, and they lumbered to her. “When the Aegi whore took Thanatos’s virginity.” Red-hot hatred spewed from every one of Gethel’s pores. “I was supposed to be the one to break his Seal.”

What a bitch. “It must have killed you when his Seal didn’t break and Regan got pregnant.” He inhaled sharply. Of course. That was why Gethel had been so eager to see Logan dead. It wasn’t as much to start the Apocalypse as it was to destroy the physical proof that Regan had taken what Gethel wanted.

Hell hath no fury like a jealous angel with emotional instability and a mental defect.

“Get him,” Gethel snarled.

The Soulshredders leaped at him at the same time that she peppered him with spears of lava. Fire scorched his skin and Soulshredder claws tore at his muscles. He could win this battle with the demons, but even as he summoned a shear-whip, Gethel and the fallen angel vanished.

Damn.

He cut the demons down, slicing one horizontally in half,
and then he flashed out of there himself. Despite his burns and various injuries, and the fact that he hadn’t caught or killed Gethel, he was pretty satisfied with the encounter.

As he materialized inside his Heavenly residence, his fingers found the little treasure in his pocket that he’d lifted off Gethel. He opened his palm, amazed that the tiny crimson stone could channel so much power within the depths of hell.

He closed his fist around the
sheoulghul
and smiled. He didn’t have use for it yet, but he had no doubt that someday, it would come in very, very handy.

Jillian and Reseph had spent the next two hours in the barn, cleaning up the mess. She’d watched in awe as Reseph dug in to help, working tirelessly even when she started to flag. He was amazing, making everything he did seem so effortless. Even the way he’d killed that demon, so efficiently, as if he knew exactly what he was doing, had been incredible. There’d been no fear, no panic. He’d moved like a phantom, so fast she’d been sure she was seeing things at times.

One thing was certain; he knew how to fight and how to kill. Maybe, given how comfortable he’d been fighting the demon, he belonged with the people who had recently come to light as ancient demon-slaying warriors. The Aegis, she thought it was called.

Whatever training had given him the skills to take down a demon so easily, she was grateful for it. She’d been very honest when she’d said she didn’t think she could have dealt with it on her own. Seeing the thing, identical to the demons that had attacked her, had frozen her solidly in place. Reseph must not know that she’d stood
in the doorway, paralyzed with fear, for what seemed like hours before she’d finally fired the pistol.

No, she wasn’t a badass or brave. She’d moved here from Florida thinking that her decision to live in the middle of nowhere by herself had been a fearless, bold move, but what if it was the opposite? What if she’d been trying to escape her fears?

Epic fail. She’d run right into them. And seized like an overheated engine.

Shame had fueled her as she’d hauled blood-soiled straw out of the barn while Reseph repaired the door, and then they’d showered—together, but neither one of them had been in a sexual frame of mind. He’d washed her with the greatest of care, taking his time to massage the tension out of her shoulders and back. As the morning sun came up, he’d tucked her into bed and lain with her until she fell into an uneasy sleep.

Nightmares had plagued her. Nightmares of demons and dying animals, of the attack in the parking lot, and worse, of Reseph leaving her.

Any day now, he was going to find out who he was and leave.

Irritated by her obsession with Reseph’s probable departure, Jillian slammed the lid on the grain barrel as the barn door opened and he entered wearing jeans and the blue Henley that matched his eyes. In his hand was a steaming mug.

“Brought you something to warm you up.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “I can’t cook, but I can make a mean cup of hot cocoa.”

“Doesn’t take much to boil water and open a packet.” Even as the words fell from her lips she regretted them,
and God, she kicked herself hard at the flicker of hurt in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Reseph. I didn’t mean that.” No, what she’d meant was, “Stop being so wonderful, because I’m falling for you, and I’ll be devastated when your memory comes back and you take off.”

He shrugged and handed her the cup, which made her feel even smaller. “It’s true.”

The rich chocolate aroma filled her lungs and soothed her mood. “You were being nice, and I was an ungrateful bitch.”

“Will this help?” He dug into his pocket. “I made this for you.” Very gently, he took her hand and placed a wooden carving in her palm.

Jillian stared at the tiny bird, its fine features perfectly etched across its graceful lines and curves. The wings, outspread in flight, were so thin and delicate that she was afraid to close her hand.

“Reseph, this is amazing. How long did this take you?”

One big shoulder rolled in a casual shrug. “Few days. Ah… you might want to sharpen your nice paring knife.”

“I think I can manage that.” She stroked her finger over the smooth beak. “Why a bird?”

Another shrug. “They’re free, you know? They can go anywhere they want, whenever they want. They can just spread their wings and go.”

Naturally, Reseph would gravitate toward an animal that wasn’t tied down. She wondered if he felt at all caged in here. No, she didn’t have to wonder. She knew. He was like a panther in a zoo, always pacing the fence line.

He plopped down on the barrel and stretched his long legs out in front of him, crossing his booted feet at the ankles. “What’s wrong?”

She hesitated, carefully balancing the little bird on a railing and taking a sip of the cocoa to buy some time. She didn’t know how to explain, partly because she didn’t even know why she felt the way she did.

“Cocoa is good,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And you’re stalling.”

Leave it to him to call her out. Still, she sipped again, maybe a little defiantly. Guess she was still feeling bitchy.

Finally, she cupped the mug in her cold hands and looked down at the swirling froth. “I’m afraid, Reseph.” There. She’d said it. “I hate being afraid. It goes against everything I’ve ever lived for. My parents taught me to be strong, and growing up, I was tough. I played sports and got jobs on farms instead of working at fast-food joints like my friends. When I went away to college, I made sure I was the best in all my classes. I never let fear get in the way.” She swallowed. “But now I’m afraid and I don’t know how to handle it.”

“You don’t have to,” he said softly. “I’m here. I won’t let another demon near you. I’ve been researching ways to construct a demon-proof perimeter, and I swear, you’ll be safe.”

Sweet Jesus, he was too good to be true. “It’s not that. It’s not the demons. I mean, they’re scary, but…” She trailed off, the hot cocoa curdling in her belly.

“But what?”

“It’s you,” she whispered. “I know you need to find out who you are, but some small part of me is afraid you will. I know it’s selfish of me, but I like who you are now.”

“I’ll still be the same man, Jillian. I’ll still be me.” He rose and started prowling around the barn, and she got the feeling he was working off frustrated energy. “And you never know… I may never remember my past.”

She watched him straighten the bridles and harnesses hanging on the walls, as if he needed something to do. “You might not get your memory back, but even if we only find out who you are, it could change things. What if you’re something we didn’t expect?”

He swung around to face her. “You said you didn’t believe I was a serial killer or something.”

“I still don’t believe that. But what if you’ve got a family? You said you’re sure you don’t have a wife, but what if you’re wrong? Or what if you’re a politician or big media mogul? Or maybe you’re the king of Oompa-Loompa Land. Just knowing where you belong will change things. And you’ll have to go.”

“Oompa-Loompa Land?” He shook his head. “No way. Orange people give me the creeps. I don’t even like fake tans. I’d never be their king.”

She laughed, but sobered quickly. His humor was one of the things she’d miss after he found out who he was and left her. God, her chest hurt already.

The stray wisps of straw on the concrete floor crunched under his boots as he walked toward her. He took the mug out of her hand and set it on a shelf, and when he swung back around to her, he took her hands. She couldn’t help but notice how small her hands looked in his.

“I can’t promise that you’ll like who I was before you found me. But I can promise that my feelings for you won’t change.” He palmed her cheek, his touch tender, and in that moment, he might as well have reached inside her and stroked her heart instead of her skin. “I know we agreed on no emotional attachments, but I can’t help it; I’m falling for you, Jillian. It’s scaring the shit out of me, because it feels so damned new.” While she stared
in stunned silence, he glanced up at the rafters. “It’s strange, because some things feel familiar, like sex and using a computer. And killing that demon. It’s like when you watch a movie and there’s an actor you recognize but can’t place. You know you’ve seen him before, but you can’t remember where.” He returned his gaze to her, his eyes glittering with intensity. “But what I feel for you is so different. It’s like I’ve never seen the actor before. Hell, I haven’t even heard of the damned movie.”

Every word was a prick to the heart. He was falling for her? She should be happy, because like it or not, she was falling for him, too. But this was going to end badly. She’d never been a pessimist, but she’d danced this dance before. Not with an amnesia guy, but with every other guy she’d dated.