Reaver

Fifteen

Reaver’s stomach rolled. He was responsible for what Harvester had become. As Yenrieth, he’d been a real piece of work, hadn’t he?

And how messed up was it that he hoped Yenrieth had gone through centuries of hell for what he’d done to Verrine. But screw it, aside from the brief memories that had come to him in the caverns Reaver didn’t remember anything, and to him, Yenrieth was a stranger. Hell, Yenrieth was a stranger to everyone except Harvester.

But why? What had Yenrieth done to deserve such an extensive memory wipe? If what he’d done was that bad, why had he not been simply cast from Heaven and straight into Sheoul?

“I’m sorry, Harvester,” he murmured.

“I didn’t tell you any of that to get your pity,” she said sharply, but the bite was dulled by the hitch in her voice. “I told you because you rescued me, and you deserve to know why I did what I did. But it was a long time ago. I’m over it.”

Clearly. He kept his opinion to himself, however. Being kind to Harvester always ended badly.

The howl of a hellhound rose up, followed by another… and another. The carrion wisps began a frantic squirrelesque chatter.

Up ahead, dark shapes began to take form as they crept out of the forest shadows. The telltale outline of buffalo-sized hellhounds grew into fully realized forms that shot toward the village like giant, furry bullets.

Crimson eyes zeroed in on Reaver and Harvester.

“I don’t think they’re here to hunt carrion wisps,” Harvester whispered.

Reaver cursed. He didn’t have enough power to slow a single hellhound let alone an entire pack.

“I have an idea,” he said, keeping his gaze on the rapidly approaching predators. “Do you have enough power to put up a shield between us and them?”

“Yes, but it’ll be good for only a moment.”

“Do it. Stay behind me and don’t say anything.”

Her eyes flashed with temper. “Excuse me?”

“Do you want to be eaten or dragged back to Satan… or both? No? Then shut up and get behind me.” Yeah, he was going to pay for that later, but for now, she glared daggers and obeyed.

The hellhounds came at them, their long strides eating up the distance. Reaver squared his stance and waited as Harvester cast an invisible shield between them and the hellhounds. The first wave of beasts hit the shield and bounced off like rubber balls on a window.

The shield collapsed and before the animals could recover, he grabbed the leader around its thick neck and wrenched it to the ground. He sank his fingers into the hellhound’s fur at the base of its skull and used the last of his power to project images of the hellhounds that protected the Horsemen’s families, followed by an image of their queen of sorts, Ares’s mate, Cara.

Hot, fetid breath and serrated growls surrounded him as the other hounds crept in close. Gaping jaws dripping with drool opened near his head. Reaver tensed, waiting for the thing to clamp down.

For a long time, nothing happened. And then, as if he was at ground zero for a nuclear blast, the lead hellhound forced images back at him. Reaver’s mind reeled, spinning inside his skull and careening around so fast he couldn’t pull the images together. He gripped his head and fell back as everything the hellhound had seen in the last few days downloaded into his brain.

“Darkmen,” he gasped, releasing the beast.

Harvester’s hands framed his face, and her gaze searched his. “Reaver? What about darkmen?”

He shook his head to clear it, but he could still see the black-robed hunters in his head. “The hellhounds saw darkmen. Nearby.”

“Nearby?” She whistled through her teeth. “This is bad.”

On that, Reaver agreed. Darkmen weren’t something anyone wanted to deal with. The conjured, shadowy men carried with them the powers of angels, which was no surprise, since they were controlled by them.

The archangels had sent assassins.