Rogue Rider

Thirty-eight

Jillian hung up the phone just as the door crashed in. A demon lunged through the doorway, its teeth snapping, its rotten stench making her gag. A startled yelp escaped her as she rolled out of the way of the creature’s claws. Suddenly the thing hissed, spitting frothy saliva as it flew backward through the doorway, its eyes wide with shock. The stranger who had arrived before she shut herself in the house stood where the demon had been.

“Stay inside,” the man growled at her. He spun around and tackled the demon he’d hauled out of the house, taking it to the deck.

Stay inside. Right. Good plan. Gripping her shovel handle, she started for the bedroom but skidded to a halt at the crash of broken glass and the nasty snarl that followed. A demon pulled itself through the window next to the bed.

Not good. Holy shit, so not good.

Praying Doodle was hiding somewhere safe, she swiped the snowmobile keys off the floor and bolted out the door. If she could get away from all of this, maybe she had a chance. She leaped off the porch, narrowly missing being grabbed by Lance. A grayish, eyeless demon lumbered in front of the snowmachine, cutting her off. Demons poured into the house, their screeches and clacking teeth joining the shouts and screams of the Guardians engaged in battle all around the farm. She darted toward the barn, but the battle closed in, and suddenly, she was in the thick of it with nothing but a piece of wood and keys for weapons.

Then came the most beautiful sound in the world.

Horse hooves pounded across the clearing from the forest. Four armored riders, Reseph in the lead, stormed toward her in a cloud of churned-up snow. For just a moment, the battle all around Jillian stopped. Reseph’s gaze caught hers, and she knew without a doubt that she was safe.

“Shit!” Lance’s curse broke the spell that had fallen over the battlefield. Humans and demons exploded into action. An SUV tore up the drive, sideswiping a Soulshredder before spinning out and crunching into one of the Aegis trucks. Arik and Kynan leaped out, weapons flashing and slashing.

Lance hurled a blade at Reseph, who whipped up a crossbow and shot the blade out of the air.

“He’s mine,” Thanatos roared, cutting between Reseph and Lance.

Jillian didn’t understand why, but clearly, the yellow-eyed Horseman harbored a murderous hatred for the Guardian.

“Wraith’s gonna be pissed!” Kynan shouted, even as he ducked a swipe from a Soulshredder’s claws. “He ordered Lance for dinner.”

Thanatos flashed a set of wicked fangs. Fangs? Did Reseph have them, too? “I’ll take him a doggie bag of leftovers.”

Jillian dove for the ground as Thanatos thundered past, a scythe in his hand. As she rolled in the snow, she caught a glimpse of Thanatos swinging that wicked blade and cleaving Lance’s head from his shoulders.

Another Soulshredder burst out of the forest and was on her before she could even scream. Heart pounding, she jerked the shovel handle upward, catching the creature in the ribs. The wood penetrated deep, driving so hard it erupted from the demon’s back. It howled, its massive jaws opening in front of her face. She could smell its foul breath and the rank feces-like odor that clung to its skin. A flashback to the night at the ATC parking lot tore through her brain.

She’d been helpless. Terrified.

Yeah, well, she was terrified now, too, but she was not helpless.

She wrenched her makeshift stake upward, shoving it toward the thing’s heart. It howled again, spraying foul-smelling liquid in her face.

Her stomach heaved, and she scrambled wildly backward, narrowly avoiding having her head bitten off.

Even impaled, the demon lurched at her, its clawed hand raised for a killing blow. An arrow blew through its eye, and it fell backward, landing in a bloody, twitching heap. Reseph leaped off his horse and swept her up like some kind of legendary knight in shining armor.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes—” She broke off, her breath rushing from her lungs as Reseph whipped around and took out two skinny, six-legged demons with a sword that seemed to come from nowhere.

“Stay down!” Reseph shoved her behind him, pinning her between his body and the deck, and then he was a flurry of armor and swords and crossbows that demolished half a dozen demons in a matter of seconds.

Before this, she’d seen only a man… granted, a super sexy, dangerous man. But for the first time she was truly witnessing a warrior in action. The man she loved, one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, could kick some serious ass.

He was a thing of beauty, a smooth, confident fighter who knew exactly where and how to strike each of his enemies. All of the Horsemen were, actually. She watched in awe and not a small amount of horror as all around her the Horsemen, the stranger, and Kynan and Arik battled the demons and Guardians, and she could only pray that no one had breached the barn to hurt her animals.

Time seemed to slow, becoming a spinning vortex of screams, growls, and blood. Eventually, Reseph kneeled in front of her, his expression concerned and serious.

“It’s over. Everything’s okay.”

“But…” Frowning, she looked around.

With the exception of the stranger, who was twisting a demon’s neck so hard she heard a crack, nothing was moving in the clearing. Near the barn, Limos, Ares, and Thanatos had rounded up the surviving Guardians and were holding them at swordpoint. Arik and Kynan were triaging the human survivors and dispatching wounded demons.

The stranger jogged over, but when he reached for Jillian, Reseph grabbed him. “Who the fuck are you?”

He threw the man against the side of the house, and when the man struck back, lunging for Reseph, Jillian experienced an odd, panicky sensation.

She shoved her hand between the two males, her palm making a metallic clang against Reseph’s breastplate. “Reseph, stop!”

“Why?”

The stranger, panting and bleeding, stared at Jillian as if he knew her, which only confused her more. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “Who are you?”

He fell to his knees and bowed his head. “Permission?”

Jillian blinked. “What?”

“Permission.” The guy flinched as though expecting to be struck. “To speak.”

Baffled, she glanced at Reseph, who shrugged. “Um… okay. You have permission to speak. Who are you?”

“I have no name,” he said gruffly. “You must give me one.”

“Ah, fuck,” Reseph breathed. “He’s a slave.”

“A slave?” Surely not, but Reseph didn’t look like he was kidding. “Are you serious?”

“Yep. And apparently, he thinks you’re his master.” Reseph grabbed the man’s jaw and lifted his face, but the slave’s eyes remained downcast. “Why are you here? Why do you think Jillian is your master?”

The man looked at Jillian for guidance, just a flicker of a glance that pleaded for an okay to talk, and this was just… sick. “Yes, you can speak. You don’t need to ask permission again. You can always speak.”

For some reason, her reply seemed to pain him. “My bond was transferred.”

“From who?” Reseph asked.

“Harvester.”

Reseph tensed and stepped back. “Did you agree to this, Jillian?”

“I-I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

Reseph rounded on the nameless guy. “How did this happen?”

“There would have been blood involved,” the man said.

Jillian swore under her breath. “When I agreed to giving you some of my mind, Harvester… she put a drop of blood over my heart.”

“Damn her,” Reseph breathed. “Why did she do it?”

Nameless guy bowed his head. “There’s only one reason she would have done it. She expects to die, and her death would have transferred my bond to her killer.”

Reseph scrubbed his hand over his face. “So she was trying to save you from a terrible fate by giving you to someone of her choosing.”

“Yes.”

Jillian’s stomach, already fragile from the bloody battle, lurched hard enough that she had to swallow bile. “This isn’t right. Slavery isn’t right. I can’t do this. I’ll set you free.”

“You can’t,” Reseph said. “A blood-bonded slave will die without the bond. If someone kills you, his bond will transfer. If you die of natural causes or in an accident, he’ll die shortly after.” He looked at the nameless guy, who was still eyeing the ground. “What species are you?”

“Warg.”

“Warg?” Jillian glanced at Reseph. “What’s that?”

“Humans call them werewolves,” Reseph said. “Warg, how old are you?”

“I don’t know.” The man lifted his face into the icy breeze like a dog with its head out the window. Pure ecstasy lit up his expression, and it was with reluctance that he returned his attention to Reseph. “Under fifty years, I’d guess.”

“Excellent.” Reseph slid Jillian a smile. “Werewolves live for hundreds of years. The bond will give you his lifespan.”

She sucked in a breath. “I—I don’t know what to say.” This entire morning had been one huge shock after another.

“Please, mistress, can I have a name?”

Uncomfortable lording over him like this, she went down on her heels so they’d be at eye level. “What did Harvester call you?”

“I was Whine.”

Jillian winced. What was wrong with people? “Did you have a name before you were a slave?”

“I was given up as an infant.” His sandy hair concealed his expression as he looked down at the ground. “I don’t remember my name, but I’m told it was Tracker.”

He’d been a slave since he was a baby? She wanted to hug him. Instead, she took a deep, bracing breath. “Then that’s your name.”

Kynan jogged over, gave Tracker a cursory glance, and turned to Reseph and Jillian. “We’ve got a hell of a mess on our hands here.” He made a broad gesture over the battle scene. “What was all of this about?”

Jillian came to her feet. “The Aegis was here to capture Reseph, but the demons… I don’t know.”

Ares joined them, his expression so thunderous Jillian actually took a step back. “Limos tried to open a gate and couldn’t. I tried, same result. Than discovered an invisible barrier around the farm.” A growl erupted from his chest. “We can’t get out of here. Fuck, Reseph… this was a trap.”