“And why is that?” he bit out.

“Because,” she said softly, “it was Raphael who ordered your capture and torture.”

Harvester rarely got a chance to see Reaver struck dumb. Now was one of those moments, and she was going to savor it a little.

And maybe she wanted to savor it because even when he wasn’t being all luminous, like now, something about him still got to her like a poisonous rash, irritating the part of her that was dark and damaged.

She so badly wanted to scratch that itch.

Her body was tight with tension and the kind of restlessness that demanded relief. Making her even grumpier, her wing anchors felt like they were on fire. They were trying to heal, but they required fuel. She needed to feed again, but damn, she was still experiencing the ragey effects of the last feeding. What she couldn’t figure out was why, when she’d fed from Reaver, she hadn’t gone evil right away, the way she had when she’d fed from Tryst, the angel she’d killed thousands of years ago.

Guilt tore at her, cozying up to the thousands of other guilt-inducing acts she’d committed over the course of her life.

“Raphael?” Reaver finally growled. “He wanted you to cut off my wings and get me addicted to marrow wine? Why?”

“He needed you out of the way so you wouldn’t stop me from doing what I had to do to stop the Apocalypse.”

A tempest brewed in Reaver’s blue eyes, making them swirl with clouds and lightning. Sexy. She’d always loved a man with a temper.

“My ass. You could have gotten me out the way without torturing me.” He narrowed those stormy eyes at her. “So whose idea was that?”

She started walking again, hoping to outrun her own deeds, but no, Reaver kept up, his scorching glare a reminder of what she’d done.

“Well?”

“Raphael’s.”

They’d met in a realm-neutral Central American cave, where she’d asked the archangel to reconsider, but he’d been dead set on making sure Reaver was incapacitated and in pain. When she’d outright refused, he’d threatened to take the one thing she cherished. The one thing she still had left of Verrine’s life: her memories of Yenrieth.

It didn’t matter that some of the memories were terrible. The majority were from happy times when she and Yenrieth were learning to hunt demons or ride horses, or when they were just lying in a meadow and watching shepherds with their sheep. Those memories were what she hung onto when she lost faith in the reason she’d started on the fallen angel path in the first place. They’d given her a purpose. And more than anything else, including saving the world and giving the Horsemen peace and happiness in their lives, her memories of Yenrieth had given her an escape when she was hanging from chains in one of her father’s many dungeons.

“You already have more memories than you should,” Raphael said. “You don’t remember what he looks like, but you remember everything he did. No one, except perhaps Lilith, has even that. To everyone else, he only exists in the histories of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.”

She still had no idea why it was that she had memories no one else did, and Raphael never answered her when she asked. He was such a dick.

“You hellrat bastard,” she spat. “Reaver’s pain means so much to you that you’re blackmailing me to make it happen?”

“Yes.” Raphael brushed a cobweb off his shoulder. “Now, do you want me to take the memories of Yenrieth from you?”

“No.” Fury roared through her, joined by pain as her body morphed, against her will, into her demon body. She hated when she went all Hulk from rage or angel blood, but that’s what being a fallen angel was. Evil and ugly. “I’ll do it.”

Raphael shrank away from her in disgust. “Good.” He disappeared, but his voice hung in the air for a few more seconds. “Make it hurt. And don’t let me see you like that again. You’re hideous.”

Yeah, Raphael was all heart and asshole.

“Did you enjoy hurting me?” Reaver asked, his voice as angry as his gaze.

Ouch. She supposed it was a legitimate question, given how she’d done all she could to make him believe she’d loved every minute of his misery, but for some reason, she no longer wanted him to think the worst of her. Maybe there really was part of her that was still good. She’d done a lot of things for the good team, but she’d never truly felt as if she was good. Especially because the things she’d done in the name of good had been reprehensible.

Like torturing Reaver.

She looked ahead, avoiding his gaze. “Did you enjoy it when you found Gethel torturing me with treclan spikes?”

“No.”

“Well, there you go.”

They walked in silence for a while, the carrion wisps still following like sickly ghosts.

“Harvester,” Reaver said, his voice calmer now, “why did you choose to fall?”

“I needed to watch over the Horsemen.”

Reaver’s golden mane had dried in perfect, shiny waves that fell across his cheeks and jaw as he inclined his head in a slow nod. “I know. But why were the Horsemen so important to you?”

She considered her answer, but everything sounded so lame. Because I was in love with their father. Because I made a promise. Because I was an idiot. Finally, she settled on, “You wouldn’t understand.”

He cursed, low and long. “I really hate it when people say that. You have no idea what I’ll understand and what I won’t. Pet peeve of mine. So why don’t you try me.”

His tone set her temper on edge, and no matter how many times she repeated to herself that she needed to refuse to let her evil side reign and make an effort to talk instead of argue, she still spit out an irritated, “Why should I?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Maybe because I risked my wings to rescue you.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” she reminded him for what felt like the millionth time. “And if you’re going to hold that over my head for the rest of my life, why don’t we part ways now and let me fend for myself.”

Reaver closed his eyes and breathed deeply enough for her to hear. “Once, just once, can you not fight me?”

She owed him and she knew it, but being indebted to anyone, especially Reaver, was unacceptable. When she owed someone, that debt became a weapon, as she’d learned after many, many lessons. And while Reaver didn’t have anything worth blackmailing her with, he knew more about her vulnerabilities than anyone alive.

Still, she was grateful, and he deserved better than her fallen angel attitude. “I swore to Yenrieth that I would take care of his children.”

Reaver missed a step. “He was aware that you were planning to fall for the sake of his children, and he let you?”

“No one lets me do anything.” She flicked a spark of power at a carrion wisp that was close enough to have her by the throat in two bounding leaps. The thing yelped and slunk to the back of the pack.

“But he knew?”

“Not exactly,” she said and sighed. “My oath was more to myself. On the very day his children were conceived, I swore I’d watch over them. He didn’t even know Lilith was pregnant.”

Reaver’s throat worked on a swallow, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse. Impossible for him to believe she had once been decent, she supposed.

“Why? Why would you swear to something like that?”

She thought about lying, or not answering at all, but she knew Reaver well enough to know that he wouldn’t let this go. And again, he’d rescued her. She owed him.

“Because.” It was her turn to swallow. And avert her gaze. “I was in love with him.”

She snuck a peek at Reaver, but his expression went shuttered, utterly unreadable. Maybe he was having a hard timing imagining that she might have had feelings for someone. “So you remember him?”

“I remember events,” she said, maybe a little harshly, but dammit, it kind of stung that Reaver would be so floored by the idea that she’d loved someone. “But I don’t remember what he looked like. No one does.”

It was a long time before Reaver replied. “Was he… were you two…”

“No.” This was so humiliating. “I pined for him for decades, but to him I was only a friend. Then, one day, he kissed me.”

That had been the best day of her life. She and Yenrieth had been practically inseparable, best friends who honed their fighting skills together, who pulled pranks on humans and other angels, and who even skinny-dipped in crystal pools together. He’d never looked upon her with lust, but she’d been unable to see his magnificent body na**d without practically drooling.

“I was a virgin,” she said hoarsely. “I was saving myself for him, but when he finally pulled his head out of his ass and kissed me, I panicked like a lamb in a storm and fled. And he ran straight to Lilith’s bed.”

Well, bed of grass, anyway. He’d f**ked the demon on the bank of one of the pools he and Harvester had swum in, and Harvester had come upon the aftermath. She’d been gutted by what she’d seen, and to this day the memory still had the power to cut deep.

Reaver muttered something that sounded like f**king idiot as he kept his gaze focused on the forest ahead, never looking in her direction. He was probably disgusted by her stupidity, just as she was.

“What happened then?”

“I sensed that the succubus was pregnant.” Looking down at her boots as they walked, she wondered what would have happened if she’d handled things differently. Some angels possessed the gift of clairvoyance, but she wasn’t one of them. How handy that would have been. “I should have told Yenrieth right then, but I was afraid he’d chase her into Sheoul and get himself killed. He was so damned impulsive and hotheaded, and he was still a novice battle angel. Even with the kind of power he had, he wasn’t experienced enough to enter most of Sheoul by himself. Plus, it was sometimes dangerous to upset him.”

He stiffened. “What do you mean, with the kind of power he had?”

“He was the most powerful battle angel I’ve ever seen,” she said. “Hell, I think he could have given Raphael a run for his money, and Raphael is a f**king archangel.”

She allowed herself the smallest of smiles. Yenrieth was always getting himself into trouble, and her with him. But the fun they’d had had been worth the lectures and menial labor they’d been given as punishment.

“So I decided to wait to tell him about the pregnancy until I could find the children myself.” Unfortunately, that plan got derailed when she found Lilith first… and the bitch had threatened the children’s lives if Harvester spilled the beans. “But it didn’t really matter, because the encounter with Lilith changed Yenrieth. He became bitter and angry. Even his already considerable powers seemed to expand.”

Finally, Reaver turned to her. “Expand?”

She contemplated how to explain this without sounding crazy. “He could do things I’ve never seen any other angel do when he was battling a demon. It was almost as if he could absorb the demon’s abilities and use them himself.”

“How?”

“I have no idea.” She took a deep, weary breath. “I used to follow him into Sheoul to keep him from going anywhere novice angels were forbidden to go. I was sure he’d get killed while he was looking for Lilith—”

“Wait… why was he looking for her? He knew she was pregnant?”

She shook her head. “He hadn’t known she was a demon when he slept with her, and he wanted to kill her for using her succubus tricks to seduce him. His pride was one of his biggest flaws.” In the distance, a lone howl rang out, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Hellhound. Nasty things. “Obviously, he never found Lilith, but he slaughtered a lot of demons while he was searching, and I swear he was able to recharge his powers down here.”

Reaver’s blond brows shot up. “That’s impossible without a sheoulghul.”

“I know that,” she said, not bothering to conceal the duh tone in her voice. “Maybe he had one, but they don’t allow for that much power. It was very strange.”

“Did you ask him about it?”

Her belly growled, and she realized they hadn’t eaten in days. Worse, her wing anchors were throbbing reminders that she needed blood. Maybe she could feed from one of the carrion wisps, because there was no way she was taking Reaver’s vein again. That had caused way too many problems, and the idea that she might hurt him… she didn’t want to think about it.

She nodded at him… and had to force herself to not look at his throat. “He claimed he didn’t know what was going on. So… I went to Raphael.”

Reaver’s eyes widened. “Behind Yenrieth’s back?”

“That’s a little harsh,” she said, a little too self-defensively. She’d felt like she was betraying him at the time. Maybe she still did. “I was worried about him. He was on a self-destructive path that was going to land him on the wrong side of Heaven.”

“Do you think maybe he wouldn’t have gone as nuts if you’d told him he was a father instead of hiding such a critical secret from him?” Reaver’s voice dripped with accusation, as if he was the one she’d lied to.

“Fuck you, Reaver.” She punched him in the arm the way she used to do to Yenrieth when he pissed her off. “It’s easy to cast judgment when you’re five thousand years in the future and looking back on the should-haves, isn’t it?”

He cursed on an exhale, and when he spoke next, he’d managed to moderate his tone. “So what did Raphael do when you went to him?”