“You okay?” Tavin didn’t respond. Anxiety spiked again as Reaver sank to his knees. “Tav?”

Blood soaked the ground around Tavin, pooling and mixing with the other demon’s darker blood. A faint scritching noise rose up, and the dirt began to vibrate, sending chills up Reaver’s spine.

Carnage maggots.

“Get to safety,” Reaver told Calder. “Now.”

The demon eyed the larva-nettle bush. “What about the fallen angel?”

“The bush will protect her,” Reaver yelled, his patience shot. “Go!”

Hastily, he dragged Tavin out from under the demon’s leg and heaved him over his shoulder. The ground rumbled hard enough to make him stagger. In seconds this patch of battle-chewed earth would become a feeding ground for great white shark–sized grubs that fed on blood and dead flesh, but they wouldn’t turn down a live meal either.

The ground between Reaver and Harvester erupted with maggots, cutting off his path. Shit. He spun sharply and hauled ass up a mound of boulders, narrowly avoiding the snapping jaws of a maggot that burst out of the ground like a damned porpoise out of water.

“I hate Sheoul,” he breathed, as he laid Tavin out on his side on a flat rock and kneeled beside the still unconscious Sem. The stench of blood, bowels, and death filled his nostrils, and his heart plummeted to his feet. It was worse than he’d thought.

Tavin had been gutted from the back. Broken bones pierced organs that were spilling out of the two-foot gash, and Reaver had a sick feeling he’d left a few vital innards on the ground below.

“Damn you,” Reaver muttered.

Even if Reaver possessed the ability to get the demon to Underworld General, he wouldn’t survive the time it would take to get there. Reaver was Tavin’s only hope, and healing him was going to take every drop of Reaver’s power. He couldn’t afford the loss, but neither could he afford to lose Tavin.

But there was also the very real possibility that his healing power could go awry, twisted and corrupted by the lasher implants. He could kill Tavin just as easily as heal him.

Reaver wasn’t even going to think about the fact that healing demons with angelic power was sort of… frowned upon by his angel brethren. He’d broken a lot bigger rules than that in just the last day.

Tavin sucked in a weak, shuddering breath. As he exhaled, his body went slack with the familiar death sag.

Reaver was done with the overthinking crap.

Power tingled up from his core, spreading across his skin. He placed his hands on Tavin’s head and funneled everything he had into the demon. Sweat formed on his brow as Tavin’s organs and bones began to mend and his heart began to beat.

Clenching his teeth, he dragged power from the deepest depths of his very bones, channeling it into Tavin until he sputtered and choked.

Tavin groaned in tandem with Reaver as his healing ability trickled down to nothing. Drained to the point of near-unconsciousness, Reaver lurched forward, nearly landing on Tavin as his muscles turned to water. He collapsed onto the hard stone and let himself lay there, panting and sweating. Next to him, Tavin breathed in deep, steady draws. The Sem was out of the woods.

“Reaver?” Tavin’s voice was raspy and rough. Pretty normal for a guy who had been teetering on the wrong side of death.

“Yeah?” Reaver didn’t sound so hot, either.

Tavin exploded up to crouch on his haunches next to Reaver, his mangled T-shirt hanging off him in bloody strips, one hand covering his personal Seminus glyph on his throat. “What the f**k did you do to me?”

“I saved your life.” Reaver sat up, irritated at the demon’s utter lack of gratitude. “And you’re welcome.”

Tavin’s blue eyes sparked with gold, which meant he was either horny or annoyed, and Reaver hoped to hell it wasn’t the former, because the guy wasn’t going to find a female anytime soon.

“No… what did you do to me?”

Demons. They didn’t make sense at the best of times. “What are you talking about?”

Tavin moved his hand. Reaver leaned in for a closer look. Had the symbol changed? Reaver thought it had been some sort of string or rope.

“Ah… what was your symbol?” Reaver asked.

“Was?”

“Is,” Reaver said. “Was, is… whatever. What’s the symbol you see on your neck every day when you look in the mirror?”

Tavin’s cheeks blushed pink. “It’s a worm.”

“Worm?” Most Sems had more masculine symbols, or at least, symbols that weren’t… worms.

“Yes, worm.” Tavin gnashed his teeth. “What’s wrong with it? It feels different. I feel different.”

The ground rumbled as the maggots began to move away. It wouldn’t be long before they’d be gone and he could get back to Harvester. Reaver smoothed his fingertip over the thin black lines and gray shaded details of Tavin’s new glyph. A prick of pain stabbed his fingertip, and he drew back with a hiss.

“Well,” Reaver said as he stared at the blood welling on the pad of his finger, “no one is going to make fun of you for having a worm on your neck anymore.”

Tavin glared. “Why not?”

“Because your worm turned into a viper.” He held out his bloodied finger. “And it bites.”

Tavin fell back onto the rock and stared up into the endless black above. “Remind me to never travel with an angel again. Especially not you.”

“I doubt you have to worry about that,” Reaver said.

Because after this trip, chances were that he would no longer be an angel.

Eight

It had been a long time since Harvester had awakened feeling rested and comfortable. She was hungry and a little thirsty, but her mouth wasn’t so parched that she wanted to drink her own tears, so that was something.

Warm arms were wrapped around her, and at her back, a big male body was bracing her, holding her securely in place. Strangely, instead of feeling trapped and shackled, she felt secure. Safe. How long had it been since she’d felt safe? She couldn’t remember.

No… that wasn’t true. She’d been an angel once, living among her kind, never worrying about losing her life or being subjected to endless torture. Now she was… where?

Sudden panic squeezed her in a vise grip and she sat up with a cry. The arms caging her tightened, and when she struggled, they squeezed even tighter.

“Harvester. It’s me. It’s Reaver.”

She went still. Reaver? It all came back to her, but it sure as shit didn’t make her feel any better. She no longer felt the shockwaves from her father’s searing rage, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. When Satan was calm, he was plotting death and destruction. She and Reaver were in grave danger, and it was only a matter of time before the enemy—or the good guys—found them.

“Release me,” she ground out.

His arms fell away, and she scrambled to the other side of the little cove he’d made for them in the center of the larva-nettle bush. She was na**d, but she’d lost her sense of modesty thousands of years ago, and besides, they had bigger problems than her lack of clothing. At least she had her sight back.

Yay for eyes.

Reaver remained on the ground, lounging on his side, head propped on one hand as if they didn’t have a care in the world. As if he hadn’t been holding her as carefully as if she were made of glass. Why would he do that? Maybe he was trying to throw her off balance with the nice-guy act. But if he thought he was going to sweet-talk her into looking for Lucifer, he was more of a fool than she’d believed. She’d done enough for Team Good. She’d done her time and paid her dues.

Besides, she couldn’t sense her evil unborn brother. Not at a distance. She was too drained, too weakened by months of torture. Hell if she was going to tell Reaver that, though.

“We need to get out of here,” she said. “We’ve been here too long. Trackers are going to find us.”

“I know.” Sitting up, he gestured to his backpack. “There are clothes and protein bars inside. Get dressed and eat while I check the situation outside. We’ll head out as soon as you’re ready. Tavin said we’re only a three day journey from a place where I should be able to flash us out of here. Three days, and we’ll all be safe.”

Safe. Reaver might be an optimist, but she was a realist. They’d never be safe. He slipped away before she had a chance to ask where they were. They couldn’t be that far from Satan’s stronghold. She could still feel the sinister vibration that emanated from Sheoul’s very center and called to her blackened soul like a beacon.

No, they were close to hell’s beating heart.

With a shudder, she dug through Reaver’s backpack and scarfed two of the protein bars as well as an apple she found in one of the pockets. She gulped water from the never-empty canteen, a handy angelic vessel that usually held nectar. Unfortunately, most Heavenly nectars were poisonous to fallen angels. Reaver had thought ahead, the wily little halo-head.

Finally feeling as though her gut wasn’t a bottomless pit, she checked out the clothes Reaver had brought. The matching bra and underwear were… pink. Bright. Hideous. Payback, she supposed, for the kitten-dotted pink sweats she’d given him when she’d gotten him out of Sheoul-gra.

She slipped on the hideous pink crap and held up the black tank top. Not bad. She wasn’t going to complain, for sure. He could have humiliated her with another pink thing to wear. But as much as she hated to admit it, Reaver might be an arrogant ass, but he wasn’t stupid. Pink outerwear would make her stand out too much in a place where more people wore burlap, scales, or other people’s skin than actual clothes.

The black leggings fit perfectly, almost as if he’d rifled through her closet for them. The midnight-black leather knee-high boots were plain but serviceable, and again, she wasn’t about to gripe.

Of course, she wasn’t going to thank him, either. The idiot had started them on a fool’s quest, and even if they survived the journey out of Sheoul, would they survive the punishment the archangels would dole out? Harvester wouldn’t bet on it.

Reaver returned as she was tucking all the supplies back into the pack.

“One of our companions has gone missing, but Tavin’s healing powers are restored. I’ll get him in here—”

“No.” She swallowed dryly. “I told you.”

“You aren’t blind anymore.”

No, she wasn’t. But she’d been at the mercy of too many people, and the thought of yet another stranger putting his hands on her, channeling power into her…

“Harvester,” Reaver said softly, “even if you won’t let him heal you, you need to feed.”

“I know.” If she didn’t, it could be weeks until she could do basic things, like sense Harrowgates, let alone grow her wings back.

They wouldn’t survive weeks down here, and even if she didn’t care about her own life, she couldn’t condemn everyone in the party to death because of her stubbornness. Or her fear.

She blinked in utter shock. Had she really just considered other lives besides her own? Maybe Reaver’s angelic goodness was rubbing off on her like itching powder on her skin. Great. Now she was torn between being glad and wanting to shower. She’d survived by committing herself to an evil way of life. Being nice got people killed.

“Harvester?”

Right. Get it together. You spent five thousand years in Sheoul and only five months in Daddy’s torture playground. Don’t be a pussy.

“Yeah,” she said abruptly, surprising even herself. “I’ll do it. I’ll feed.” She stood, hoping he didn’t notice that she wobbled.

He noticed. “You okay? We can hang out here for a few more minutes.”

“I don’t need your pity,” she snapped, realizing she was being a bitch, but she didn’t know how else to be.

Oh, she remembered her time as a trusting, nonbitchy angel, but those days were long gone, and the walls she’d erected when Yenrieth crushed her had been fortified into an impenetrable barrier that didn’t allow for breaches.

“I don’t pity you, Harvester.”

“He says, his voice dripping with pity.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Whatever. Can we go? I’ll feed outside. With you there,” she added, and then instantly regretted it.

She sounded needy and pathetic, and she swore if he said something nice right now, she’d rip his throat out with her fangs.

Trying to get a read on what he was thinking, she eyed him, which had never been a hardship. Tall and obscenely muscular, he had a body to die for and a wavy blond mane women would kill for. Add to his rugged good looks his deep sapphire-blue eyes, a mouth made to make even angels imagine wicked things, and a dangerous dose of irresistible sexuality, and he was the epitome of masculine beauty.

Then there were his wings. They were tucked away right now, but they were magnificent. Lush and pristine white with azure-tipped fringe feathers, they made her want to get them dirty as they rolled on the ground. Fighting or f**king, it wouldn’t matter. Better yet, both at the same time.

“You done sizing me up?”

Oh, she could size him up all day. Even among angels, all of whom made supermodels appear average, Reaver was special. A low-level current of power reverberated in the very air around him, something she felt under her skin like a caress.

“I’m wondering how you made it all the way to Satan’s stronghold if you can’t recharge your powers down here.” Reaching out, she dragged her finger down the center of his T-shirted chest and over his washboard abs. He was smoking hot, and she resented how easily he made her admire him. “I’m also curious about why you aren’t radiating an obnoxious angelic glow that should be attracting every evil being in Sheoul.”