Not exactly the most auspicious welcome. Chris shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and rocked on his heels. “Hi.”

“What do you want?” Isobel asked.

You? He found that the anger he’d harbored melted at the sight of her. She looked delightfully sexy in her casual wear of Daisy Dukes and T-shirt. Braless, those pert nipples poked away, waving hello. As a man, he noticed the small details.

He rolled his shoulders. “I thought we should talk. In person.”

“About?” She kept up her terse queries, and he felt his temper rising.

Despite knowing he probably shouldn’t, he couldn’t help but snap, “About the fact that you left me high and dry at the altar.”

“Are you seriously here to whine about that? Because if this is going to be a wah-wah-what-about-me fest, then I am going to slam this door and go find a bag of chips.”

He gaped at her. Who was this woman and what had she done with his sweet Isobel? Then again, who was this female with the commanding presence and snapping eyes? It made a man want to grab her by the hair and kiss her until she succumbed to his desires.

“Listen, I think you’re unclear about a few things. First off, I wasn’t getting married by choice.”

“What a coincidence, neither was I, because a certain man I know didn’t come for me.”

He returned the snide attitude. “Well, that certain man couldn’t come because he was kind of being held prisoner in Hell.”

At that, her expression softened, only for a moment. “Prisoner? Highly unlikely. A son of the Devil wouldn’t let a petty thing like bars and a lock stop him. More than likely, you were whoring it up with your dad. After all, you are his heir. He probably had a great big ol’ party to celebrate your return.”

See, that was what Chris thought, too; however, the truth vastly differed. “My dad would prefer I dropped off the face of the earth. He doesn’t like me.” He couldn’t help the plaintive lost-boy note that colored his admission.

All his life, he’d fantasized about when his father would come for him, riding a black stallion with flaming red eyes. His father would hug Chris and declare himself delighted to have finally found his perfect baby boy. And they would ride off and find a way to rule the world together.

Reality sucked. And his pity party about it blew even harder.

“You just met your dad. I’m sure you’ll warm up to each other.”

What if they didn’t? What if his dad never came around? He straightened his spine and gave his balls a scratch. “Who cares what he thinks of me? I’ve been doing just fine up until now. Who needs a dad?”

“I do.”

At that, he didn’t know how to reply. What to say to the woman with the downcast lips and sad expression.

“Listen, I didn’t come here to fight.”

“Why not? I mean, after all, isn’t that what couples who’ve broken up do?” Her chin lifted.

“I wouldn’t call it a breakup since we were never technically together.”

“And this is why you’re an ass.” She went to slam the door, but he wedged his hand in. The crunch of wood on flesh made him wince.

“That didn’t come out right.”

“A lot of things you say and do don’t come out right, but guess what”—she opened the door to glare at him— “I was willing to overlook your faults.”

“My faults?” He gaped. “I’m borderline perfect.”

“For an imbecile.”

“I’m beginning to think this was a bad idea.”

“Gee, what was your first clue?”

“You know, the only reason I told my dad I’d get married in his place was because he threatened your family. I admit, I don’t really care what happens to your grandfather and shit, but oddly enough, I did give a damn about you.”

“He threatened me?”

“Yeah, and then tricked me, tricked us both with that whole wedding gig.”

For a second, he thought he had her. That she’d finally behave the way she should and apologize to him instead of trying to make him take the blame.

“Let me ask you,” she asked softly. “If your father hadn’t blackmailed you, or locked you away, what were you planning to do?”

He knew the answer to that. “Come for you, of course. As soon as you left me, I knew I’d fucked up, and I went after you, only my dad found me, and then the angels arrived, and next thing I knew, I was a guest in an eight-by-ten cell. With the hugest rats.” He shuddered.

He could see her wavering.

“You’re just saying that to make me forgive you.” But he could hear the doubt in her voice.

He pounced on it. “You think I’m lying?”

“I know who your father is.”

“Good point. But I’m telling you, I’m not. I want to be with you, Isobel. I don’t even care if we get married, although it would probably make things easier.” For her. He, on the other hand, didn’t have any kind of restrictions on his cock. She could touch it anytime she liked.

“I don’t want it to be easy. And I don’t know if I believe you.”

“So let me prove it to you. Let me prove I want to spend my life with you. Please.” The plea left a sour taste in his mouth, and yet feeling Isobel so close, and at the same time so far away, called for desperate measures.

For a second, he thought he saw a note of triumph in her gaze. “You’d do anything to have me marry you?”

“Yes. Tell me what you want.” He’d find a way to steal it.

“I will become your wife on one condition.” She leaned forward and whispered it, the hot words tickling his lobe then firing his incredulity.

“You can’t be serious. That’s impossible.”

“For a mere mortal perhaps, but you’re the Antichrist, and that’s my condition.” With that, she ducked back into the house and slammed the door.

He stared at it, the thick portal rather intriguing with its intricate whorls and swirls. Solid, too. Briefly, he thought about kicking it in, but knew that breaking in wouldn’t prove a thing. If he wanted Isobel back, he’d have to give her what she demanded.

Heading back down her long driveway, he ducked his head and tucked his hands into his pockets.

How to give Isobel what she wanted?

Surely, he could swing it. He had connections, and his dad owed him more than a few favors.

Perhaps he should—

The chuff of warm air, hinting at things bleeding and dying, hit him in the face, and he looked up.

And up some more to the figure in red armor sitting atop a massive horse. A horse made of bones thinly covered in skin. The eyes, black gaping pits. Its breath smoke bringing to mind gunpowder and violence.

For a second, he wondered if he’d eaten some magic ’shrooms. Then recalled that his stash blew up in the cemetery explosion. Sob. It’d taken him months to cultivate his very hallucinogenic crop. However, no drugs meant he was straight as a whistle and still seeing a cadaverous horse and rider.

“Christopher Percy Baphomet.” The voice coming from the helmet had an odd echo to it.

“What if I am? Who the fuck are you?”

“I am War.”

“Is that your first or last name?”

“It is my only name.”

“Short for Warrant?”

“No.”

“Ward?

“No.”

“Warrick? Warner? Warton?”

“No.”

“What about a last name?”

“I. Am. War.” Spoken in a thunderous tone.

Someone was a little testy about his name. “Just War, eh? That’s got to make it easy to fill out forms.”

“Enough. I did not come to discuss my mortal appellation.”

“I should hope not, given yours is much cooler than mine. I got stuck with Christopher, Chris for short. But I a draw the line at Chrissy unless you want me to stomp on your spleen.”

“Your name will be etched on a tombstone if you don’t quiet yourself.” The disgruntlement echoed inside the crimson helmet.

“Someone didn’t chug his WD-40 this morning, I see. Grumpy little fucker. But I’m cool with it. I’m not feeling so charitable myself today. Woman problems, you know,” he uttered with a conspiratorial air.

“Women are the bane of all existence,” agreed his new chum.

Finally, common ground. “So, what brings you to my fiancée’s house?”

“Don’t you mean ex-fiancée?” Definite jibe in there.

“Simple misunderstanding. So don’t think you can go shaking your tin can in her direction. She’s spoken for.” If anyone went near her, even his new red-armored bud, he’d crush him and recycle his ass.

“I have no interest in your female. I am here because your mother demands your presence.”

A simple lackey. War went down a notch in his esteem. “Mother can demand all she wants. I think I’ll pass on a tête-à-tête.” Because Mother and her habit of reanimating the dead freaked him out.

“Passing isn’t an option. You will come with me. Get on the horse.”

“Or what?” Chris dangled his hands in front, waving them around. “It’s just me and you, War. I think I can take you. I am, after all, the Destroyer of Nations.” Just one of the many names the prophecies gave him.

“And I am War, the most powerful of the horsemen. The bringer of the apocalypse. When I ride, the armies of this mortal plane answer to me.”

“They do?” Chris leaned closer. “Can you tell me how you get them to do that? Because I’m supposed to be the Adversary, the King of Fierce Countenance, and yet I can’t even get the barmaid to bring me a beer without her expecting a tip.” And, apparently, promising to anoint them with his precious cream wasn’t considered bonus enough.

“They follow because I am War, the general for the army of darkness.”

“But as the Antichrist, aren’t I above a general? AKA, I outrank you.”

A noise gushed out from the helmet, a sound that reminded Chris of his youth when he exasperated every adult he met. “You are nothing at the moment but a pain in my ass.”

“Do you have an ass? Because I have to tell you, it’s hard to tell in that tin can. For all I know, you’ve got a flat butt and chicken legs.”

“Silence!” The word boomed, and mere mortals might have been impressed.

Chris was annoyed. “You can’t speak to me like that. We might be friends, but when I take on the role of Destroyer of Nations, I will fire your ass and hire someone with more sycophant respect.”

“Your mother awaits. You will come with me, now.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.” Just to piss the red-armored dude off, Chris might have flashed him a pair of birds.

War retaliated by raising his hand and uttering a deep, reverberating command. “Bring the boy to me.”

The words rolled over Chris in a cold, shivering wave. The tremor of them iced his skin, frosted his lashes.

Impressive. But… “Who are you talking to? It’s just you and me, bud.” No sooner had he spoken than the very earth trembled. The air, everything around him, shook. Yet it didn’t happen on a physical level but on a metaphysical plane, a tremor he felt inside his soul.

What did it mean?

He found out a moment later when the ghosts began to rise from the ground.