Eternal Rider

Ares’s defense of Ekkad had started at an early age—Ares had been five years old when he’d begged his father to let the newborn babe live, when the man had been determined to drown the deformed infant. Ares had continued to champion his brother through the years, earning beatings when he showed too much affection, because caring for someone affected judgment.

That had proved true in the most horrific way, and not even thousands of years could scour away the pain of losing his sons and Ekkad. Ares’s love had cost them their lives, and not a day went by that he didn’t regret his decision to keep them close instead of sending them away.

Ares hit the main chamber in a clomp of boots that made everyone gathered around the life-size statue of Lilith turn toward him. Most of the two dozen worshippers were humans engaged in sexual acts meant as offerings to Lilith, and as he strode toward his prey, the side-effect of his presence took root. It always began with verbal insults among the humans, but would soon escalate into bloody fights. The longer he remained with the humans, the worse the fighting would become, until no one was left standing.

No doubt, his mother would be amused to see both sex and death taking place in her temple.

“Ares.” Tristelle, a female Unfallen, pushed away the male human kneeling between her thighs. Less than thrilled by the rejection and feeling the effects of Ares’s proximity, the human launched at another man, nailing the guy in the face with his meaty fist. Tristelle didn’t seem to notice, pulling her black robe closed as she hurried toward Ares. “I’ve been offering to your mother for days, praying that she would bring Pestilence to heel and stop the Apocalypse in its tracks.”

“For f**k’s sake.” Ares ran his palm over his face. “My mother wants the Apocalypse to start. She would have sacrificed you right here in her shrine, and her worshippers would have used your blood as lube.”

Ares stepped aside as two women engaged in a catfight nearly collided with him. “Come outside or these people will tear each other apart.”

“You care about these insects?”

The fact that she’d called the humans insects probably explained why she hadn’t earned her way back into Heaven. Granted, they were demon worshippers, so… yeah, insects… but angels were supposed to work on the assumption that all humans were redeemable. Ares knew better.

“No.” He started up the stairs. “But it’s hard to talk when blood is flowing around you.” Plus, his entire body quivered with the desire to do battle with a couple of the larger males, one of whom was a ter’taceo, a demon in human skin.

“How did you know I was here?” she asked, as they stepped out into the moonlight beneath the Iraqi sky.

“I remembered your penchant for forcing false angels to serve you. It wasn’t hard to locate one who had recently been your slave.” He spun around and gripped her upper arms. “You’ve always played for both teams… working to get your wings back while sucking up to Lilith in hopes of earning a place at her side should you enter Sheoul.”

She gasped in outrage. “I would never. How dare you—”

“Shut up. I’m far from stupid. Now, tell me why you’re really here. You don’t care about the Apocalypse. Humans don’t mean that much to you.”

Genuine fear flashed in her eyes. “It’s your brother,” she admitted. “Pestilence is tearing up the Unfallen community to prevent another transfer of your agimortus. Many have entered Sheoul and become True Fallen so they can no longer bear the symbol and he won’t destroy them. We need your mother to tell him to stop killing us.”

Tell him to stop. As if it would be that easy. Tristelle must know that, too, and this was a Hail Mary move if he’d ever seen one. “You’re wasting your time, but you’re not wasting mine. Tell me where I can find Sestiel.”

“I don’t know—”

Ares grabbed her by the robe’s lapels and slammed her against the cave entrance. “Tell me.”

“He made me promise.”

Ares released her. “Then I can’t help you. When my brother comes to rip your heart out through your mouth, give him my regards.” He opened a Harrowgate.

“Wait!” Tristelle stepped in front of him. “I can’t tell you exactly where Sestiel is, but he mentioned Albion.”

“Great Britain,” he muttered. Angels were always calling locations by their ancient names… Ares had no idea why they couldn’t catch up with modern times. But it couldn’t be a coincidence that Cara had mentioned flying to England in the voicemail. Dammit. He wished he’d gotten her message sooner, but he’d been traipsing around the globe and Sheoul in remote locations that had made it impossible to get a cell phone signal.

“Yes, there. He has a hellhound to mask his location, but he said he can’t remain with it all the time. He’s been part of the movement to stop you.”

Ares frowned. “Stop me?”

“Not you specifically. All of you.” She tugged her robe more tightly around her. “A few months ago, before Reseph’s Seal broke, all of you were attacked by hellhounds, were you not?”

He stiffened. “Yes.”

Her gaze darted nervously around them. “Sestiel is responsible. He and a couple of other Unfallen. They sensed trouble in the fabric of the world, and when the demon, Sin, started the werewolf plague, Sestiel formed a plan to render all of you immobile. He sent the hellhounds after all of you.”

“So that if our Seals broke, we wouldn’t be able to wreak havoc on the world,” he murmured, more to himself than to Tristelle. As much as being paralyzed by hellhounds for all eternity would have sucked, Ares had to hand it to Sestiel. It had been a good plan, and one that might have earned the ex-angel his place in Heaven had it worked. “Will he try that tack again?”

“Perhaps.”

Ares ran his mind through dozens of scenarios, and yes, now that Sestiel had a hellhound in his possession, he could use it as leverage to gain the cooperation of the animal’s pack. If so, he’d have to visit the only summoning circle outside Sheoul that was dedicated to hellhounds.

Looked like Easter Island would be Ares’s next stop.

Battle kicked impatiently on Ares’s arm. You’ll get your fight soon enough, buddy. “How many of you are left?”

“A dozen, maybe,” she said. A dozen? Jesus. Fully a hundred must have been killed or given over their souls to Sheoul. Tristelle gazed up at him with pleading eyes. “You said you can help?”

“I lied.”

Panic drained the color out of her face. “What can we do?”

“Pray.” Ares gestured to the entrance to Lilith’s temple. “And this time, don’t waste your time praying to a demon.”

Blood streamed in fat rivulets down Sestiel’s arms and legs. His throat had been slashed, his torso flayed open. None of the wounds would kill him, but death was coming for him nevertheless.

The sound of hoofbeats clanged painfully inside his head, as if someone was tapping a hammer against his skull. Sestiel stumbled down the rock face of the mountain he’d flashed himself to after Pestilence found him on Easter Island. He’d hoped to find Tristelle at the Temple of Lilith, but according to a worshipper, he’d just missed her.

He inched along a sloping ledge, praying Pestilence wouldn’t follow, but he knew better. Pestilence had drawn blood, and his demon stallion could now track Sestiel wherever he went, even if he was clinging to the hellhound pup in his basement.

Weakened by battle and blood loss, Sestiel lost his footing and tumbled over a cliff. He caught air, and for a lingering, weightless moment, he could pretend he still had wings. Could almost feel them stretching in a graceful arc behind him like phantom limbs.

But angels ousted from Heaven had their wings docked, and unless he redeemed himself, ghost feathers were all he had. There was one other way to get wings, but completing his fall by entering Sheoul, the demon realm humans called hell, had never been an option. Sestiel might have fallen, but his faith in the good and holy would not be shaken.

He held on to that thought as he hit the ground, the impact snapping bones and wrenching a cry of agony from his lips. He could barely breathe, but he dragged himself to a boulder and used the crevices as handholds to pull himself up.

He couldn’t fail. He had to perform one final service to mankind. To his Lord.

But thanks to Pestilence and his army of minions, Sestiel had nearly run out of Unfallen to transfer the agimortus to, and now he couldn’t afford the time it would take to hunt down one of the remaining few. Which left only humans as hosts. Humans, who would die within hours of receiving it.

It was possible, however, that if the human had been supernaturally enhanced, he would be stronger, last longer under the agimortus’s life-draining burden.

While he still had time, he closed his eyes and gulped the tiny vial of blood he’d taken from the hellhound after he’d flashed into the basement where he kept the pup and saw the human female’s disembodied spirit fleeing, a clear sign that she was bonded to the beast. His gut wrenched as the poison entered his belly, but awareness filtered through the nausea, hazy and distant. The human woman, Cara… he could feel her…

Light flashed before him, and the hoofbeats in his head became a raging thunder in his ears. Dressed in dull armor that creaked as his white warhorse galloped, Pestilence loosed an arrow.

Sestiel lurched to the side, but the arrow adjusted course like a guided missile and pierced him in the heart.

“You can run, but you’ll just die tired.” The Horseman’s shout reverberated off the mountain and brought stones and clumps of dirt raining down. “That’s a human military saying, but it’s so appropriate, don’t you think?”

Sestiel’s vision swam as a blood bay stallion leaped onto the scene through a veil of light, its rider guiding the beast with nothing but pressure from his knees and muscular thighs. Ares. In one hand, he bore a giant wood and iron shield, and in his other fist he clutched a sword. Rage smoldered in his ebony eyes.