Eternal Rider

“Of course not,” he repeated, bitterness dripping from his words. “Doesn’t matter. You’re not strong enough to handle what I have to offer anyway.”

Again, the talk of her weakness. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“But I know what I’m capable of.” He peeled back the sheets and nudged her toward the bed. “You were right, Cara. I’m a demon. All I’ve known my entire life is fighting. Battle, sex, it’s all the same to me. I f**k like I fight, until the other person is begging for mercy. Trust me, you don’t want to be part of it. I was wrong to think anything else.” His hands came down on her shoulders, and he pushed her onto the mattress. “Sleep. Locate your mutt.”

She glared, stung by his rejection, and she didn’t even know why. She didn’t want him. What she wanted was her life back.

And you want that life back… why?

Because in her old life, she might be on the verge of being homeless, but she hadn’t been dying. Demons and evil legends weren’t chasing her.

No hot men were stroking her to orgasm in their showers.

Frustrated by the direction of her thoughts, she jerked the sheet over her, rolled to the side, and smashed her face into squishy softness. Her anger ebbed, replaced by confusion. “You brought me a pillow.”

He gave a casual shrug, but a pink blush smudged his cheeks. “You should be comfortable when you sleep. To find the hound,” he added quickly. As if his feet were on fire, he swept out of the bedroom.

He’d been embarrassed about doing something nice.

Cara stared after him, a sense of disquiet stirring her thoughts. Ares was a hard man—what she’d expect from an ancient warrior. But she’d seen him care for his horse, for the baby goat-demon thing. She felt his gentle touch, his protectiveness. And he’d been thoughtful enough to bring her a pillow.

So why did all of that bother her when she should be happy to know that he was more than a cold-blooded killing machine?

Because you don’t want to like him. Everyone you love holds you at arm’s length. If Ares was capable of caring about her, he’d hurt her, the way her ex had. The way her family had, even if unintentionally, by treating her as if she was different.

The brand, which always tingled in Ares’s presence, stopped, as if punctuating that point. Absently, she looked down, and stifled a cry. No longer angry crimson, it was the color of a dying rose.

Her first instinct was to leap out of bed, get dressed, and demand access to Ares’s library and computer. Her second instinct was to curl up in a ball and sob. That second instinct? Something that had developed since the attack two years ago.

Screw that. She swung her feet over the side of the bed and grabbed the duffel full of clothes. She might have sworn to never kill again, but she hadn’t sworn to give up on life. She was going to live.

When Pestilence was Reseph, he had, for the most part, avoided Sheoul. He’d descended into the demon realm to hang out at the Four Horsemen, but other than that, it had been too depressing. Reseph had liked parties and vacations and surfing. If it got the adrenaline pumping, the females purring, and the alcohol flowing, he was so there.

Reseph had been a pu**y of epic proportions.

Pestilence ran his tongue over the sharp point of a fang as he crossed the threshold of his Sheoulin dungeon… which wasn’t actually in Sheoul. Technically, it wasn’t a dungeon, either. When his Seal had broken, he’d gained a massively cool ability… he could turn areas of the human realm into land claimed in the name of hell. Now, in the basement of the Austrian manor he’d commandeered, demons who normally couldn’t leave Sheoul could hang out in the human world and enjoy luxuries they’d never known, which included the ability to torment humans.

And they’d turned the basement into a Disneyland of torture and misery.

Reseph would have been mortified. Pestilence was orgasmic.

Pained screams and moans joined laughter and pleasurable grunts. The mouthwatering scent of blood and lust teased Pestilence’s nostrils, mingled with the stench of death, bowels, and charred bone and flesh. All kinds of earthly and demonic creatures hung from various hooks and chains on the walls and from the ceiling, and different species of demons skittered around, some of them playing, others performing tasks Pestilence had given them.

Starting an Apocalypse required a lot more help than he would have thought.

A graceful, elflike demon carrying a spiked club crossed the room when he saw Pestilence. A Neethul slave trader, Mordiin was Pestilence’s right-hand man, his ruthlessness and uncanny ability to sense fallen angels making him indispensable.

Mordiin had located the two Unfallen that were currently chained down here. Mordiin had found them wandering the human realm, minding their own business, and Pestilence had grabbed them. Instead of destroying them, as he’d been doing to keep Ares’s agimortus from being transferred yet again, he’d dragged them here.

Oh, they were still going to die, but first he had special plans for them.

“My lord,” Mordiin rumbled. “We have destroyed four more hellhounds.”

“Good work. Only what, a few thousand left to go?” He hated those f**king things. They were the one weapon that could be used against him, and he wanted them gone. Even Chaos, whom Pestilence had convinced to work with him. Once that mutt rendered Ares immobile, Pestilence was going to kill him. Double-crosses were part of being evil, after all.

“Slaughtering the hounds took a heavy toll on us,” Mordiin said. “We lost several good fighters, more than we lost in the capture of the fallen angels.”

Pestilence snorted at that. Demons were a dime a dozen. “Keep killing the hellhounds, but capture one alive. And tell me you’ve finished with the other tasks.”

Mordiin inclined his head, and his white hair fell forward, catching on his pointed ears. “Your message has been prepared. The structure is built and ready for delivery.”

Excellent. The two Unfallens were going to make memorable gifts for Ares. “What about the Aegi?”

Mordiin gestured to a bloody human strapped to a table. “Like the others, this one knows nothing. He’s too low-ranking to provide any useful information.”

Cocking his head, Pestilence studied the man, whose mouth was open in a silent scream as one of the imps worked him over with a hot poker. “Why can’t I hear his agony?”

Mordiin shrugged. “His screams blew out his voice box.”

Interesting. “Tell the turncoat Aegi that unless he provides us with more substantial results, he’ll be the next victim on the table.” He’d hate to have to permanently maim David, who had been a high-ranking Aegis member and had so far given up a lot of great intel, but Pestilence was getting desperate. He had to find Deliverance, and someone in The Aegis must know where the dagger was.

“Let’s finish the angels and the Aegi. Time to deliver the message to Ares.”

When Ares stepped out into the hall, face hot and still dripping wet and ready to explode out of his skin from the unspent sexual energy, he ran into Limos, who was propped against the wall, suitcase at her feet. She’d changed into a glaringly bright muumuu, and her impish smile told him everything he needed to know about how long she’d been there.

“Wow,” she chirped. “Didn’t take you long to get into her pants. And here I thought Reseph was the charmer in the family.”

He brushed past her, water sloshing in his boots. “Don’t start.” Each squishy step took him blessedly farther away from Cara and brought back the return of his seismic battle senses. It was unsettling to be with her, for his body and mind to experience stillness, as if the world had stopped moving. The lack of distraction left him too focused on her—and on his desires.

Not acceptable.

But neither was how fast his inner tuning fork was starting to vibrate. Ever since Reseph’s Seal had broken, the buzz of worldly violence had intensified, but this new buzz was different, a new, more potent frequency that was drowning out the hundreds of others. Something very, very bad was coming.

“You are no fun,” Limos called out. “Oh, and you might want to change. Reaver got the Aegis a**holes to agree to a meeting. They’ll be at Thanatos’s place in an hour. I’m sure you don’t want to look like you’ve been drowned.”

He swung around. “Why didn’t Than call me?”

“Because he called me. I figured I’d tell you when I got here to babysit.” She jerked her thumb toward the door. “You gonna take her with us?”

Damn straight. “Cara has to be with one of us at all times.”

“My lord?”

Ares didn’t bother to turn around. “What, Vulgrim?”

“Your brother left a message.”

“I know. I’m heading to his place in a minute.”

“Not that brother.”

Ares pivoted around to the Ramreel, whose broad nose flared the way it did when he was stressed. Even his curled horns seemed to be drooping a little. Not good. Torrent, who stood beside his father, looked even more miserable, his grayish fur rippling nervously. “Tell me.”

“If you’ll come with me…” The Ramreels headed down the hall, hooves clacking.

“Dammit.” Ares pointed to Limos. “Grab Cara. Join me in the great room.”

“But—”

“Do it!”

Limos stuck her tongue out at him, but she moved to the bedroom door. Ares caught up to the two Ramreels at the back door. As Ares stepped out into the rear courtyard, his gut did a somersault, and his stomach threw in a double twist. The organ gymnastics were a perfect 10 of oh, f**k.

In the middle of the courtyard, next to the barbecue pit, was a giant wooden cross. And nailed to it were two headless bodies. Their intestines had been yanked up through their ruined necks and wrapped around their torsos like Christmas tree garlands. Their lungs had been arranged behind them to look like wings, and they each held a bloody heart in their hands.