Reaver

Reaver’s eyes were like jeweled drill bits, boring so deep inside her she was afraid he’d seen her darkest secrets.

“Tell me,” he said softly. “If Yenrieth were to return, what would you do?”

Yenrieth? How dare he conjure that name right now? What did Yenrieth have to do with anything?

“Who cares?” She stood, suddenly feeling the need to be on even footing with him. “Yenrieth hasn’t been seen in thousands of years. He’s dead.”

“And if he wasn’t?”

“Why? Are you afraid I’m falling in love with you or some shit? And then Yenrieth will magically return to sweep me off my feet and leave you in the dust?” She poked him in the chest. “Because I have news for you. I’m not falling in love with you, Yenrieth isn’t coming back, and, if he did, I’d be more likely to kill him than let him sweep me to anywhere.” She fisted the hem of her tank top and peeled it off over her head. “So get over yourself and f**k me, dammit.”

Reaver’s expression was a mix of anguish and disgust and, as far as she could tell, aimed at her. Was she that repulsive to him?

Her eyes stung, and she hated herself for it. Feeling suddenly, stupidly exposed, she covered her br**sts with her arms.

“I can’t.” Reaver’s voice was guttural as he wheeled around and stared at the wall. “I remember. I loved you.”

She blinked, her bafflement taking the edge off her anger. “What are you talking about? Did you hit your head?” She eyed his throat. “Did I drink too much blood? Are you okay?”

“I loved you,” he repeated, because it hadn’t sounded crazy enough the first time. “But I remember the hate too.”

“Yes,” she said carefully, because she didn’t want to set off the madman. “You hate me.”

“And now I know why.” He clenched his jaw so tight she heard a crack. “You told me what you did to me, and I understood. As Reaver, I got it.”

As Reaver? She was beyond baffled now, was starting to get scared. Something was very wrong with him.

“But as Yenrieth I hated you. I can feel that now. Like it was yesterday.”

Oh, God. She breathed a huge sigh of relief. “I think somehow our memories are getting jumbled up together. Weird stuff happens in this region, and with the lasher implants and your sheoulghuls—”

“Dammit, Harvester, listen to me.” Pivoting, he dragged both hands through his hair over and over, almost obsessively, as if whatever was scrambling his brain could be calmed by a scalp massage. “I came to rescue you to find Lucifer, but I’d been planning to do it all along anyway. Because of the Horsemen. What you did for them. They’re my children,” he said, and it was as if all her bodily functions seized up under an adrenaline overload. He was freaking high. He couldn’t be their father because their father was—“I’m Yenrieth.”

Nineteen

Reaver couldn’t believe he’d just admitted the truth to Harvester. At the worst possible time. But dammit, images had slammed into him while she was feeding, knocking him so off balance that it felt as if he was in two places at once—the present and the past—and only Harvester could shed light on the dark holes in his memory.

He’d remembered moments with Verrine, more flashes of their exploits together, but this time they were a little longer, and this time, they came with the raw emotions he’d felt when the memories had been made.

He’d loved her. He didn’t remember why he hadn’t acted on how he’d felt, but he was certain he’d loved her. So when Harvester had kissed him, he’d felt like everything was right. It had been like coming home.

But then she’d touched him, stroked him, and even as his lust built, searing hatred had scorched his heart. The memory of why he’d bedded Verrine had slammed into him, along with the rage he’d felt when he, as Yenrieth, had learned that Verrine had kept the existence of his children away from him for almost thirty years.

Now all of those emotions were swirling around in his head the way they had five thousand years ago, fresh and poisonous, and mixed with everything Reaver knew and felt, as well.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to be feeling right now, and he was pretty sure Harvester was in the same leaking boat.

She stared at him, and her eyes glazed over with disbelief and confusion. Her mouth opened. Closed. And then he saw it. The moment it all sank in.

Her face went ashen with devastation. “Oh no,” she whispered. Her entire body began to shake. He could smell her fury, her sense of betrayal, and it sliced him wide open. “No. You… oh, gods, no.”

“Harvester—”

“Shut up!” she rasped. “Don’t you speak to me, Yenrieth. Don’t you ever speak to me again.”

Closing his eyes, he waited for it. When it came, he was ready, but it was still the most painful slap he’d ever gotten, not because of the force but because behind it was a female whose agony transferred straight to him.

“How long have you known?” She was screaming now, her anger so great that her powers were seeping into her tirade and blistering waves of heat seared his skin. She snatched up her tank top, her eyes blazing with raw hatred. “Where have you been for the last five thousand years, you bastard?”

He didn’t reply, but it wasn’t because she’d told him to never speak to her again—he was pretty sure that would be impossible given that she was asking questions she demanded answers to. No, he didn’t reply because he couldn’t. He didn’t know where he’d been prior to the last thirty years or so. And he was pretty sure she wasn’t ready to hear anything he had to say.

“Answer me!” Tears streaming down her face, Harvester lunged at him.

He caught her by the shoulders and wrenched her to the mattress. She might be more powerful than him right now, but he was physically stronger, and once he had her on her back, he used both his strength and his weight to keep her from hurting herself or him.

He just had to hope she was too angry to think about blasting him with her powers. He’d also like it if his c*ck wasn’t still in let’s play with the hot female mode.

“Harvester.” He jerked his head back to avoid getting whacked in the face by her flailing arm. “I don’t know where I was. You know I can’t remember anything but the last thirty years.”

“Liar! You’ve lied about everything else, you f**king a**hole.”

She rocked her head up to bite his shoulder, and shit, that hurt. He shifted to gain leverage and muscled her into the mattress with his forearm over her throat. He kept the pressure light, not wanting to hurt her, but he also didn’t need to have any bites taken out of him.

“Listen to me,” he said roughly, because it wasn’t easy to talk when you were fighting off a snarling hellcat. “I’m not lying. I didn’t even know the truth about myself until a few months ago, after you were taken to Sheoul.”

Eyes shimmering like wet emeralds, she glared up at him, practically frothing with rabid fury. “What,” she ground out, “do you remember?”

“Not much. I can get brief glimpses of my past with you, but most of it is jumbled together. There’s no context.” He paused as a strange vibration began to buzz the air outside. The sharp, shrill sensation of terror skated over his skin.

“It’s night.” Harvester’s gaze tracked around the room as if seeking the source of the vibration. “Nothing can move now. We’re safe for a couple of hours.”

Safe. He was stuck inside a twelve-by-twelve shack with a fallen angel who hated him. There was nothing safe about any of this. Not for him.

“Now get off me,” she snapped.

“Do you promise you won’t try to kill me?”

“No.” If glares were daggers, he’d be bleeding out from massive trauma right now. “But if I wanted to kill you, I’d have given you the Calder treatment already.”

She had a point. He eased off her, but he braced himself for a possible surprise attack. Harvester had always fought dirty. Instead, she sat up calmly and tugged on her tank top.

Now what? He’d rather have her upset and yelling than eerily silent, like a dormant volcano on the verge of a catastrophic eruption.

“Damn you, Reaver.” Harvester scooted to the far side of the mattress and sat there, staring at him with glassy, bloodshot eyes. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t want anything from you.” Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He wanted more answers about his past.

And he wanted her forgiveness for what he’d done to her as Yenrieth. The anger over the secret she’d kept from him still lingered, but it was nothing compared to what she must be feeling. He’d had five months to come to grips with who he was. She’d had five minutes.

“You don’t want anything from me.” Acid dripped from her voice. “Just like old times.”

“Don’t,” he said as he reached for her. “Don’t do this.”

She jerked away from him. “Don’t touch me. Don’t talk to me.” She flopped down on the mattress, putting her back to him and shutting him out as effectively as a brick wall. “Leave me alone.”

“Harvester—”

“I said, leave me the f**k alone!” She didn’t turn over, just kept up the impenetrable wall routine. “Just give me some f**king space. Can you do that? Can you follow a command for once in your life?”

The pain in her voice flayed him to the bone. He might be feeling residual hate, but the love he’d had for her was there, too, and while both were tempered by his experiences with her as Reaver, that only seemed to make it worse.

Because as far as he could tell, he’d been a major dick as Yenrieth, and Reaver had no idea how to reconcile who he’d been with who he was now. All he knew was that he was the source of Harvester’s pain. Every single stitch of pain she’d endured for the last five thousand years could be laid on his shoulders.