“Oh, Reaver,” she whispered against his chest. “Our lives have been so f**ked up.”

“I’m sorry for everything I did to you as Yenrieth,” he murmured into her hair.

“But will you still be sorry if you remember?” She pulled back, creating distance between them he wasn’t ready for yet. “You’re okay with what you remember so far, but you’re still missing so much. What happens if you remember more to hate me for?”

“Is there more?”

“No.” Her lips flattened into a thin, grim line. “But with all the blanks filled in, maybe it’ll change how you feel.”

“I don’t see that happening, but if it does, we’ll work through it.” Shit, now she’d gotten him to talk as if they had a future together.

A wave of doubt came off her, and it occurred to him that even if he’d found a way for them to be together, she’d never fully trust him. Not until he got his memories back and dealt with what he and Verrine had gone through.

But none of that mattered, and reluctantly, he withdrew from Harvester’s warm body.

“Reaver?” She jerked her skirt down and watched him with growing alarm. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he lied. “I’m still working on a way for us to be together.”

“You need to hurry. I have to go to Raphael in a few hours.”

“I know.” He cupped her cheek, committing her soft skin to memory. “I know I have no right to ask you this, especially after everything you’ve done for me already.” He inhaled her scent, memorizing that, as well. “But if anything happens to me, I need you to promise to take care of the Horsemen.”

“Of course.” She frowned. “You know I will.”

“And Limos’s baby.”

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, they were liquid with unshed tears. “I swear to you, I’ll make sure she gets her baby back. But I will hate Raphael forever.”

“That,” he said, “I can deal with.”

The idea that she’d hate Raphael made the fact that she was going to have to have sex with him tolerable. Okay, not tolerable. Not even close. The mere thought made him want to rip the archangel’s head off and shove it up a Gerunti demon’s slimy ass.

Because the reality was that after Limos’s child was restored to her, Harvester wouldn’t be off the hook with Raphael. There was no way the bastard was going to sit idly by and let her get away. He’d gone to extremes to get her. Without Reaver’s life to hold over her head, he’d find another way, and Harvester would once again be blackmailed into being with him.

Damn, but he hoped she’d make his life a living hell.

Abruptly, shame washed over him. In the fantasyland of his head, the prospect of her hating Raphael forever was awesome. But Harvester deserved better. She deserved to be happy and to be in love. He’d rather she grew to love Raphael—the f**king bastard—than live for eternity with someone she hated.

And wasn’t that just magnanimous as all hell, he thought sourly.

“Why are you asking me this?” Harvester rubbed her face against his palm. “Nothing is going to happen to you. We know Raphael won’t kill you—”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s not going to let you go, and you know it. He’ll blackmail you with something else, and you’ll be forced to accept his offer.”

“I’ll find a way out of it,” she swore. “I won’t stop looking for a way to be free of him.”

“You’ll have to give your word, Verrine,” Reaver said, reminding her of who she was, who she’d always been. “You aren’t one to break an oath, and I’d rather see you with him than suffering with a broken promise. It would eat you alive, and you’d grow to resent me.”

But would she resent him even if he wasn’t around? Because he was going to the Dome of the Rock as scheduled. It just wasn’t going to be Raphael who he offered up as a sacrifice.

“Reaver—”

“Shh.” He silenced her with a kiss. A kiss he hoped conveyed every soul-deep ounce of his love and respect for her. A kiss good-bye. “I have one last favor to ask,” he murmured against her velvet lips.

“Anything,” she breathed.

“Go to the Watcher Council.” He held her body firmly against his as he stroked the creamy skin of her neck, wishing they could stay like this forever. “Find out what you can about Lorelia’s punishment. The Horsemen deserve to know what’s going on. She might even be able to tell you if there’s a way to restore Limos’s baby without Raphael.”

It was a bullshit favor, designed to get Harvester out of the way so he could do what he had to do without her interference. Because he had no doubt that if she knew about his plan, if she even suspected, she’d try to stop him. And if she enlisted the Horsemen’s help to do it, everything Reaver was trying to avoid—death, destruction, and misery—would come to pass.

“I’ll go now.” She threaded her fingers through his hair, a bittersweet smile curving her lips. “And you?”

“I’m going to meet with the archangels,” he lied. “I’ve been to places in Sheoul no angel has ever gone. I’m hoping I can help them nail Gethel.”

She grinned. “And then they’ll be so grateful they’ll give you your wings back.”

Guilt pricked at him for getting her hopes up, but he forced himself to smile. “Exactly.”

“Good luck,” she said, and for the first time since all of this began, hope made her voice sing and her eyes glitter with optimism. This was the Verrine he remembered, finally breaking through five thousand years of walls.

In a matter of hours, all of that would be snuffed. She’d be alive and safe, but once again, he’d have disappeared without a word, without explanation.

Reaver’s gut slid to his feet. Fuck Satan, because there was no torture the demon could devise that could match the torment Reaver was going to put himself through on his own.

As Harvester dematerialized, Reaver cast one last look around the keep and said a silent good-bye to his family. Then he took a deep, bracing breath and switched into battle mode. There was no turning back.

Okay, Satan, buddy. Let’s do this thing.

Thirty-One

Reaver stepped out of the Israeli Harrowgate closest to the Dome of the Rock, but the moment his feet hit the ground, he knew something was terribly wrong.

He wasn’t at the right place.

He was at Megiddo.

Which meant someone had brought him here. Again. The blood from his wingectomy still stained the ground.

A stab of light blasted the earth in front of him, and suddenly, Metatron was there, all sparkly and glowy, his massive wings stretching impossibly high into the predawn sky.

“Hello, Reaver.”

Reaver sighed. “I’m getting tired of you guys jerking me from one place to another. And if you’re here to cut off my wings and give me the boot from Heaven, you’re too late.”

“I’m here because you intend to hand yourself over to Satan in return for peace.”

Reaver jerked as if Metatron had reached into his head and yanked his brain out. “I’m not going to ask how you know. I’m going to ask that you don’t interfere.” He gestured to the land around them. “Though I guess you already have. Can you flash me to the Dome of the Rock? I have only about three minutes before the meeting takes place.”

“A meeting where you’re supposed to turn over Raphael, yes?”

No use in denying it. “Yes.”

“Why did you choose not to do it?”

Reaver crossed his arms over his chest, impatient with this conversation already. He had a sacrifice to go to, and he couldn’t be late, seeing how he was going to be the guest of honor.

“Why don’t you tell me, since you seem to know everything.”

“I want to hear it from you.” It was a command, not a suggestion, and Reaver anxiously glanced at the widening sliver of reddish light on the horizon.

Red in the morning means blood will be flowing. The ancient angelic weather wisdom was going to be one hundred percent accurate today.

“Because as douchey as Raphael is, he’s an angel,” Reaver said. “I might not have wings, but I’ll never betray Heaven.”

Metatron cocked one eyebrow. “You don’t consider all your rebellious acts and broken rules to be betrayals?”

Reaver considered his words very carefully, because he’d rather they not be his last. “I’ve made mistakes. I admit that. But some of the things I did I wouldn’t take back. They needed to be done. I can’t explain how I knew, just that I did. And nothing I did betrayed Heaven to Sheoul.”

“Good answer. Now, what makes you think you’d be an equal exchange for Raphael?”

“Because,” Reaver explained, “I’m the angel who is supposed to break the Horsemen’s Seals. Satan won’t kill me. He’ll torture the f**k out of me for eons, but he’ll need me alive in order to fulfill the biblical prophecy. He’ll probably spend centuries trying to figure out how to use me to make it happen as soon as possible. It’ll buy Heaven and Earth a lot more time than if the war starts in a few days, the moment Lucifer is born.”

“You realize that when Satan takes you into Sheoul you’ll become a fallen angel, right? A True Fallen?”

He shuddered. Becoming a True Fallen was the one thing he swore would never happen to him, the one thing he’d willingly kill himself to prevent. And now, becoming a True Fallen was the one thing he had to do.

“I know.”

For some reason, Metatron smiled. “Excellent. But it isn’t going to happen. Instead, I’m going to offer you something, but even if you refuse, I won’t allow you to give yourself up to Satan. Understood?”

Confused as hell, Reaver stared. “Not really.”

“I’ll make it simple,” Metatron drawled. “Would you like your memory back?”