But would she have to if Lucifer kept sucking her energy like a dire leech?

Was it possible that she could even die?

She hadn’t told Reaver any of her fears, hadn’t told him the extent of the growing weakness, but he knew something was up. She could see it in his eyes, could feel it in the way he touched her as if she were made of crystal.

She hated being treated like an invalid.

Decision made, she rounded the corner to the front of the barn and stepped through the open door.

Instantly, Tracker wheeled around, pitchfork poised to attack. When he saw her, he froze solid, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Hello, Tracker,” she said softly.

The pitchfork began to tremble, and Harvester’s heart, still hardened by thousands of years of scar tissue, managed to crack wide open.

“You don’t have to say anything.” She took a step closer. He didn’t move, but his grip on the farm tool became white-knuckled. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“You… you’re an angel now.” His deep, smoky voice gave her a sense of comfort; he’d been the one constant in her life for decades.

“Who’d have thought, huh?” Certainly not her.

“Are you going to take me back?”

She couldn’t tell if his question was hopeful… or fearful. “Why? Do you want me to?”

Very slowly, the pitchfork lowered, and so did his head, until he was looking at his boots, his sandy hair concealing his expression. “No,” he whispered. “I like it here.”

Relief sang through her. “Good. I wanted that for you.”

His head came up, and the skepticism in his gaze pierced her right through the heart. “You wanted me to be happy?”

Oh, damn, this had been a mistake. He must have been so miserable with her, even though she’d tried to treat him well. As well as she could without drawing suspicions, anyway. Being nice to him would have set off alarm bells for anyone who witnessed it. She had been in hell as a spy for Heaven, and there was no way she could expose herself, not even by being nice to a slave.

“I know you don’t believe me, but yes, I wanted that for you.”

He looked down at his feet again. “Thank you for rescuing me from my former master. And thank you for giving me to Jillian.” He shuddered. “But you should go now.”

That was the first time Harvester had ever heard him be assertive, even if it was only tentative.

“Tracker? Look at me.” When he didn’t, that small act of resistance made her smile. But she really did need him to look at her. “Tracker! Eyes up.” This time he lifted his head, and the flash of defiance in his gaze gave her hope. “Next time you tell someone to leave, look them in the eye. You have the right to your own life now. Only Jillian can take away your freedom, and somehow I doubt she’s done that. In fact, I’m guessing she had to force you into your own private cabin, didn’t she? And she’s not making you clean the barn, either. You need something to do, so she’s letting you help around the house. Am I right?”

He nodded.

“Good,” she said. “Now, tell me to leave, and do it like you mean it.”

His throat worked on a swallow, then two, but finally, he met her gaze with a rock-steady one of his own. Deep inside his amber eyes, the werewolf inside him sparked to life for the first time since she’d known him.

“You need to go.”

“Better.” Even though her chest ached, she was proud of him. Stepping close, she took his hand and pressed a coin into his palm. “If you ever need me, this coin will allow you to summon me. I’ll be there. Take care, Tracker.” She started to dematerialize, but he grabbed her wrist.

“Wait.” His grip was strong, sure, but his voice was gentle as he said, “I’m glad you’re an angel now.”

With that, he pivoted around and began tossing hay around as if she weren’t still there. She lingered only a heartbeat before flashing away.

At least he didn’t see the tears in her eyes.

After leaving Eidolon’s office, Blaspheme took the hospital’s Harrowgate to the clinic. Things were slow this afternoon, with only three people waiting to be seen in the reception area. She was still rattled by Eidolon’s mention of nearby angels, but she reached up to run her fingers over her stethoscope as she walked, reminding herself that she was a professional, and right now, people needed her.

Nerves contained if not completely soothed, she spent the next six hours with patients, and then she stopped by her mother’s room.

Deva was sleeping, but she cracked open her bloodshot eyes as Blaspheme studied her chart.

“Blas,” she croaked. “I haven’t seen you in hours. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Of course I am.” Never mind that there might be angelic assassins waiting to slaughter them both. She smiled reassuringly and sank down in a chair next to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

Deva closed her eyes again. “Like someone put me into an industrial-sized blender.”

“That’s pretty much what you looked like when I saw you yesterday.” She took her mother’s hand, which had healed from most of the defensive wounds she’d gotten. “What do you remember about the attack? How many angels were there? More than one?”

Eyes still closed, her mother nodded. “There were two Eradicators. They neutralized my wards and broke into my house while I was preparing for your concealment ritual.”