It was what he’d expect from a False Angel.

At least, that was what she told herself as he framed her face in his big hands and held her steady for the deep penetration of his tongue. His pelvis slammed into hers, and either that was a gun in his pocket, or he was sporting one hell of a hard-on.

Then he was across the room, standing in the doorway. She hadn’t even seen him open the door. She stood there, dazed and weaving on unsteady legs.

“I would love to take you,” he said roughly. “Right there on your desk. But I’ve got something to do, and when we finally fuck, I don’t want any distractions.”

“It won’t happen.” She cleared her throat of the embarrassing lust that made her sound a lot more wanton than she’d like. “You aren’t my type.”

“All males are a False Angel’s type.”

“As you’ve made clear more than once, I’m not your typical False Angel.”

“And that,” he said, “is why I want you.”

With that, he spun around and disappeared around the corner, leaving her aching, confused, and in a whole lot of trouble.

Ten

Revenant stood atop Mount Megiddo once again, a sense of déjà vu zinging through his brain, and not because he’d tried to contact Metatron a day earlier. This was where he’d called out for his brother that first time, but the meeting hadn’t gone well. Reaver hadn’t known about Revenant, hadn’t known the truth about anything, and he’d gone ghastbat crazy. Hurt, rejected, and drowning in the lies he’d been fed all his life, Revenant had hopped right on that crazy train, and they’d both done enough damage to all the realms that their memories had been wiped.

Good times, man. Good. Fucking. Times.

“Yo. Archangels,” he shouted. “Metatron, get your holy ass down here.”

Like yesterday, nothing happened. Fucking assholes. He was frustrated as shit, his mind buzzing with another of Satan’s summons and his balls aching with unquenched desire for Blaspheme. Something was about to blow, and he doubted it would be his cock.

“Metatron!” He roared into the heavens, and all around, the earth shook as dark clouds roiled from out of nowhere, blocking out the sun and turning the land dark as night. “Last chance. Get your holy ass down here now, or a lot of angels are going to be gracing Satan’s halo wall.”

He wasn’t even sure why he was giving the archangels one last shot at giving him answers about who he was and what he was supposed to be doing with his life, not after what Reaver had said about Revenant defiling Heaven with his mere presence. Maybe Blaspheme’s nobility had rubbed off a little, or maybe he owed his mother the respect of trying one more time.

Whatever it was that had him standing on this ugly hilltop, being completely ignored, it was in the past. He was done. Satan had won. Time to deliver an angel on a platter.

Flaring his wings, he started to lift into the artificial darkness. No doubt the nearby humans were freaking out, praying to their deities, sure another apocalypse was about to break loose.

Suddenly, a soft whoosh preceded a sparkling shower of lights, and a split second later, the archangel Raphael was standing there, his body emitting a soft, golden glow like something straight out of a cheesy Christmas movie. Even his blond hair shone like polished gold. Angels could contain their glow in the human realm, which meant he was intentionally being an asshat.

Well, well. Right when Revenant decides he’s done with Heaven, Heaven gets a clue. Whether or not it was too little, too late, had yet to be seen.

“What is it?” Raphael asked in a glaringly bored voice.

“You aren’t Metatron.”

“Aren’t you observant.”

“Fuck off,” Rev said. “I want Metatron.”

“He’s in a meeting. You’re stuck with me.”

All archangels were dickbags, but Raphael seemed to be especially dick-tastic.

“In a meeting?” Revenant grinned. Nothing got someone’s attention like interrupting a meeting.

Raphael’s eyes shot wide. “No —”

Too late. Revenant flashed smack into the middle of the Archangel complex. A few angels were scurrying through the halls, but none of them gave him more than a passing glance. Why would they? They had no idea who he was, and the idea that an angel from hell could simply pop into one of the most important structures in the universe was ludicrous.

He looked around, wasting no time in determining where the meeting might be. Reaver would right now be sensing his presence in Heaven, and it would probably only be a matter of seconds before his twin showed up to play bouncer.

Swiftly, he moved toward the mass of offices down a hall to the right, where the signs on the doors indicated that the rooms had been set aside for groups. He bypassed the lamely named Chamber of Eternity, the Genesis Room, and Babel Hall, and went straight for Babylon Auditorium.

Bingo.

A group of ten archangels were sitting around a giant marble table on the stage, the empty theater-style seats watching over them in silence.

“Well, well,” he said as he strode down the center aisle toward them. “Looks like I’m late to the party.”

Several of the angels glared at him, clearly outraged that someone had the gall to interrupt. But four of them, Gabriel, Michael, Uriel, and Haniel, knew exactly who he was, and they came to their feet so fast that their chairs tumbled backward.

“Revenant,” Uriel gasped. Suddenly, the others leaped up, too, weapons in their fool hands.