“Brought you a refill.”
He looked up as Limos poured more margarita-on-the-rocks into his glass from a pitcher. “Thanks, sis.” He popped his sunglasses up and scanned the crowd of around fifty, mostly humans. There were a few demons present, but as ter’taceo, they were disguised even to most other demons. “Wish Ares and Than were here.”
Li sighed, plopped down beside him, and took a huge gulp from her pitcher. “Than said he’d be here, but Ares…” She shrugged.
Yeah, Ares rarely came to these get-togethers, and when he did, he had to hang out on the porch and watch from afar. Getting too close to the action caused too many fights to break out. “Did you even invite him?”
“No.”
Ares probably knew about the party, but at least this way, he didn’t have to go through the torture of refusing.
“Is someone going to start up a volleyball game soon?”
One black eyebrow arched. “You feeling the need to beat up a ball?”
He waggled his brows. “I want to watch all the bouncing boobs.”
Limos slugged him in the shoulder. “You have not changed at all. Still the perverted playboy you were when you were human.”
Yeah, he’d been that. The “son” of a powerful Akkadian priestess who claimed a virgin conception by a god, Reseph had been raised to be a spoiled, irresponsible bed-hopper. By the time Limos had found him at the age of twenty-eight, he could have had fifty children by as many women. Fortunately, his priestess “mother” had been well-versed in mystical medicine… to the extent that Reseph suspected that she’d possessed some demon DNA in her background.
Thanks to skullwort, a demon herb that ended pregnancies in females and rendered males sterile for weeks at a time, he’d never had to deal with losing a child the way Ares had. Nor would he.
He could party all he wanted to.
A curvy brunette bent over and bared her breasts to him, and nope, that never got old.
Limos just shook her head. “You’re impossible.”
“Hey.” He assumed his best offended tone. “I can’t help it if the females love me.”
“Whatever.” Rolling her eyes, Li shoved to her feet, brushed sand off her sundress, and gestured to the hog pit. “It’s time to carve. Make yourself useful.”
He grinned as she tromped away, feet kicking in the loose sand. Man, he loved his life. He really did. It sucked that his siblings didn’t have it as good as he did, though. They were lonely, either by circumstance or by choice, and though Reseph did his best to provide companionship, it wasn’t the same as being able to let loose with someone who wasn’t related.
Wishing he could do more for his sister and brothers, he stood, turned, and nearly bumped into a breathtaking redhead whose green eyes were windows to a good time. She gave him a naughty smile, took his hand, and gestured into the lush forest. Well, the roast pig needed to cool anyway, right? Right. Cracking a grin of his own, he led the female to a private little cove, where he took them both as close to heaven as he’d probably ever get.
Pestilence sat up with a hiss. Fuck, he hated sleeping. Hated how that sentimental idiot he’d been would leak into his dreams with memories of the good old days. Screw that. He was having so much more fun now. He winced at the tug in his groin, palmed his hard cock, and remembered he had a juicy little morsel of a human all chained up, tenderized, and ready, if not willing, to take care of the issue.
“My lord.”
Pestilence groaned at his Neethul lieutenant’s drawl and swung his legs over the side of the stone slab he slept on. He’d long since given up on beds, which got really fucking nasty when bloody, and he wasn’t one for those rubber piss-protectors. Much easier to hose off rock, and really, comfort wasn’t an issue, not when he only needed about an hour of rest a day.
“What?”
“Your brother is stirring.”
“Good. And Cara?”
“The human is as you left her.”
Which meant she was naked and huddling in a cage. Excellent. Time to grab her and show Ares why it was much, much better to be on the broken side of the Seal.
Ares came to in a fog, his muscles taut, joints stretched. His first attempt to lift his head was an epic failure. He might as well have tried to lift a bowling ball with a rubber band. The second try met with success, even if it took effort to keep from dropping his chin to his chest again. At least his eyes worked, well enough to allow him to see that he was in a small room that was clearly a crude, underground prison cell. Rolling his neck, he looked up at his bound wrists. The rope that held them together had been hooked to an iron ring in the ceiling.
He frowned. Rope couldn’t hold him, so why would his brother even try? Smiling, he jerked his wrists.
Nothing happened. Okay, so the rope was definitely enhanced with demonic enchantments, but it still shouldn’t be able to hold him.
Unless Cara was nearby.
His gut twisted even as he became aware that the familiar draining sensation gripped him. She was definitely very close, and as long as she was, he was severely handicapped. Making matters worse, a copper ring circled his horse glyph, preventing Battle from being released.
A scream rang out, chilling his blood, and he had to force himself to breathe.
The door flew open, and Pestilence entered, shoving Cara, who was naked and bruised, inside. She stumbled and fell to the straw-strewn dirt floor, and then she scrambled into a corner. Black, murderous rage scorched him from his skin to his bones.
“Bastard,” Ares roared, before he could stop himself. Breathe. Now was not the time to let his temper reign. He had to stay cool if he wanted to find the chinks in his brother’s armor.
“We’re all bastards, really.” Pestilence stripped off his muscle shirt, leaving him in leather pants. As Reseph, he’d spent more time in the nude than die-hard nudists did, and it seemed as though that quirk had survived the trip to the dark side. “Did I tell you I’ve been hanging with our mother? She’s a hoot. You should have seen what we did to Tristelle a few hours ago at Lilith’s temple. It was a real mother-son bonding thing.”
Fuck. That stupid fallen angel. Ares had tried to warn her.
“The tales about our mother were accurate.” Pestilence fingered the jagged edge of a dagger hanging on the wall. “She’s a real whore. She even tried to seduce me. Want to know if I let her?”
Ares’s stomach turned over. “I don’t care about our mother.”
“You will. She wants to meet you once your Seal is broken—which will happen shortly.” Ares felt the seconds ticking by in the pounding of his heartbeat as Pestilence swung around to Cara, who did her best to become part of the wall. “I’m going to have my fun with her first. Remember Flail and Saw? Yeah, like that. Except that humans bleed so much better.”
“Do not touch her!”
Pestilence shot Ares a glance dripping with false innocence. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is she yours? You don’t want to share? After all we’ve been through?”
Ares’s mind clicked through his options, and came up with pretty much nothing. Pestilence had the wheel right now, and Ares was the jackass who’d been shoved in the trunk.
Ripping open his pants, Pestilence stalked over to Cara, and Ares’s cool evaporated and turned to scalding steam. He went crazy, kicking, jerking. Either the ceiling was coming down, or his arms were ripping from their sockets. Didn’t matter. He had to get to Cara.
“Human.” Pestilence’s fangs punched down violently. “Did Ares ever tell you how he was forced to watch what happened to his wife?” He grabbed Cara by the throat and lifted her. She struggled in his grip, clawing at his hands. “Violated, tortured, killed. Right in front of him.”
“Shut up,” Cara croaked. Her knee came up, catching Pestilence in the thigh, but he didn’t even flinch. Still, fierce pride welled up in Ares.
“Protective of Ares, aren’t we?” Pestilence murmured, and for a split-second, maybe less, Ares could have sworn he glimpsed yearning in hi
s brother’s expression. Then the fucker flicked a fingernail against her cheek, drawing blood, and Ares knew he’d been mistaken, had allowed sentimentality and the brotherly bond to color his thoughts.
Never again. “If you do this, brother, I will find a way to torture you for eternity.”
Pestilence shrugged. “After your Seal breaks, you won’t care. I’ll leave her corpse intact enough that you can get one last fuck out of her before we find Limos and Thanatos. Once we force our blood between their lips, their Seals will break, and we’ll ride together again.”
Helplessness would have brought Ares to his knees if he’d been standing. Plan. He needed a fucking plan. There would be no appealing to Reseph… he was clearly gone. Cara’s terrified gaze caught his, and he did his damnedest to convey a message. Fight him.
Pestilence slammed her against the wall and squeezed her chin roughly. “How talented is that mouth? Ares?”
This was the break they needed. Ares hoped she’d play along. “Very. You’ll not find a more clever tongue.”
Pestilence swiveled his head around, eyes narrowed. “And you’re telling me this, why? You want her to blow me?”
Hell no. Rage fogged his vision as that particular image burned into his brain. Through the growing fear that this might be a contest he wouldn’t win, he forced himself to relax, but he couldn’t clear the gravel out of his voice. “I would battle Satan himself to prevent it,” he admitted, because his brother wouldn’t buy anything less. “But I have no power. You’re going to kill her. My hope is that if she pleases you, you’ll make her death an easy one.”
“I’ll consider it.” He shoved Cara to her knees in front of him. “Take it out. And if you do anything stupid, I’ll cut off Ares’s dick and make you eat it, do you understand?”
She paled, making her bruises and scrapes stand out starkly. Her hands shook as she reached into Pestilence’s pants and removed his cock. The son of a bitch was hard already. Ares broke out in a fevered sweat.
Come on, baby. Use your gift. Rip his fucking balls off.
Her palm circled Pestilence’s shaft and slid down. He cuffed her in the head. “Your mouth, bitch. Use your mouth.”
Ares’s chest cramped, his heart jackhammered, and fuck, he wouldn’t survive this. Cara’s lips parted, and he knew his brother could feel her warm breath on him. The demon in him went crazy. Hold it together…
Cara slid her hands around Pestilence’s muscular thighs and pulled down his pants so the waistband circled his legs. Pestilence watched her, blue eyes glittering with anticipation and lust as she cupped his sac. Her tongue darted out, and Ares damn near screamed. No matter how evil he turned, he would somehow preserve the part of himself that had fallen for her, and he would avenge her.
He would destroy Pestilence for this.
Almost imperceptibly, Cara shifted, and just before her mouth made contact, she cranked her wrist so viciously that Ares heard the tear of flesh. Lightning quick, she dove toward Ares as Pestilence swung at her, blood flowing between his legs and a screech ripping from his throat.
“The bracelet,” Ares yelled. “Move it off Battle!”
Cara scrambled to her feet and ran to him, barely avoiding Pestilence’s second grab. She leaped, but her fingers only brushed the copper ring. “I… can’t… reach!”
“Climb me. Hurry.” He raised one leg, and she hopped on, straddling it as she shoved the bracelet up. “Out!”
Pestilence grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to the floor as Battle formed behind him. Cara screamed, flailed, kicked out. Pestilence’s fist slammed into her jaw, and then he was smashed into the floor by Battle’s giant hooves. The horse struck over and over.
“My power… it won’t work on your brother.” Stumbling, Cara came to her feet. Her voice was mushy, her words floating on blood, but her eyes were determined. Why he’d ever thought her weak, he had no idea.
“It’s okay,” he told her. “Battle’s handling it. I need you to look for a lever.”
She limped around behind him, and through the sound of the beating Pestilence was taking, he heard shouts outside the door. Pest’s reinforcements.
“Hurry, Cara…”
“Got it!”
Something metallic clicked, and he dropped to his feet, hands still bound by the length of rope. She dashed over, her fingers making quick work of the knots. The door burst open, and demons swarmed inside. Ares threw a Harrowgate, using it as a weapon to shear two of them in half. “Battle!” The stallion whirled, stood still while Ares threw Cara into the saddle and then swung up.
Pestilence’s body was ruined, his throat and face crushed, but he staggered to his feet and heaved a spiked club. It bounced off Ares’s back, but the pain was forgotten as Battle charged the swarm of demons, plowing through them like a wrecking ball, and leaped through the gate.
The second the horse’s hooves hit island sand, Ares whipped off his shirt and tugged it over Cara’s head, shielding her nakedness from his staff, who were running to meet them.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice trembled, her entire body shaking as the adrenaline rush that had gotten them out of there began to take its toll on her.
“I’m the one who should be sorry.” Pressing kisses into her hair, he wrapped his arms around her, desperate to feel her warmth, her vitality, all the things she could have lost at his brother’s hands. “He should never have gotten that close to you.”
“Not that.” She stared at the Ramreels stampeding toward them. “I’m so sorry, Ares.” The scent of misery billowing from her set off his internal alarms.
The demons surrounded them, all sporting injuries. Vulgrim was there, limping, one horn sheared off. In his arms, he held a squirming little Rath. But Torrent wasn’t with him.
“My lord.” Vulgrim bowed. And when he unfurled to his full seven and a half feet, his red, watery eyes made Ares’s gut plummet.
“Don’t say it,” he growled. “Don’t. Even. Say it.”
“We lost him, tesmon,” Vulgrim said. “My son is gone.”
Twenty-two
After the news about Torrent, Ares dismounted, gathered Cara to his chest, and carried her to the bedroom. He didn’t say a word, and neither did she. He started the shower for her, but when he began to strip, she asked for a moment alone. He needed time with Vulgrim, and though he protested, he finally relented, leaving Limos outside the door.
She washed carefully, her aches and pains slowing her down. Pestilence had worked her over pretty good during the hours before he captured Ares, and that last punch to the face had hurt like hell. She hoped his balls were throbbing as much as her jaw was. The bastard.
Ares returned as she stepped out of the shower, halting in the doorway. Her heartbeat had stuttered, almost painfully. The intensity in his bloodshot eyes froze her to the floor.
“You saved Vulgrim’s life.” His voice was strained. “You killed for him.” He crossed to her in three strides and hauled her against him. “I’m so sorry you had to do that.”
“Ares,” she whispered, “there wasn’t any other option. I don’t regret it, and I’d do it again.”
He let out a ragged breath, scooped her up and took her to bed. As he laid her down, his gaze mapped and logged every one of her cuts and bruises, and smoldering anger joined his grief. “You need a doctor.” He swallowed. “And the agimortus—”
“I know.” It was dusky pink now, much lighter than it had been before Pestilence grabbed her. She patted the mattress. “Lie with me.”
“I need to shower first.”
She waited while he cleaned up, and then he joined her in bed, where, when he discovered her small gift, he stared at her. “A pillow?” He ran his hand over the silk cover, and she swore she saw a slight tremor in his fingers. “When? How?”
She braced herself on an elbow and watched him. She’d never tire of looking at him, of admiring his deeply tanned skin, his chiseled features, the ropey muscles that bunched and rolled as he moved. “After we rescued
Hal. While you were fighting the demons with the Guardians. I asked Vulgrim to get a pillow for you.” She put her hand over his. “It’s not much, but I wanted to do something nice for you. You deserve to be comfortable when you sleep, Ares.”
He grabbed her, had her tucked up against him so fast she didn’t know what hit her. He said nothing, just held her, and instinct told her that was what he needed right now.
She drifted off, exhaustion and adrenaline crash making for a fine Valium. And if she could communicate with Hal…
She woke an hour later. She hadn’t dreamed of Hal, and Ares was gone.
Instantly, she leaped out of bed, only to have her legs go wet noodle on her. She caught herself on the chair, sparing herself a nasty fall. Damn, she was getting weak. Her entire body ached, and at some point, her skull had become a giant juicer, turning her brain into a throbbing, liquid muck.
As quickly as she could, which meant she was turtle-slow, she dressed in a pair of olive-drab capris that were a lot looser than they used to be and a blue button-down blouse that didn’t match; right now, fashion wasn’t her biggest concern.
Barefoot, she padded out to the great room, where Ares was standing in front of the fireplace, one hand braced on the mantel, head bowed so deeply his chin touched his chest.
“Ares? Are you okay?”
He didn’t look up, but he did let out a bitter laugh. “I should be asking you that.”
“I’m fine.”
Now he lifted his head, and she drew a startled breath at his red-rimmed eyes and his drawn expression. “You were taken prisoner, beaten, forced to kill, nearly forced to…” He trailed off, shook his head. “You are not fine.”
No, her time with Pestilence had not been pleasant. But she’d survived. She’d even fought him without breaking down into a screaming, bawling puddle. “I think,” she said softly, “that I should be the one to determine that.” She moved toward Ares, but he stepped away. “What’s wrong?”
He looked up at the ceiling fan, which was whirring madly. “I failed you. I failed Torrent.”