He wondered if he had been so sappy before.
He’d even, during the nights when he’d hung outside in the crisp silence, fashioned her a gift. It wasn’t much, and he wasn’t even sure where he’d gotten the talent to take a knife to wood, but every discovery about himself was a clue.
And it was awesome when the discovery wasn’t something horrible, like finding out he didn’t know how to use a condom or could recognize human blood by its odor.
Closing his eyes, he buried his face in Jillian’s hair, taking in the fresh scent of her fruity shampoo, which never seemed to wash away the underlying scent of crisp mountain air. She always smelled like the outdoors, like sparkling streams and green trees. He liked that so much better than the cloying perfume the women in the department store had worn. Besides, he somehow knew that perfume tasted bad on the skin. Jillian’s skin tasted clean, with a tang of spice when she was aroused.
His c**k jerked, appreciating the direction of his thoughts. Yup, he needed to get out of bed and get away from Jillian before he did what he swore not to do and woke her with his mouth between her legs.
Groaning silently, he rolled onto his back and started to swing his legs over the side of the mattress, but in a flash of motion, Jillian flipped over and took his shaft in her hand.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Her voice was husky, drowsy, and so f**king sexy he damned near came in her palm right then and there.
He fell back into the pillow and hissed at the slow pump of her fist. “You’re insatiable.”
“You’re the one with the hard-on.”
He slid his hand between her thighs and spread her open. “You’re the one who’s wet.” He eased his finger inside her, testing her readiness, because he was so ready to mount her. She was silky and hot, and yeah, she was ready.
Shifting to give him more access, she dropped her hand to cup his balls. Her fingers worked him aggressively, massaging, pinching. He loved how sometimes she was sensual and tender in bed, but at other times she liked it rough and raunchy.
Right now it was rough and raunchy, and he didn’t hesitate to give her what she wanted.
He dipped another finger inside her and pumped them hard and fast. “What do you think? Another sixty-nine?” He brushed his thumb over her swollen clit, and she bucked. “Nah, we did that earlier. You on top, facing away from me? I loved that.” He arched up and tongued her nipple, enjoying how it made her gasp. “No, I’m going to take you from behind this time. First, while you’re on your hands and knees I’ll lick you there, fill you with my tongue and fingers. Then I’m going to f**k you so hard you won’t sit in a saddle for a week.”
“Yes,” she breathed, pushing against his hand.
“But I’m not going to come that way.” Reaching up, he twined his fingers in her hair and brought her mouth to his, but he didn’t kiss her. He teased with his tongue and teeth, nipping and licking. “I’m going to lay you on your belly and pin your legs tight together while I’m inside you. Ever done that? Makes my thrusts shallow, just teasing your entrance. Only the head of my c**k will be f**king you, and you’ll be begging for more, isn’t that right?”
She was panting now, on the edge, and truth be told, so was he. The graphic, raw words meant to work her up had taken their toll on him, and he was close to spilling in her hand.
Time for action. Rolling, he grabbed her and flipped her onto her hands and knees. He used his own knee to nudge her legs roughly apart, opening her completely to him. She was glistening and swollen, and he was so diving into that. He didn’t waste time with teasing or being subtle. He palmed her ass with both hands and used his thumbs to spread her wide. His mouth watered, and he was about to get down to it when something wrenched on his insides.
He jerked, his body having a hard time shifting from the all-encompassing lust to the focused, sharp prod of danger.
“Reseph?” Jillian’s arousal-sodden voice buzzed in his ears alongside the sudden bleat of goats.
Then came the horse’s screams and the pained squeal of the pigs. He flung himself off the bed and swept his jeans off the floor.
“Stay here!” He didn’t wait for Jillian’s response. He hastily threw on his jeans and tore out of the house. Icy air stung his face and the crusted snow cut into his feet as he ran toward the sounds of terrified animals.
A goat stumbled out of the open barn door, its fur matted with blood. Unable to stop, Reseph leaped over it and landed at the doorway threshold. Heart pounding, he flicked on the light.
And came face to face with a nightmare on legs.
The thing standing in front of him, its crimson eyes level with Reseph’s as it stood on two thick, black-veined legs, let out a bear-like roar and dropped the body of the goat it had been shredding with its serrated claws.
For several tense heartbeats, the demon stared at Reseph, making no aggressive moves. It seemed almost as if it was expecting something from him. What, Reseph had no idea. A chat? Praise? A date?
What it was going to get was dead.
Master?
The word was a raspy whisper in Reseph’s brain. A memory? Or was the thing speaking? Master.
What the fuck…
Master. Master. Master! Gripping his head, Reseph stumbled backward, as if he could escape the voice in his skull.
“Do you know me?” he shouted. “Do you know me, you son of a bitch?”
Master.
Demons filled Reseph’s vision, even behind closed eyelids. They surrounded Reseph, handing him offerings of body parts and wriggling, suffering creatures. Deep inside Reseph, there was a purr of pleasure, as if he’d been split in two and only part of him was horrified at the scene playing out in his head.
Frantic to stop whatever horrific memory seemed to be shaking itself loose, Reseph spun, grabbed the pitchfork from against the wall behind him, and buried it in the demon’s skeletal chest before it even had a chance to flinch. The thing snarled as it stumbled backward, clutching at the handle. Reseph dropped and kicked a leg out, catching the demon behind its knee, sending it crashing to the ground.
Screeching, the demon ripped the pitchfork from its chest and hurled it aside, narrowly missing clocking Reseph’s skull. It leaped to its feet and swung at him with those huge-ass claws. Reseph ducked and struck out, punching the thing in the snout. There was a satisfying crunch as its head snapped back and blood spurted from its mouth and nose.
The demon recovered quickly with a lightning-fast lunge. Reseph wheeled out of the way, snared the pitchfork, and forked the fucker again. The demon threw its body sideways, catching Reseph in the shoulder. Reseph slammed into one of the stalls, his spine taking the painful brunt of the impact. The horse went nuts, but Reseph couldn’t afford to calm the animal. The demon came at Reseph, its jaws gaping and dripping saliva.
Just as it dove for his throat, a shot rang out. Blood and bone sprayed from a tear in its side. It screamed and changed course, hurtling toward Jillian, who stood in the doorway, pistol raised, a skinny tendril of smoke rising from the barrel.
Reseph tackled the creature, slamming it to the ground and driving the tines of the pitchfork deeper into its body. The wooden handle snapped, flipping into the air. Reseph caught it and in one smooth motion, drove it between the creature’s eyes.
The thing grunted and seized, flopping like a dying fish as Reseph climbed off it, going for the machete hanging on the wall. When he turned back around, the thing appeared to have died, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
Here’s your master, you ugly piece of shit.
He brought the blade down on its neck, severing its head.
Damn, that felt good. It also felt familiar, like he’d done it before. A lot.
He looked over at Jillian, who was staring at the body. “That…” She swallowed. “That’s the thing that attacked me. It looked just like that.”
Reseph leveled a vicious kick at the corpse. “I should have made it suffer.”
Her startled gaze lifted to his. For a moment, he thought she was going to chastise him, but after the initial surprise, she nodded.
“You should have.” Carefully, she flipped the safety on the pistol and laid it on one of the barrels before squatting down next to a dead pig. “That monster.” She moved to the goat that had been disemboweled. “Definitely should have made it suffer.”
The image of himself surrounded by demons flashed through Reseph’s head again, bringing with it a streak of pain at his temples. Ruthlessly, he shoved it away, hoping like hell it wasn’t truly a memory. Maybe it was a remnant of a nightmare he’d had.
Keep telling yourself that, asshole.
Jillian was looking at him like she was trying to figure him out, probably because he was standing there like some delicate princess with the vapors. Fuck. He needed to get his head out of his ass.
“If you check the animals in here, I’ll see if I can find the goat that ran out.” Reseph gripped the machete tight and headed outside. He’d check on the goat, but he was also going to patrol the area for more of the fuckers.
He found the goat a dozen yards away, trembling in the snow behind a tree. He performed a rapid exam, feeling for broken bones and bleeding, but all of the blood on the animal seemed to have come from its barnyard pals.
The goat didn’t struggle as he hefted it into his arms and carried it back to the barn, where Jillian was doing her best to calm the surviving animals with treats and soothing caresses.
“This one seems fine.” He settled the little doe in one of the empty stalls and stepped out in time to see the dead demon on the floor fold in on itself and disappear before his eyes. “The demon’s gone.”
Jillian popped her head up from inside Sam’s stall. “Gone?”
“Disintegrated. Guess that explains why the general population didn’t know demons existed until a year ago.”
“No dead bodies to study.” She slipped out of the horse’s stall and joined Reseph, wrapping her arm around his waist. He absorbed her weight, drawing her against him. He’d hold her like this all night if she wanted him to. Hell, he’d do it anyway. The confrontation with the demon had rattled him to his bones. “I’m glad you were here, Reseph. I don’t think I could have dealt with that… thing… on my own.”
“Bullshit.” He ran his palm up and down her arm, noting the slight quiver under her skin. “You were a badass with that gun. No hesitation.”
“Because it was attacking you. If you hadn’t been here—”
“Hey.” He gripped her shoulders and turned her to face him. “You were amazing and brave. If I weren’t here you would have done what you had to do to protect your animals and yourself. One of those things might have attacked you, but it definitely didn’t destroy you.”
Her smile was shaky. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?”
“Right.”
Except that was a lie, wasn’t it? Too often, what didn’t kill you came back to finish the job. He had no idea how he knew that, and honestly, he didn’t want to know. All this time he’d been longing for his memories, scouring the Internet, searching his brain—hell, he’d called out to the empty air for help.
Now he was afraid he’d get exactly what he was looking for.
“You bitch.” Reaver stared at Gethel from inside the quantanum, the plane of existence that was invisible to humans but allowed some beings, such as angels, to travel at accelerated speeds. He’d been hunting Gethel, tracking blips of her signature that he could sense when she channeled Heavenly power. Oh, she’d been smart about it, using it only in short bursts and weak doses, but Reaver had been patient, knowing she’d eventually use a little too much for a little too long.
Today, as she held court with two Soulshredders and a bald fallen angel near a hellgate deep inside the Nicaraguan Masaya volcano, she’d made the mistake Reaver had been waiting for.
She spun around, simultaneously hurling a massive ball of lightning. The crackling sphere filled the tunnel, giving Reaver no room to run. If he flashed out, he’d lose her.
He threw up an elemental shield, which borrowed properties from the area around it. The surrounding volcanic rock absorbed the lightning’s impact, but the force knocked Reaver a dozen yards down the tunnel. He crashed into a stone pillar and crumpled to the ground.
Damn, that hurt.
Gethel’s cackle echoed off the walls. “You can’t hope to defeat me on your own, Reaver.”
Reaver shoved to his feet. “I don’t have to defeat you. Not yet. I just have to stop you from finding Reseph.”
Her smile was cold. “Time’s on my side. From what I hear, it’ll take decades, probably centuries, for his mind to heal.”
“If you’ve got all this time, why are you and Lucifer striking now?”
“Please,” she said. “You’re not that dense, are you?”
Apparently, he was.
“Humiliation.” A miniature lightning ball popped out of her hand and bounced between her fingers. “Satan is extremely embarrassed by his defeat. He’s ordered that everyone who played a role be either destroyed or get involved in restoring Pestilence and neutralizing the other Horsemen.”
Too bad Gethel hadn’t been lumped in the destroy category. Reaver strode toward her, keeping his power skating along the surface of his skin, ready to go in a split-second. “What happened to you, Gethel?”
“I told you. The Horsemen—”
“Yeah, yeah, they couldn’t find it in their hearts to say good-bye when your Watcher duty was taken away. Big deal. You’re either a big whiny baby, or there’s more to the story.” He was pretty sure there was some mental instability written between the lines of that story as well.