Eternal Rider

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.”

“There’s nothing you could have done for him. And maybe you don’t remember, but you got me away from Pestilence.”

“Bull. Fucking. Shit.” The venom in Ares’s voice made her recoil. “You got us out of my brother’s cell. I hung there like a slab of beef in a butcher’s locker.”

“I couldn’t have gotten away without you.” The agimortus etched into her chest joined the throbbing in her head, as if it wanted in on the conversation. “We did it together. And none of this would have happened if I’d transferred the agimortus in the first place.” She should have done it, and she’d regret that decision for the rest of her life… short as it might be.

“Stop blowing smoke up my ass!”

“Why are you acting like this?” She reached for him, but he wheeled away, jamming his hands through his hair and leaving them there as he began to pace.

“What did he do to you?” His voice was flayed raw. “Before he brought you into the cell.”

“It’s not important, Ares.” At his smoky growl, her heart skidded to a stop. “Oh… you think he raped me.”

“Did he?” Still raw, as if his throat was bleeding.

“Would it matter?”

“Yes.” This time, his voice was dead.

She shivered. Even though the men who broke into their house hadn’t gotten the chance to rape her, Jackson could never see past what might have happened. Though he’d never said it, not outright, anyway, he’d viewed her as damaged goods. As ruined. Spoiled. When she’d touched him, he’d shrunk away, found some way to avoid intimacy with her. They hadn’t made love even once after that night.

“So… if he raped me, would you think differently of me?”

Ares’s head snapped back as if he’d been sucker punched. “No. Never.” He regarded her from under the forbidding line of his dark brows, his gaze steely. “It matters because Pestilence tormented you while I was helpless to protect you. He knew exactly where to hit me, knowing I’d been through it once before with my wife. If he violated you on top of all that, I couldn’t live with myself.”

“He didn’t, Ares.” God, her heart was breaking for him, and she didn’t know how to help except to reassure him. “I swear. He was too concerned with capturing you so you could watch.”

Closing his eyes, he let out a long, relieved breath. But he still backed away when she reached for him.

“Ares, don’t. Please don’t pull away from me.” This was Jackson all over again, but this time, it was much worse. Afraid of how Jackson would respond to knowing about her ability, she’d never given herself fully to him, had always held a part of herself away. But she’d bared everything to Ares. He’d made her stronger, while Jackson had only dragged her down.

He said nothing. Wouldn’t even look at her. Not even as he strode from the room.

“You are a selfish piece of shit.”

Ares jerked to a halt just inside his walled garden. “Excuse me?”

Limos came around from behind him and parked herself in his path. “Cara was tormented at the hands of our brother—”

“You think I don’t know that?” Every single second of it was replaying in his head, and the only breaks he got in the show were when memories of Torrent popped in.

After Vulgrim and his mate, Sireth, Ares had been the first to hold Torr after his birth. Ares had watched the little guy learn to walk, had nearly come out of his skin while watching him negotiate rocky cliffs, had taught him to spar.

Vulgrim’s pain now was Ares’s, and for someone who had sworn to not allow emotion into his life, it felt as if Ares was drowning in it.

“Yeah, and you’re making what Pestilence did about you. You, not her.” Limos jammed her hands on her hips. “You feel helpless, impotent, because you couldn’t protect your female. So to punish yourself for your guilt or your inadequacy or whatever, you’re pulling away from her. Pestilence tortured her, but you aren’t a hell of a lot better, because you’re doing the same damned thing.”

He wanted to tell Limos to go fuck herself, but she was right. He’d been convinced that Jackson was an asshole for how he’d treated Cara, and then Ares had gone and repeated one of the most painful times of her life.

The stone path that wound through the gardens became his racetrack as he started walking. Could he outrun his asshole self? Not likely.

The slap of Limos’s bare feet fell into a steady beat behind him. “Hey, I’m sorry about Torrent.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him to a halt. “I know how much you cared for him. Is there anything I can do?”

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Watch over Vulgrim and Rath. Pestilence knows how to hurt me.” Overhead, a hawk drifted on a thermal, looking for prey. “Our brother is stronger than ever. He caught me off guard and bested me after I got myself free of the war. How did you get away from the starvation camps?”

“I alerted the media. Once they got wind of it, it was all over. I have a love-hate relationship with modern times, but today is true love.”

“Where’s Thanatos?”

“Gathering intel on where Pestilence might be building his army. When you took out those commanders and caused a cease-fire, it freed Than. He’s putting his time to good use before Pestilence’s plagues get worse. As it is, humans are starting to panic.”

No doubt they were. He’d seen this so many times… humans were like freaking sheep who panicked at the first sign of trouble, buying up supplies, moving to isolated areas, building bomb shelters, taping windows. Humans imagined there was an Apocalypse around every corner.

This time, they were right.

Shit, he had to throw the king of Hail Marys. “Stay with Cara.”

“Where are you going?”

He opened a Harrowgate. “To our mother.”

“What?” Li snared his arm. “Why? Are you insane?”

Probably. Lilith was one of the few beings who was more powerful than him. She’d kept Limos captive, and if she got hold of Ares, she could very well hold him until Pestilence broke Ares’s Seal.

“Lilith and Pestilence tortured Tristelle to learn where Unfallen are hiding. I’ll give Lilith anything she wants if she’ll tell me where to find one.” He had to save Cara. Desperation was a lava flow in his veins.

“There are no more Unfallen.”

Li and Ares whirled to Reaver, who stood just off the path near a fish pond, his expression as angry as Ares had ever seen it. “What do you mean, there are no more?” Ares ground out.

Reaver’s blue eyes swirled with storm clouds, and lightning flashed in the pupils. “Just what I said. Either they have gone to Sheoul, or Pestilence has destroyed them. My brethren are gone, and we’re out of time.”

All the emotions Ares shouldn’t be feeling—panic, fear, anger—distilled into poisonous fury, and Ares lost it. He didn’t think. He reacted. Snagged Reaver’s expensive-ass jacket by the lapels and slammed the angel into an olive tree. “You lie.”

“You failed.”

A five-bazillion jolt blast of pissed-off angel hit Ares like a freight train, throwing him a dozen yards across the gardens and through a pillar. Stone crashed down on him, he was pretty sure he’d be pissing blood soon, and he leaped to his feet with a roar.

“Ares, no!” Limos leaped in front of him at the same time Harvester flashed in, her shit-eating grin rocketing Ares right into orbit again.

“Evil is winning,” she said, in a taunting, sing-song voice.

Reaver, a category five heavenly storm, shifted his focus from Ares to Harvester. She snarled, and they came together in a sonic fucking boom. Light flashed, and they were gone.

This couldn’t be happening. Couldn’t be happening. Couldn’t fucking be happening! Ares wiped a stream of blood off his temple and cursed in a dozen different languages, but that didn’t change the fact that they were so fucked his ass hurt. Though he guessed that could be the result of having a pillar shoved up it.

He shook stone dust out of his hair and rounded on Limos. “Contact Kynan. We need that damned dagger. It’s Cara’s only hope now. And I want the island’s Harrowgate shut down. Pestilence isn’t leading any more demons through it.”

Limos whistled. “Won’t be easy.”

“I don’t care,” he snapped. “I’ll pay whatever price I have to—”

“My lord! Ares!” Vulgrim ran toward them, gesturing back at the house. “The hellhound—”

Ares didn’t wait for him to finish. Armoring up, he tore off across the garden, darted through the house, and found Cara on the bedroom patio. She had one hand on the scruff of Chaos’s neck, the other scratching under his chin, and the only way this could be happening was if Cara had invited the hound in, which bypassed the ward. Limos came in behind Ares, her own armor creaking as she drew her weapons.

The hellhound swung his great head around, and Ares swore the beast was grinning. Ares could read it as clearly as he could a billboard. Your female likes me.

“Ares,” Cara said quickly, “before you say anything—”

“Get away from him.”

She ignored him. “Listen to me. For just a minute.”

He was so not in the mood for this. “I want that monster dead.”

Chaos snarled, and bullets of drool dropped from his mouth to splatter on the pavers.

“You need to call a truce,” Cara said, and Limos made a strangled noise.

“You can’t be serious,” Ares rasped. “Never. Now get away from him before he hurts you.”

Unbelievably, Cara wrapped her arm around the hellhound’s neck, and through the red haze of hatred, he realized that she was wobbly and needed support. “He can’t hurt me or he’ll hurt his son. He needs my help to find Hal, Ares, and we need him.”

“We don’t need him. I will never need him.” He stepped forward, and the hound matched the move, putting one giant paw in front of Cara, holding her in place. If Ares didn’t know better, he’d think Chaos was trying to protect her.

Which was ridiculous.

“I told you what he did to me, Cara. I can’t forget that. I won’t forget that.”

Pain flashed in Cara’s eyes. “Ares, if you kill him, you’ll be fighting Hal for the rest of his life.”

The cold, stark reality brought his temper back down to manageable levels. Fighting Hal very likely wouldn’t be an issue. Hal would be dead soon, if Ares couldn’t bury Deliverance in Pestilence’s heart. And if he did, by some miracle, destroy his brother, how could Cara live with Hal and Ares wanting each other dead?

And damn… how could he let go of over forty-five hundred years of hatred?

But how could he not give Cara this, after all he’d put her through, and after what she’d sacrificed for him?

It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but he lowered his sword, never taking his eyes off the evil son of a bitch.

Closing her eyes, Cara let out a relieved breath. “He says that as long as Hal lives, he’ll honor the truce.”

Honor. Not a word he’d associate with hellhounds. “Just one thing,” Ares said thickly. “I need to know why he killed my brother and sons like that.” There had been genuine hatred in Chaos’s actions that went well beyond a normal kill.

Cara smoothed her hands along both sides of the beast’s face. After a minute, maybe two, or ten… it was hard to say… Cara hung her head. “So much pain between you two.” She lifted her gaze. “I can see his thoughts. Do you remember a battle in some mountains? There’s a siege engine of some sort, ugly, with a boar head carved into it and”—she shuddered—“human skulls nailed all over the beams.”

“Yeah. I remember.” He, his sons, brother, and Ares’s army had chased demon hordes all the way into the Ahaggar Mountains after his wife was killed, and once the demons were boxed in, the slaughter had begun.

“Chaos wasn’t part of the demon-human war. He and his mate brought his pups out of Sheoul to teach them to hunt rats among the carnage. He was young, and it was his first litter. You killed them.”

Ares swallowed. He’d done so much killing in his life, so much of it running together like thousands of rivers of blood into one massive sea. But he remembered his first hellhounds. He’d been so full of hatred after the death of his wife that he’d taken pleasure in slaughtering the female and her young. In Ares’s eyes, they’d been nothing but evil beasts feeding on the corpses of his soldiers.

The ground shifted beneath him. They’d been hunting rats, not eating his men. Not fighting humans.

It was only days later that he’d come back to the command tent to find a giant hellhound standing over the remains of his sons and brother.

Oh, Jesus. Chaos hadn’t started the feud between the two of them. Ares had. For so long, he’d believed Ekkad and his sons had died simply because he’d loved them, that they’d been targets for demons who were striking at Ares. But no, they’d died because Ares had destroyed a family.

“All this time I wanted revenge against him, and he wanted the same against me.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. He still hated the damned thing, but Ares understood him now. “I’ll honor the truce.”

Chaos met his gaze, a mutual understanding passing between them. Neither wanted to cuddle or anything, but they’d give each other a wide berth and pass without swinging.

The hound dematerialized, and without the support, Cara hit the floor.

“Cara!” Ares dropped to his knees beside her and gathered her in his arms. She was unconscious.

Limos kneeled beside him. “Is she—”

“No,” he croaked. “Her pulse is weak, though.” He stood, keeping her close to his chest, and threw open a gate. “I’m taking her to Underworld General.”

The hum of a tattoo gun was the sexiest sound Thanatos had ever heard. Well, not counting the sounds of actual sex, which he avoided like one of Pestilence’s plagues. He loved the buzzing sensation and the bite of pain that vibrated deep into his muscles as the needle moved over the small of his back, and he forced himself not to shift so his aching erection could get a little comfort. That bastard deserved to hurt.

“Almost done.” Orelia, a pale, eyeless Silas demon, wiped his sensitized skin with a cloth and went back to work.

She hadn’t used a template and transfer for the design. She never did. The demon worked off images from her customers’ minds, turning thoughts to art, and in Than’s case, taking scenes of death out of his head and relocating them onto his skin, where they could no longer affect him so strongly. He remembered all the death and destruction he’d seen—and participated in—but once they’d been inked onto the canvas of his body, they no longer haunted.

As a bonus, he got off on the process, the pain, the pleasure. Tattoos and piercings were one of the few ecstasies he allowed himself.

“You’re running out of room,” Orelia said, as if he wasn’t aware of that. Fortunately, her unique talent went beyond bringing thoughts to life. She could layer the images and somehow keep them from obliterating each other. The scenes bled together in harmony, each distinct, yet blended.

“Just finish.”

Her long, bony fingers feathered over the design taken from his recent visit to the dying grounds of Pestilence’s Slovenian epidemic. “This one was particularly bad. Your brother has been busy.”

“What have you heard?” Questioning Orelia was his main reason for coming today. He could have held off getting the tat, but he needed intel, and this female, who got into the heads of her customers, had her finger on the underworld’s pulse.

“You know I can’t discuss things I shouldn’t know.”

Standard answer, standard bullshit, and Than didn’t have time for it. “My brother is amassing an army. I want to know where.”

“How would I know?”

Than whipped his arm around behind him and grabbed her thin wrist, wrenching the tattoo gun away from his skin. In one quick move, he flipped over on the table and dragged Orelia close. Like most Silas demons, her skin was so white the veins beneath were visible, her mouth was a mere slash that revealed black, pointed teeth, and her nose was little more than a bump that framed two gaping holes. Unlike most Silas demons, she had tattooed eyes onto her face.

He allowed his fangs to slice down—since she could snag images out of his mind, she was one of the few people who knew what he was and who he hadn’t killed because of it. Not even his brothers and sister knew. This was a secret he’d kept well.

“I don’t have to tell you what I’m capable of,” he said. “You’ve tattooed it on my body for centuries.”

“If I tell you what I know, my life will be in great danger.”

“I guarantee that I’m more dangerous than any of your other customers.”

The muscles in her throat bounced as she swallowed a few times. “But I don’t want to stop the Apocalypse. I want out of Sheoul. The scenes I can draw on humans…” A gruesome smile split her oval face. She’d once said that on humans, her talent was prophetic. She had special, extra-painful tools for them, and once she tattooed their skin with a scene involving them, it came to pass. And Orelia was very creative. And cruel.

“Do you know what it’s like to die at my hands? After the pain ends, your soul becomes part of me. You’ll be trapped in the darkness of my armor with other souls, tormented with their pain and misery. If the Apocalypse happens, you’re the first person I’m coming for, so you won’t have a chance to play with the humans anyway.” He tightened his grip until she whimpered. “So tell me what I want to know.”

“Rumor has it that my people are flocking to the Horun region. But some of my clients have heard tales of growing excitement in Sithbludd.”

“What else?”

“Pestilence has put out a call to all demons… anyone who brings him the head of an Aegi is promised a place at his side after the Apocalypse, and he’s also started quietly paying a bounty for hellhound ears. That’s all I know. I swear it.”

Than released her and flipped over again. “Good. Now finish.” He had some recon to do.