Rogue Rider

Forty

Bile rose up in Reseph’s throat as he stared at the crystal case. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s the malador.” Tracker lifted the lid to reveal a thorny black chain connected to a pulsing obsidian stone. “Harvester said it will give you the power you need to defeat Lucifer.”

Reaver palmed Reseph’s shoulder, and he felt the angel’s heat through the metal. “Don’t take it. Don’t even think about taking it. That’s what Lucifer tortured Harvester for, and if Lucifer wants it, it’s gotta be plutonium-grade evil.”

Reseph understood Reaver’s concern. Hell, Reseph had the same concern. But this might be the only shot they had at beating Lucifer. Then again, if Pestilence came out… shit.

“Look outside, Reaver. We can’t defeat Lucifer.” Deep inside Reseph, Pestilence laughed. The fucker. “Not without help. If I can keep control of Pestilence, this could work.”

“It’s risky,” Thanatos said. “Too risky.” Souls swirled all around him as he paced in front of the door, his rage barely contained. Ares wasn’t much better off, his hand opening and closing over the pommel of his sword.

“Reaver, can’t you help?” Arik asked. “You’re an angel. Angels are supposed to fight demons, right?”

“If Lucifer was attacking humans, yes. But this is a demon matter. No civilian humans are involved. Your mates don’t count because they’ve been altered in some way. We can’t interfere.” Reaver’s eyes glittered. “Well, other angels can’t. I won’t let my children suffer.”

“What about your Watcher rules?” Reseph asked.

“Fuck it,” Reaver said with a shrug. “I’ve broken rules before.”

Reseph looked at each person in the room, ending with Jillian. He’d caused everyone so much pain, had never shown a bit of mercy. Now he could spare them more pain. No one would fight, and Reaver wouldn’t break any rules.

“I’m going alone.”

There was a chorus of bullshits and fuck yous from everyone, including, surprisingly, Arik.

Reseph cut them all off with a curse of his own. “I swear to you, I’ll control Pestilence, but for this to work, Lucifer has to believe he’s in charge and I’ve turned my back on you.”

“My minions are outside Ares’s mansion.” Lucifer called out. “You have two minutes before I order an attack.” As his voice faded away, a war chant started up, a guttural oath in Sheoulic that spoke of breaking bones, spilled innards, and skull-fucking.

Yeah, Reseph was going to end this. None of those hellspawn were going to lay a hand—or anything worse—on Jillian’s skull.

Taking a deep breath, Reseph took the case from Tracker’s hand. The moment he did, a dark, oily evil hit him like a fist. It was a punch to the head with a follow-up strike to the gut. His stomach rolled, and deep inside him, the container holding Pestilence developed a massive new crack.

Yes, yes, yes! The voice was a whisper in Reseph’s mind, a whisper, and yet somehow it was way too loud. Put it on. We’ll rule the world.

“Shut the fuck up,” Reseph muttered.

“Reseph?” Jillian’s sweet voice came from behind him.

His throat clogged as he turned to her. “It’ll be okay.” If he had to make a deal with the devil—literally—he would. “I just hope you don’t hate me after this.”

“Never,” she whispered, but he doubted that.

Reseph dipped his head so his lips grazed the shell of her ear. “Thank you for giving me the happiest days of my life.”

Before she could say anything, he kissed her. Kissed her with as much passion as he could put into it. And then, before he could change his mind, he broke away from her.

Fisting the chain, he slipped it over his head. Pestilence roared to the surface, victory exploding from his very essence.

Join with Lucifer. Destroy our siblings! Fuck your little whore until she’s dead!

“No!” Reseph fell to his knees, struggling to keep Pestilence from completely escaping the vessel and throwing off the hands that came down to help him. Pestilence wasn’t going to play nice. Reseph had to find another way. Get his cooperation. He looked out at the army of demons. “We want that army for ourselves. If we destroy Lucifer, we can be Satan’s right hand. We can assure ourselves a place at his side when the biblical Apocalypse begins.”

Yes… yes, I like that. Lucifer was always such an asshole.

It was dangerous to work with Pestilence, and Reseph knew it. The joy Pestilence took in killing would fill Reseph like a drug and cloud his judgment. But he had no choice. He just had to hope no one in the house believed what he’d just said out loud in his conversation with his evil half.

Shoving to his feet, he staggered to the doorway, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. Especially not Jillian’s. Get it together… get it together…

He breathed deeply, giving himself a moment to draw on Pestilence’s malignant energy and fill himself with strength. Power sizzled over the surface of his skin and his muscles juiced up, turning his body into a giant battery of evil.

That’s it. We are invincible.

Palming his sword, Reseph strode out of the house and across the clearing. The first ten demons who tried to strike him down found out how powerful a tiny piece of evil could make a Horseman. The eleventh, a Cruentus male who had served Pestilence, recognized his master and fell to his knees in awesome supplication.

After that, the crowd parted like the Red Sea before Moses.

Reseph approached Lucifer, employing his trademark cocky confidence and Pestilence’s arrogance. “Hey, Lucy.”

The fallen angel, currently dressed as a leather-clad biker with waist-length black hair, gave him a nasty smile. All around him, the wind shrieked as if it were being tortured, but not a single snowflake touched Lucifer. Even Mother Nature kept a respectful distance from the evil monster.

“I’m going to cut that loose tongue right out of your head, you pompous cock.”

“Aw.” Reseph feigned a pout. “You’re sad that Lilith’s tongue no longer services that tiny dick of yours.”

Lucifer hissed. He’d never had much of a sense of humor. “Let the pain begin.” He raised his hand, and his minions readied their weapons.

“Hold!” Reseph’s voice carried on the wind, amplified by Pestilence’s resonance. “We’re ready to strike a deal.”

Deal? No deal! Pestilence beat at the walls of Reseph’s skull.

“I’ll serve you. I’ll be your lackey, your whipping boy, your… whatever. Willingly.” God, he nearly threw up at the words. Pestilence had been at Lilith’s with Lucifer enough to know what peculiar tastes the male had. But Reseph would do whatever Lucifer wanted for all eternity if it meant his family would be safe. “Leave my family alone, and I’ll do whatever you want.”

This is a trick, yes? We’ll crush him in his own house.

Reseph ignored Pestilence.

“No deal, asshole. You’ll do all of that anyway. After I crush everyone and everything you hold dear.”

Lucifer, in a massive surge of power, snared Reseph by the throat and lifted him into the air. Reseph strained in his grip, managing to strike out with his fist, but Reseph’s blows barely made the demon flinch. Lucifer squeezed, digging his fingers into Reseph’s skin so hard he heard popping noises and felt blood spurt. Pain shot down his spine—hot, molten—and he swore his muscles were peeling off the bones.

Impotent fury pounded in Reseph’s veins, and pressure constricted his lungs, filling them with fire instead of air.

“This,” Lucifer growled, “is for Lilith.”

He hurled Reseph across the clearing as easily as if he’d thrown a ball for a dog. Reseph smashed through the side of Jillian’s house and landed in a crumpled heap of pain, broken bones, and failure.