Larissa Ione - Reaver

“I’ll go now.” She threaded her fingers through his hair, a bittersweet smile curving her lips. “And you?”

“I’m going to meet with the archangels,” he lied. “I’ve been to places in Sheoul no angel has ever gone. I’m hoping I can help them nail Gethel.”

She grinned. “And then they’ll be so grateful they’ll give you your wings back.”

Guilt pricked at him for getting her hopes up, but he forced himself to smile. “Exactly.”

“Good luck,” she said, and for the first time since all of this began, hope made her voice sing and her eyes glitter with optimism. This was the Verrine he remembered, finally breaking through five thousand years of walls.

In a matter of hours, all of that would be snuffed. She’d be alive and safe, but once again, he’d have disappeared without a word, without explanation.

Reaver’s gut slid to his feet. Fuck Satan, because there was no torture the demon could devise that could match the torment Reaver was going to put himself through on his own.

As Harvester dematerialized, Reaver cast one last look around the keep and said a silent good-bye to his family. Then he took a deep, bracing breath and switched into battle mode. There was no turning back.

Okay, Satan, buddy. Let’s do this thing.

Reaver stepped out of the Israeli Harrowgate closest to the Dome of the Rock, but the moment his feet hit the ground, he knew something was terribly wrong.

He wasn’t at the right place.

He was at Megiddo.

Which meant someone had brought him here. Again. The blood from his wingectomy still stained the ground.

A stab of light blasted the earth in front of him, and suddenly, Metatron was there, all sparkly and glowy, his massive wings stretching impossibly high into the predawn sky.

“Hello, Reaver.”

Reaver sighed. “I’m getting tired of you guys jerking me from one place to another. And if you’re here to cut off my wings and give me the boot from Heaven, you’re too late.”

“I’m here because you intend to hand yourself over to Satan in return for peace.”

Reaver jerked as if Metatron had reached into his head and yanked his brain out. “I’m not going to ask how you know. I’m going to ask that you don’t interfere.” He gestured to the land around them. “Though I guess you already have. Can you flash me to the Dome of the Rock? I have only about three minutes before the meeting takes place.”

“A meeting where you’re supposed to turn over Raphael, yes?”

No use in denying it. “Yes.”

“Why did you choose not to do it?”

Reaver crossed his arms over his chest, impatient with this conversation already. He had a sacrifice to go to, and he couldn’t be late, seeing how he was going to be the guest of honor.

“Why don’t you tell me, since you seem to know everything.”

“I want to hear it from you.” It was a command, not a suggestion, and Reaver anxiously glanced at the widening sliver of reddish light on the horizon.

Red in the morning means blood will be flowing . The ancient angelic weather wisdom was going to be one hundred percent accurate today.

“Because as douchey as Raphael is, he’s an angel,” Reaver said. “I might not have wings, but I’ll never betray Heaven.”

Metatron cocked one eyebrow. “You don’t consider all your rebellious acts and broken rules to be betrayals?”

Reaver considered his words very carefully, because he’d rather they not be his last. “I’ve made mistakes. I admit that. But some of the things I did I wouldn’t take back. They needed to be done. I can’t explain how I knew, just that I did. And nothing I did betrayed Heaven to Sheoul.”

“Good answer. Now, what makes you think you’d be an equal exchange for Raphael?”

“Because,” Reaver explained, “I’m the angel who is supposed to break the Horsemen’s Seals. Satan won’t kill me. He’ll torture the fuck out of me for eons, but he’ll need me alive in order to fulfill the biblical prophecy. He’ll probably spend centuries trying to figure out how to use me to make it happen as soon as possible. It’ll buy Heaven and Earth a lot more time than if the war starts in a few days, the moment Lucifer is born.”

“You realize that when Satan takes you into Sheoul you’ll become a fallen angel, right? A True Fallen?”

He shuddered. Becoming a True Fallen was the one thing he swore would never happen to him, the one thing he’d willingly kill himself to prevent. And now, becoming a True Fallen was the one thing he had to do.

“I know.”

For some reason, Metatron smiled. “Excellent. But it isn’t going to happen. Instead, I’m going to offer you something, but even if you refuse, I won’t allow you to give yourself up to Satan. Understood?”

Confused as hell, Reaver stared. “Not really.”

“I’ll make it simple,” Metatron drawled. “Would you like your memory back?”

Reaver blinked. Wasn’t sure he heard the archangel right. “I just told you I planned to waltz off to become a fallen angel and Satan’s prisoner, and instead you want to give me my memory back?”

Metatron looked up at the heavens, as if seeking answers from above. Which had always seemed so strange to Reaver, since Heaven itself was much like Sheoul—an overlay occupying the same space as the human realm but on a different plane. Angels and human souls crossed over into Heaven. They didn’t fly upward to it unless they wanted to cross over in Heaven’s airspace.

“You will be given a choice, but first, I’ll give you a little about your past that should help you decide.”

Finally. After all this time, he was going to learn why his life had been taken away from him. And for the first time, he was actually having second thoughts. What if the truth was so horrible he couldn’t handle it?

“But the war—”

Metatron silenced him with a wave of his hand. “This is more important.”

More important than a war between Heaven and hell? Holy shit.

“I’m ready,” he said, even though he wasn’t. Not even close.

“I know you’ve pieced together your history with Verrine, but she doesn’t remember everything either. It’s odd that she remembers anything at all, although we’ve determined that the blood bond with you is the root of that.”

“How do you even know about the blood bond?”

“Long story.” Metatron started to prowl, his long strides eating up the ground as he strode back and forth, his hands locked behind his back. “Did you know that Radiants are recognized while still in the womb?”

“I’d heard that.”

Metatron nodded. “Your mother was an angel named Mariel. She mated with Sandalphon. I assume you knew of this.”

“I researched it after I learned the truth of who I was, yes.” Reaver narrowed his eyes at the archangel. “The records don’t say anything except that Sandalphon was destroyed by Satan’s forces, and after Mariel gave birth, she met the same fate.”

It was all very odd that their deaths hadn’t been chronicled in vivid detail, especially given that one of them, Sandalphon, had been considered a prince among angels. Princes didn’t just die and go forgotten.

“The truth about you, and about them, is in a private library to which very few have access.”

“Ah. Secrets among angels. Who would have thought,” Reaver said dryly.

Metatron pursed his lips, and Reaver prepared to be blasted by some painful angel weapon for his flippant response.

“Unlike most of my brethren, I’ve always liked your spirit.” He jabbed a finger at Reaver. “But be careful how far you push me. I do have limits.”

Well, that was a surprise. Reaver would have thought the guy hated him. He inclined his head in a rare, respectful nod.