Immortal Rider (LD2) (7 page)

The meeting with Limos had not gone well. Yeah, he’d gotten her to do what he wanted. But he’d also fallen victim to weakness. The male he’d been before his Seal broke, Reseph, had somehow reared his idiot head, begging for help. Pestilence had played it well, had acted like he’d intentionally suckered Limos and played her for a fool.

But in truth…
he’d fucking begged her to cure or kill him.

Roaring in fury, he shed his armor, palmed the dagger strapped to his chest, and plunged it into his own belly. Pain seared him, intense, fiery, and he crashed to his knees. His minions came running, but he waved them
off. This was a reminder. A reminder that if he’d gone just twelve inches higher, sunk Deliverance into his heart, he’d be dead.
Dead
. He was holding the one weapon that could end him, and he had to keep it away from his siblings.

Reseph could not weaken him.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Pestilence gnashed his teeth at the female’s voice. Harvester. One of the Horsemen’s two Watchers—one evil, one good, both angels. Harvester happened to be of the evil fallen angel variety.

“I’m playing with myself,” he snapped. “What do you think I’m doing?”

She blinked, all mock innocence. “If you needed to be reminded how Deliverance can hurt you, I’d have been happy to offer a hand.”

No doubt she would. She hated him as much as he hated her. “Why are you here?”

Harvester watched with amusement as he yanked the blade out of his gut. The injury sealed immediately, and the searing pain yielded to a dull ache.

“I received a curious assignment, and I wondered if it has anything to do with you.”

“Dunno.” He moved to a pot of water that was boiling over a fire and dipped Deliverance into it.
Clean weapons made clean kills
, Ares always said. Pestilence might think Ares was a blow-hard asshole, but only an idiot ignored his battle advice. “What’s the assignment?”

“Top secret.”

“I
am
the top,” he pointed out, as he walked back to her.

“This goes above even your head.”

Since Pestilence was at the top of the demonic food chain, that meant Harvester’s orders could come from
only a couple other demons, or Zachariel, the angel of the Apocalypse who had brought the Horseman curse down upon their heads in the first place.

“Are these orders for a Watcher assignment?”

“No.” She eyed him as he shoved Deliverance into its sheath. “This task is all about Sheoulic interests.”

Ah, then her orders could come only from someone inside Satan’s tight inner circle, which included Lilith, Pestilence’s succubus mother. Interesting. Smiling seductively, he trailed a finger over the smooth skin of her exposed shoulder. “You can’t even give me a hint?”

She returned the smile, though hers was bitter. “It has to do with the forged scrolls, but that’s all I can tell you.”

She chewed her bottom lip, and as much as he hated her, he had to admit that the way her fang poked from between her lips was sexy. He loved that when angels fell, they lost their silly angel names and gained fangs and a taste for blood. He raked his gaze up and down Harvester’s curvy body, because really, when it came down to it, fucking someone you hated could be even better than fucking someone you liked.

Harvester tucked her fang away. What a disappointment. “But I suppose it won’t hurt to say that my assignment will help ensure that your plan is… unimpeded.”

Thank the Dark Lord that at least one thing was going right. Now, if The Aegis fell for his ruse, he could put the other part of his plan into play. It wouldn’t be easy to snatch one of Thanatos’s vampires and replace it with a doppelganger, but he’d manage. He always managed. As Reseph, charm had gotten him what he wanted. As Pestilence, threats worked even better.

“
Your
plan, you mean.” It stuck in his craw that Har
vester had been the one to give him the idea for the “Aegis vault,” and now he just had to hope it worked.

“Let’s keep that between you and me,” she said. “I don’t want to be accused of ‘helping.’ ”

“No doubt you don’t.” The last Watcher who had broken rules had suffered for decades before finally being destroyed.

Harvester sniffed. “Did Limos suspect anything?”

“I doubt it. She focused on the artifacts.” Now he had to hope that the Guardian she took to the chamber would be astute enough to locate the hidden box where Pestilence had planted the true treasure he wanted The Aegis to find—the scrolls Harvester had referred to. The artifacts were decoys, placed so Limos would believe that the scrolls didn’t have anything to do with Pestilence.

Harvester glanced around the basement, which had been remodeled into a demon playground, her gaze pausing on the Aegis Guardian in chains. “Where did you get him?”

“Snatched off the streets in Hungary. He was hunting a Croucher demon.” The Guardian’s moans were musical. Sensual. “You did know that I’m rewarding anyone who brings me an Aegi, dead or alive, yes?”

“Of course. The entire underworld knows you’ve put a bounty on Guardians. What kind of information are you trying to get out of the live ones?”

“The locations of their cell headquarters, as well as the location of The Aegis’s main HQ. This one gave up the site of his cell near Budapest, and it’s right now under siege by my minions.” Pestilence sighed, practically able to hear the sounds of battle. “But he doesn’t know where the regional hubs or global headquarters are.”

“Their mission control is in Berlin,” Harvester said.

“No shit.” Pestilence gnashed his teeth. “But I don’t know where, exactly. And none of these fucks will give it up.”

“The exact location is likely kept from most of them.”

Of course it was. The Aegis’s head honchos wouldn’t want to risk a low-ranking Guardian spilling his guts—literally, in this case—to an enemy who would use the information to stage an attack on their very nerve center. An attack would not only cripple the organization, but rumor had it that the bulk of their weapons, secrets, and artifacts were stored at headquarters, and that, to any demon, would be priceless beyond comprehension.

Pestilence gestured to the broken Aegi. “Want to see what you can get out of him?”

She brushed invisible lint off her black leggings. “I’ve got things to do.”

“No, really.” He dug his fingers into her shoulder so hard it had to hurt, but she didn’t let on. “I’d love to see you operate.”

“What part of, ‘I’ve got things to do,’ don’t you understand?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You know, I’ve never seen you do anything but hang around and watch others get their hands wet. Maybe you’re… squeamish?”

She snorted. “Hardly. I’ve done things you can’t even imagine.”

He doubted that. His imagination was truly awesome. “Then show me.”

She stared at him, long and hard. Finally, she shrugged, chose a serrated blade from the selection of torture instruments hanging on the wall, and tested its edge. Blood
welled along the cut on her thumb. She licked it, sealing the wound, and the sight, the scent, gave him instant wood.

“Have it your way,” she said nonchalantly, and sauntered over to the Guardian, where she started her gruesome work.

He watched, his excitement growing with each of the human’s screams. His plans were coming together. Soon, The Aegis itself would set the Apocalypse into motion, Limos would return to the evil bitch she was born to be, and Arik… he was going to die.

But not before Pestilence claimed his soul.

Fucking demons
.

They were Arik’s favorite two words, and he kept repeating them over and over. Well, they had always been favorites, but he kind of suspected that the time spent in this shithole had erased his vocabulary and left him only with
fucking
and
demons
.

Arik sat still as Tav finished healing him—again. It was the second time in twelve hours, which wasn’t unusual, but Arik had hoped he’d have a reprieve from the torture since they’d decided to execute him.

Not so much.

He cast a glance at the door, where he’d looped his uber-thin braided string around a blackened bar between the wall and the lock. So far, so good. No one had noticed. Demons weren’t the most observant creatures on the planet.

“So, Tav, whatcha got planned for later?”

Tavin peeled off his surgical gloves. “Sex.”

Right. Seminus demon. Needed to have sex or die. “Groovy.”

“And you?”

Escape
. Arik shrugged. “I’ll probably eat the bucket of fish skin and guts your friends bring me. After that, I’m pretty sure I have an appointment with the executioner. Why? You want to make a date?”

Tav shoved the gloves inside his medic duffel. “You’re not my type. Sems can only come with a female.”

“Huh. I’m not a Seminus demon, but I can only come with a female too.”

Tavin laughed, something Arik had never seen him do. “I like you, human.” He sobered, his smile turning sad. “I doubt I’ll see you again.”

Arik clapped the demon on the back. “You know, I appreciate gallows humor a lot more than sappy goodbyes.”

Tav shouldered his bag and signaled the guard. “I hope you find peace, human.” He lowered his voice just a little. “And remember that if you always go the right way, you never have to make a left-hand turn.”

“Ah… okay. I don’t have any baffling bits of wisdom for you, but hey, I make it a rule to never bet on white horses. Following that advice has never lost me any money.”

“I’ll remember that.”

The door opened, and Arik strategically placed his hand over the handcrafted rope he’d wrapped around the vertical bar the door locked into. “See ya around, demon.”

Tavin stepped out, and as the door swung shut, Arik dragged the strands of thread downward, grateful for the elastic stretch, so it formed a barrier between the lock
mechanism on the door and the bolt catch on the bar. Now he just had to pray that the tiny bone he’d ground into a pick would be strong enough to work the lock from the outside as the rope put pressure on the slide from the inside. Stupid bastard demons didn’t know Arik had learned their languages and listened in on their conversations to figure out that only bone would open the lock.

Score one for the human, assholes.

Tav offered a respectful wave, and once he and the guards disappeared, Arik went to work. Limping, because his ankles and right knee ached from the recent torture, he scrounged up the needlelike bone and moved to the door. Squeezing his hand between the bars, he inserted the bone shard into the lock and prayed this would work.

Carefully, he tugged on the rope, felt the give in the lock, and his heart leaped. As he dug around with the bone, he listened for clicks and felt for patterns in the mechanism. He increased the pressure on the rope, and gradually, the metal began to give, until the mechanism had retreated. He gently shouldered the door, and it creaked open, the ear-splitting—to Arik, anyway—noise putting his pulse into overdrive. If one of the demon bastards heard…

He stepped out of the cell. A sense of freedom lifted his heart, but at the same time, he had to fight a disturbing urge to return to the chamber. Adrenaline winged through him, making him sweat, making his skin tighten, and he actually eyed the inside of the cell with uncertainty.

Yeah, his hesitation was fucked up, and the logical side of his brain that remembered his military training reminded him that his reaction was common in people and animals that had been held captive. The horror of the
prison could be far less scary than the horror on the outside. The horror of the unknown.

But Arik had thought he was stronger than that.

Fuck it, he
was
stronger than that, and he took his first step down the dark passageway. Around him, he heard the incessant drip that had driven him crazy for weeks, but so far, no footsteps or voices. Silently, he padded on bare feet through the winding cavern, but when he came to a fork in the path, he paused. One way continued off into the darkness, becoming hazy the farther it went, and while the other path was just as inky, it seemed to have a slight incline. Since Arik needed to go up to get to the human realm, the choice was a no-brainer.

He started on the path, stopping now and then to listen for demons. There was the distinct scuffing noise of spiny hellrats as they scurried along the tunnels, but no other demon sounds. So far, so good.

Until the next fork.

Both tunnels were dark, shot through with stalactites and stalagmites, and seriously, what the fuck? How could the path go from being relatively smooth to a damned obstacle course?

He pondered the fork, played three rounds of eenie-meenie-miney-moe, and blew out a frustrated breath. Which way…

Remember that if you always go the right way, you never have to make a left-hand turn
.

He blinked. Had Tavin given him a clue? That sneaky little Sem. Having no better option, Arik took the right path, carefully weaving his way around the stony projections. When he came to the next set of tunnels—three of them, this time—he stayed right. The general curvature
of the tunnel veered to the left, but again and again, when he came to choices, he hung rights. And oddly, he didn’t encounter any demons.