Eternal Rider
Page 36

“Bastard,” Ares roared, before he could stop himself. Breathe. Now was not the time to let his temper reign. He had to stay cool if he wanted to find the chinks in his brother’s armor.
“We’re all bastards, really.” Pestilence stripped off his muscle shirt, leaving him in leather pants. As Reseph, he’d spent more time in the nude than die-hard nudists did, and it seemed as though that quirk had survived the trip to the dark side. “Did I tell you I’ve been hanging with our mother? She’s a hoot. You should have seen what we did to Tristelle a few hours ago at Lilith’s temple. It was a real mother-son bonding thing.”
Fuck. That stupid fallen angel. Ares had tried to warn her.
“The tales about our mother were accurate.” Pestilence fingered the jagged edge of a dagger hanging on the wall. “She’s a real whore. She even tried to seduce me. Want to know if I let her?”
Ares’s stomach turned over. “I don’t care about our mother.”
“You will. She wants to meet you once your Seal is broken—which will happen shortly.” Ares felt the seconds ticking by in the pounding of his heartbeat as Pestilence swung around to Cara, who did her best to become part of the wall. “I’m going to have my fun with her first. Remember Flail and Saw? Yeah, like that. Except that humans bleed so much better.”
“Do not touch her!”
Pestilence shot Ares a glance dripping with false innocence. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is she yours? You don’t want to share? After all we’ve been through?”
Ares’s mind clicked through his options, and came up with pretty much nothing. Pestilence had the wheel right now, and Ares was the jackass who’d been shoved in the trunk.
Ripping open his pants, Pestilence stalked over to Cara, and Ares’s cool evaporated and turned to scalding steam. He went crazy, kicking, jerking. Either the ceiling was coming down, or his arms were ripping from their sockets. Didn’t matter. He had to get to Cara.
“Human.” Pestilence’s fangs punched down violently. “Did Ares ever tell you how he was forced to watch what happened to his wife?” He grabbed Cara by the throat and lifted her. She struggled in his grip, clawing at his hands. “Violated, tortured, killed. Right in front of him.”
“Shut up,” Cara croaked. Her knee came up, catching Pestilence in the thigh, but he didn’t even flinch. Still, fierce pride welled up in Ares.
“Protective of Ares, aren’t we?” Pestilence murmured, and for a split-second, maybe less, Ares could have sworn he glimpsed yearning in his brother’s expression. Then the fucker flicked a fingernail against her cheek, drawing blood, and Ares knew he’d been mistaken, had allowed sentimentality and the brotherly bond to color his thoughts.
Never again. “If you do this, brother, I will find a way to torture you for eternity.”
Pestilence shrugged. “After your Seal breaks, you won’t care. I’ll leave her corpse intact enough that you can get one last f**k out of her before we find Limos and Thanatos. Once we force our blood between their lips, their Seals will break, and we’ll ride together again.”
Helplessness would have brought Ares to his knees if he’d been standing. Plan. He needed a f**king plan. There would be no appealing to Reseph… he was clearly gone. Cara’s terrified gaze caught his, and he did his damnedest to convey a message. Fight him.
Pestilence slammed her against the wall and squeezed her chin roughly. “How talented is that mouth? Ares?”
This was the break they needed. Ares hoped she’d play along. “Very. You’ll not find a more clever tongue.”
Pestilence swiveled his head around, eyes narrowed. “And you’re telling me this, why? You want her to blow me?”
Hell no. Rage fogged his vision as that particular image burned into his brain. Through the growing fear that this might be a contest he wouldn’t win, he forced himself to relax, but he couldn’t clear the gravel out of his voice. “I would battle Satan himself to prevent it,” he admitted, because his brother wouldn’t buy anything less. “But I have no power. You’re going to kill her. My hope is that if she pleases you, you’ll make her death an easy one.”
“I’ll consider it.” He shoved Cara to her knees in front of him. “Take it out. And if you do anything stupid, I’ll cut off Ares’s dick and make you eat it, do you understand?”
She paled, making her bruises and scrapes stand out starkly. Her hands shook as she reached into Pestilence’s pants and removed his cock. The son of a bitch was hard already. Ares broke out in a fevered sweat.
Come on, baby. Use your gift. Rip his f**king balls off.
Her palm circled Pestilence’s shaft and slid down. He cuffed her in the head. “Your mouth, bitch. Use your mouth.”
Ares’s chest cramped, his heart jackhammered, and fuck, he wouldn’t survive this. Cara’s lips parted, and he knew his brother could feel her warm breath on him. The demon in him went crazy. Hold it together…
Cara slid her hands around Pestilence’s muscular thighs and pulled down his pants so the waistband circled his legs. Pestilence watched her, blue eyes glittering with anticipation and lust as she cupped his sac. Her tongue darted out, and Ares damn near screamed. No matter how evil he turned, he would somehow preserve the part of himself that had fallen for her, and he would avenge her.
He would destroy Pestilence for this.
Almost imperceptibly, Cara shifted, and just before her mouth made contact, she cranked her wrist so viciously that Ares heard the tear of flesh. Lightning quick, she dove toward Ares as Pestilence swung at her, blood flowing between his legs and a screech ripping from his throat.
“The bracelet,” Ares yelled. “Move it off Battle!”
Cara scrambled to her feet and ran to him, barely avoiding Pestilence’s second grab. She leaped, but her fingers only brushed the copper ring. “I… can’t… reach!”
“Climb me. Hurry.” He raised one leg, and she hopped on, straddling it as she shoved the bracelet up. “Out!”
Pestilence grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to the floor as Battle formed behind him. Cara screamed, flailed, kicked out. Pestilence’s fist slammed into her jaw, and then he was smashed into the floor by Battle’s giant hooves. The horse struck over and over.
“My power… it won’t work on your brother.” Stumbling, Cara came to her feet. Her voice was mushy, her words floating on blood, but her eyes were determined. Why he’d ever thought her weak, he had no idea.
“It’s okay,” he told her. “Battle’s handling it. I need you to look for a lever.”
She limped around behind him, and through the sound of the beating Pestilence was taking, he heard shouts outside the door. Pest’s reinforcements.
“Hurry, Cara…”
“Got it!”
Something metallic clicked, and he dropped to his feet, hands still bound by the length of rope. She dashed over, her fingers making quick work of the knots. The door burst open, and demons swarmed inside. Ares threw a Harrowgate, using it as a weapon to shear two of them in half. “Battle!” The stallion whirled, stood still while Ares threw Cara into the saddle and then swung up.
Pestilence’s body was ruined, his throat and face crushed, but he staggered to his feet and heaved a spiked club. It bounced off Ares’s back, but the pain was forgotten as Battle charged the swarm of demons, plowing through them like a wrecking ball, and leaped through the gate.
The second the horse’s hooves hit island sand, Ares whipped off his shirt and tugged it over Cara’s head, shielding her na**dness from his staff, who were running to meet them.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice trembled, her entire body shaking as the adrenaline rush that had gotten them out of there began to take its toll on her.
“I’m the one who should be sorry.” Pressing kisses into her hair, he wrapped his arms around her, desperate to feel her warmth, her vitality, all the things she could have lost at his brother’s hands. “He should never have gotten that close to you.”
“Not that.” She stared at the Ramreels stampeding toward them. “I’m so sorry, Ares.” The scent of misery billowing from her set off his internal alarms.
The demons surrounded them, all sporting injuries. Vulgrim was there, limping, one horn sheared off. In his arms, he held a squirming little Rath. But Torrent wasn’t with him.
“My lord.” Vulgrim bowed. And when he unfurled to his full seven and a half feet, his red, watery eyes made Ares’s gut plummet.
“Don’t say it,” he growled. “Don’t. Even. Say it.”
“We lost him, tesmon,” Vulgrim said. “My son is gone.”
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.