“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.
Thirty-One
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 f**k 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.
“Now,” Metatron continued, “like I said, Radiants are recognized in the womb, but the moment the baby is born, they are no different than any other angel.” He shot Reaver a stern look. “That’s important to remember later in the story.”
“So that was like foreshadowing in a movie. Gotcha. Committed to memory.”
“Your association with demons and humans has made you vexing at times.”
“Funny, I tell them they’re annoying.”
Metatron didn’t quite roll his eyes, but the desire practically radiated from him. “We sensed a Radiant in your mother’s womb.”
Reaver’s breath caught. “The womb I was in?”
“No, the womb Mickey Mouse was in,” Metatron snapped. “Of course the womb you were in. Why else would I be telling you this story?”
Reaver didn’t say anything, which was a measure of how hard the news had hit him.
“Your mother was pleased by the news, but she didn’t change her habits. As a battle angel, she needed to fight, and Sandalphon remained at her side.” Metatron resumed pacing. “But we had a traitor among us, and Satan learned of your mother’s pregnancy. He captured her and destroyed your father. We tried to rescue her, but we lost legions of angels in the efforts.”
“None of this is in our histories,” Reaver said.
“No, it’s not. We erased it.”
“Wow. You guys are real f**king free with playing with people’s memories, aren’t you?” That earned him a lightning strike that put him on his ass with steam hissing off his skin. He wheezed, and when he finally found his voice, it was as smoky and cooked as his body. “I’m guessing I hit your limit?”
Metatron just smiled. “With all our efforts wasted and many lives lost, it was time for more extreme measures. We were to go to war with Sheoul. But on the eve of battle, Lucifer met with me. Your mother had given birth.” He pegged Reaver with a hard stare. “To fraternal twins.”
Reaver had been in the process of trying to stand, but at the news, his knees buckled and he went back down. Hard. On his ass.
“Twins?”
Metatron nodded. “They run in the family. These twins were males. But there was no way of knowing which boy was the potential Radiant. Lucifer brought a deal to the table. We would return four very powerful fallen angels we’d captured and agree to never create another sheoulghul.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Sheoulghuls are made from fallen angels. One per fallen. You can see why Satan would want that practice stopped.” Reaver could only nod dumbly. He hadn’t known how they were made. He’d had two dead fallen angels in his pocket for days. “In trade, they would give us one of the boys and they would keep the other.”
Reaver could hardly breathe. So many questions rattled in his skull, but he couldn’t speak. He could only listen, and even then, processing all of this was happening far too slowly.
Metatron continued. “Obviously, it was you we got back. Your mother, knowing you would be safe, chose to stay with your brother to protect him. To this day, we have no idea what became of her.”
“Who raised me?”
“My mate and I raised you.”
Okaaaay. Reaver hadn’t seen that coming. “Why you?”
“Because,” Metatron replied, “Sandalphon was my brother. As I said, twins run in the family.”
So Metatron was Reaver’s uncle? It was a good thing he was still seated. He should probably just stay that way. He had a feeling the shocks were going to keep knocking him on his ass.
“Did I know about my real parents?”
“You believed my mate and I were your birth parents.”
Reaver closed his eyes, trying to find even the smallest sliver of memory to help him sort this all out, but he might as well have been feeling around inside an empty box. “So I didn’t know about my brother, either?”
“No.” Metatron flared his wings just a little, a sign of his irritation with the matter. “We raised you as a battle angel, suspecting you were the potential Radiant. Your powers, even as a child, were stronger than most fully trained adult battle angels.” He smiled fondly. “You were a handful.”
Somehow, Reaver wasn’t surprised by that.
Metatron took a deep breath, and Reaver braced himself for whatever was coming next. “Your temper was legendary. Let me repeat the handful thing.” He shot Reaver an accusing look, as if Reaver could do anything about being a pain in the ass when he was young. “By the time you started battle angel training, we had to curb your powers. Then, when you were taken to Sheoul for your first lesson in fighting in the demon realm, we learned that you had the ability to draw power from evil sources. Again, a talent unique to Radiants. We had to seal it to prevent you from abusing the ability.”
Harvester had said she’d noticed something similar. “Sounds a little extreme,” Reaver muttered.
He got a full-fledged you’re a dumbass look from the archangel. “Have you even met yourself?” Metatron sighed. “Things went well until you slept with Lilith. When you learned what you’d done, you went on a bender, destroying every demon you came across, disobeying direct orders, and, in general, being an asshat. Verrine was the sole calming influence on you, but after you learned that she kept the existence of your sons and daughter from you, we lost even that.” He blew out a long breath. “Then you met your brother, and that was the beginning of the downward spiral no one could pull you out of.”
Thirty-Two
Reaver could really use a bottle of tequila right now. Maybe two. He stared at Metatron, the male who had raised him as his own, and then decided he didn’t need the alcohol, because his head was already spinning.
“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.
Thirty-One
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 f**k 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.
“Now,” Metatron continued, “like I said, Radiants are recognized in the womb, but the moment the baby is born, they are no different than any other angel.” He shot Reaver a stern look. “That’s important to remember later in the story.”
“So that was like foreshadowing in a movie. Gotcha. Committed to memory.”
“Your association with demons and humans has made you vexing at times.”
“Funny, I tell them they’re annoying.”
Metatron didn’t quite roll his eyes, but the desire practically radiated from him. “We sensed a Radiant in your mother’s womb.”
Reaver’s breath caught. “The womb I was in?”
“No, the womb Mickey Mouse was in,” Metatron snapped. “Of course the womb you were in. Why else would I be telling you this story?”
Reaver didn’t say anything, which was a measure of how hard the news had hit him.
“Your mother was pleased by the news, but she didn’t change her habits. As a battle angel, she needed to fight, and Sandalphon remained at her side.” Metatron resumed pacing. “But we had a traitor among us, and Satan learned of your mother’s pregnancy. He captured her and destroyed your father. We tried to rescue her, but we lost legions of angels in the efforts.”
“None of this is in our histories,” Reaver said.
“No, it’s not. We erased it.”
“Wow. You guys are real f**king free with playing with people’s memories, aren’t you?” That earned him a lightning strike that put him on his ass with steam hissing off his skin. He wheezed, and when he finally found his voice, it was as smoky and cooked as his body. “I’m guessing I hit your limit?”
Metatron just smiled. “With all our efforts wasted and many lives lost, it was time for more extreme measures. We were to go to war with Sheoul. But on the eve of battle, Lucifer met with me. Your mother had given birth.” He pegged Reaver with a hard stare. “To fraternal twins.”
Reaver had been in the process of trying to stand, but at the news, his knees buckled and he went back down. Hard. On his ass.
“Twins?”
Metatron nodded. “They run in the family. These twins were males. But there was no way of knowing which boy was the potential Radiant. Lucifer brought a deal to the table. We would return four very powerful fallen angels we’d captured and agree to never create another sheoulghul.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Sheoulghuls are made from fallen angels. One per fallen. You can see why Satan would want that practice stopped.” Reaver could only nod dumbly. He hadn’t known how they were made. He’d had two dead fallen angels in his pocket for days. “In trade, they would give us one of the boys and they would keep the other.”
Reaver could hardly breathe. So many questions rattled in his skull, but he couldn’t speak. He could only listen, and even then, processing all of this was happening far too slowly.
Metatron continued. “Obviously, it was you we got back. Your mother, knowing you would be safe, chose to stay with your brother to protect him. To this day, we have no idea what became of her.”
“Who raised me?”
“My mate and I raised you.”
Okaaaay. Reaver hadn’t seen that coming. “Why you?”
“Because,” Metatron replied, “Sandalphon was my brother. As I said, twins run in the family.”
So Metatron was Reaver’s uncle? It was a good thing he was still seated. He should probably just stay that way. He had a feeling the shocks were going to keep knocking him on his ass.
“Did I know about my real parents?”
“You believed my mate and I were your birth parents.”
Reaver closed his eyes, trying to find even the smallest sliver of memory to help him sort this all out, but he might as well have been feeling around inside an empty box. “So I didn’t know about my brother, either?”
“No.” Metatron flared his wings just a little, a sign of his irritation with the matter. “We raised you as a battle angel, suspecting you were the potential Radiant. Your powers, even as a child, were stronger than most fully trained adult battle angels.” He smiled fondly. “You were a handful.”
Somehow, Reaver wasn’t surprised by that.
Metatron took a deep breath, and Reaver braced himself for whatever was coming next. “Your temper was legendary. Let me repeat the handful thing.” He shot Reaver an accusing look, as if Reaver could do anything about being a pain in the ass when he was young. “By the time you started battle angel training, we had to curb your powers. Then, when you were taken to Sheoul for your first lesson in fighting in the demon realm, we learned that you had the ability to draw power from evil sources. Again, a talent unique to Radiants. We had to seal it to prevent you from abusing the ability.”
Harvester had said she’d noticed something similar. “Sounds a little extreme,” Reaver muttered.
He got a full-fledged you’re a dumbass look from the archangel. “Have you even met yourself?” Metatron sighed. “Things went well until you slept with Lilith. When you learned what you’d done, you went on a bender, destroying every demon you came across, disobeying direct orders, and, in general, being an asshat. Verrine was the sole calming influence on you, but after you learned that she kept the existence of your sons and daughter from you, we lost even that.” He blew out a long breath. “Then you met your brother, and that was the beginning of the downward spiral no one could pull you out of.”
Thirty-Two
Reaver could really use a bottle of tequila right now. Maybe two. He stared at Metatron, the male who had raised him as his own, and then decided he didn’t need the alcohol, because his head was already spinning.
