Eternal Rider by Larissa Ione Page A

voicemail. Dammit. He wished he’d gotten her message sooner, but he’d been traipsing around the globe and Sheoul in remote locations that had made it impossible to get a cell phone signal.
    “Yes, there. He has a hellhound to mask his location, but he said he can’t remain with it all the time. He’s been part of the movement to stop you.”
    Ares frowned. “Stop
me
?”
    “Not you specifically. All of you.” She tugged her robe more tightly around her. “A few months ago, before Reseph’s Seal broke, all of you were attacked by hellhounds, were you not?”
    He stiffened. “Yes.”
    Her gaze darted nervously around them. “Sestiel is responsible. He and a couple of other Unfallen. They sensed trouble in the fabric of the world, and when the demon, Sin, started the werewolf plague, Sestiel formed a plan to render all of you immobile. He sent the hellhounds after all of you.”
    “So that if our Seals broke, we wouldn’t be able to wreak havoc on the world,” he murmured, more to himself than to Tristelle. As much as being paralyzed by hellhounds for all eternity would have sucked, Ares had to hand it to Sestiel. It had been a good plan, and one that might have earned the ex-angel his place in Heaven had it worked. “Will he try that tack again?”
    “Perhaps.”
    Ares ran his mind through dozens of scenarios, andyes, now that Sestiel had a hellhound in his possession, he could use it as leverage to gain the cooperation of the animal’s pack. If so, he’d have to visit the only summoning circle outside Sheoul that was dedicated to hellhounds.
    Looked like Easter Island would be Ares’s next stop.
    Battle kicked impatiently on Ares’s arm.
You’ll get your fight soon enough, buddy
. “How many of you are left?”
    “A dozen, maybe,” she said. A
dozen
? Jesus. Fully a hundred must have been killed or given over their souls to Sheoul. Tristelle gazed up at him with pleading eyes. “You said you can help?”
    “I lied.”
    Panic drained the color out of her face. “What can we do?”
    “Pray.” Ares gestured to the entrance to Lilith’s temple. “And this time, don’t waste your time praying to a demon.”

     
    Blood streamed in fat rivulets down Sestiel’s arms and legs. His throat had been slashed, his torso flayed open. None of the wounds would kill him, but death was coming for him nevertheless.
    The sound of hoofbeats clanged painfully inside his head, as if someone was tapping a hammer against his skull. Sestiel stumbled down the rock face of the mountain he’d flashed himself to after Pestilence found him on Easter Island. He’d hoped to find Tristelle at the Temple of Lilith, but according to a worshipper, he’d just missed her.
    He inched along a sloping ledge, praying Pestilencewouldn’t follow, but he knew better. Pestilence had drawn blood, and his demon stallion could now track Sestiel wherever he went, even if he was clinging to the hellhound pup in his basement.
    Weakened by battle and blood loss, Sestiel lost his footing and tumbled over a cliff. He caught air, and for a lingering, weightless moment, he could pretend he still had wings. Could almost feel them stretching in a graceful arc behind him like phantom limbs.
    But angels ousted from Heaven had their wings docked, and unless he redeemed himself, ghost feathers were all he had. There was one other way to get wings, but completing his fall by entering Sheoul, the demon realm humans called hell, had never been an option. Sestiel might have fallen, but his faith in the good and holy would not be shaken.
    He held on to that thought as he hit the ground, the impact snapping bones and wrenching a cry of agony from his lips. He could barely breathe, but he dragged himself to a boulder and used the crevices as handholds to pull himself up.
    He couldn’t fail. He had to perform one final service to mankind. To his Lord.
    But thanks to Pestilence and his army of minions, Sestiel had nearly run out of Unfallen to transfer