least, he was amused until he felt a presence. He listened to the fading sound of Stacey’s vehicle, and then he listened to the forest. An owl’s hoot pierced the night, but other than that… nothing. But he felt like he was being watched. The odd thing was that this time he didn’t get a danger vibe. The opposite happened, in fact. There was something comforting about the feeling he got.
“Whoever you are,” he said quietly, “I’d like to see you. Because right now, I’m thinking I might be a little touched in the head.”
No one popped out of thin air or stepped out of the woods. Naturally.
“Come on, you damned voyeur. Throw me a bone.” He did a three-sixty, looking in every possible direction. “I don’t suppose you can tell me who I am. No? Well, fuck you.”
He waited another minute, and the sensation faded, leaving behind only an awareness that he was outside in the cold, in the dark, and Jillian, who was warm and light, was inside.
Frustrated, he went back into the cabin, alarm spiking when he didn’t see her. He checked the kitchen, and then found her in the unlit bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Did Stacey read you the riot act?” Her voice was gravelly, with a note of tears.
“Little bit. I think she wanted to shove that nightstick up my ass. And not in a fun way.”
She looked down at her feet. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. She’s a good friend.” He climbed onto the mattress and stretched out, wrapping his arms around her to pull her down beside him. “You okay? Is there anything I can do?”
“This is perfect.” She snuggled into the crook of his arm. “Too perfect, I think.”
“How can anything be too perfect?”
“Because,” she whispered. “That’s when everything falls apart.”
Reaver was happy to see that Reseph was doing well. The Horseman seemed to have adjusted to life in the human world, and he certainly hadn’t looked any worse for wear when Reaver had spied on him and the female deputy from the cover of the
Khote
.
The same couldn’t be said of Reaver.
Harvester had gotten him out of Sheoul-gra as promised, but he was still bearing the wounds he’d gotten from the demon that had been eating him slowly for the last three months. And Harvester, the bitch, hadn’t even offered to heal him. Not that he’d have taken her up on it. But still.
As an angel, Reaver healed quickly… unless the damage had been inflicted in Sheoul or by a particularly powerful angel. Then all bets were off and he got to look like he’d spent some time in a meat grinder.
So as he strode down the pristine white walls of the Archangel Multiplex, his bruises and raw skin added a much-needed splash of color. He had, at least, taken the time to stop by his residence to shower and change out of Harvester’s pajamas and into jeans and a blue T-shirt. InHeaven and a few places on Earth, angels could snap their fingers to clean up and change, but he’d opted to enjoy the feel of hot water sluicing over his aching body. His time spent as a fallen angel had given him a taste for simple pleasures, and he really didn’t give a damn if his fellow angels looked down their perfect noses at him for that.
Ahead, crystal arches marked the entrance to the compound’s Watcher headquarters, where teams kept track of the goings-on of beings all over the world. This was where Reaver’s bosses worked, as well as the bosses for other classes of overseer angels, such as Memitim.
Reaver took a hard right at the second archway, passing through a sparkling membrane that acted as a sound barrier. Inside the seemingly endless room, angels flipped through books and perused scrolls, monitored screens that hung in the air like holograms, and chatted among themselves like office workers around a water cooler.
Angels liked to think they were so much better than humans, but Reaver hadn’t seen much evidence of that.
With nothing more than a thought, he created a stage in the
“Whoever you are,” he said quietly, “I’d like to see you. Because right now, I’m thinking I might be a little touched in the head.”
No one popped out of thin air or stepped out of the woods. Naturally.
“Come on, you damned voyeur. Throw me a bone.” He did a three-sixty, looking in every possible direction. “I don’t suppose you can tell me who I am. No? Well, fuck you.”
He waited another minute, and the sensation faded, leaving behind only an awareness that he was outside in the cold, in the dark, and Jillian, who was warm and light, was inside.
Frustrated, he went back into the cabin, alarm spiking when he didn’t see her. He checked the kitchen, and then found her in the unlit bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Did Stacey read you the riot act?” Her voice was gravelly, with a note of tears.
“Little bit. I think she wanted to shove that nightstick up my ass. And not in a fun way.”
She looked down at her feet. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. She’s a good friend.” He climbed onto the mattress and stretched out, wrapping his arms around her to pull her down beside him. “You okay? Is there anything I can do?”
“This is perfect.” She snuggled into the crook of his arm. “Too perfect, I think.”
“How can anything be too perfect?”
“Because,” she whispered. “That’s when everything falls apart.”
Reaver was happy to see that Reseph was doing well. The Horseman seemed to have adjusted to life in the human world, and he certainly hadn’t looked any worse for wear when Reaver had spied on him and the female deputy from the cover of the
Khote
.
The same couldn’t be said of Reaver.
Harvester had gotten him out of Sheoul-gra as promised, but he was still bearing the wounds he’d gotten from the demon that had been eating him slowly for the last three months. And Harvester, the bitch, hadn’t even offered to heal him. Not that he’d have taken her up on it. But still.
As an angel, Reaver healed quickly… unless the damage had been inflicted in Sheoul or by a particularly powerful angel. Then all bets were off and he got to look like he’d spent some time in a meat grinder.
So as he strode down the pristine white walls of the Archangel Multiplex, his bruises and raw skin added a much-needed splash of color. He had, at least, taken the time to stop by his residence to shower and change out of Harvester’s pajamas and into jeans and a blue T-shirt. InHeaven and a few places on Earth, angels could snap their fingers to clean up and change, but he’d opted to enjoy the feel of hot water sluicing over his aching body. His time spent as a fallen angel had given him a taste for simple pleasures, and he really didn’t give a damn if his fellow angels looked down their perfect noses at him for that.
Ahead, crystal arches marked the entrance to the compound’s Watcher headquarters, where teams kept track of the goings-on of beings all over the world. This was where Reaver’s bosses worked, as well as the bosses for other classes of overseer angels, such as Memitim.
Reaver took a hard right at the second archway, passing through a sparkling membrane that acted as a sound barrier. Inside the seemingly endless room, angels flipped through books and perused scrolls, monitored screens that hung in the air like holograms, and chatted among themselves like office workers around a water cooler.
Angels liked to think they were so much better than humans, but Reaver hadn’t seen much evidence of that.
With nothing more than a thought, he created a stage in the
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