Eternal Rider - Larissa Ione [114]
Wishing he could do more for his sister and brothers, he stood, turned, and nearly bumped into a breathtaking redhead whose green eyes were windows to a good time. She gave him a naughty smile, took his hand, and gestured into the lush forest. Well, the roast pig needed to cool anyway, right? Right. Cracking a grin of his own, he led the female to a private little cove, where he took them both as close to heaven as he’d probably ever get.
Pestilence sat up with a hiss. Fuck, he hated sleeping. Hated how that sentimental idiot he’d been would leak into his dreams with memories of the good old days. Screw that. He was having so much more fun now. He winced at the tug in his groin, palmed his hard cock, and remembered he had a juicy little morsel of a human all chained up, tenderized, and ready, if not willing, to take care of the issue.
“My lord.”
Pestilence groaned at his Neethul lieutenant’s drawl and swung his legs over the side of the stone slab he slept on. He’d long since given up on beds, which got really fucking nasty when bloody, and he wasn’t one for those rubber piss-protectors. Much easier to hose off rock, and really, comfort wasn’t an issue, not when he only needed about an hour of rest a day.
“What?”
“Your brother is stirring.”
“Good. And Cara?”
“The human is as you left her.”
Which meant she was naked and huddling in a cage. Excellent. Time to grab her and show Ares why it was much, much better to be on the broken side of the Seal.
Ares came to in a fog, his muscles taut, joints stretched. His first attempt to lift his head was an epic failure. He might as well have tried to lift a bowling ball with a rubber band. The second try met with success, even if it took effort to keep from dropping his chin to his chest again. At least his eyes worked, well enough to allow him to see that he was in a small room that was clearly a crude, underground prison cell. Rolling his neck, he looked up at his bound wrists. The rope that held them together had been hooked to an iron ring in the ceiling.
He frowned. Rope couldn’t hold him, so why would his brother even try? Smiling, he jerked his wrists.
Nothing happened. Okay, so the rope was definitely enhanced with demonic enchantments, but it still shouldn’t be able to hold him.
Unless Cara was nearby.
His gut twisted even as he became aware that the familiar draining sensation gripped him. She was definitely very close, and as long as she was, he was severely handicapped. Making matters worse, a copper ring circled his horse glyph, preventing Battle from being released.
A scream rang out, chilling his blood, and he had to force himself to breathe.
The door flew open, and Pestilence entered, shoving Cara, who was naked and bruised, inside. She stumbled and fell to the straw-strewn dirt floor, and then she scrambled into a corner. Black, murderous rage scorched him from his skin to his bones.
“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