Eternal Rider - Larissa Ione [66]
Guards charged toward them, swords drawn to destroy the creatures that were still clinging to Ares and the stallion. Battle stumbled, and Ares swung down, relieving the horse of his weight. While the Ramreels were dispatching the ghastbats, Ares led Battle into the house via the arched entrance to his great room.
Battle limped, trailing blood and bumping into walls and furniture. Aw, fuck, the horse was blinded.
Thanatos jogged into the great room from the kitchen. “What the hell happened?”
“Our brother happened,” Ares growled.
Than let out a low whistle. “Reseph did this?”
“Not Reseph. Pestilence. He’s more powerful than ever, and if there was any question left in you before, I can assure you that he’s no longer our brother.”
Ares waited for Thanatos to argue about not giving up on Reseph, and for a heartbeat, his brother’s expression was glacial, a hard challenge. And then Battle began to tremble, and with a crash, he went down.
“Shit!” Wiping blood out of his eyes, Ares sank to his knees and shouted for Vulgrim. “Get towels, water. Needle and thread.”
He assessed the massive, gaping wounds through which muscle, tendon, and bone erupted. Battle looked as if he’d been tenderized by a troll’s giant spiked mallet, and his pain was gutting Ares more than any blade Pestilence could wield. He was stronger than a normal horse, his supernatural connection with Ares giving him similar regenerative powers… but he could die if his wounds were severe enough. Limos had lost her first mount a hundred years into their curse, when a demon had sheared its head clean off. Her replacement had been a gift—one she’d been unable to refuse—and now she was stuck with a carnivorous hell stallion with a disposition that would make a hellhound seem friendly.
Behind him, Ares heard footsteps, too light to be any of the demons, and the constant vibrations that alerted him to worldwide conflicts became muted.
“Oh, my God.” Cara darted toward them.
“Than, get her out of here.”
She skirted Thanatos, twisting out of his reach with surprising nimbleness. “What’s going on?” She kneeled beside Ares. “Dear… Lord.”
Ares didn’t have the time or patience for this. She’d probably start crying or screaming or some crap. He also didn’t need her presence draining him. “Go to the bedroom and stay there.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?” He stared incredulously. No one disobeyed his orders.
“I told you not to order me around.” Cara rolled up the hockey jersey’s sleeves in blatant defiance of his command. “I can help. I’ve been working with animals for years.”
“Then help.” Cursing irritably, he flicked his thumb over his throat and rid himself and Battle of their armor, which had softened already, and then he gripped her wrist as she reached for Battle’s flank. “But he isn’t your usual animal.”
“Why,” she muttered, “am I not surprised?”
Thirteen
Palms damp with cold sweat, Cara prayed she wouldn’t regret this. There was a real possibility that her gift would surface… and morph into something that killed instead of healed. Then Ares would kill her.
Nonchalantly, she wiped her hands on one of the rags the demons had brought.
“Do you need anything else?” Thanatos flicked his thumb over one of the many tattoos on his throat, and his armor melted away, replaced by black jeans, black shirt, and a black, long neoclassic coat that buttoned from the neck to the waist and then flared open to allow for movement. For him, apparently, black wasn’t a color; it was a lifestyle. “I can raid a veterinarian’s office.”
Tempting as it was to send him to Dr. Happs’s place to steal stuff, Cara shook her head and reached for the pile of towels. “We need to stop the bleeding.”
“No kidding?” Ares applied pressure to one of the worst wounds, a massive laceration