Immortal Rider_ Lords of Deliverance Series_ - Larissa Ione [127]
Okay, no, he didn’t.
“Brilliant.” Lilith palmed his thigh, her eyes, so like Limos’s, bright with excitement. “The child is the key to his Seal.”
Smiling, Pestilence fell back against the cushions and got rid of his armor. His mind was always clearest when he was naked. Clearer yet when he was coming.
And as mouths and hands covered his body, plans formed. When the first orgasm hit him, he knew what he had to do. He had to get his hands on that child.
That tender, sweet-fleshed child.
Thirty-three
The second Pestilence left her residence, Harvester’s knees failed. She hit the floor in a crack of kneecaps, and a heartbeat later, Reaver did the same, falling into a bloody heap. Though she was shaken, her muscles mush, she scrambled over to him.
Leave her alone.
Pestilence had stomped Reaver into hamburger, had caused enough damage that it would take days for him to recover. And yet, Reaver had found the strength to not only speak through the broken bones in his face, but to summon the last of his heavenly reserves, the tiny bit of power left in the stumps that used to be his wings, and he’d become a force to be reckoned with.
He’d protected her for some reason, and the shriveled black lump of coal that used to be her heart cracked. Just a little, no more than a tiny stress fracture, but still.
“Reaver?”
He groaned, a sound of soul-deep misery.
“Whine!” The werewolf hurried inside. “Marrow wine. Hurry.”
It wouldn’t help Reaver heal, but it would, at least, make his pain tolerable. Especially since, as per orders, she’d forced it down him often, creating an addiction that would render him all but useless as the end of days approached, and now he took it freely, craving it the way an opium addict chased the dragon.
The werewolf brought a bottle to her, and she lifted Reaver’s head, cradling it in her palm as she lifted the rim to his lips. “Here,” she murmured, wincing whven most of the liquid dribbled out the corner of his mouth.
He was too weak to drink, dammit. In this state, this far out of reach of the source of his heavenly powers, he could fall into what would amount to a coma. He would languish in that coma until someone carried him out of Sheoul, which meant he could be stuck here for all eternity if she—or anyone else—wished it.
“Come on, Reaver. Drink, damn you.” When he didn’t move, she turned to Whine. “Bring me some sugar. Honey if we have it. And a cup and spoon.”
Whine brought her back a small pot of honey, and she mixed a spoonful into the cup with the marrow wine. Angels were like hummingbirds, able to manufacture small amounts of life-giving energy from sugar. Taking his head again, she tilted his face upward and poured a little of the mixture into his mouth. This time, as it trickled into his throat, he swallowed.
“Good,” she whispered. “A little more.”
He drank, and before the full amount was gone, he’d gained enough energy to raise his head and hold her hand in place as he drank greedily.
“Master,” Whine said, and she was so grateful for Reaver’s reaction that she didn’t snap at her slave for speaking out of turn.
“What?”
“A message came while the Horseman was here.” He handed her a scroll—made from human skin.
She broke the seal with her teeth and allowed it to unroll. Reaver could go free. Relief washed over her. She’d hated having him here, hated the scorching glares he gave her, hated how he reminded her of what she’d lost.
His hand tightened on hers, and his eyes, which had been bloodshot, hazy with pain, brightened a little. The sugar was working, and as the aphrodisiac effects of the wine took hold, the blue of his eyes turned sensual, like a warm sea in the moonlight.
She sucked in a shocked breath; this was the first time she’d truly seen him as a sexual being. Oh, she’d appreciated him as a gorgeous male whose presence all but blotted out the sun. But now, whoa. His body hardened as the ecstasy took him, his head fell back, and his body arched. At his hips, a massive erection tented the seam of what remained of his tattered slacks.