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“There’s a huge difference between lying to hurt someone and omitting information to protect someone.”

“You keep telling yourself that, Pinocchio.”

Arik wiped blood from his nose. “How did you find me, anyway?”

“Runa told me when I explained you were in danger. She also said you haven’t returned any of her calls.”

“Tattletale,” he muttered.

Cara, looking freshly showered with her hair wet and clad in her usual flannel pajamas, met them at the door. “The hounds have cleared your island. There was one… mishap, but other than that, you should be good to go. Six hounds will be outside your house at all times.” She bit her lip. “If they want in, though, I wouldn’t argue. You should probably put a sheet over your couch. Dog hair.”

Great. Just great. Limos had never even had a normal dog as a pet, and now she had a pack of hellhounds to deal with.

A Harrowgate opened, and Ares stepped out, his armor dripping blood and gore. Arik jogged over to him. “How’s the base? The soldiers? Ky and Decker?”

“Kynan is on his way to UG. Decker’s helping to triage the injured. There were a lot of casualties. Enough that Than is hung up there.”

“Damn,” Arik breathed. “I need to help—”

“You can’t.” Ares’s voice was intense but level, a sign of respect from one warrior to another. “You’ll only lead the demons back to them.”

“So when can I go back?”

“Don’t you get it, Arik?” Limos asked softly. “Lucifer is after you. My brother owns your soul. You will forever be a liability to your own race. You belong with us now.”

The last time Reaver had experienced the loss of his wings had been when he’d fallen. The removal had been painless—physically, anyway. There were two levels of punishment for angels, and an angel drop-kicked out of Heaven to the earthly realm felt his wings shrivel and disintegrate on the way down. These angels, the Unfallen, could earn their way back into Heaven, as Reaver had.

It was a very different story for the second level of punishment. An angel who was cast from Heaven to go straight to Sheoul had his wings torn off by other angels. The unlucky bastard was then dragged to a hellmouth or Harrowgate and tossed inside, where, like Harvester, he would be called a True Fallen, and he’d eventually grow new wings—leathery batlike things with claws.

An angel’s wings were the main source of his power, which was why an Unfallen who existed in the state Reaver had been in for decades couldn’t draw on the power of either Heaven or hell. And now that Reaver’s wings had been cut off with an incredibly dull bone saw, he felt as powerless as he had back when he walked the earth, toeing the fine line between good and evil.

He sat on a cold floor wearing only his slacks, blood still trickling down his back at the places where his wings used to be, his feet secured with chains to hoops embedded in the stone. He’d discovered that the chain holding him had been constructed from the bones in his own wings. Some sort of evil magic had been used to soften and mold them, and when they were locked around his leg, they sank into his flesh and fused with his ankle bones. His own body was holding him prisoner, and putting strain on the chain caused agony so intense that he’d passed out from the pain.

Ingenious. Twisted and sick, but ingenious.

He looked up as Harvester appeared in the doorway, a sheer black robe draping her sleek body. In her hand was a bottle of what he thought might be red wine. “Good. You’re awake.”

“Good,” Reaver mimicked. “You’re still a bitch.”

She sauntered into the room. “I think someone woke up on the wrong side of his chains.”

Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the wall, which hurt like hell, but he wouldn’t give Harvester the satisfaction of knowing that. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I’ve always wanted a pet angel.”

He snorted. “Who helped you, Harvester?” He opened his eyes. “Obviously, you had help, because you couldn’t have taken me by yourself.”

“Taken you?” She tapped her