“Revenant’s need would be great if he believed his mate was inside,” Reaver said grimly. “I’ve got to find that temple.”
“You can’t. The trap was built with the secret help of angels. I don’t know who. It was designed so an angel could lure Satan inside and still get out after it’d closed. But when Satan got wind of the temple’s purpose, he claimed it in his name.”
“Which means, it’s his property, and even I can’t get to it,” Reaver snarled. “Damn it.” He cursed again. “I still have to try.”
Azagoth wished him luck. He looked at his map and revised that thought. He wished them all luck.
They were going to need it.
Chapter 17
The Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse, the legend known as Thanatos to friends, and Death to everyone else, wasn’t notorious for his generous spirit or tendency to dole out mercy. Nope. Thanatos was proud to be renowned for the exact opposite.
The fallen angel hanging in his dungeon could testify to that. The fucker would definitely agree that killing Thanatos’s best friend drew out the very worst in Death.
He wiped his hands on a bloodstained rag as he climbed the winding stone steps to the castle’s main residence where he lived with his mate, Regan, their children Logan and Amber, and dozens of vampire servants. There was also a bison-sized hellhound running around somewhere, but Thanatos hadn’t seen Cujo since this morning when Logan had been slipping the beast bites of sausage from his breakfast plate.
The heavy wooden door at the top of the stairs swung open as he reached for the handle.
“Hey, bro.” Limos, the Horseman called Famine, stepped aside, her Hawaiian-print sundress swirling around her slender thighs. “Regan said you were downstairs. Thought I’d see if you needed help.”
Help? As if. “My name is Death. I think I’ve got this.”
Inhaling the mouthwatering aroma of baking bread coming from the kitchen, he closed the dungeon door and engaged the lock. Regan would be furious if one of the kids found their way down there. Something about scarring them for life and maybe being out of car seats before they were allowed to play with iron maidens and torture racks.
Kids these days were so sheltered.
“Well, what has he told you so far?” Limos followed him as he headed for the washroom, her steps so light, he didn’t even hear them.
“I only started questioning him a few minutes ago, but he’s given up the names of his accomplices and the fucker who hired them to make sure Lilliana left Underworld General via the Harrowgate instead of the parking lot.” He washed and dried. “As suspected, it was Moloch.”
“Fucking perv,” Limos muttered, her violet eyes sparking with outrage. “He used to come and check my chastity belt, you know, for fit, back when I was living with Mommie Dearest.” She wrapped a strand of long, black hair around her finger and tugged angrily. “He was so disgusting. I finally shoved a fork in his eye. Hoo boy, he was not happy.”
That made Thanatos chuckle. While Reseph, Ares, and Thanatos had grown up in the human world, unaware that they were the product of a union between the angel Reaver and the succubus Lilith, Limos had been raised with their mother in Sheoul. Promised to Satan as his bride when she was just an infant, she’d been forced to wear a chastity belt from the moment she could walk.
Thanatos would have eye-forked any sick bastard who wanted to check it for fit, too. Good for her.
He patted his pocket. Dammit, he’d left his phone in the dungeon. He headed back, Limos still on his heels. “Any news from the battle? Last I heard, Ares had just led the initial charge.”
“I have news,” she said, “but you’re not going to want to hear it.”
Wasn’t that par for the course? He unlocked the dungeon door. “Lay it on me. I’ve sensed large-scale death for hours.”
Normally, he’d be drawn to the scene, but dealing with the fallen angel had been enough to satisfy his bloodlust for battle.
The sound of his boots and Limos’s flip-flops echoed off the tight, narrow walls as they descended into the dank underbelly of his fortress.
“Ares led Azagoth’s army against the forces surrounding Moloch’s keep, and he was kicking ass.” The icy temperature as they descended made Limos’s breath visible as she spoke. “But then Moloch brought in a dozen fallen angels and a hundred thousand demon soldiers through a giant temporary Harrowgate.”
That made Thanatos halt in his tracks so fast that Limos bumped into him. “How is that even possible?”
“No idea.” She gave him a nudge to get him moving again. “And Reseph couldn’t even get within a thousand miles of Revenant’s fortress.”
Ares must be furious. The only thing he hated more than losing a battle was losing a battle to a fallen angel.
“Reseph’s assault was pretty much doomed from the beginning,” Than said. “No one has ever taken Satan’s castle by force. But the attack on Moloch should have gone better. I mean, Ares is War. If he were a Dungeons and Dragons character, he’d get plus-three modifiers to all his ability scores.” He reconsidered that. “Except charisma. He’d take a big hit there. And he’d get a proficiency bonus on every roll just because of his name.” Well, his name and several thousand years of killing people in battle.
“If you’re trying to say that Ares has the tactical advantage against anyone, in any and all wartime situations, just say it.” She huffed. “You don’t have to get all weird and nerdy.”
Thanatos smiled sadly. Wraith had been the one to get him into role-playing games, and before his death at the hands of the fucker in the dungeon, they’d been planning a game with Hawkyn, Journey, Maddox, Emerico, Cipher, and Declan.
Oh, yeah, the fucker in the dungeon was going to pay.
“What about the hellhounds?” he asked. “Ares should have been able to take Moloch’s castle with a legion of those things.”
“They refused to fight.”
He halted at the base of the stairs and glanced back at his sister in disbelief. “Hellhounds. Hellhounds refused to fight.”
“I know, right?” Limos gave an incredulous shrug. “Ares thinks it’s because Moloch’s army is basically Satan’s army, and hellhounds won’t fight Satan.”
Well, fuck.
He ducked through the archway to the torture chamber, the stench of piss and fear drowning out the last lingering notes of baking bread. His phone was on the table next to all his fun medieval tools—he was something of a collector, really—and as he reached for it, he heard a wet thud followed by a grunt. He turned to see Limos, standing on a crate, nose-to-nose with Curson as he hung by his mangled wrists.
“Why did you kill Wraith?” Limos cut a punch to his gut. “Tell me, you piece of shit.”
The angel flashed blood-streaked fangs. Well, fang. Thanatos had knocked out the other one hours ago.
“Because we could,” Curson snarled. “The demon hunted us for long enough.”
Thanatos drew in an uneasy breath. He’d warned Wraith that taking out fallen angels for sport would earn him some powerful enemies. Wraith hadn’t listened. “Hunters gotta hunt,” he’d said, completely oblivious to the risks and consequences he could face.