Especially not if he was working with Pestilence.

As Battle cantered across the island, spraying sand in his wake, Ares thought about Cara and wondered how this had gotten so complicated. The pity in her eyes when she’d asked if he was okay had snagged his trip wire, and that, combined with his utter humiliation over being spanked by the hellhound, had lit him up. Oh, and then there had been the fact that he was already running on a full tank of lust, so when he’d gotten a full frontal view of Cara wearing his hockey jersey, his control had disintegrated. Those legs. Holy shit, she was gorgeous. Fresh from the shower, her dewy skin had made his mouth water, her wet hair had made him want to run his fingers through it, and her long, toned legs had made him want to part them and park himself between them.

Something seriously primal had come over him at the way she’d been covered by his clothing, and his brain had gone caveman and started screaming, mine, over and over. There had been no thought after that, just a driving need to claim her.

It was a damned good thing Thanatos had interrupted, though in truth, Cara’s scream had pierced Ares’s fog of lust, and he’d been about to release her when his brother barreled into the room. That had set off another fucked-up reaction, one of fierce protection… as if Than was as much a threat to Cara as the hellhound had been.

Fuck.

The danger she’d been in kept circulating in his head. He kept seeing those teeth at her throat. Those claws wrapped around her waist. She’d been terrified, but she’d also been incredibly brave. The way she’d smoothed her hand over Chaos’s fur and spoken to him in a calm, soothing voice had stunned the hell out of Ares. The terror rolling off her had been incomprehensible, and yet, she’d pushed past it to save them all.

In all his years, he’d never seen anything like it. Her bravery in the face of danger had been something to behold, and the biggest turn-on of his life. She might not know it, might not want to know it, but hers was the soul of a warrior. Oh, it was still leashed, suppressed by the weight of polite society, morals, and probably her upbringing. The problem, he knew, would be that when her inner warrior was loosed, it could prove to be dangerous, destructive, and uncontrollable. He spurred Battle past the vineyard and toward the southern end of the island. The stallion threw his head, jerking the reins so violently they nearly flew out of Ares’s hands. Talk about uncontrollable. The horse was agitated, sensing Ares’s mood.

Ahead, the Harrowgate loomed between two ancient stone pillars. Battle pranced inside, and the dark room expanded to allow for their size. As the shimmering veil solidified, two maps appeared on the obsidian walls; one of Earth, and one of Sheoul. Ares tapped the Sheoul map, and it instantly expanded into a dozen levels. He fingered the third level from the top, outlined in blue light, then kept tapping as the maps rotated and grew more focused until he finally located the Harrowgate that opened up about a hundred yards from the Four Horsemen pub.

Battle leaped out and onto the squishy ground. Ares let the stallion have his head, and Battle, who knew exactly where they were going, took off at a dead run. This was why he’d chosen to use a stationary gate instead of a summoned one—the horse needed to let out some energy, and so did Ares.

Battle’s hooves pounded the ground with massive force, sending powerful shocks up his legs and shoulders, and into Ares’s body. Ares loved this, the rush of the charge, and the only way it could be better was if he was charging into a bloody fray.

Dammit, Cara had worked him into a frenzy, and now his blood pumped hotly through his veins, his adrenaline felt like nettles in his muscles, and his vision sharpened as his body primed for a challenge. The Neethul females would give him a fight, blood would be drawn, and teeth would find flesh.

A shiver of desire went through him. Would Cara give him all that? When he was at his most jacked up, would she give him the battle he craved? Images of him taking her against a wall, on the rocky cliffs, in the temple ruins that littered his island sifted through his mind. In some of them, she was scratching, clawing, biting, even as she screamed with pleasure. In others, she was caressing his shoulders, kneading his muscles, kissing her way down his body.

What would that be like? There’d been no tenderness in any sex he’d had since his wife died. Even with Nera, it hadn’t been a love match. There’d been passion, but no true tenderness. So why the hell was he picturing all the gentle crap with Cara?

With a nasty snarl, he reined Battle to a halt in front of the tavern. He didn’t bother to call the stallion to him. Right now, they were both too worked up, and the writhing marking would only distract and infuriate him. He flung open the door… and walked into the biggest crowd of females he’d ever seen hanging around the pub.

Immediately, he was surrounded, had hands, paws, and hooves all over him. He didn’t like it. In fact, he nearly turned around and got the hell out of there. But there was a malevolent tang in the air that made his scalp and his skin crawl. Something was off. Very, very off.

He captured the closest female, a slinky, humanoid succubus, by the arm. “What’s going on?”

“Pestilence is here.” The succubus’s pupils dilated and constricted like a cat’s. “He’s hotter than ever, now that he’s got that evil aura.”

Ares’s breath hissed through his teeth. “Where?”

The female rubbed against him, a purr rumbling in her throat. “Out back with Saw and Flail.”

Ares scanned the room, focused on the back door, and bellowed, “Make way!”

Instantly, the demons backed away from him, and as he stalked toward the rear of the pub, they scattered like fish before a shark. As he reached for the door, he paused. The Sora female, Cetya, was sitting on a bench, head bowed, shoulders slumped, her normally bright red skin washed out to a grayish brick color. And her tail… what the fuck? It was in a knot.

“Hey.” He hooked her chin with a finger and tipped up her face, was startled by the tears streaming down her cheeks. “What happened?”

“He’s not the same,” she whispered. She flicked up her tail, her pain obvious in her wince.

“Reseph—Pestilence—did that?” Ares spoke sharply, his already unstable temper wobbling.

Cetya nodded, and his temple throbbed with rising fury. Reseph had never been sadistic. Even when his demon side surfaced, which was rare, women had never been the targets of his rampages.

“Go to Underworld General. They’ll fix your tail—”

“My sister worked there,” she said numbly. “She died.”

“I know you miss Ciska, but you need to go or your tail will die. And stay away from my brother from now on.”

He slammed out of the tavern and into a black forest partly concealed in reddish mist. Silently, Ares drew his sword and moved through the dense foliage and fog.

He smelled blood long before he reached the scene, but he was still startled when he stepped into the clearing. Flail lay lifeless on the ground, her nude form nearly unrecognizable and her throat mangled all the way to her spine. Reseph, his na**d body shot through with black veins, held Saw against a tree, his fangs in her throat. Blood covered both of them, and though most of it appeared to belong to the demons, Reseph bore his own fair share of injuries.

The females had fought back.

“You sick fuck,” Ares growled.

Reseph swung around, fangs still buried in Saw’s neck. His eyes glowed evil crimson, and with a smile, he tore out the demon’s throat with his teeth. He dropped her corpse to the ground and stalked toward Ares. His dripping fingers flickered over the glyph on his throat, and plate armor suited his body. The armor, crafted by trolls, was practically impenetrable, self-repairing, and had to be given blood to keep it functional. No doubt it had been well-fed lately.

“War. Why so appalled? You act like you’ve never killed a female—”

“I’ve never had fun doing it,” he roared.

“You will. When you’ve turned, we’ll party. Thanatos can feed on our leavings.” Reseph licked his lips, catching the stream of blood in the corner. “Did your buddy find you?”

A hot breeze ruffled the thorny leaves in the trees and brought the scent of death to Ares’s nostrils. “If you mean the hellhound, yeah. You gave good directions.”

“He has a name, you know. Eater of Chaos. Or Chaos Eater. Something like that. Nice dog. Don’t know why you two have been fighting for so long.” Reseph grinned. “Oh, right. He ate your best friends, your beloved brother, and your sons. Tough break.”

“I can’t believe you went there,” Ares ground out. “I can’t believe you allied with him—”

“And I enjoyed doing it.”

“You know what I’m going to enjoy?” Ares raised his sword. “Opening you from crotch to chin.”

Reseph halted two yards away. “Think hard about that, bro. Because you’re the one who is going to take a beating. And after I pound you to a quivering pudding of organs and bone, I’m going after the human.” His grin was all fang. “I hope she doesn’t die too quickly.”

The image of Cara being subjected to what Ares had seen when he entered the clearing was like Drano in the brain. It burned like a mother, scoured away all rational thought. Snarling, he struck. His sword landed a glancing blow to Reseph’s shoulder as his brother spun away. And then Reseph was holding his bow, and in the span of a heartbeat, he’d launched an arrow. It punched into the unprotected juncture of Ares’s shoulder and throat, and pain lanced him, shooting through the top of his skull.

“Out!” Reseph launched another arrow as Conquest formed at his side.

Ares whirled out of the path of the second arrow, but it changed course and slammed into his neck next to the first one. The ground shook, and the rhythmic pound of hoofbeats was like an earthquake, and then Battle was there to take the other stallion’s blows. Panting, Ares ripped the arrows from his flesh and froze at the sound of flapping wings. Hundreds of them. Thousands, maybe.

Oh, shit.

They descended like a cloud of locusts. Man-eating demon locusts the size of buzzards. Ghastbats dove at him and Battle, their gaping mouths full of razor-sharp teeth, their claws like needles, a bone spike on the end of each wing. In seconds, Battle was covered, screaming as they tore at him. Conquest kept striking, his hooves hacking at the other stallion and scooping out chunks of flesh.

Ares’s armor shielded him, but the creatures were tearing at his face and shoving their spikes between the leather joints. Battle’s hooves and teeth crushed scores of ghastbats, but there were too many.

“Give up the human, and I’ll call them off,” Reseph called out.

“Fuck you.”

“Incest, brother?” He shrugged. “Well, hell, I’ve tried everything else since my Seal broke…”

Ares hurled his sword, catching Reseph in the jaw. Teeth, flesh, and blood sprayed into the air, and Ares leaped onto Battle before his brother could recover. The ghastbats bit and stung, and he was half-blind from a claw in the eye, but he managed to open a Harrowgate. It sliced a dozen of the little f**ks in half, and then Battle catapulted them into it, and they came out near the entrance of his manor house.

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.”