Bride of lucifer book 1.., p.10
Bride of Lucifer: Book 1: Hell on Earth, page 10
Lucifer plants his palm upon the Diablo ore. I part my lips, fascinated when his smoky gray skin glows with an amber radiance. I have no idea why my halo surges its warmth while goosebumps conspire with the tingles upon my skin. I chalk it up to his power drifting in the air around me.
The doors open to darkness. It’s the first time Lucifer turns, but his command is to the conveyors. “Leave us. Return to your posts.”
I will myself not to squirm like a hooked worm when he puts his arm around my back, marking me with those blood moon eyes surrounded by depthless shadows.
I stab my chin out and dig my heels in. “If you want another battle in the bedroom, you could simply ask.”
Dark, throaty laughter rolls from his mouth, and he lowers his head to me, brandishing a wicked grin. “You’re the one who flew the coop, little bird. Couldn’t handle the fox’s teeth.” Sparks erupt from his ruddy tattoos and flicker onto my skin: a flirtatious mock.
I roll my eyes, contempt squeezing through my clenched teeth. “She who fights and flies away will live to fight another day. And I recall, you couldn’t even catch me without going all Fifty Shades of tail-whipping me. And I still escaped you.”
He pauses and leans against the door, twisting his mouth while looking down at me. Damn that jawline as sharp as the edge of a seraph’s blade. “You kneed my balls, sweetheart. I’m quite attached to them. And you stabbed me. Consider us even. But I vow this to you,—” he lifts a finger, raising his chin and straightening his back to his full height that towers over me, “—if I choose to whip you again, it will be after you’ve begged me for it.”
His lips are closed into a cocky smile, but his chest betrays a deep sigh of satisfaction. Dismissing the phrase, I breeze past him with my cunning retort, “I’d stake my tits that you have far more experience whipping your dummy.”
Before I take another step, Lucifer seizes my wrist, wrenches me back, so I crash against him, and bends my arm behind my back. Narrowing those carmine eyes to slits, he pushes his body against mine, and I seethe when he thunder-purrs. Unholy doses of rage, fear, and lust prey on my nerves, weakening my legs. My vision spirals. More power in that lust-hum than ever. It vibrates from his chest onto mine, sinking past the thin, silk robe to beguile my very blood. In the bare moment I falter, Lucifer’s lips spread into a wicked grin.
He doesn’t need to do anything. The intense heat of his gaze is enough to squeeze my lungs until my breaths turn shallow and short. He adds insult to injury by releasing those sex-on-a-Satan-stick pheromones until I inhale blood roses, smoke, and spices. The heady, masculine scent oozes into my pores, and I can’t help the whimper escaping my throat.
Dark laughter ripples from Lucifer’s throat, timed to my body tightening, my thighs clenching. Hissing, I harness my senses, vying with his power until I unleash the claws. Wise to my reflexes, the Devil twists my other arm behind my back until they strain in protest.
With his raw hard-packed chest bearing down upon mine, Lucifer maintains a firm grip on my wrists while the other grabs my hair to yank back my neck. Like a massive serpent coiling around my neck to squeeze, that invisible force tightens my throat. At least he leaves me with more air this time.
He presses his lips to my throat, snaking his tongue along my skin. More pheromones, more of that carnal power as Lucifer sucks the flesh above my pulse and warns, “I’d be very careful before betting those tits of yours, Astraea. Especially when they are as ripe and angelic as if formed within the heart of Eden.” His head lowers to the V-line of the silk robe, tripping warm breath along my skin. I trill a warning from his nose slipping through the slit to stroke between my cleavage—pitted between those globes. “But…” he raises his head, eyes burning again upon mine, “…if you are dead-set, sweet girl, I will take your wager.”
“Oh, yes, I know how you love to mix business with pleasure.”
He releases me with a rolling chuckle before proclaiming, “Lex! On.”
At once, the lights slam against my vision, and I adjust my pupils to the sudden shift. One glance at the floor, and I yelp. Petrified, I swoop into the air and cling to a large statue of Diablo ore. My whole body trembles. And I could care less that it’s a statue of Lucifer—a very naked statue of Lucifer.
“What the—” he spins his head, then rolls his eyes. “Hell’s balls, woman…” he strides forward upon the liquid magma like he’s the mother-fucking Messiah walking on water. “It’s perfectly safe. Come down from there before you break my favorite statue.”
I violently swing my head back and forth, eyes wider than church doors. My thighs are practically wrapped around Lucifer statue’s head, verging on fucking it. Oh, I silently vow I’ll be a saint if I make it out of here! I’ll even do weeping angel duty if the Tribunal commands. I choke on fear. Other than the Unconsecrated Crater, that magma may destroy an angel’s wings.
Lucifer grunts and jerks his thumb to the liquid lava that pools around his ankles, indicating it’s harmless. My claws rake into the Diablo ore from how hard I’m gripping it. My limbs don’t stop quaking.
“Astraea, I’m giving you a proper warning,” Lucifer hardens his voice, sneering up at me, tension coiling in his neck. “If you don’t stop humping my statue and come down immediately, I will bend you over my knee and spank you like the child you’re being right now.”
I part my lips. Hesitant, I lick them. All I want is to fly out of here. My wings flare with the need, but there’s no making it past the Diablo doors like angel-proof forcefields. This close to the statue, I’m already fatigued from its energy, my muscles weakening. Soon, my vision will blur, and I’ll drop anyway. And I don’t doubt Lucifer will make good on his vow. So, I take a flight of faith and push off the statue, dismissing the fantasy about knocking it over and smashing it to smithereens.
Instead, I hold my arms to myself and flutter my way to the floor until I hover above the magma. Its heat drifts across the soles of my feet. Bubbles boil to the surface as it branches off into tributaries all over the room, which is a penthouse office.
“Thanks to Diablo ore construction and a gem-tech program, the magma flows through a sealed chamber beneath the transparent floor,” he explains, cocking his head to the side as my wings quiver. “If I’d known a bit of lava was enough to control you, I’d have summoned you here first. But then I’d have missed out on our amusing bedroom battle.”
“Is that why I’m here? For another battle?”
He snorts but doesn’t respond, beckoning me forward. So, I survey the area. Off to my left, a staircase with fused bones for a railing winds to the second floor. On the walls, in alcoves and frames, are more bones and skulls—ones coated in everything from gold to rubies to black diamonds. We pass large, glass display cases, but they might as well be caskets. I shiver from the demon frozen in death, preserved like a trophy for display. Sweat breaks out in my palms, and I make a brief list of the races housed in the caskets: a nephyl warrior, a fallen angel, a fae, a were-cat, an elf, an orc, a vampire, and I finally lose track. Relieved at the absence of humans and daemons, I lower my shoulders. The lava still takes getting used to, but after a few minutes, the tremors stop. Swallowing the pain in the back of my throat still takes work.
Finally, Lucifer directs me to a chair constructed of skulls and jeweled serpents situated before an enormous desk. His chair is far more of a throne, of course. Huffing, I slump down into the chair, prop my elbows on the desk, and start to pick at my fingernails.
“I don’t suppose we can chalk all this up to a mistake and part ways as archrivals, can we?” I attempt, flicking my eyes to his where he stands above me.
“No, we cannot.”
Before I can ruffle a feather, Lucifer retrieves something from his robe. Warm metal bites my wrists, coils around them. I grit my teeth and shake my head in disbelief. “Diablo cuffs, seriously?”
Lucifer takes his opposite seat, straightens like a sovereign, and smiles, showcasing his demon teeth. “Merely a precaution so we may have a proper conversation, unlike last time. Make no mistake, Astraea, you are in deep shit, crater-deep,” he emphasizes to rattle my nerves, but all my blood chills when he adds, “You will not be leaving Hell on Earth. And I have every intention of making you my celestial bitch.”
Despite the cuffs, I still pick at my nails, avoiding Lucifer’s hooded gaze. And his chiseled cheekbones. And his hard-packed chest from his parted robes. And his vast wings curled around his throne-like chair to cast seductive shadows close to mine.
Instead, I focus on the room. It’s difficult not to cringe at the lava streaming below my bare feet, humming warmth into the soles. One wall of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the hotel district of the Ninth Circle lies behind Lucifer. I imagine charging my wings, tucking my body into a roll, crashing through the glass, and disappearing into that bustling district with its shopping malls and restaurants. My skin tingles at the thought.
“You’re well trained,” Lucifer notes, claiming my attention, gesturing to how my eyes have swept the room. I’ve taken a moment to study the exits, the angles, and the details. “But trust me when I say this: you are in my domain now.” A trace of a smirk crosses his lips. When I blink, offering nothing but my frozen stare, Lucifer continues, “Would you care for a drink?”
I twist my lips to one side and decline. “Sorry, I don’t suck dick. But if you care to suck a donkey’s hind tit, don’t let me stand in your way.”
He gives me a flat look. I’m tempted to roll my eyes.
Placing my shackled wrists on the desk, I fold my hands and survey him, “So, what am I doing here? If you’d wanted to kill me, you would’ve done it already.”
He shrugs and waves a hand to me. “The thought had crossed my mind. I fantasized about those pretty angel screams as I dipped you inch by inch into Hell’s fire blood pits…starting with your toes.”
I yawn and drum my fingers on the table before peering around. “What time is it?”
“Why should you care?”
“Counting the seconds until he shows up.” I slump back in the chair and pick at my fingers, ignoring the glorified fallen angel. I dart my eyes back to the windows, map out the trajectory to the closest hotel, and expand my angel pupils to determine the location of the allies.
Leaning forward, Lucifer props his elbows on the table and steeples his fingertips, the heels of his hands not quite connecting. “If you are referring to Abaddon, I’m afraid he will not be joining us. Despite our rather turbulent history—”
“I know your fucking history,” I lurch and snarl, baring my angel teeth. The evidence is all over one side of Lucifer’s face: the brands puckering his otherwise dark, velveteen skin. A small price to pay when Abaddon has suffered far worse with internal wounds. Not even I can fathom the demons stalking my guardian’s tattered soul. I dig my nails into my palms over and over until several crescent moons form on my skin.
Out of the corner of my eyes, Lucifer’s security manifests. Alerted by my snarl, they shift through the walls, through the windows, shadows wreathing from their figures. Without turning or issuing an order, the Devil merely lifts a hand to dismiss them. They shadow back to their hiding places.
Defeated, I slump in my seat, pick at my nails again, and grumble, “Ghouls. Impressive.” Flesh-eating specters. No flight plans anytime soon, I sigh, shaking out my hands.
“As I informed you, Astraea: you’re in deep shit. Mercifully for you, Abaddon and I have agreed to an understanding. So, I will throw you a line of a shovel to dig yourself out, so to speak,” he levels with me, leaning forward, his horns casting shadows on the table.
I snap my gaze to Lucifer and stiffen in my seat, hoping I appear more arrogant than uneasy. Something in his relaxed shoulders, in how he does not smile with his lips but his eyes, as if he knows he’s got me dead to rights, feels like I’m caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. And angels aren’t designed to swim with our fucking wings.
Before I may open my mouth, Lucifer taps the gem-plant upon his wrist, conjuring a holo-feed with my profile on it along with documents of information.
“Rather lengthy file,” he surmises as he scans, but I can’t judge whether he’s impressed or merely observant. Posture unchanged. No muscles twitch. No jaw clenches. He barely even blinks. Damn, I expected the Devil to have more fire in him. Lucifer could pass for a grumpy garden gnome.
“Quite an amount of potential from an early age but lacks discipline and motivation,” he reads in a monotone, not betraying anything. He sets his jaw, eyes focused on studying the content. “Poor execution marks.”
I snort and flex my fingers. “Tell that to all the rogue angels squealing like pigs when I tossed their asses to the Tribunal.”
“Poor execution marks in every other field of training. Your first task as a Guardian Angel was to care for a mere goldfish.”
It’s the first time he shows any semblance of emotion with those dark eyes squinting, twinkling with traces of mirth as he had when he’d bantered with me on the balcony. A chill slithers across my flesh, and I shudder, remembering his tongue stroking my throat.
“The goldfish lasted a total of 1.2 hours,” he concludes, a wheezy breath escaping through his nose. I know he’s pressing those lips tight to prevent himself from chuckling. That playful devil is in there somewhere.
I shrug and lean over the table, extending my shackled hands. “I swear the thing was mocking me with those chronic kissy lips. And those things dare to be called “gold”? I’m fucking gold!” I flutter my wings, so they catch the chandelier light above our heads, casting my proud prisms across the room. That’s when I realize his red eyes are gone, replaced with irises as dark as midnight, but I swear I catch a dusting of gold inside them.
“You lost your virginity at sixteen and were disqualified from the breeding program before you’d even entered,” he observes.
Not bothering to lift my chin from the table, I beam at him and waggle my brows. “Oh, I guarantee you I didn’t lose it. I traded it for a long night of no-strings-attached, super-size-me cock happy meal. And I was one fucking happy girl.” I wink and pucker up my lips. The back of my neck overheats from memories of that night with Jack. Not that I could have anticipated all the strings that would follow—ones we forged together.
“You tried your hand as an angel spy.” I press my lips hard to contain my laughter, but more scuttles up, ready to burst through my clenched teeth as Lucifer remarks, “Made it as far as the outer gates while attempting to impersonate a…naughty priest.”
Shameless when I cackle so hard, and the spittle flies right past the holo-gem to speckle the Devil’s cheek, I rattle the cuffs and knock my head gently against the table to get a hold of myself. “Oh, come on! The fishnet stockings were Camio’s idea. And how was I supposed to know the humans in line would suddenly grow a conscience and want to go to fucking confessional?”
“The outhouse as a substitute was your downfall.” Lucifer clenches his fingers, lips pressed so tight, they turn thinner than a thread, but I swear I catch a hint of a blush in his cheeks—as if he’s trying his damned hardest not to laugh with me.
I throw him a look. “Figurative or literal downfall?” When he blinks, I giggle, touch a hand to my ailing ribs, then lean back in my seat to spread my fingers and add, “Hey, shit happens.”
His brow furrows as he studies me beyond the holo-gem. “You received more strikes in warrior training than any other novice.”
I lift a finger, reminding him, “But I did pass.”
“By the skin of your teeth.”
I grin and flash my fangs. “Rawr.”
“In one area have you ever demonstrated any proficiency: flying.”
Pushing my shoulders back, I tap a finger to my proud lips. “What can I say? I love winging it.
He gives me a blank stare.
Oh, come on! I fidget in my seat. I’m pulling out all the stops, and he’s giving me nothing! The most Lucifer shows are those hellfire veins gleaming hotter under the high collar of his robe, barely peeking from beyond its edges. I swear the crimson serpent heads upon his upper chest stick their tongues out to hiss. I already suspect where he’s going with this whole build-up. So, if I’m going to be stuck in Hell on Earth any longer, then the least he can do is lighten up.
“You took the plunge off Mount Vesyna at the youngest age known to any angel novice: two years old.”
“Twenty-two months, swine-ass,” I substitute the word, not wanting to insult Jack. Even if he does have a fine ass. Unfortunately, so does Lucifer. Ugh, I wince, remembering his hands cupping my bottom, squeezing my heavenly haunches.
“Tread carefully, Astraea,” he warns, voice deepening as he taps his gem-plant to close the holo-feed before folding his hands on the table to scrutinize me. “Otherwise, I may be tempted to take a whip to your smart ass. Again.”
To hell with Camio’s suggestion. I cock my head to the side and thread my brows, denying myself the urge to swallow or rub my arms. Instead, I dish out more bullshit to cover up my anxiety. “Is that your idea of punishment? Or incentive?” My stomach churns. I can easily take a whipping. But I loathe each one.
A heavy sigh breaks from his mouth, and the Devil kneads his brow. I preen but can’t help my flinch when he sweeps into a stand. Muscles swell, blood moon eyes return—the predator of the ultimate fallen angel. And a demon on full display. Hellfire strains from inside his balled fists while smoke curls from his pores.
I slide my lips into my sweet-wrapped, psycho smile, but when Lucifer plants one firm hand on the table before me, taps the ebony, and lowers his head to me, I sense he can see right through it. Of course, he can: fucking Prince of Lies.
He brushes his knuckles across my wings, and I jerk from the too-intimate gesture.
When he leans in and grips my jaw hard, forcing my eyes to his, waves of heat and ice compete with my body. One-half loathing, one-half desire. The heat of his eyes burns me, the telltale smirk hinting that he’s waiting to play his trump card.
